CHAPTER IV.
A SHARP GIRL.
The sun rose as usual the next morning, and Jeffries was awakened by its rays peeping through his door; he rubbed his eyes, then sat upright.
“Wal, old yeller-face;” he addressed Old Sol. “Yer’ve cotched a weasel asleep this yer time, fur a fact. Wal, I’ll be durned! a-sleeping at sun-up! Bob Jeffries, this yer won’t do; won’t go down; it’s a lazy trick.”
He arose, stretched himself, and called out:
“Hullo, in thar! you napping, too, gal? Heigho! arise! wake up! go ter the ant, thou sluggard, etc., etc. Katie, Kitty, Puss, Tabby, wake up!”
He received no reply; he called again:
“Come, Kate, come! it’s time to get up.”
Still he received no reply; he marveled, for she was generally up and about before he was, and once calling was sufficient. He opened the door and looked in, dreading some evil.
What was his surprise at not seeing her there. He was alarmed.
The bed had been occupied, but her clothing was gone, together with her own self; the window was open, and she had left by that means of egress.
This he knew, for to have gone out by the door she must have disturbed him, as the door opened outward, and he lay directly before it. She had gone out by the window.
He rushed to it, and looked out. She was not in sight; he became alarmed in good earnest, and went hurriedly out of doors into the open air.
He went directly to the house or cabin of the nearest settler, Josh Dunbar, hoping to find her there. Hettie Dunbar was a sweet young girl, Katie’s bosom friend, and their cabin was a favorite resort of Katie’s.
Hattie came to the door at his approach, and smiled gayly at him, not noticing his disturbed appearance.
“Have you seen Katie this morning? is she here?” he asked, hurriedly.
“Katie? Why no. I haven’t seen her since yesterday afternoon. What is the matter?”
“I dunno, I dunno. I’m afraid suthin’s wrong; she ain’t at the house.”
“Oh, she’s gone out awhile, perhaps, before breakfast,” suggested Hettie.
“No, she ain’t—she don’t hev no time ter go a-walkin’ afore breakfast; she allus gets it herself.”
“Are you sure she is not at the house?”
“Sartain, sartain. She clim’ out the winder, ter boot.”
“Climbed out the window!”
“Yes; thar’s suthin’ wrong. But p’r’aps she’s at some of the other houses,” he added, with a faint glimmer of hope.
“She can not be, for I have been up ever since daylight, working at the window. If she had stirred from the house I surely should have noticed her. She has not left it since daylight.”
“It’s mighty strange—mighty strange! she never went off so before,” said the anxious father, gloomily.
“Hello! what’s the matter with you, Jeffries?” echoed a stentorian voice, close at hand. Jeffries turned.
It was Josh Dunbar, coming around the house. He was a sturdy, stalwart man of forty or thereabouts, good-humored and jolly, with the eye of a hawk, the arm of a blacksmith, and the leg of a savage, and like Jeffries, a widower. He had just been milking and evidently drinking the tempting fluid on the sly, too, for his bristling mustache was suspiciously creamy.
“What’s the matter with you?” he reiterated.
“Father, Katie has suddenly disappeared, very strangely and Mr. Jeffries is much alarmed.”
“Disappeared?”
“Yes; nothing has been seen of her since last night. She is not at home.”
“Hoh! she’s at some of the neighbors’.”
“No, she is not. I have been here ever since daybreak, and no one has left the house.”
“Ha!” and Dunbar started.
“What’s the matter?” asked Jeffries. The other came forward with a grave, solemn face, and laid his hand on his shoulder, quietly.
“See here, Rob, I’ll not beat about the bush, but will out with it. Last night, about midnight, I was awake, and as I lay quiet, I heard what I thought was an Indian yell, away down the creek. I got up and looked out the window. The moon was shining very bright, and all was still as the grave. As I stood looking, I saw something small and white glance for an instant close to your house, then a bright red light shine down by Hans’ cabin. Thinks I, something’s brewing, and I watched, but I saw nothing more. But I heard somebody away down, it seemed like, in Dead-Man’s Forest, say these words in a far-away voice:
“‘Take care! beware!’”
