NED TO THE RESCUE.
A week had elapsed from the date of Skatta's disappearance, and every
effort to find some trace of her had failed. Dolly was in despair, and
both Uncle Harry and Aunt Anna had given up all hope of ever seeing her
again, although keeping up a show of hopefulness for Dolly's sake.
It was on the afternoon of the seventh day, and Ned was sitting in the
barn door, thoughtfully whittling.
"I don't see," Uncle Harry had remarked that day at the
dinner-table--"I don't see how the fellow ever got off with her without
anybody seeing him."
_Had_ he got away with her? was the question Ned was now asking
himself. Was it not possible that both he and Skatta were hidden
somewhere not far away? Certainly it would not be a difficult thing to
do, to keep himself and Skatta in hiding till such time as the search
for her should be over. So Ned whittled and revolved these questions in
his mind.
"That's it, I'll bet!" he shouted out at last, bringing his hand down
upon his knee with a resounding slap that made old Bill jump. The
next minute he was on his feet, and thrusting his jack-knife into his
trousers-pocket, he struck a bee-line across the old muster-field for
the Little Madam's cottage. He came out into the winding lane just
before reaching it.
What an atmosphere of peace seemed to brood over the little domain,
lying so securely within its encircling pastures! The sun lay warm
within the narrow yard. Close by the door-stone blossomed a pale-yellow
chrysanthemum; but the crimson leaves of the woodbine had fallen, save
one at the summit of the chimney, that fluttered in the warm south wind
like the "one red leaf" in "Christabel"--
"_The last of its clan,
That dances as often as dance it can,
Hanging so light and hanging so high
On the topmost twig that looks up at the sky._"
Ned peeped in at a window. Some one had evidently been there since the
room had been put in order under Thankful's careful supervision. A fire
had been kindled on the hearth, and the ashes and brands had encroached
upon the white scoured floor. A litter of straw in one corner showed
where some one had slept. Ned tried the door: it was unfastened and he
went in. Some of the boards of the floor had been lifted, and one was
still out of place. Ned recalled the gossip about the Little Madam's
hidden treasure. But there was no sign of fire among the ashes on the
hearth, and the bricks were cold. Evidently no one was making use of
the cottage then.
He went out and stood a few moments on the door-stone. He took out his
knife and stooped to cut off the yellow chrysanthemum blossoms.
"She will like them," he was thinking, remembering the Little Madam's
love of flowers. But he drew back his knife. "No, I'll look for them,"
was his determination. "I'll wait till I come back." And then, with a
deliberation and slowness that contrasted oddly with the headlong haste
of his passage from the tavern to the cottage, he climbed over the
fence into the pasture and made for the woods.
Following him, you would have noticed how he avoided every bit of open
ground and kept close to the woods, choosing those of pine and hemlock
rather than of the deciduous trees that, now the leaves had fallen,
afforded less shelter from observation. He chose, too, the woods where
the underbrush was thick; and as he went on, he examined cautiously and
carefully every thicket, explored every hollow, stopping frequently to
listen.
With these woods on Hemlock Island he was familiar. He had tracked
them through and through many times when in pursuit of stray cattle or
sheep. He had set traps in them, too. But that day he barely noticed
the scolding squirrels that leaped from branch to branch over his head,
nor the rabbits that scurried across his path. Even the flight of a
bevy of partridges failed to stir the hunter's heart in his bosom. He
was in quest of quite another sort of game.
After about an hour of this cautious progress he came to the opening
where the coal-pits were. He recalled the day Dolly rode down there so
gayly on Skatta, with Gaston by her side. He paused and reconnoitred
before venturing out into the open space. The cabins were still there,
but the pits had been coaled long since and the coal carted off.
Nothing remained to tell of that busy scene but the big black circles
in the turf, which was still green as in spring with the late mild
rains and the wash from the coal-pit bottoms.
