CHAPTER VI.
A DOUBLE BRIBE.
The pursuing and searching party wound swiftly into Dead-Man’s Forest, with Cato the Creeper in advance. He strode boldly along, whistling and singing jovially, though keeping a sharp eye upon every thicket and matted copse. In addition to his razor, he carried a huge knotted bludgeon which he trailed along the ground. When fairly in the shades of the forest, he commenced a favorite melody, with great gusto:
“Jawbone walkin’, Jawbone talkin’,
Jawbone eat with a knife an’ fork:
Jawbone broke an’ de marrow—”
“Dry up!” sternly ordered Sol, the leader. “Don’t yer know thar’s Injuns skulkin’ round? let alone the gang of rascals I know hide in these yer thickets. Ef yer don’t yer’d oughter.”
“Golly, Mars’r Jacobs, I’ve done prowled ’round these yer woods fur dis long time an’ I done never see’d any gang. Ef thar was one, ole Cato’d know it, shore.”
“Curse me ef I don’t believe you do,” mentally declared Jacobs. “I guess I’ll keep an eye on the nigger.”
They were in a small glade. Stopping short, Jacobs turned and faced the men, who halted and gathered about him. After thinking a moment, he said:
“Now, boys, yer’ve pretty much made up yer minds how little Katie got lost, ain’t yer?”
An expressive grunt was his answer.
“Wal, ’cordin’ ter Dutch Joe, this yer Danforth ain’t what he should be, an’ it’s my opinion he’s in some way or t’other, got suthin’ ter do with it. Them yer sentiments, boys?”
“Ay, ay!” and “you bet!” were his emphatic answers.
“Now, Dutch Joe is rayther cracked, but he’s right smart on common things. He’s told me, time an’ ag’in, that he seen Danforth paddlin’ on Shadow Swamp pond, with a lot of hang-dog men, armed ter the teeth. Now, yer know thar’s been sev’ral chaps gone in this timber that’ve never b’en seen ter come out. Blood, too, has been diskivered. Most every one has heerd yells come from this yer timber when these yer chaps war in it—yells of terror. Boys, yer know old Sol Jacobs has fou’t Injuns and knows a thing or two; and yer know he’s no person’s fool eyther. Wal, puttin’ this, that, and t’other together, it’s my opinion this yer Danforth is in cohoots with a gang of robbers, and that whar he is at, the pretty little Katie is.”
Several exclamations came from the men—groans from Walter and Jeffries, threats from the young men, and murmurs of assent from the elders.
“Wal, now, ter get little Katie back ag’in, we must find Danforth. Ter do that we must hev a trailer who knows the woods and who kin foller a blind trail. The best fellur fur that biz in the outfit is Cato, here; and though I know he’ll work fur nuthin’, still he’ll work a durned sight faster and surer with suthin’ in view—pay, p’r’aps.”
“Golly, Mars’r Jacobs, yer done speak de truf dat time, shore,” and the negro grinned in anticipation.
“Now, boys, what’ll yer give ef he does his duty, whether we find her or not? Fur one, I’ll throw in a dozen beaver-skins. Come, boys, shell out!”
They did so, giving liberally of their scanty store of backwoods paraphernalia. One gave a gun, another a foundered pony, a vicious Bronco; another promised a small keg of liquor; another gave a set of beaver-traps; while Walter and her father, in their grief and anxiety, promised all their earthly possessions if she were returned to them unharmed.
After this no time was lost. Eager for the search to begin in earnest, anxious to recover the pet of the settlement, burning to meet and vanquish the supposed gang of robbers, the men, one and all, clamored to be led on.
Cato, who had been grinning from ear to ear during the discussion, now desired to be left to himself, assuring them he would soon find a trail on which to fasten. Then all would be easy.
“Wal, go on!” said Sol, impatiently. “No one’s hindering yer.”
Cato answered by gliding off into the “bush” at a rapid, sneaking shamble. Eben followed him closely. The negro turned, half angrily:
“Mars’r Eben, ef dis yer niggah’s gwine ter pick out de trail, he must be left ter hisself, shore. Kain’t work when any pusson’s ’round.”
“I’ve got orders ter foller yer,” answered the young man.
Cato dropped his hands to his sides.
“Wal, den, dis yer niggah’s done give up de job, fo’ shore. Kain’t do nuthin’ while pusson’s round tramping up de ground. It must be cl’ar.”
The young man laid his hand significantly on his gun.
“Go on!” he sternly commanded.
“Golly, Mars’r Eben! yer don’t shoot dis yer niggah?”
“You bet I will ef yer don’t dust around lively. Time’s scarce; move on!”
“Dat I will; dat I will!” surlily answered Cato. “Mars’r Eben, dis niggah done go on. Call ’em all ’long! brung de hull pack! skreech an’ yell all yer want! it don’t make no difference ter Cato!”
“You threaten, do yer, yer black rascal? Well, this I’ll say: ef yer play us false, watch out fur a bullet.”
“Golly, Mars’r Eben! dis chile nebber cheats. Fo’ shore I find um trail berry soon.”
“Well, what d’ye stand there for? Curse yer, why don’t yer go on?”
“Move on! Move on!” came in a high, warning voice close by, in the opposite direction from where the party were grouped, watching their movements. It proceeded from a dense thicket near at hand.
“Hullo! who said that?” asked Eben, in surprise. The negro turned yellow, and his teeth chattered with fear. He was thoroughly alarmed.
“Golly, Mars’r Eben!” he stammered, staring toward the thicket. “Did yer hear dat?”
“Of course I heard it! what was it?”
“Oh, golly, mars’r! dis chile’s dead an’ done buried.”
“It was a man’s voice. I will go and see who it is.”
The negro stopped him as he was moving away, grasping him firmly by the arm.
“Don’t go, mars’r; stay heah! Dat am de Obeah man.”
“Pshaw!”
“Yas, mars’r, I’se done offen heerd um. Obeah man no like ter be pestered. Mars’r Eben, yer’se done gone dead ef yer goes thar.”
“Let me go! take your hand off! ef ye air afeard I’m not. I’m goin’ ter see who ’tis.”
He shook the negro off, and, followed by the party, who hearing the voice had drawn near, plunged into the thicket, save Jeffries, who, with his superstitions revived, stayed behind. Walter in his frantic zeal was first. Darting into the thick “bush” he forced his way through the matted hazel bushes, eying vigilantly every twig. The rest dispersed themselves through the adjoining thickets and he was left to himself. Hearing a rustle close by he sprung toward it and imagined he caught a sudden glimpse of a misshapen form swiftly retreating.
The form was white as snow and was that, apparently, of a hunchback. For a moment only was it visible, then it vanished, and a horrible, low, hollow chuckle rung mockingly out. He darted after in close pursuit, but was brought to a stand by a matted grape-vine, which stood an impenetrable barrier directly in his path. Knowing from experience he could not penetrate it he was forced to retreat and take a circuitous path around it. He was very much surprised, for the figure had glided through as easily as if he had been a snake.
He was some minutes in returning to it, and when he got there he was satisfied that hot pursuit would be in vain; he must fasten on the trail. Being familiar with this art, he stood perfectly still and peered at the ground. It was soft, and his own foot-marks were distinctly visible, but they were the only ones. But he went down on his knees and crept about, earnestly watching for any indentation which might lead to the discovery of the trail. But his search was in vain—no other beside his footsteps marred the earth.
Then he examined the adjacent twigs and bushes to see if they were disturbed in any manner by his passage. Then he examined the grape-vine. Neither were barked or bruised in any way and had not been touched. According to their evidence (at any time or place reliable) no one had passed by.
Now he was indeed surprised. He had, with his own eyes, seen the hunchback disappear through the vines. He had heard him chuckle mockingly, and he remarked the sound was most hideous and unearthly. Whoever he was, he was most sly and foxy, and had left no trail. He was, ere this, entirely beyond his reach.
For a moment, a feeling of evil came over him. Here he was in Dead-Man’s Forest, in its gloomy depths. He had seen, he knew not what; he had heard it mock him derisively; he was opposed by a strange, invisible foe; and he was somewhat alarmed, and greatly astonished, at its mysterious disappearance. But, he was not one to stand and wonder at marvelous things; he was a young man of great energy, and almost distracted with grief, was impatient at delay and in a hot fever to go on. He raised his voice and called to Cato; he would surely find a trail.
“Cato! oh, Cato!”
No answer. He could hear at a little distance the rustle of bushes and the breaking of twigs; like himself, his comrades were ferreting about in pursuit of the strange intruder. Now and then, one would exclaim suddenly, then relax into silence; then a low whisper would reach his ears from an ardent pair close by.
“Cato! where are you?”
An owl close by, awakened from his midday nap by the unusual clamor, screamed and laughed:
“Hoot, hoo! who, who—who are you?”
“Confound the bird! I can’t hear for his cursed noise. Cato! oh, Cato!”
“Ha! hoo! hum! Polly cook for we all, who cooks for you all?” screamed the owl.
To one bred in a city the noise would have sounded like a person speaking the above words with a mouth full of pebbles; but he was acquainted with the sound and was incensed at the uproar.
“Cato, come here, you are wanted; here is ‘sign.’”
“Who’s that callin’?” asked some one close by.
“Walt Ridgely. I want Cato.”
The man took up the cry, and hallooed:
“Come hyar, ye blasted nigger; ye’r’ dee-sired.”
But no answer came. Walter, incensed, made his way back to the glade where they were standing when the cry was heard. When he got there he found it deserted. Thinking the negro was away on a scout, he hallooed to the searching men to bring him back. They did so, calling loudly. But no answering halloo was heard.
The frontiersmen, thinking an important discovery had been made, came back, and soon all were re-assembled, plying Walter with questions. He related the occurrence, and their faculties aroused, part of them went away into the woods to recover the missing negro, leaving the father and lover well-nigh distracted at the delay.
In half an hour (which seemed an age to the latter) they all came back, vowing vengeance; the negro had deserted. Brought to a stand-still, they cursed and growled some, then entered into a council of war.