Jeffries started. “That voice!” he exclaimed, uneasily.
“What, did you hear it, too?”
“Go on!” and Jeffries gestured impatiently.
Dunbar stared, but went on. “It was the strangest voice I ever heard, and I can’t give any reason for it, but a cold chill ran over me, and I felt for my gun. It was a voice from the grave.”
He stopped short, and Hettie turned pale. Jeffries gave a gesture of irritation.
“Go on!” he said.
“In a few moments, say ten minutes, I saw, or imagined I saw, a dark object moving rapidly down the hill. Part of it was black, part white. I only saw it for about five seconds, when it vanished, and all was quiet again.
“I waited for some time, then, seeing no more, went back to bed, wondering. Just as I was falling asleep, I felt a draft of air pass over me, and looked up. Though seeing nothing, I was sure that a presence was near me—a thing felt, but not seen.”
He stopped, and drew Hettie protectingly to him, and grasped Jeffries’ hand.
“Now, my daughter, I don’t want to alarm you, but though I could not hear it, something seemed, ay, said:
“Trouble in Shadow Swamp—take care!”
Jeffries looked uneasy and seriously alarmed, while Hettie grew very white. Dunbar watched them both steadily, then said:
“Now, what I think is this.”
Jeffries stopped him.
“Hold! I’ve suthin’ ter say, too. It’s all about thet rascal, Danforth—thet galish feller.”
Then he related the events of the evening before; the meeting of the lovers; the quarrel between Danforth and Walter; the latter’s defeat, and the former’s disappearance; and concluded in a low, earnest tone:
“I was a-huntin’ for the villain, and was down by Hans’ cabin, whar he stops, when suthin’ said, ’pears like away off in the night:
“‘Yer air a-treadin’ on dangerous ground! tek keer, tek keer!’
“Wal, thet voice seemed so far away like, I kedn’t tell whar it was; but as I war thinkin’, it kim ag’in, clost ter my ears, loud an’ peart, right from the bunch of willows jist above the cabin. Thinkin’ it must be Danforth hisself, I beat ’em all through, spendin’ an hour at it; but it was no go. Then, hafe scared, I kim home. Dunbar, thar’s suthin’ wrong.”
“I am afraid there is, my friend, very apprehensive. I have always given Dead-Man’s Forest a wide berth since the red-skins have been about, but I think the best thing we can do is to search in it at once for Katie—for it’s my opinion you’ll find her there.”
“That’s so, sartain. She ain’t ter hum, an’ whar she is no one knows. Great God, whar’s my pooty little gal, my little pet?” And Jeffries buried his face in his hands.
“Courage, my friend!” said his friend, kindly. “Courage, perhaps we are mistaken—perhaps something strange though not of evil might have turned up. Hettie, run to Sol Jacobs and give the alarm. Tell them to spread the men around while I go down to Hans Winkler’s cabin to see him. Gather the whole settlement and send a swift lad for Cato the Creeper—we’ll find her soon.”
Hettie sped away toward the distant cabins, making her white, bewitching ankles fly over the ground; she loved Katie dearly, and, with a woman’s lightning wit, suspected the true state of the case.
Once she had been strolling about on the border of the wood, and had overseen Danforth in close confab with a trio of villainous, desperate-looking men, all armed to the teeth. Then, again, she had seen him exchange significant glances with Cato, whom she cordially suspected of evil.
To use an uncouth but forcible phrase, Hettie was “nobody’s fool.” She linked several suspicious events, and by a little shrewd guessing picked Danforth to pieces.
Though naturally penetrating and keen, she was under the influence of the great sense-sharpener—Cupid, and was thoroughly in love with gay, handsome Captain Downing. She loved him with an ardent, whole-souled love, and could have gainsayed him in nothing. Fortunate for her it was that the unscrupulous robber did not know of her passion for him—very fortunate; for he would have caused her bitter misery. She well knew his impulsive temperament, and avoided him, knowing that to see him were only to give her love another impetus.
