“Of course I will. Can you bring that tub of yours alongside?”
They could and they did. The sails were hauled down instantly, the oars were manned and the flat-boat was hauled over and made fast to the stern of the steamer’s tow. Then the general went on board the steamer to explain matters to Captain Pratt, while the boys lingered to look after the safety of the sail-boat. Having tied her to one of the barges so that she would ride easily, they followed the general on board the “B,” and seated themselves on the quarter-deck to talk over the exciting events of the night. Every one of them gave Don Gordon great credit for what he had done. If he had not been sharp enough to see guilt in Dan Evans’s face and actions, there was no knowing when the robbers would have been captured.
“Young gemmen,” said the negro steward, “won’t you step into de cabin an’ hab a bite of lunch? You mus’ be hungry after your long, cold ride.”
The boys were hungry and cold, too, although they did not know it until that moment. They did ample justice to the steward’s lunch, and also to his breakfast which was served at seven o’clock. At eight they passed Rochdale, and half an hour later they cast loose from the tow and began the work of pulling their clumsy prize and its occupants to the landing.
The “hue and cry” which the constable had raised the night before had brought the loafers and the neighboring planters out in full force, and there was a large crowd to welcome them as they went ashore with their prisoners. As there was no place in Rochdale in which the robbers could be confined, the preliminary examination was held at once, the women being tried as accessories. They all pleaded guilty—(as there were ten witnesses present who could testify that the stolen mail was found in their possession, and David Evans easily identified them by their clothing, they could not do otherwise)—and half an hour later they were on their way to the county-seat, where they were to be kept in jail until their trial came off. When they and their guards were out of sight, General Gordon and his party, which included David Evans and his father, got into the sail-boat and started for the lake.
“I didn’t see Lester and Dan anywhere,” said Bert, when the sail-boat had been made fast to the jetty, and David and Godfrey had started for home. “I wonder if they have taken to the woods.”
“I should think they would want to go there or somewhere else,” replied Don. “But if Judge Packard thinks their presence necessary when the trial comes off, he can easily find means to make them show themselves. Godfrey won’t sleep soundly until he gets his hand on Dan’s collar. That boy will have to work hard now to make amends for what he has done.”
The boys spent an hour or two in the house, giving Mrs. Gordon and her daughters a graphic account of their night’s experience, and then set out for the shooting-box, where a cordial welcome and a hot dinner awaited them. Old Cuff had passed the night in a fever of suspense; but, like the faithful fellow he was, he stuck to his post, and held himself in readiness to defend the cabin with the aid of the hounds and a big club. If Barlow and his friends had tried to burn it, as one of them had threatened to do, they would have got themselves into business.
The incidents we have just described were by no means the only interesting or exciting ones that happened while Egan, Curtis and Hopkins remained at the shooting-box. The boys shot water-fowl until they were tired of the sport, and frequently entertained their friends, both male and female, who came over to see how they were getting on. They drove the ridges for deer, hunted wild turkeys and ate many a dinner of quails that Hopkins shot for them over Don Gordon’s pointers. It was a fortunate thing for David Evans that Hopkins got lost the first time he went quail hunting, for the story he told and the results that came of it, effectually silenced those who had hoped to prove that David stole the mail himself.
The days flew on, and in a short time—it seemed a very short time to all of them—Don’s guests began to talk of going home. They all dreaded the separation, for they had become very much attached to one another. “But it won’t be for any great length of time, fellows,” said Curtis. “The members of our happy family will all come together again on the fifteenth of January—all except Fred and Joe, and I really wish they were coming too—and the next time we go hunting it will be in the wilds of Maine. I can’t promise that we shall have a chase after mail-robbers, but I may be able to show you a moose, and you Southerners will have a chance to try your hands at something that will be entirely new to you—I mean fly-fishing. We shall have just enough of that to let you see what a five or six-pound trout can do when he makes up his mind to fight. I assure you that I shall try by every means in my power to make your sojourn with me as pleasant as you have made my visit here.”