The grass showed no sign of recent foot-falls, so Ned ventured forth
and peeped into each solitary, empty cabin. There was the straw and the
old quilts, the pieces of battered tin-ware and stumps of pipes, just
as they had been left when the last load of coal was carted off. How
still it was! Not a leaf stirred, not a solitary bird rustled among the
branches. The utter silence of the place was oppressive; earth and sky
seemed to listen.
Presently the cry of a flock of geese was heard. They were flying low,
and wearily seeking a place to rest. As they neared Wintuxet Lake, a
shot cut clear and sharp through the air and two fell swiftly, while
the V-shaped line broke in disorder.
"Sportsmen," thought Ned. "_He_ wouldn't dare to be firing guns."
As he turned away with a feeling of keen disappointment from the empty
cabins, he thought of another place, still more secluded, where it
was possible that Skatta and the thief might be hidden. This possible
hiding-place was a good mile farther on, and away from home. The sun
had already sunk low in the west, for these were the year's shortest
days.
But Ned pushed resolutely on, for somehow, with every fresh
disappointment he felt more and more certain that he was on the right
track. He made his way through the thick underbrush and over the swampy
tracts cautiously, as before. He crossed a tremulous piece of turf,
about half an acre in extent, known as "the tilting ground." It bent
under even his light weight at every step, and tradition said that
under that springing turf was a bottomless pit of liquid mud, and that
any one by chance breaking through would go on sinking till he came
out, say, at Hong-Kong, China, or some other place at the antipodes.
But Ned did not mind the springing turf; he had never really believed
the fabulous story, though he had told it to Dolly, and they had
speculated together over the probable fate of any human being who might
happen to break through. He had promised to show it to her some day.
Just as the sun had dropped below the horizon, sending up a flight of
golden arrows to the zenith by way of a farewell to the eastern world,
Ned reached his destination. This was also an old coaling ground,
though it had been years since any pits had been coaled there. The only
time Ned remembered ever being at this exact place was about a year
previous, when he went through this tract of woods with his father, in
search of a pine fit for a ship's mast. At that time the coal-cabins
were in a ruinous state; but on this day, as Ned parted the branches of
a young pine and peeped out into the open space, his eye fell upon two
comfortable cabins. The fallen slabs had been picked up and carefully
nailed in place--there were the brown stripes in the turf where they
had lain--and each cabin was thatched with branches of hemlock and
white pine.
"Treed at last!" ejaculated Ned, under his breath, and this was all
the outward expression of joy he allowed himself, though he could have
danced a jig in sheer delight. He drew quietly back into the depths of
the young pine, and reflected.
The situation was indeed a serious one. It was already sunset, as I
have said, and were he to go home at once and carry the news of his
discovery, the probability was that his father would think it unwise to
attempt Skatta's rescue and the arrest of the thief before morning--and
what might not happen between that time and morning? Before sunrise
they might both be far away. No! such risk as that was not to be
thought of for a moment. He, acting alone, could not secure both, of
course; but if he could only get Skatta, take her that night to her
young mistress safe and sound--ah! he could see Dolly's shining eyes
even through the gathering mists of the twilight as he thought of it.
_That_ was worth running a little risk for.
But how was he to do it? How was he, a mere boy, to carry her off with
safety both to her and himself, from this daring, reckless man? He
must plan with wisdom, and act with discretion and promptness. There
must be the least possible risk of detection in the act. For Ned felt,
and rightly too, that the fellow would not hesitate to fire at him,
to kill him even, as he had done Gaston, if he thought the so doing
were necessary to his own safety. Ned had accepted, as we see, without
any reservation, Dolly's theory as to _who_ the thief was--viz., the
murderer of Gaston.
While he was casting about in his mind for a plan of rescue, a man
stepped out into the opening from the woods on the opposite side. Ned
recognized him at once. It was the man with the evil eye, whom they saw
that day by the blazing pit, the man whom Dolly said had killed Gaston,
one of the meeting-house thieves. He held a gun in one hand, and from
the other hung a couple of dead geese. His was the shot, after all,
that Ned had heard. He entered one of the cabins, and presently smoke
was seen coming out of the hole in the top.
