The Wilderness Fugitives Part 17

Five minutes from the time Ned Clinton spoke the last words to the settler, the latter was the only one within the cavern who possessed his senses. In the far corner scarcely visible in the dim light of the place, reclined the lovely Rosa, and nearer, in full view, were stretched the forms of her two friends--all handsome and attractive, but as helpless as so many babes.

For a brief while after the slumber of the whites had come upon them, Worrell, the straggling farmer, sat near the entrance of the cavern, the stone which served as a door being partly drawn aside, so that a flood of light made its way through, and fell directly on his countenance. It was a curious scene--the three unconscious forms, while the fourth was wider awake than ever. He was sitting at the very entrance, the light which streamed in striking him in such a way that all was in shadow excepting his hat, shoulders, and face. The slouched head-gear was thrown back, showing a low forehead, while the hair that lay in matted and spiked ma.s.ses on and around his crown was of a grizzled brown color--that which dangled from beneath his hat when he met the young scouts being of as fiery a red as were the whiskers themselves.

So curious an exhibition proved that it was never done by the hand of nature! The whiskers themselves looked genuine, until a movement of the hand caused a displacement, such as could not have taken place, had they been attached to the face by a natural growth.

The man muttered impatiently, glanced toward the sleeping forms of the youths, and drew back into the shadow until he could set all right again. Then, satisfied that they were in too deep slumber to notice his actions, he leaned forward, throwing his head and shoulders into the sunlight as before. And why sat he there so close to the opening of the cavern? Was it that he might the better hear the sound of danger when it came that way? Was it that he meant that his ward and watch should be as faithful as if it were his own loved ones whom he was guarding against the approach of wolves or ravening beasts? It might be all this--it might be otherwise.

A few more minutes pa.s.sed, and he turned and looked toward the young men with a piercing, penetrating glance, as if something aroused his suspicion. He did not stir as he p.r.o.nounced the name of Ned Clinton in quite a loud voice, repeating it several times, and doing the same in the case of Jo Minturn. The slumber of both was too deep to be disturbed by such trivial causes, and he received no answer.

"I don't believe they're playing possum," he muttered to himself, staring distrustfully toward them. "But it won't do to make any blunder right here."

To prevent any error, he rose softly and walked to where they were sleeping. Brief listening told him that their regular breathing was not feigned, but he leaned over and shook each in turn by the shoulder, p.r.o.nouncing their names in louder tones than before. The slumber continued undisturbed. A muttered exclamation escaped the man again, one expressive of pleasure at the discovery.

"They'll sleep till to-morrow morning if n.o.body comes along to wake 'em up. The trouble is with that deuced Mohawk, who has a way of turning up just when he isn't wanted. But I don't think he'll get a chance to put his finger in this pie."

He looked over in the gloom toward the corner where he could catch the outlines of the head of Rosa Minturn, as it rested against a large stone. Then he appeared to be of the opinion that the time had come for action of some kind. He moved to the cavern door but did not stay there; with scarcely a pause, he stooped down and speedily placed himself on the outside of the mountain retreat.

CHAPTER XXVII.

WHAT DOES IT ALL MEAN?

As soon as Worrell found himself on the outside of the cavern, he walked rapidly for a hundred yards or so, taking a direction at right angles to that which he followed when conducting the fugitives to the retreat. His gait became almost a run until he reached an elevation, when he paused, as if to make a survey of a portion of the country spread out below him.

"The sun is almost overhead," he muttered, as he looked up to the sky with an impatient expression, "and I am all of an hour behind time, but this is one of them things that can't be fixed just as you want it, and I don't see why it should make any difference."

He was gazing at the section which lay spread out at his feet, and was between him and the Susquehanna. His eyes first roved in a quick, restless way over the broad stretch of woods and clearings, as if seeking for some object upon which to rest. At the end of a few minutes, his gaze became fixed upon a place where stood a small house in the middle of a clearing. It evidently belonged to one of the settlers in the Wyoming valley, who had been smitten with the panic which drove so many from their homes, and had fled without taking any of his stock with him, or destroying his property to prevent it falling into the hands of the enemy.

The manner of Worrell showed that he awaited some person or signal in connection with this house, but he was disappointed. The tomb itself could not have been more deserted and desolate, and he gazed until sure there was nothing on or about it which was intended for his eye.

"That's the way it always is," he muttered. "I have got everything fixed just as I promised, and now they turn up missing at the very time they ought to be on hand. I suppose I've got to hunt 'em up, and that may take me till dark, by which time that Mohawk will put in his oar."

He spent a few more minutes searching for something which did not appear. Then he advanced to a small tree that grew on the edge of the open s.p.a.ce where he had halted, and drawing a large red handkerchief from his pocket, bent down a small sapling and tied the silk to it. As the little tree flew back to its upright position, there was enough breeze to make the signal rise and float in the wind. The man stood off a few paces, and watched it.

"I can't improve on that," he said to himself. "If they will only look this way, they can't help seeing it, and it will tell the story; but the trouble is, there is no knowing when they will take the trouble to look this way. Faugh! why didn't they leave the whole thing to me? It would have been ended by this time, and there would have been no after-clap, but this waiting and bother is what will upset the whole arrangement unless they come up to time better than they are likely to do."

Impatient as he was, he was obliged to content himself, while he kept an unremitting watch on the house and its surroundings, occasionally giving vent to his feelings by a series of expletives. In fact, Worrell, who now showed himself to himself, as it may be said, was altogether a less prepossessing character than the one who had so kindly conducted the fugitives to the hiding-place in the woods, and bidden them sleep while he watched over their slumbers. Suddenly he started. He had discerned something for which he was waiting. Moving to the edge of the open s.p.a.ce, he gazed with the keenness of one whose life depended upon making no mistake as to what he saw. The house which engaged so much of his attention was a quarter of a mile distant. The wonder was how he distinguished anything so far off with enough certainty to determine its character; but he had done so.

"Better late than never," he muttered; "though it looked awhile ago as if it was to be never. Yes," he added, a moment after, "they are there, and it won't take them long to find out that I am here."

So it proved; for, in a few minutes there was an answering signal waving from an upper window of the house in the form of a handkerchief of a white color, swung by the hand of a man instead of the wind, as in the former case.

"I don't know as there's any use of my waiting any longer," he growled, "for I don't s'pose they'll come to me, and I may as well go to them, for there is no telling where that infernal Mohawk is. I wouldn't meet him for all the Colonel Butlers that ever breathed. He is the devil himself, and I prefer to keep out of his path."

Impressed with the value of time, the man gripped the sapling and swung it violently, so as to make the red handkerchief wave in the breeze.

Then he started down the mountain, taking a direction which led him straight toward the house in which he had shown so much interest from the first. All the way was down-hill, and Worrell walked like one accustomed to the woods, making such good time that at the end of ten minutes he was with the parties whom he was anxious to see and meet. Who were they?

Six Indians, under the charge of Captain Bagley, who has already been introduced to our readers.

A glance at the painted warriors showed they were Iroquois, who were following so vigilantly the fugitives that had managed to elude them thus far. Bagley emerged from the house and shook hands with Worrell, the two at once entering into a hurried conversation, while the Indians, in accordance with their nature, stood apart, saying nothing to each other, but satisfied to wait till the time should come for them to act in obedience to the orders of their leader. Something was wrong, for Bagley and Worrell continued talking a long time, each earnest and abounding with gesture. As might be supposed, it was Lena-Wingo, the Mohawk, that had caused the trouble. Several of the warriors had seen him in another direction, and an encounter of some kind had taken place between the celebrated scout and the Iroquois, with the result that Colonel Butler had now two less men than before.

Captain Bagley was of the opinion that the half dozen with him were insufficient to enter the cave and secure the fugitives sleeping there.

He wanted about as many more before making the attempt. Worrell insisted there should be no delay. The three were in sound slumber, and all they had to do was to enter the cavern, take possession of their arms, and then the trio themselves. Captain Bagley's objection to this was that because of the time that had elapsed, they would not be found asleep when his men arrived there.

Furthermore, from what his informant told him, he was confident the Mohawk would reach the cavern ahead of them, in which event it would be vain to attack them with only six Indians and two white men, even though these eight were among the bravest soldiers that had entered the Wyoming valley. It was folly, in his opinion, to try such a task without a force that would insure success from the first. Worrell, however, was as vehement for an immediate advance, insisting that all that was needed was promptness. A liberal reward had been promised him, and would a.s.suredly be his if his plan was carried to a successful completion. At last, his importunity prevailed when he promised to be the first one to enter the cavern, and the start was made.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

UP AND DOING.

Worrell, the traitor, had been gone nearly an hour from the cavern in which the three fugitives were sleeping, when Rosa Minturn awoke, no doubt because she was not so much in need of sleep as the others, and held a lingering suspicion of the loyalty of the man who had brought them to the retreat. This distrust went to sleep with her, but it is a peculiarity of the mind that the emotions which have been with us through our waking hours frequently remain with us when we are wrapped in slumber. It is as if the innumerable train that is forever wending its way through the mysterious labyrinths of the brain repeats the procession, and those which affected us the most strongly when in command of our senses often do the same when we are unconscious. But without stopping to consider the question, suffice it to say that at the time mentioned Rosa opened her eyes in full possession of her faculties, and with the impression that the man Worrell was an enemy instead of a friend.

She did not move at first, supposing he was still within the cavern; but, as she peered cautiously around the dimly lighted s.p.a.ce, she saw only the forms of her two sleeping friends. The fact at once deepened the suspicion, and caused her great distress of mind, for all doubt of the hostility of the man was removed upon making the discovery. Still she supposed it possible that he was close at hand, and waited several minutes to see whether he reappeared; but her condition of mind was such that every second of delay caused her increasing uneasiness.

"I am sure he has gone to tell Colonel Butler and the Indians where we are," she said to herself, as she rose and walked to where her brother was asleep.

Stooping over, she shook him by the shoulder until he opened his eyes and, recognizing her, asked what the matter was.

"That man has gone."

"Where has he gone?"

"To tell the Indians we are here!"

Jo sprang to his feet.

"What are you talking about, Rosa? What do you mean?"

"Just as I say; he has gone to bring the Indians, and will soon be back, too."

"How do you know that?"

"Don't ask me, but I _know_ what I say."

This was alarming news, and though Jo suspected his sister based all upon her dislike of the man, without positive knowledge of the facts, yet he was impressed with the belief that she had good cause for her words.

"He may be on the outside, keeping watch," said the youth, after they had talked over the matter. "Wait till I take a look. If he can't be found, we'll awake Ned."

Jo crept out of the cavern dreading a hostile shot as he did so, and made as thorough an examination of the surroundings as was possible. He saw nothing of the man whom they missed, that individual at that moment being a quarter of a mile or more away, holding his vehement argument with Captain Bagley about the advance with the six Iroquois upon the sleeping fugitives. His invisibility confirmed the young man in his misgivings as to the treachery of the man.

"I have no doubt Rosa is right," he muttered, as he walked thoughtfully back toward the cavern. "She was always quick to detect anything like that, and it is strange that neither Ned nor I had any such thought. The only thing that troubled us was whether we could convince Lena-Wingo we did right in leaving the place where he left us. The thought never entered our heads that there was anything of this kind in the wind."