“You have learnt one of the first arts of the soldier, I see,” said Vance. “There can be no harm in your taking that amount. Now let me frankly tell you what I conceive to be our chief, if not our only hazard. My venerable friend, here, Winslow, was compelled, a few hours since, in the discharge of his duty, to give very dire offence to Mr. Carberry Ratcliff, of whom we all have heard. Knowing the man as I do, I am of opinion that his first step on parting with our friend would be to put spies on his track, with the view of preventing his departure or concealment. Mr. Winslow thinks Ratcliff could not have had time to do this. Perhaps; but there’s a chance my venerable friend is mistaken, and against that contingency I wish to be on my guard. You see I take in my hand this lasso, and this small cylindrical piece of wood, padded with india-rubber at either end. Three of us, I presume, have revolvers; but I hope we shall have no present use for them. You, Mr. Winslow, will go first and enter the carriage; Kenrick and I will follow at ten or a dozen paces, and you, Onslow, will bring up the rear. In your soldier’s overcoat, and with your carpet-bag, it will be supposed you are merely going out to pass the night at the armory.”
While this conversation was going on, Peek had dismounted from the driver’s seat. He had taken the precaution to cover both the horses and the carriage with oil-cloth, apparently as a protection against the rain, but really to prevent an identification. No sooner had his feet touched the side-walk, than a man carrying a bludgeon stepped up to him and said, “Whose turn-out have you here, darkey?”
“Dis am massa’s turn-out, an’ nobody else’s, sure,” said Peek, disguising his voice.
“Well, who’s massa?”
“Massa’s de owner ob dis carriage. Thar, yer’v got it. So dry up, ole feller!”
The inquirer tried to roll up the oil-cloth to get a sight of the panel. Peek interposed, telling him to stand off. The man raised his bludgeon and threatened to strike. Peek’s first impulse was to disarm him and choke him into silence, but, fearing the least noise might bring other officers to the spot, he prudently abstained. Just at this moment, Winslow issued from the side door of the hotel, and was about to enter the carriage, when the detective who had succeeded in rolling up the covering of the panel till he could see the coat-of-arms, politely stopped the old man, and begged permission to look at him closely by the gaslight, remarking that he had orders from head-quarters to arrest a certain suspected party.
“Pooh! Everybody in New Orleans knows me,” said Winslow.
“I can’t help that, sir,” said the detective, laying his hand on the old man’s shoulder, “I must insist on your letting—”
Before the speaker could finish his sentence, his arms were pinioned from behind by a lasso, and he was jerked back so as to lose his balance. But one articulation escaped from his lips, and that was half smothered in his throat. “O’Gorman!” he cried, calling to one of his companions; but before he could repeat the cry, a gag was inserted in his mouth, and he was lifted into the carriage and there held with a power that speedily taught him how useless was resistance.
Kenrick made Peek and Onslow acquainted, and these two sprang on to the driver’s seat. The rest of the party took their places inside.