Cato, on being left to himself, had taken advantage of the moment, and sped away at full speed toward Shadow Swamp, distant about three miles. Arriving there, he gave his own peculiar whistle for the captain, who soon appeared on the edge of the island.
The negro signaled him to cross. The captain disappeared, then appeared paddling toward him. He drew up by the projecting log on which the negro was standing, and demanded:
“What is wanted?”
“Dey’s trailin’ yer, Mars’r Cap’n; dey’s all in a fiah ’bout yer; dey’s gwine ter cotch yer an’ string yer up.”
“Who? What do you mean?”
“De squatters—dey’s a-huntin’ yer.”
“What! do they suspect?”
“Yas, mars’r—an’ dey ain’t fur wrong, hi, yi!” and he laughed uproariously.
“Hold your tongue, you blockhead! do you want to be discovered? How far are they away?”
“’Bout t’ree mile.”
“Are they on the trail?”
“No, sar, mars’r, no, sar. Dem fellahs kain’t foller trail—psho!” and he turned up his flat nose in contempt.
“Don’t be too sure, Cato; there are sharp men, old Indian-fighters, among them. We must be vigilant—very wary. How came they to suspect me?”
“Dunno, sar. Foun’ ’em red-hot dis mornin’, all bunched up reddy ter foller on de trail. Trail! dem fellahs! sho!”
“Did you speak to them?”
“Speak to ’em? Golly, Mars’r Cap’n, I’se de fellah dat is leadin’ ’em; I’se de fellah dat am gwine ter fotch ’em right hyar ter der Shadder Swamp!”
The captain whipped out a revolver.
“So you are, are you? Then you live,”—cocking the weapon and aiming it at the negro’s head—“then you live just one half of a second longer.”
The negro threw up his hands in alarm, and yellow with fear, gasped out:
“G-g-golly, Mars’r Cap’n, I’se done—I’se wrong.”
“Wrong? Mind your speech! Ha! don’t you dare to move or I’ll pepper you! Now, you villain, tell me what you mean.”
He was in a dangerous state of mind, as could be told by the ferocious smile he wore. Cato, knowing him well, was alarmed.
“Golly, sar—Mars’r Cap’n; I’se done mistaken, I’se—”
“Out with it!”
“I’se yer—yer—de fr’end ob de cappen’s.”
“None of your gasconade, I won’t hear a word of it! Come, out with your lie!”
“I done mean ter say I’se a-foolin’.”
“Fooling?”
“Yas, sar; I’se de fr’end ob de cap’n.”
“Trifler!”
“Hold on, mars’r; don’t shoot. I’se de enemy ob de fellahs!”
“What fellows?”
“De squatters—de Regumlators! I’se blindin’ ’em.”
“You mean to say you are pulling wool over their eyes?”
“Dat’s it, mars’r—I’se pullin’ hull bales ob wool ober ’em.”
“And that you mean to mislead them? to pretend to trail me, and take them out of the neighborhood?”
“Dat am a fac’! Hi!
“‘Jawbone walkin’, jawbone—’”
“Be quiet. Did they give you any thing for it?”
As he said this he belted the revolver, and Cato grew easier. His eyes gleamed at the prospect of double pay, as he knew the captain would give largely to avoid apprehension.
“Yas, mars’r,” answered the black; “dey done gib me heaps ob t’ings.”
“What?”
“Debblish peart pony, big gun, beaver-traps, farms, houses, lots ob cows—”
“You trifle with me, do you?” demanded the captain, with a wicked smile.
Cato became nervous again.
“No, mars’r, I’se speaks de truf! De young fellah, Waltah, an’ de ole man, done sed dey’d gib me de hull t’ing—farms, cows, de houses, de hosses—”
“Oh, they are anxious, then; well, I suppose you will endeavor to earn your reward?”
“No, sar! I gits hafe ob it anyhow, an’ de other am on de job.”
“Soho! Well, you are a fine sort of fellow, Cato, to be sure. Won’t you take something?” and he drew a flask from his pocket.
The negro took it eagerly, and put it to his lips, rolling his eyes in ecstasy as the fiery liquid gurgled down his throat. Now the captain could do any thing with him.
“Now, Cato,” he continued, “you have always been a faithful fellow, and have never been sufficiently rewarded. Now if you will mislead them thoroughly—mind, thoroughly—I will give you, not foolish weapons, or land which you will never use, but money—yellow money.”
Cato’s eyes rolled. The captain went on:
“How would you like a hundred dollars, Cato—a hundred yellow dollars? You will be rich, Cato.”
“Golly, Mars’r Cap’n! whew! one hun’ud dollars! golly, sar, I’se do it right good fur dat much. Hi! den Cato am gwine back inter ole Missip’, ‘a berry rich niggah.’”
“I am glad you are satisfied. It is indeed an immense sum—very large. But, Fink is calling me—I must go. Now, just do your duty by me and you will get your money and be a rich man. Now off with you!”
He waved his hand, and Cato, grinning with delight, scudded away at full speed, very unlike his usual lazy pace. Downing saw him vanish in a thick “brush,” then embarked in the “dug-out” and paddled back to the island.