"He's getting supper," reflected Ned. "Wish I had some! Going to roast
one of those geese, I'll bet!" and Ned's mouth fairly watered at the
thought. "Oh, dear! how hungry I am! Wish I'd thought to take a couple
o' dough-nuts."
Ned's conjecture was right. The man _was_ going to have goose for
supper; for, leaving his fire to get well under way, he came out and
proceeded to pick and clean one of the geese. A cloud of downy feathers
hid him from view as he worked.
"What'd Thankful say to such a waste o' feathers," commented Ned, as he
watched the man with an interest that made him almost forget his own
perilous situation. "Oh, what a fool! He don't know anything! he's no
sportsman!" as he saw the way in which he mangled the plump, fat bird.
The process of dressing, or _undressing_--for why should we call the
pulling off of all a bird's feathers "dressing it?"--was soon ended,
and the man again vanished into the cabin. As he disappeared, Ned felt
as though he would risk almost anything just for one peep, in order to
see how he would cook the goose. "I should hang it before the fire with
a string fastened to the top of the cabin," he decided in his own mind;
for Ned was a born sportsman, and fertile in invention, as indeed most
bright boys are, for that matter.
Presently the man, having arranged his goose to his satisfaction, came
out and crossed over to the other cabin. A moment or two passed, and he
reappeared, leading Skatta--for it _was_ Skatta, though so covered with
dust, so frowzy, with wisps of dry grass clinging to coat and mane and
tail, as to look little like the sleek, glossy creature her mistress
was wont to groom daily with such loving care.
She had apparently been well fed, however, for she pranced about gayly
and seemed in the best of spirits, though she shied suggestively when
the man raised his hand or came very near her.
"The brute's been abusing her," thought Ned, and his blood boiled at
the thought.
The man led her to a spring at the edge of the woods, not far from the
spot where Ned lay in a tangle of ferns, laurel, and white pine. At
first she refused to drink, and held her head high, seemingly searching
the woods with her soft, spirited eyes. The man swore at her and kicked
her, and then she began to plunge and rear, but she subdued herself
quickly, as though knowing it was of no use to rebel. Then she bowed
her head and drank long and deeply, and as they were returning from the
spring, again her soft, spirited eyes seemed to question the shadowy
woods. Was she conscious that a friend was hidden there? Possibly.
She was led back to the cabin, and then Ned waited and waited while
the man ate his dinner and smoked his pipe. He could catch glimpses of
him through the chinks in the cabin as he moved about in the firelight,
and a delicious and tantalizing odor of broiling goose was wafted upon
the night air to the nostrils of the hungry boy.
Ned had drawn up his plan; it was a simple one, viz., to wait till the
man was sound asleep, and then make off with Skatta. It was tedious
waiting, and he sometimes felt cramped, but he dared not move lest a
rustle among the bushes--for the night was breathlessly still--might
betray him. Once or twice he came near falling asleep, but he pinched
himself awake.
The man occasionally came to the door and looked out, leaning up
against the side of the cabin, and smoking in a contemplative manner.
At such times Ned hoped he wasn't thinking about leaving that night; if
he did, what was he (Ned) to do? To see Skatta carried off from right
under his nose, as it were, he felt would be more than he could endure.
At last, however, after what seemed an interminable time, the fire in
the cabin died down and all was still. Ned waited a good while even
after that, curbing his impatience with the thought that if he should
make a movement one moment too soon all would be lost. The time seemed
to lengthen into a week, as he said afterwards, and how he did wish he
knew exactly what time it was! And what were they thinking at home
when he failed to appear at supper-time? Well, he guessed he should
surprise 'em when he did come.
At length he ventured out from his covert into the opening. It was a
clear, starlight night; the moon had not yet risen. Ned looked up.
How thoroughly comfortable and comforting was the sight of those
familiar constellations, the "Little Dipper," the "Big Dipper," and
Orion's dazzling belt! He had to pass close by the cabin wherein the
man lay asleep. He stopped an instant and listened. He heard his heavy
breathing, but even while he listened he turned restlessly in his sleep
and groaned.
