BAYARD’S PLANS.
An angrier boy than Bayard Bell was, when he leaped his horse over the
fence and rode away from the thicket, which had so nearly been the scene
of a desperate conflict between his followers and the members of the
Sportsman’s Club, was never seen anywhere. He told himself over and over
again that Walter Gaylord had insulted him (although how he had done
so, it would have puzzled a sensible boy to determine), and declared
that he had done it for the last time, and that he had put up with his
meanness just as long as he could. Although Perk had said, almost in so
many words, that he was willing and even eager to fight, and Bab, Eugene
and Featherweight had shown by their actions that they were ready to
stand by their friend to the last, Bayard did not waste a thought upon
them, but laid all the blame upon Walter, who had conducted himself like
a young gentleman during the whole interview, and kept himself in the
back-ground as much as possible. The reason for this was, that Bayard had
long ago learned to hate Walter most cordially; and the cause of this
hatred was the latter’s popularity among the students at the Academy.
Bayard, like many a boy of our acquaintance, desired to be first in
everything. He wanted the students to look up to him and treat him with
respect, and yet he was not willing to make any exertions to bring about
this state of affairs. Besides being stingy and unaccommodating, he
showed his tyrannical disposition at every opportunity, and then wondered
why he had so few friends. Walter, on the other hand, was modest and
unassuming, never tried to push himself forward, was always polite to
his companions, and would put himself to any amount of trouble to do a
favor for one of them. The result was that, with the exception of a few
congenial spirits whom Bayard had gathered about him, the boys all liked
him, and showed it by every means in their power. The more Bayard thought
of it the angrier he became.
“They’re conceited upstarts, the whole lot of them,” said he, turning
around in his saddle to face his companions, who were galloping along
behind him. “It’s lucky for them that Mr. Gaylord and those niggers came
up just as they did, for I was going to punch some of them.”
“Perhaps it is fortunate for us that the fight didn’t come off,” said
Leonard Wilson, who, if he had no other qualities, was at least honest.
“Did you hear what Perkins said about knocking our heads together?”
“O, he wouldn’t have done it,” said Will Bell, with a sneer; “he
couldn’t. He’s a regular milk-sop, and so are they all.”
“Well, if they are, I don’t know it,” said Wilson.
“No, nor nobody else,” chimed in Henry Chase. “That Phil Perkins is a
perfect lion, and Walter Gaylord isn’t a bit behind him. What a lovely
muscle Walter showed on the day we pulled that boat-race! Why, it was as
large as the boxing-master’s. And what long wind he has! And can’t he
pick up his feet, though, when he is running the bases?”
Bayard looked sharply at Chase, and made no reply. He had commenced
by abusing and threatening the Sportsman’s Club, and expected to be
assisted in it by his men; but here was Chase praising his rival up to
the skies, and Wilson nodding his head approvingly, as much as to say
that he fully agreed with his companion, and that every word he uttered
was the truth. Bayard was very much disgusted at this, and showed it by
facing about in his saddle, and maintaining a sullen silence for the next
quarter of an hour. The deep scowl on his forehead indicated that he was
thinking busily, and his thoughts dwelt quite as much upon two of the
boys who were galloping along the muddy lane behind him, as they did upon
the members of the Sportsman’s Club. At last he seemed to have decided
upon something, for he straightened up, and began to look about him.
“Fellows,” said he, “we are but a short distance from the bayou, and I
propose that we ride over there, water our horses, and eat our lunch. I’m
hungry.”
“So am I,” replied Will; “but I’d rather go home. I can’t see any fun in
sitting down in the mud, and eating cold bread and meat, when there are a
comfortable room and a warm dinner awaiting us only three miles away.”
Bayard paid no more attention to his cousin’s words than if they had
not been spoken at all, but turned his horse out of the lane into the
bushes, and rode toward the bayou. His companions hesitated a little, and
then followed after him; and in a few minutes more they were sitting on
the banks of the stream discussing their sandwiches, and gazing into the
water, as if they saw something there that interested them very much. No
one spoke, for Bayard was in the sulks, and that threw a gloom over them
all.
If Bayard was hungry his actions did not show it, for he ate but a very
few mouthfuls of his sandwich, and finally, with an exclamation of
impatience, threw it into the water. The movement attracted the attention
of his cousins, and that seemed to be just what Bayard wanted, for he
began to make some mysterious signs to them, at the same time nodding
his head toward the bushes, indicating a desire to say a word to them in
private.
Will and Seth must have understood him, for they winked significantly,
and went on eating their sandwiches, while Bayard, after yawning and
stretching his arms, arose to his feet and walked up the bayou out of
sight. As soon as he thought he could do so without exciting suspicion,
Will followed him; and shortly afterward Seth also disappeared. Wilson
and Chase gazed after him curiously, and as soon as the sound of his
footsteps had died away, turned and looked at one another. “What’s up?”
asked the latter.
“That’s a question I can’t answer,” replied Wilson. “They’re going to
hold a consultation about something.”
“Or somebody,” observed Chase. “I believe you and I will be the subjects
of their deliberations—in fact I know it. Didn’t you see how angry Bayard
looked over what we said about Walter and his crowd? I know him too well
to believe that he will allow that to pass unnoticed. He’s up to some
trick now, and if we creep through the bushes very carefully we can find
out what it is. We’d be playing eavesdropper though, and that would be
mean, wouldn’t it?”
“I don’t see that it would. When one knows that a fellow like Bayard
Bell, who is bad enough for anything, is laying plans against him, he has
a perfect right to resort to any measures to find out what those plans
are. Come on; I’ll go if you will.”
Chase, needing no second invitation, arose to his feet and stole up
the bayou in the direction Bayard and his friends had gone, closely
followed by Wilson. They moved very cautiously, and presently arrived
within hearing of the voices of the three conspirators, for such they
believed them to be. A few seconds afterward they came within sight of
them, and found them seated in a little thicket which grew on the bank
of the bayou, engaged in an earnest conversation. So deeply interested
were they in what they were saying that they thought of nothing else,
and the two eavesdroppers approached within twenty yards of them, and
took up a position from which they could observe their movements and hear
every word that was said. Bayard was talking rapidly, and the others were
listening with an expression of intense astonishment on their faces; and
Chase and Wilson had not been long in their concealment before they began
to be astonished too.
“Everything I tell you is the truth,” said Bayard, emphatically. “There
is scarcely a person in the settlement who does not know that there is
such an organization in existence; but I do not suppose there is any one
outside of the band who knows who the members are except myself. I know
three of them, and I found them out by accident. They are the ones who
must do this work for us.”
“Must!” repeated Seth.
“Yes, they _must_, whether they are willing or not.”
“Have you spoken to them about it?”
“No, I have not had a chance.”
“Why, you said you had got matters all arranged!” said Will.
“I told you that in less than two days Walter Gaylord would find himself
miles and miles at sea, with a fair prospect of never seeing Louisiana
again,” replied Bayard. “It’s lucky I didn’t tell you any more, for you,
Seth, came near blabbing it on two different occasions. You never could
keep anything to yourself.”
“I didn’t intend to tell them what we are going to do to them,” retorted
Seth, with some spirit. “I only wanted to give them to understand that we
have laid our plans to punish them in some way.”
“And so put them on their guard!” snarled Bayard. “That’s a pretty way
to do business, isn’t it? Now, unless you promise faithfully to keep
everything I tell you a profound secret, I won’t say another word.”
“I promise,” said Seth, readily.
“So do I,” chimed in Will.
“Well, then, I will tell you how I came to find out about these
smugglers,” continued Bayard, settling back on his elbow. “It happened
last summer, shortly after that boat-race. I felt so mean over our defeat
that I wanted to keep away from everybody, and you know that I left the
Academy and came home. One day I took my gun and strolled out into the
swamp. At noon I found myself about ten miles from home, and on the bank
of a little stream which emptied into the bay. I stopped there to rest,
and after eating my lunch, stretched myself out on the leaves and was
fast going off into a doze, when I was aroused by the sound of oars; and,
upon looking up, saw a large yawl just entering the bayou. There were
three men in it, and they were Coulte and his two sons.”
“Coulte!” exclaimed Will, in amazement. “The old hunter?”
“And his two sons!” echoed Seth. “Are they smugglers?”
“Let me tell my story without interruption, if you please,” said
Bayard, impatiently. “You will know as much about it as I do when I am
done. I wondered what they could be doing there,” he continued, “and
raised myself to a sitting posture, intending to speak to them when they
came up, and would have done so, had I not noticed that they were very
stealthy in their movements, and that they did not pull the boat into the
bayou until they had looked up and down the bay, to make sure that there
was no one watching them.
“Now, when one man sees another sneaking about, and showing by every
action that he is anxious to escape observation, it is natural that he
should want to see what he is going to do. I did not suppose that Coulte
was up to any mischief, for, like everybody else in the settlement, I
believed him to be an honest old fellow; but I knew that he did not want
to be seen, and that was enough for me. As quick as thought I slipped
behind a tree, whose high, spreading roots afforded me an excellent
concealment, and lying flat upon the ground, looked over into the bayou,
and watched the three men in the yawl as closely as ever a panther
watched his prey. They seemed to be satisfied at last that there was no
one in sight, for they pulled quickly into the bayou and stopped on the
opposite shore, directly in front of me. The bank, at that particular
place, was about twenty feet in height, and was partially concealed by
thick bushes, which grew up out of the water. When the boat stopped
Coulte raised his oar and thrust it into the bushes, where it came in
contact with something that gave out a hollow sound. He struck three
blows, and after waiting a moment struck three more; and presently I
heard something that sounded like an answering knock on the other side
of the bushes. Coulte replied with two knocks, and I distinctly heard
a latch raised and a door opened—although where the door was I do not
know—and a voice inquired:
“‘How’s the wind to-day?”
“‘South-south-west,’ replied Coulte, in his broken English.
“‘How was it last night?’
“‘North-north-east.’
“‘Where from?’ asked the voice.
“‘Havana, Galveston, and New Orleans.’
“‘Whither bound?’
“‘Here, and there, and everywhere.’”
“What did they mean by talking that way?” asked Seth, who had listened
eagerly to his cousin’s story, but with an expression on his face which
said plainly that he did not believe a word of it. “I can’t make any
sense out of it.”
“Neither could I—neither could anybody,” replied Bayard, “not even if
he were a member of the organization, because there is no sense in it.
But there was _use_ in it, for the man on the other side of the bushes
knew that Coulte was one of the smugglers by the way he answered the
questions; at least I thought he was satisfied of it, for he pulled aside
the bushes and showed himself. He shook hands with the men in the yawl,
and began a conversation with them. I heard every word that was said, but
the only information I gained was, that Coulte’s two sons were employed
as foremast hands on board the vessel in which the smuggling is carried
on. When the conversation was ended, Coulte passed out some bales and
boxes he had brought in his yawl, and then got out his oars and pulled
down the bayou.”
“What do you suppose was on the other side of those bushes?” asked Will,
after a long pause.
“I am sure I don’t know, unless it was a cave where the smugglers stowed
away their goods.”
“What’s the reason you have never told this before?” inquired Seth. “Why
didn’t you go straight to your father with the news, and have him put the
authorities on the lookout? Don’t you know that there is a heavy reward
offered for any information that will lead to the breaking up of this
band?”
“I do,” replied Bayard, leaning toward his cousins and sinking his voice
almost to a whisper, “but I don’t want the band broken up. I may join it
myself sometime.”
“You!” cried his auditors, starting back in surprise.
“Yes, I; that is if they will take me; and if they won’t, I will blow the
whole thing. Here’s where I have the advantage of them, and that’s the
way I am going to induce Coulte to help us carry out our plans against
Walter Gaylord. We’ll ride over and call on the old fellow this very
afternoon, and tell him that we want him and his boys to make a prisoner
of Walter at the very first opportunity, take him on board their vessel,
carry him to the West Indies, and lose him there so effectually that he
will never find his way home again.”
As Bayard said this he settled back on his elbow and looked at his
cousins, and Seth and Will, too astonished to speak, settled back on
their elbows and looked at him. They had always known that Bayard was
cruel and vindictive, but they had never dreamed that he could conceive
of a plan like this. How coolly he talked about it, and how confident he
seemed of success!
“I flatter myself that this is a grand idea, and one that nobody else in
the world would ever have thought of,” continued Bayard.
“You’re right there,” replied Will. “I don’t suppose you have thought of
the obstacles in your way?”
“You can’t mention one that I have not thought of and provided for. Try
it.”
“Well, in the first place, suppose that Coulte declines to assist you in
carrying out your plans? He likes Walter.”
“He likes his liberty better. If he refuses I will just say ‘law’ to him,
and that will bring him to terms.”
“That’s so,” said Will, hesitatingly, as if he did not like to yield the
point. “In the next place, suppose that Coulte agrees to comply with your
demands and captures Walter, and the rest of the crew (I do not believe
that Coulte’s two sons comprise the entire company of the smuggling
vessel), refuse to take him to the West Indies; what then?”
“No one except Coulte and his sons need know anything about it. They can
smuggle Walter on board at night, as if he were a bale of contraband
goods, and keep him concealed until the vessel reaches its destination.”
“And then he will be set at liberty, and the first thing you know he will
come back here a hero, and you and Coulte will find yourselves in hot
water,” exclaimed Will. “That will be the upshot of the whole matter. I
don’t like those boys any better than you do, and should be glad to see
them brought up with a round turn; but this thing won’t work.”
“Don’t I tell you that one part of my plan is to lose him so that he will
never find his way back here?” asked Bayard, angrily. “You are very dull,
both of you.”
“I am not,” said Seth; “I understand it all, and begin to think that it
will prove a complete success. I never could have studied up a scheme
like that. It almost takes my breath away to think of it.”
“I _know_ it will be successful,” said Bayard, confidently; “and if you
will ride over to Coulte’s with me, I will convince you of it in less
than a quarter of an hour after we get there.”
“What shall we do with Chase and Wilson?” asked Seth. “Are you going to
take them into your confidence?”
“Of course not. We must get rid of them immediately; for if they remain
with us they will want to accompany us to Coulte’s, and that is something
we can’t allow. We’ll raise a quarrel with them. We’ll ask them what
they meant by praising Walter and his crowd a little while ago, and as
they are very independent and spunky, they will be sure to give us some
impudence. When they do that, we’ll tell them that we have seen quite
enough of them, and that they can just pack up their traps and go home.”
“It’s almost too bad to go back on them in that way,” said Seth. “They’ve
stuck to us like bricks.”
“And if you send them off it will break up our society and boat-club,”
said Will.
“No matter for that. The society and boat-club must not stand in the way
of this plan. I am going to carry it out if I lose every friend I’ve got
by it. You can stick to me or not, just as you please.”
As Bayard said this he arose to his feet, indicating a desire to bring
the interview to a close, and Chase and Wilson retreated backward until
they were out of sight of the conspirators, and then took to their heels.
They made the best of their way to the place where they had left their
horses, and when Bayard and his cousins came in sight they were sitting
on the bank of the bayou, looking steadily into the water. Something in
their faces must have aroused Bayard’s suspicions, for he glanced from
one to the other and demanded:
“What’s the matter with you fellows?”
“Nothing,” replied Chase, sullenly.
“I know better,” cried Bayard.
“So do I!” exclaimed Seth. “Something’s the matter with you, or you would
not have stood up for Walter and his crowd as you did a while ago. We
think hard of you for that, and want to know what you meant by it. It
would serve you just right if we should put you where we’re going to
put——”
When Seth’s tongue was once in motion he seemed to lose all control over
it. He was on the very point of divulging the secret which he had so
faithfully promised to keep inviolate; but an angry glance from Bayard,
and a timely pinch from his brother, cut short his words.
“We haven’t said or done anything that we are ashamed of,” declared
Chase. “If you don’t like us or our ways, all you have to do is to tell
us so.”
“Well, we don’t. There!” said Will.
“All right. Let’s start for Bellville, Wilson. Good-by, fellows. When you
want to make up a crew next summer to pull against the Sportsman’s Club,
call on somebody besides us; will you?”
Chase and Wilson sprang into their saddles and rode away, directing their
course toward Mr. Bell’s house, intending to get their saddle-bags,
which contained the few articles of clothing which they had brought with
them from home, and return to the village without the loss of a single
hour; while Bayard and his cousins, after dancing a hornpipe to show the
delight they felt at the success of their stratagem, set out for the
dwelling of the Frenchman, which was five miles distant. At the end of
half an hour’s rapid gallop they arrived within sight of it—a double
log-house, flanked by corn-cribs and negro quarters, and standing in the
middle of a clearing of about two hundred acres. Here old Coulte and
his sons lived isolated from everybody; and before they engaged in the
more lucrative business of smuggling, they had spent their summers in
superintending the cultivation of a few acres of cotton and corn, and
their winters in hunting.
As Bayard and his friends approached the house a man, who was sitting in
the doorway smoking a cob-pipe, arose to welcome them. It was old Coulte
himself—a little dried-up, excitable Frenchman, whose form was half bent
with age, but who was nevertheless as sprightly as a boy of sixteen.
Bayard, who was leading the way, reined up his horse with a jerk, and
having come there on business opened it at once.
“Hallo, Coulte!” he exclaimed: “you’re just the man I want to see. How’s
the wind to-day?”
The Frenchman started, and removing his pipe from his mouth replied
slowly and almost reluctantly, as if the words were forcing themselves
out in spite of all his efforts to prevent it: “Sou’sou’-west.” Then,
as if he were alarmed at what he had done, he stamped his foot on the
ground, exclaiming: “Vat you know about ze wind, Meester Bayard?”
“O, that’s all right,” replied Bayard, carelessly; “I know all about it.
If it is south-south-west to-day, it was north-north-east last night.
Coulte, may I say a word to you in private?”
The Frenchman, who appeared to be utterly confounded, stared very hard
at the boys for a moment, took his pipe out of his mouth and gave a
loud whistle, then put it in again, and picking up his hat followed
Bayard, who dismounted and led the way toward a corn-crib that stood at
a little distance from the house. When he seated himself on the ground
and motioned Coulte to a place beside him, the latter gave another
whistle louder than before; and having by this means worked off a little
of his astonishment, he leaned forward and placed his hand on the boy’s
shoulder. “Meester Bayard,” said he in a low, excited voice, “be you one
of ze—ze—”
The word seemed to stick in his throat, but Bayard spoke it without the
least difficulty. “One of the smugglers?” he inquired. “No; but I know
something about them. I say, Coulte, don’t you think you are engaging
in rather a risky business? Suppose it should be found out, what would
become of you?”
The Frenchman took his pipe out of his mouth long enough to give another
whistle, and then went on with his smoking.
“If I were disposed to be mean,” continued Bayard, looking down at
the ground and speaking in a low voice, as if he were talking more to
himself than for the benefit of his companion, “I could make plenty of
trouble for you by whispering about the settlement that your sons belong
to the crew of that smuggling vessel, and that you have been seen with
contraband goods in your possession. Let me see; the penalty is—I forget
just what it is, but I know it is something terrible.”
“Whew!” whistled Coulte, his face turning pale with alarm.
“Of course I have not the slightest intention of doing anything of the
kind,” continued Bayard; “for you and I are old friends. But I say that
if I _should_ do it, it would be bad for you, wouldn’t it? By the way—sit
down here; I have a favor to ask of you, and I am sure that you will not
refuse me.”
Although the old Frenchman was one of the bravest hunters in the parish,
and would not have hesitated a moment to attack the largest bear or
panther single-handed, he was thoroughly cowed now. Bayard knew what he
was talking about when he said he was sure that Coulte would not refuse
him the favor he was about to ask of him, for the old man was so badly
frightened that he would have given up his ears if he had been commanded
to do so. He seated himself on the ground beside the boy, and listened
attentively while the latter unfolded his plans, only interrupting him
occasionally with long-drawn whistles, which were very low at first and
very loud at last, increasing in volume proportionately with the old
man’s astonishment. After Bayard finished his story, a few minutes’
conversation followed, and finally the boy arose and walked toward his
companions, leaving Coulte standing as if he were rooted to the ground.
“What success?” whispered Will, as Bayard swung himself into the saddle.
“The very best,” was the exultant reply. “Walter Gaylord’s goose is
cooked now—done brown. In the first place, Coulte says that all the
smuggling is carried on in one small vessel named the Stella, which
sails from the coast once every ten days. She is now hidden in the bay
a few miles from here (I know right where she is, and have promised to
visit her early to-morrow morning), and will leave for Cuba day after
to-morrow. The only men on board are Coulte’s two sons, who stayed to
watch the vessel while the rest of the crew went to New Orleans to spend
their money. They will return some time to-morrow, and consequently the
work must be done to-night. Coulte says that he will go down at once
and talk to his boys, and that Walter Gaylord shall be secured before
morning. You’re sorry for it, are you not?” he demanded, turning fiercely
upon his cousins, who seemed to be disappointed rather than elated.
“No,” replied Will, “I am not sorry, exactly, but I feel kind of—you
know.”
“I don’t know anything about it,” answered Bayard. “I never have such
feelings.”
“I feel afraid,” said Seth, honestly. “Suppose something should happen?”
“O, now, what’s going to happen? The only thing I am afraid of is that
Walter will keep himself close to-night, or that if he does come out,
Coulte’s boys will miss him. If they meet him at all, it will probably
be while he is on horseback—the Club are always in the saddle—and I
described him so minutely that they cannot possibly mistake him. Coulte’s
sons are not very well acquainted with Walter, you know, and I told him
to tell them that if they saw a boy about my size and age riding a white
horse, and wearing a heavy dark-blue cloak with a red lining, to catch
him at all hazards and hold fast to him, for he is the fellow they want.
Wasn’t the old fellow taken down completely when I told him that I knew
he was a smuggler? He could scarcely speak.”
The boys faced-about in the saddle, and gazed back at the house. The
Frenchman was still standing where they had left him, smoking furiously;
and as they turned to look at him he took his pipe out of his mouth, and
a long-drawn whistle came faintly to their ears. It was plain that he had
not yet recovered from his astonishment.