Taking McCabe aside, out of Mike’s hearing, Nick Robbins proceeded to unfold his scheme. It was to go over to the island, and, in the capacity of friends who came to render assistance, to so arrange affairs as to get Isabel separated from the men and thus secure her by abduction. Nick “played his hand” so skillfully as to awaken McCabe’s enthusiasm, under the influence of which he revealed his entire proceedings to secure his prize, confessing to the firing of Trafford’s house and laughing at his subsequent conduct and performances. Nick laughed with him, encouraging his confidence, and then revealed to the astonished scoundrel the fact that he, Nick, in his capacity of spy, had seen the whole proceeding, but he added:
“Now, my boy, we understand one another fully; so let us work the thing to the end. I’m with yer and the gal, an’ ef we don’t play a mighty poor hand we’ll win her yet and make the settlements howl, we will. So let’s be off at once, in Girty’s canoe, which he has left so convenient for us.”
“As you say: I’m in with you,” and soon the canoe, with the three adventurers, was out in the stream, heading for the island, openly, so that the Moreland party might see and recognize them as friends. Landing on the upper end, they cautiously explored the locality but found no trace of the party. Then Nick led the way further from the shore, into the dense undergrowth. A glade was found where the darkness was less dark, and then Nick, placing his fingers to his mouth, gave vent to a soft, tremulous whistle, as if he were signaling to some one.
This surprised Jim McCabe not a little. With a vague suspicion flashing over his mind, he was about to demand an explanation, but, before he could utter a word, he staggered backward with a gasp of dismay! There was a rushing sound in the underbrush near by, mingled with the tramp of many feet. Then there was a clamor of voices, and the next instant dark forms began to pour out of the woods on both sides, and gathered around him. Harsh voices cursed him. Rough, bearded faces were thrust close to his; words of dire meaning were hissed in his ears; eyes that spoke of vengeance gleamed upon him; and then a dozen strong hands seized him, and bore him to the earth!
There was a brief struggle; and when it was over, Jim McCabe lay helpless upon the ground, bound hand and foot!
Lying there on his back, the now thoroughly terrified villain looked up to see who his captors were. The first ones he noticed were old Kirby Kidd, and his Indian friend, Wapawah. Then, running his eyes further round the circle, he observed the twelve stalwart, well-armed men who had been sent with the emigrants as an escort, and was surprised to see that their number was not in the least diminished by the attack of the savages. Among them stood Nick Robbins, looking as cool and unconcerned as ever, with Mike Terry by his side. Apart from the crowd he saw Mr. Moreland and his amiable wife, together with their daughter, Isabel, and near them stood a never-to-be-forgotten individual in a swallow-tailed blue and high-crowned hat. It was the Yankee clock-vender, Jonathan Boggs, “all the way from Maine.”
Jim McCabe groaned aloud, and his heart sunk within him as he read his fate in the pitiless faces above him. He knew he was now known in his true character to all of these men, and that he was their prisoner!
Nick Robbins stepped out of the crowd, and, looking calmly down on the prostrate man, said: