AMONG THE PINES
TOM'S surprise was still further increased when he recognized one of the
men on the seat as Little Peter, and by his side a sergeant, who was
driving. It was Little Peter's condition, however, which quickly drew
all of Tom's attention, for the lad was carrying one arm in a sling,
one of his eyes was discolored, and the marks of suffering were plainly
to be seen on his face.
Tom quickly ran out into the road, and as his friend recognized him, at
a word from him the horses stopped, and the two boys looked at each
other for a moment as if each was trying to understand how it was that
they both were there.
"What's the matter? Were you in the battle?" said Tom, who was the first
to speak.
"No, that is, I wasn't in the battle by the Court-House. I met Fenton
three days ago up by the old mill, and these are a few tokens of his
regard which he left with me," said Little Peter, slightly moving his
wounded arm as he spoke.
As Tom still looked blankly at him, the lad continued, "I suppose Fenton
thought he left me dead, and it's likely I should have died if Barzilla
Giberson and Jacob Vannote hadn't found me. They took me up and carried
me over to Benzeor's, though I didn't know anything about it at the
time. Sarah and her mother took such good care of me that I'm all right
now, or at least I'm a good deal better."
"You don't look as if you ought to be here," replied Tom. "You say
Barzilla and Jacob found you and took you over to Benzeor's? I don't
understand."
"They're all right; I understand just how it is now."
"What, Benzeor all right?"
"No, Barzilla and Jacob. I know all about Benzeor, too," he added in a
low voice.
"Where is he?"
"He hasn't been seen or heard from in four days. I don't think he'll
come home again very soon. Tom, Sarah wanted me to tell you, if I saw
you, that you were to come home just as soon as you could. I think she
wants to explain something to you," he added, noting Tom's expression of
surprise. "Since she's found out about Benzeor she feels all broken up,
and wants you to come home."
"Then she knows about Benzeor, does she?" inquired Tom thoughtfully.
"Yes, and so do I. You'll go, won't you?"
"I can't now; perhaps I will after a while," and Tom went on to explain
the circumstances which seemed to make his return to Benzeor's
impossible for a time.
"But how does it happen that you are here so early in the morning, and
with Benzeor's team? You're almost the last person I expected to see."
"Oh, the way of it is like this. Barzilla and Jacob and some of the
Whigs have been on the track of Fenton for several days now. We've got
word that he's down in the pines, about two miles below Blue Ball.
Several parties are out after him, for they've made up their minds to
rid Old Monmouth of the outlaw, if such a thing can be done. Well,
Barzilla came up to Benzeor's yesterday, and when he found I was all
right again, he suggested that Ted and I report the matter to some of
the officers in the American army, and get a detachment to go down
there, so that's what we've done, you see."
"No, I don't see," replied Tom, looking about for the detachment of
soldiers of which Little Peter had spoken. "Ted? Ted who?"
"Ted Wilson, if you please," said that worthy, suddenly rising from
beneath the straw with which the wagon-box was apparently filled. "I'm
the Ted what Little Peter means. Yes, sir, I'm on the lookout for those
fellows that go around hangin' Sallies. She's my wife, ye know."
Startled as Tom was by the unexpected appearance of the mighty Ted, he
nevertheless was compelled to laugh, as the huge man stood before him
striving to shake himself free from the bits of straw which covered his
face, and shaking his fist at imaginary Fentons, who went about engaged
in the detestable occupation of "hanging Sallies."
"We saw General Lee yesterday, but he had so much trouble of his own
that he couldn't listen much to ours," explained Little Peter, "but he
managed to give us a sergeant and two men. The sergeant here is driving,
and the men are with Ted under the straw."
Tom's first thought was to inquire concerning the trouble of General
Lee, which Little Peter referred to, but Ted interrupted his question by
declaring, "Yes, sir, I've got two companions in my misery, cooped up
here under the straw. I don't see why they don't let us sit up straight
like men; but no, they must cover us all over with straw, and then put
two or three barrels in the wagon-box too. 'Tisn't my way o' doin'
things, for I'd take Jesh and go straight down to the pines and hang
Fenton on the first tree I found. That's the way I'd do it. But I
suppose I'll have to obey orders."