Ned slipped, silently and swiftly as a ghost glides, over the space
which separated the two cabins and entered Skatta's.
"Skatta!" he whispered, warningly. He was in mortal terror lest she
should whinny when she recognized him. Not she! She had not yet lain
down, and she turned her head as he came up to her, and rubbed her nose
over his head, his shoulders, anywhere where she could reach him.
He groped for her saddle and bridle. He could ride Skatta bare-back,
with only her halter to guide her, if necessary, but he had no mind to
do that. He would take her back to Dolly "all saddled and bridled" as
she first came, if he took her at all.
Skatta stepped carefully to his leading, slipped her head promptly into
the bridle, and would doubtless have assisted with right good-will in
buckling the saddle-girths if she could, for well she knew that the
hour of her deliverance had come.
He then led her out, and mounted at once, to be ready for any
emergency. He walked her slowly over the open space towards a wood's
road which led into the country road, slowly and silently as possible,
and it was only just as they reached that road that the thief, awaking,
saw his prey escaping. He sent a pistol-shot after them, but it was too
late.
"Now, Skatta," said Ned, "as fast as you please!" and the little
creature, fresh from her week's rest, and turned towards home,
literally flew over the ground. Part of the way, the last part, they
took to the fields, the tireless Skatta leaping fences and ditches at
full speed, doing herself, in her small way, as much credit as did
Browning's famous Roland himself when he brought the good news from
Ghent to Aix.
The moon was rising over the eastern pines as they passed the
Little Madam's cottage, and as they dashed by, Ned gave a sort of
a view-halloo as a vent to his so long pent-up feelings, and the
man-in-the-moon seemed to beam upon him with more than his usual
benignity. He did not stop for the yellow chrysanthemum blossoms. Oh
no! _they_ could wait. Seen in the white moonlight, they clustered like
stars around the big flat door-stone.
A brief time and they had crossed the old muster-field, leaped the
meeting-house fence, and were in the tavern door-yard, Skatta panting
and with reeking sides, but whinnying most joyously as she caught sight
of the waiting group there. For the whole family force was out--Aunt
Anna and Uncle Harry, Cousin Kitty and the Little Madam, together with
Thankful and Betty and 'Zekle and Skipper Joe, who had arrived that
day--all shouting out a welcome and filled with wonder.
And there, too, was Dolly, flying up from her station by the
guide-post, where she had been listening to the sound of the coming
hoofs, which she had at once recognized as Skatta's, and upon whose
neck she instantly fell in a mingled transport of tears and laughter.
And just then the meeting-house clock struck nine.
There had been much anxiety at the tavern when supper-time failed to
bring Ned. He had done such a thing once or twice in his life as to go
off in company with other boys, fishing or trapping, without saying
anything about it. And this time, perhaps, he had gone down to the lake
for a shot at the geese and ducks, which were now on their passage
south. So said Uncle Harry, and so they all tried to think; and they
engaged in their usual evening occupations, or pretended to do so.
But Dolly had not been content to sit down and wait. Every few minutes
she made a raid out into the road, and looked up and down for the
missing Ned; and at last she was rewarded by the sound of Skatta's
swift-coming hoofs, and her joyous shout had brought out the whole
family, as we have seen.
Skatta, after being duly patted and petted, was led off by 'Zekle,
accompanied by Dolly--not to her old stall in the cow-barn, but to a
more secure place in the stable; and Ned was taken in to supper, which
Thankful, always practical, had kept hot and comfortable for him on the
kitchen hearth.
He refused to open his mouth, however, about the rescue of Skatta,
until Dolly, having seen her rubbed down, fed, and bedded, came in, and
then he told them all about it.
And the next morning he and Dolly, once more in happy companionship
on old Bill and Skatta, rode down and gathered the pale yellow
chrysanthemums for the Little Madam.