My success emboldened me. One man was harmless even if he made an outcry but I still walked cautiously, trying to locate the "still" house in the cave. I was confronted with a collection of uprooted stumps, a circular barricade, but in a moment I caught the slightest flicker of light. I was sure then, and moved silently along toward the layout. I knew there must be an entrance, and I now plainly detected the fumes of charcoal and the mash tub. The next thing in order was to get inside.
Following the circle of stumps I came to the entrance, a ditch that led down to the floor level of the place. Time was speeding and I was afraid the stupified sentinel might awaken and give an alarm. Silently I worked up to a narrow door crudely made of upright board planks. Big cracks enabled me to see the interior. There were two men. The older was sitting asleep against the wall, the younger man moving about. I could see his outline plainly by the light of a candle. His figure seemed familiar. He opened the furnace door to put more charcoal under the still—I could see his face. Howard Byng! His hair was long again, his face, smooth when I last saw it, was now covered with a bushy black beard. God only knows how I regretted the work ahead of me. If I had only declined this job! The thought brought a cold sweat.
CHAPTER III
My shock at seeing Howard Byng in such a place was distinctly depressing. My soul cried out for the boy for whom I had formed a strong attachment and I leaned against the narrow ditch entrance for a moment, overcome. There are pigeon holes in our memories for every sort of information, the pleasant things and the unpleasant. I had placed Howard Byng in a warm, honest, hopeful compartment, and to suddenly learn that I had warmed a viper produced a conflict of emotions. They seemed a jangle of sharp, ear-splitting sounds, as hammers played upon steel to produce discord. I was overcome for the moment. I felt Howard Byng had done me a personal wrong as I vividly recalled again his honest, fearless, cordial gaze, when he bade me good-bye. I had looked into his eyes and felt sure he was clean; I knew he had a big, tender heart. Now he had gone back, and worse—he had become a notorious outlaw and I—I was to take him, dead or alive.
This went through my mind in seconds. How far was I to blame for not wanting to take that boy with me there and then? I could let him escape, but the law—it must be fulfilled. I could not neglect my duty to the state. I don't mind confessing personal ambition, pride and love of adventure; and for audacity and boldness, this Federal violation had no equal. I wanted this to be my last and best work for the Excise Department before I was transferred to the Counterfeit Division.
It doesn't affect Howard Byng's history much how I let off a stick of dynamite on one side of the establishment, and by a flare of light took both men chained to their drunken sentinel in their own boat with the copper "still" and a dozen or more jugs of moonshine for evidence. Another heavy charge of explosive left a deep hole where the "still" house stood.
My prisoners were sullen and uttered no sound. They knew their prison days were at hand. I put them in their own boat, towing mine, and hurried quickly down the creek to the river. Though manacled hand and foot and chained to a cleet, I felt none too safe.
I knew Howard Byng was powerful, likely cunning and treacherous now, and the strain was considerable. Three o'clock in the morning I passed the old camp ground. The night packet, due at the county seat early in the morning, was landing at the big plant when I got there. Why not get my prisoners aboard it and be sure?