"That's what you will," said the sergeant, who had been manifesting
signs of impatience for several minutes. "We mustn't stand here in the
road talking all day. Lie down, Ted, and we'll cover you up again."
Reluctantly the huge man consented, and was soon hidden from sight by
the straw which was thrown over him. The barrels were again arranged to
present the appearance of an ordinary load, and then the sergeant,
picking up the reins which were lying loose in his hands, spoke to the
horses and started down the road.
Little Peter turned and watched Tom, who had remained by the roadside,
gazing eagerly after the departing wagon, and when at last he could see
him no longer, once more gave all his thought to the dangerous
expedition on which he had started with his companions.
Benzeor's horses were in much better condition than those of his
neighbors, for reasons that are apparent now to all our readers, and
they maintained so steady a pace that by noontime the party had entered
within the borders of the pines.
The road here became rough and heavy, and the progress, as a
consequence, was correspondingly slow. The tall stately trees, the
whisperings of the wind, the silence of the great forest, and above all,
the knowledge that they had entered upon the most dangerous portion of
their journey, made all the men in the wagon anxious and watchful. Not a
word was spoken now, even Ted having ceased to complain of his narrow
quarters, and having no remarks to make concerning the outlaws, whose
disposition led them to go about the country attacking defenseless men
and "hanging Sallies."
Every tree might conceal an enemy, and at any moment the discharge of a
gun might indicate that their presence had been discovered. The
habitations of men had been left behind them soon after they had entered
the sombre forests, and the few rude little shanties near the border,
occupied by negroes and people whose reputation in Old Monmouth was not
of the best, had all been passed. The vegetation was scanty, and long
barren stretches of sand could be seen on every side. The sunlight only
penetrated the gloom in places, and its presence served to increase the
dark and sombre appearance of the unbroken forest.
Little Peter maintained a careful watch upon one side as they advanced,
and the sergeant watched the other, but they seldom spoke now, and then
only in whispers. The full sense of the danger of entering a region,
known to be used by the pine robbers as their headquarters, was
appreciated as it had not been when they started. They had no means of
knowing how many men Fenton might have with him, and hard as the outlaws
were against the defenseless people of Old Monmouth, doubtless they
would display the honor which it is said thieves maintain toward one
another, and if others should be within hailing distance when Fenton was
attacked they would all quickly rally to his assistance.
And the resistance which Fenton himself would be likely to make was not
forgotten. The vision of him, as he suddenly appeared to Little Peter on
that lonely road to the old mill a few days previous to this time, came
up before the lad now. His big and burly frame, his bared and powerful
arms, the brutal and merciless expression upon his evil face, were all
seen again, and the lad shuddered as he recalled his experiences with
him.
"What's wrong?" whispered the sergeant quickly. "See anything?"
"Not yet."
Little Peter had not been in the region since the breaking out of the
war, although before that time he and Tom had made frequent visits
there. Still, he recognized the locality, and knew the place to which
Barzilla had reported that Fenton had gone. It was a rude log house,
built of the pine-trees, and could not be more than two miles in advance
of them.
The horses were toiling now as they dragged the heavy wagon through the
deep sand. Fish-hawks had their nests in the tops of the lofty trees,
and occasionally Peter obtained a glimpse of the great birds as they
sailed in the air far above him. A brown rabbit now and then came forth
from his burrow, and after eying the intruders a moment, would go
bounding away into the thickets, or else dart swiftly back into his
underground home. The note of a wood-thrush now and again broke in upon
the stillness with its clear, sweet whistle, and the watchful men would
glance quickly about them, almost thinking that the sound was the call
of the pine robbers to one another.
Little Peter's fear and the pain he was suffering from his recent
encounter with Fenton made his face pale, and as the sergeant again
turned to him and marked his appearance, he said, "'T was too bad, my
lad, that you had to come."
"I knew the way. I had to come and show you."
"Yes, yes. I know it, but it's hard, for all that."
"We're almost there now. The place can't be more than a quarter of a
mile farther on."
The sergeant did not reply, but turned quickly at the words, and peered
keenly into the forest before him. No one could be seen, and the tall
trees guarded well their secret. The toiling horses were pulling
steadily on their load, and they, at least, felt no alarm; but Little
Peter and his companion were anxious now, and were keeping their eyes
steadily fixed upon the road before them.
"There! That's the place!" whispered the lad excitedly, as he obtained a
glimpse of a little clearing not far in advance of them.
The sergeant did not reply, but he tightened his grasp upon the reins,
and glanced down at the gun which he had placed within easy reach.
Little Peter's excitement had become intense, and he was peering eagerly
ahead of him, while his breathing was quick and hard. They would soon
know what the result of the expedition was to be.
The heavy wagon came out into the clearing, and drew near to the one
small house, which was standing within it. The house was of logs, and
corresponded exactly to the description which Barzilla had given of it.
As yet, no human being had been seen, and the sergeant was just about to
declare that the place was not inhabited when the door was suddenly
opened and a man stepped forth to view. Evidently he had heard the
sounds of the approaching wagon, and had come out to investigate.
He was a tall, broad-shouldered, powerful-appearing man. He was clad in
a pair of rough trousers and high boots, which looked as if they might
have belonged to some Hessian dragoon at one time, and the red flannel
shirt which partially covered his chest could not entirely conceal the
great bunches of muscle there. In one hand he grasped a pistol, and the
expression upon his face might well have caused a man with a much
stouter heart than Little Peter had to tremble.
The sergeant glanced inquiringly at the lad by his side, and Little
Peter nodded his head in reply to the unspoken question. The man was
Fenton himself,--the one who had robbed the widows and the fatherless,
had made the midnight attacks upon the defenseless people of Old
Monmouth, had hanged trembling women from the limbs of trees, and
tortured his helpless victims into revealing the places where their
scanty savings had been concealed. He had been the leader of bands as
desperate and wicked as himself, and the suffering and woe which the
good people of the surrounding region had experienced at his hands can
never be told. And now the man himself stood waiting for the wagon, in
which were Little Peter, himself a victim of the pine robbers' cruelty,
and his companions, to approach.
"Hold on!" called Fenton. "You're movin' too fast. What ye doin' here?"
The sergeant stopped his horses, and as Fenton approached and stood near
the wheel, he said, "We've come down here to look for a man we want to
find."
"I reckon I'll do as well as any other. Look at me! Ye're not goin' any
farther, ye might as well understand that now as any time. Got a bottle
with ye?"
The sergeant drew forth a bottle of brandy and handed it to the outlaw.
Fenton took it, and raised one foot upon the hub of the wheel. As he
lifted the bottle to his lips, his eyes fell upon Little Peter, who had
been endeavoring to conceal himself behind his companion.
Instantly recognizing the lad, he shouted, "You here? You? I thought I
left ye dead up by the mill the other day! You rascal! One whipping
wasn't enough, was it? I'll give ye what ye deserve now!"
Fenton reached back with one hand to grasp the pistol he had thrust into
his pocket when he had taken the bottle. Quickly the sergeant kicked the
foot of Ted Wilson under the straw, and instantly the men arose, and
before Fenton could act, had brought their guns to their shoulders and
the reports rang out together.
The pine robber pitched heavily forward, and lay dead upon the sand. Oh,
it was horrible, awful! A sensation of sickness, of faintness, swept
over Little Peter as he looked down upon the face of the dead outlaw.
"What's that? What's that?" said Ted quickly.
It was the sound of a gun not far away. It might be the answer of other
bands of pine robbers to the volley which had just been fired; and
hurriedly throwing the body of Fenton into the wagon, the sergeant
turned his horses about and started swiftly back up the road.