“I believe I own more property now than I did this morning,” said Walter, when Perk ceased speaking. “I think I heard you say that if you couldn’t tie any hog that ever ran wild in Louisiana, you would make me a present of your horse. I consider the animal mine, but you may use him until you can provide yourself with another. Can any one tell what has become of Featherweight?”
No one could. Eugene said that when the hounds first discovered the wild hogs, he and the missing member were riding side by side; and that the last time he saw Featherweight he was galloping through the bushes at the top of his speed. Every one wondered what had become of him. There was plenty of room in the swamp for him to get lost, but still it was not likely that such a misfortune had befallen him, for Featherweight had hunted over the ground so often that he knew it like a book. Bab suggested that it would be a good plan for some one to sound a horn, and Eugene did so; but no response came. Again and again the horn was blown, and finally they heard an answer, but it was not such as they expected. It was the shrill neigh of a horse which rang through the swamps at short intervals, and came nearer and nearer every moment. The Club began to look at one another rather anxiously; and when at last a riderless pony—Featherweight’s pony—burst from the bushes and galloped up to the place where their own horses were standing, the boys were really alarmed. Something had certainly happened to their friend; but whether he had been thrown from his horse or had met with some more serious trouble, they had no means of judging.
“We must start in search of him at once,” said Walter. “Cuff,” he added, addressing himself to the negro who at that moment drove up with the cart in which lay the two wild hogs, securely bound; “tie that horse behind your wagon, take him to the house with you, and tell father that Fred Craven is missing, and that we are looking for him. If we are not at home before dark he will know what detains us.”
The boys did not reach home before dark. It was long after midnight when they entered their room and sat down before the fire to dry their clothes, which were covered with mud; and they did not bring Featherweight with them, and neither had he come home during their absence. Bright and early the next morning they renewed their search, accompanied by Mr. Gaylord, Uncle Dick, and some of the negroes. As they were riding through the quarters they met the old servant whose duty it was to feed and take care of the hounds, and he told them that Featherweight’s dog had come home during the night all cut to pieces, and so weak from loss of blood that he could scarcely stand. He declared that the mischief had been done by a wild hog, and expressed the fear that Featherweight might have been injured also. The boys were greatly terrified by this piece of news. They went to the kennels to look at the hound, which had been wrapped up in blankets and tended as carefully as though he were a human being, and then set out for the woods.
They rode all that day, and not only did they fail to find Featherweight, but they did not see anybody until about three o’clock in the afternoon. Then Walter and Perk, who had separated from the others, came suddenly upon some one they did not expect to see. It was Wilson, but at first they did not know him. His hands and face were as black as a negro’s, his clothing was torn and covered with soot, and, taken altogether, he was the worst-looking boy they had ever seen. They saw at a glance that he had been in close quarters somewhere.
CHAPTER VI.
BAYARD’S PLANS.
An angrier boy than Bayard Bell was, when he leaped his horse over the fence and rode away from the thicket, which had so nearly been the scene of a desperate conflict between his followers and the members of the Sportsman’s Club, was never seen anywhere. He told himself over and over again that Walter Gaylord had insulted him (although how he had done so, it would have puzzled a sensible boy to determine), and declared that he had done it for the last time, and that he had put up with his meanness just as long as he could. Although Perk had said, almost in so many words, that he was willing and even eager to fight, and Bab, Eugene and Featherweight had shown by their actions that they were ready to stand by their friend to the last, Bayard did not waste a thought upon them, but laid all the blame upon Walter, who had conducted himself like a young gentleman during the whole interview, and kept himself in the back-ground as much as possible. The reason for this was, that Bayard had long ago learned to hate Walter most cordially; and the cause of this hatred was the latter’s popularity among the students at the Academy. Bayard, like many a boy of our acquaintance, desired to be first in everything. He wanted the students to look up to him and treat him with respect, and yet he was not willing to make any exertions to bring about this state of affairs. Besides being stingy and unaccommodating, he showed his tyrannical disposition at every opportunity, and then wondered why he had so few friends. Walter, on the other hand, was modest and unassuming, never tried to push himself forward, was always polite to his companions, and would put himself to any amount of trouble to do a favor for one of them. The result was that, with the exception of a few congenial spirits whom Bayard had gathered about him, the boys all liked him, and showed it by every means in their power. The more Bayard thought of it the angrier he became.
“They’re conceited upstarts, the whole lot of them,” said he, turning around in his saddle to face his companions, who were galloping along behind him. “It’s lucky for them that Mr. Gaylord and those niggers came up just as they did, for I was going to punch some of them.”