Stop and consider what this backwoods girl was doing, and see what a heroine she was. Cognizant of Downing’s ardent love for Katie, conscious he did not love her, knowing Katie was her successful rival, she was deliberately doing all she could to protect and save her—she who had unwillingly outstripped her in the love of the beautiful bandit—to organize a party for the apprehension and punishment of her idolized hero, though it would almost be her death-blow to see him disgraced and punished.
You see she was a very extraordinary girl—this young backwoods maid.
She soon arrived at the cabin of Sol Jacobs, and hurriedly entering told them of the story. Old Sol heard her through, heard her suspicions, conjectures and fears, then turned sharply to his son, a stalwart young fellow of twenty who would have died for Hettie, being devotedly attached to her.
“Arouse the settlement, Eben!” he said, “and make your pins fly too. Tell every man that little Katie has disappeared suddenly! that’ll bring ’em together short meter.”
Eben sprung away while Hettie lingered with the women, who, cackling all at once, plied her with questions. Old Sol took down his gun and rubbed the dust off the barrel.
The news flew like wildfire about the little settlement. Men frowned and quietly took their rifles from their pegs. Young men swore an oath or so, then clenched their teeth, and baring their arms, watched their brawny muscles as they swelled with the arm’s rise and fall. Then they clutched their guns, and uniting together, clamored to start in pursuit.
The elders, though quite as resolved and more worthy and reliable than their juniors, were men of experience, and never moved rashly, always looking before leaping. They assembled the youngers, and all uniting started for Jeffries’ cabin.
They had gone but a short distance when they discovered three forms approaching by Winkler’s cabin. They halted and waited for them on receiving a signal to that effect.
They were Cato, Eben Jacobs, and Walter Ridgely, the latter walking unsteadily. His head was bound up in Eben’s scarlet handkerchief and his face was livid and white. His eyes were bruised and purple and his nose was defaced. He was too angry and chagrined to control his anger, but allowed it free scope. The result was that he was in a dangerous state of mind.
They gathered round him, plying him with questions, which he answered moodily.
He had been walking, he said, through the spur of forest when he felt a rustle behind him, and turning had seen a man with uplifted bludgeon directly behind him. He tried to avoid the impending blow but too late; the cudgel descended squarely upon his head, and he knew no more until morning, an hour or so since, when he was stumbled upon by Eben, on his way to Cato’s cabin.
When asked if he recognized his would-be assassin he replied in the negative. But he was sure that it was not Danforth. He was a much larger man, being almost a giant.
Murmurs of indignation and menaces rose from the settlers, old and young. They had long suspected the depths of the grim forest were the haunts of evil men, and they were now sure of the fact. They were rapidly believing that quiet Danforth too was not what he should be, but was connected in some way with Katie’s disappearance, all being aware of last night’s events.
Walter was frantic when told of her sudden and strange absence, and sick with fear and doubt, raved to be gone in hot search. In this he was seconded by Jeffries, who was scarcely less alarmed and distracted. Accordingly, hasty arrangements were made; officers and scouts were chosen; Cato, the Creeper, stood ready to fix upon any trail, trace or mark; and the hearts of the whole band beat as one.
Every man was armed to the teeth, and what was better, was buoyed by the sense of being in the right—a weapon far more potent than the steadiest rifle, the deadliest pistol, or keenest knife ever made.
Place two men of equal strength and agility upon an open field to combat, one being in the right and the other in the wrong. It will surprise you to see how soon the former will defeat his antagonist. This is solid truth.
Sol Jacobs was chosen chief, as being an old Kentucky Indian-fighter. The next in command was Jeffries. The scouts and flankers were the keenest, sharpest young men in the settlement, under the supervision of Cato, the Creeper.
Before long they were wending their way down the hill toward the forest, Cato grinning with delight, the only agreeable person in the party. The women stood by the little block-house watching them depart; and though many feminine hearts were sad, none were so heavy and torn as the virgin one of sweet Hettie Dunbar, watching with red, swollen eyes, the departure of cunning, earnest men, to bring to harm her lover.
In a few moments they were out of sight, and the women went back to their cabins sorrowfully. But Hettie mounted the narrow ladder in the block-house and sat drearily alone, sadly waiting, trembling lest at any moment she should see her heart’s idol brought back wounded or dying, and in disgrace and shame.