A CRY FROM THE DARKNESS.
“I’m mighty glad you’re home,” was John’s greeting as Ree and Mr. Hatch
dismounted before the door. “There has been somebody prowling around the
woods across the clearing, and it worried me. Honest truth, I believe it
was that man Duff, though he looked like an Indian.”
“It was an Indian, all right,” Ree confidently answered, “our old
friend, the vanisher. We, also, saw him, or rather, heard him, and I
guess he was more scared than we were, wasn’t he, Mr. Hatch?”
“Verily, I was much frightened myself,” the Quaker answered, and then
Ree told all about the experience beside the ravine.
John could not be certain that the person he had seen was not the lone
Indian. It was during the afternoon, he said, that he noticed a movement
among the bushes on the hillside across the clearing, and watching more
closely, had made certain that some one was spying on him and the cabin.
“It made me so nervous that I got to thinking maybe some one was
slipping up behind me, or maybe some one would get into the shanty while
my back was turned, and all of a sudden I found myself as scared as I
could be, and I jumped into the house and shut the door, almost sure
that I was going to be killed the very next second. Ring clawed at the
door a full minute before I could gather up my courage, and laughing
because I felt myself so frightened, opened the door for him to come
in.”
“It was your imagination that got away with you,” said Ree, smiling. “If
a chap just imagines that some one is watching him, waiting to shoot or
grab him, he can scare himself worse than he would be if he really saw
some one just ready to jump onto him.”
The conversation turned to other subjects then, the boys having agreed
that as the wind and snow would by this time have covered up the tracks
the prowler made, it would be of no use to try to find them and so
determine who the fellow was. It was already dark, moreover, and so
stormy a night that neither boy cared to leave the bright fireplace
unless it were necessary.
Supper was over and Ree and John and Mr. Hatch, snug and comfortable,
were discussing the situation of the Delawares when to their
astonishment there came a knocking at the door. In all the time since
the cabin was built no visitor had announced his presence in that way.
“Great guns! Who can it be?” murmured John, but Ree hastily arose to
answer the call.
“Come in, come in,” came the latter’s voice cheerily, as the figure of a
man crouching close to the wall, as if to escape the raw, cold wind, was
revealed by the firelight when the door was opened.
Softly the person glided into the room and close to the fire, spreading
out his hands to the welcome heat, but turning his face away as if the
bright glare hurt his eyes. His dress and long black hair and tawny skin
indicated that he was an Indian, probably of the Mohawk tribe—a Mingo,
at least—but neither of the boys remembered having seen him before.
“It is a cold night,” said John, hospitably moving back from the fire to
give the visitor more room.
“Ugh!”
The stranger uttered no other word, but, Indian fashion, shrugged his
shoulders as if to answer that there was no doubt as to the truth of the
remark.
“Have you traveled far?” John asked.
“Heap,” the fellow answered, glancing around to note where Ree was
placing the rifle he had put in the boy’s hands as a sign of friendship,
upon entering.
“Get our friend some meat, John,” said Ree, standing the rifle in a
corner. “Sit down and warm yourself,” he next said, addressing the
mysterious caller, pushing a stool toward him.
The fellow seated himself, but still turned his face away, even while
eating the cold venison which John placed on another stool beside him.
Again John tried to get him to talk, but he answered only in the
briefest way, and said nothing except when directly spoken to. Of his
own accord a little later, however, he did speak, saying: “Me good
Injun; me sleep here,” pointing to the floor near the fire.
“Yes, you may sleep there,” said Ree, but behind the visitor’s back he
gave John a look which said, “We must watch this chap,” and his chum
winked and nodded.
Theodore Hatch seemed quite undisturbed by the presence of the
unexpected guest, but continued to talk to the boys of his plans for
teaching and caring for the Indians at Captain Pipe’s town. Then he
drifted from that subject to wondering whether the missing part of the
paper describing the hiding place of his aunt’s fortune would ever fall
into his hands.
“Of one thing we must make sure,” he said, “the letter must never come
into the possession of the scoundrels who robbed me. I shall never
use—verily if I am to work as a missionary among these poor Indians,—I
shall never need, the money my poor mother’s sister secreted for my
unfortunate brother and myself; yet shall it remain hidden rather than
that it should be found and gambled away and spent for rum by the wicked
men who have tried to obtain it.”
“Heap tired—Injun heap tired,” said the strange creature still toasting
his hands close to the fire, though it was now so warm that the others
had moved back from the blaze, and John was even lying on the bed of
skins and blankets in the farthest corner.
“Yes, strange friend, lie down and rest thyself,” answered the Quaker
complacently, taking a large bearskin from his own bed, and handing it
to the fellow.
Without a word the latter wrapped the robe about his head and shoulders
and threw himself in a corner—the very corner in which Ree had put his
rifle.
“I, too, am weary,” said Mr. Hatch, and removing his coat and boots he
lay down on his own bed and was soon snoring.
Still Ree sat thinking, and John hummed a tune softly to himself as he
lay restfully on his back, carelessly wondering whether their visitor
spoke the truth when he said, “Me good Injun.” All the fear he had felt
during the afternoon was forgotten. As usual he was trusting to Ree to
see that precautions were taken and that no harm came to them. In the
corner the man under the bearskin seemed sound asleep.
“What was that?”
Ree and John leaped to their feet together. Sharp and clear above the
rattle and roar of the nightwind came the report of a rifle, fired at no
great distance.
“No, no! Don’t open the door!” John called, as his more fearless chum
sprang forward to look out.
The words came too late. In a trice Ree had the door swung wide and was
peering into the gloom, shading his eyes with his hands.
“Help! Help!”
It was the voice of a white man, borne on the wind clearly and
distinctly, out of the darkness from the edge of the forest.
“Who—who-o-o!—who-o who-oo!”
As if a giant owl were calling from the blackness of the storm, came
these further cries, but in the sounds there was something strangely
like a human voice.
“For mercy’s sake, Ree, don’t stand in the open door that way! You’ll be
killed,” cried John, drawing his friend away.
“Who are you! This way—this way!”
These were Ree’s words and he yelled them at the top of his voice.
“Get your gun, John, we must find out who that is,” he hurriedly said.
Even as he spoke, and before John could close the door, a heavy figure
leaped between them from behind, dodged sidewise out of the light, and
in a moment vanished. It was the mysterious visitor.
“Halt, there! Stand, or I’ll put a bullet through you!”
It was Ree who called, but he spoke too late. His words received not the
slightest attention, and in another second John succeeded in slamming
the door tightly shut, while Theodore Hatch, awake but decidedly
bewildered, sat up in bed and stared vacantly.
“What does it mean?”
John dropped almost helplessly upon a stool, completely mystified and
not a little alarmed.
“We will have to find out,” said Ree, his lips compressed in
determination. “Do you want to go out with me to look around?”
“Well, now, look a-here, Ree, we better see what we can make of this
business before ever you put your foot out of the door! It looks a lot
to me as though some one had set a trap for us. That owl’s hooting was a
man’s voice as plain as anything I ever heard. And that chap who was in
here may have been an Indian, but he was not a ‘good Injun,’ as he said,
by a long sight; so be reasonable.”
“Which means be careful,” Ree smiled, examining his rifle and slipping a
pistol into his belt. “It is a mighty queer affair, and the meaning of
it is what I want to find out.”
“Verily, I believe it means robbery,” spoke up Theodore Hatch, tenderly
rubbing the scalpless crown of his head, as if that would help him to
recollect his scattered thoughts. “The Indian tried to seize my saddle
bags from under my head, before he jumped through the door. I had just
wakened up, and scarcely knowing what I was doing, I let fly my fist at
him and struck him quite a severe blow, I fear, just below the ear. I
think—”
“Duff!” interrupted Return Kingdom, and into the one word he put so much
force and expression that it spoke volumes.
“Honest truth, Ree, that was what I thought from the first, but I could
not understand how he could disguise himself so well. He kept his face
away from me, but I had one good look at him. The paint must have hid
his smallpox marks.”
“I was about to say that I think—and hope, indeed, that he was not much
hurt,” the Quaker went on, just a little impatient that he had been
interrupted.
“It was that fellow Duff, beyond a doubt,” said Ree. “He expected to get
your saddle bags, thinking he would find the half of the cut-in-two
letter in them. Somehow or other his game was spoiled. Those cries of
help were genuine—no shamming about them!”
“What in the world did that hooting like an owl mean then?” demanded
John. “I think the game was that Dexter or that miserable Quilling or
both of them were stationed outside to fire a gun and attract our
attention. Duff believed that we would then run out to see what was
wrong, and he, having got inside by playing the Indian, would then get
that letter.”
“Well, you were right, old boy, in one thing, and that is that there is
no reason why we should go out and hunt them up to-night. We will just
stay quietly inside and one of us must keep an eye open for their coming
back. My, how the wind howls! I really pity those poor chaps, that they
are out in it.”
“Pity your grandmother!” ejaculated John.
“What a world of wickedness it is,” sighed Theodore Hatch, dolefully
shaking his head and rubbing his hands.
“You and John go to sleep now, Mr. Hatch. There will be no further
trouble, I guess,” Ree said to the old man kindly, after some further
talk, and as the Quaker did lie down, John stretched himself on his own
bed, having first buckled on a pistol and placed his rifle within reach.
The exciting incident gave Ree plenty to think about as he gazed keenly
through a loop hole, vainly trying to catch sight of some spark of fire
or other sign which would show him the whereabouts of the men who had so
unexpectedly appeared in the vicinity. The snow-filled air and thick
darkness prevented his seeing anything, however, and the shrieking wind
was the only sound which came to him.
John fell asleep at last and Ree did not disturb him until at the first
peep of daylight when he went into the shed to care for the two horses,
first calling to his chum to get breakfast started.
The wind had gone down with the coming of dawn, but the snow was deep in
all directions and the weather was more intensely cold than on the
previous day. This, however, did not deter the young pioneers from
starting out on a short tour of investigation as soon as the morning
meal was over. And Theodore Hatch cautioned them as they set out to use
gentle means rather than force, with any one they met.
Not a trace of the footprints of the mysterious visitor of the night
before were to be seen. The wind and snow had covered the tracks
completely. With the spirit of true woodsmen, notwithstanding, the lads
made for that point at the edge of the timber from which they believed
the call for help had come. Even in the woods they found nothing. The
snow was over their knees on a level and in many places the drifts were
almost impassable.
“It is no use floundering around this way. Let’s go home and get our
snowshoes,” Ree suggested, and John needed no urging. They turned and
passed out of the edge of the woods a little to the right of the point
at which they had entered. A hundred feet from the timber Ree paused.
“I thought I struck my foot against something—something like the body of
a bear, or a wolf, maybe,” he said.
“Froze to death,” John, who was a few yards in advance, answered
carelessly, not looking back, thinking it must be some sick or wounded
wolf that had perished in the storm.
“Murdered, is more like it!”
Ree’s voice was not raised above his ordinary tone, but the deep
significance of his remark caused his companion to turn quickly around.
The next instant he was ploughing through the drifts at a run to where
Ree stood, bending over something in the snow.
It was the body of Quilling, late landlord of the Eagle tavern. In his
still open eyes was a look of abject terror, and a cry of pain and fear
seemed to have stopped half uttered on his lips. From his head the scalp
was missing, and where his hat still lay, and under the body, the snow
was red with blood.
The crimson stain upon his clothing near the left shoulder told the
manner of his death. A bullet had found his heart.