When Seth’s tongue was once in motion he seemed to lose all control over it. He was on the very point of divulging the secret which he had so faithfully promised to keep inviolate; but an angry glance from Bayard, and a timely pinch from his brother, cut short his words.
“We haven’t said or done anything that we are ashamed of,” declared Chase. “If you don’t like us or our ways, all you have to do is to tell us so.”
“Well, we don’t. There!” said Will.
“All right. Let’s start for Bellville, Wilson. Good-by, fellows. When you want to make up a crew next summer to pull against the Sportsman’s Club, call on somebody besides us; will you?”
Chase and Wilson sprang into their saddles and rode away, directing their course toward Mr. Bell’s house, intending to get their saddle-bags, which contained the few articles of clothing which they had brought with them from home, and return to the village without the loss of a single hour; while Bayard and his cousins, after dancing a hornpipe to show the delight they felt at the success of their stratagem, set out for the dwelling of the Frenchman, which was five miles distant. At the end of half an hour’s rapid gallop they arrived within sight of it—a double log-house, flanked by corn-cribs and negro quarters, and standing in the middle of a clearing of about two hundred acres. Here old Coulte and his sons lived isolated from everybody; and before they engaged in the more lucrative business of smuggling, they had spent their summers in superintending the cultivation of a few acres of cotton and corn, and their winters in hunting.
As Bayard and his friends approached the house a man, who was sitting in the doorway smoking a cob-pipe, arose to welcome them. It was old Coulte himself—a little dried-up, excitable Frenchman, whose form was half bent with age, but who was nevertheless as sprightly as a boy of sixteen. Bayard, who was leading the way, reined up his horse with a jerk, and having come there on business opened it at once.
“Hallo, Coulte!” he exclaimed: “you’re just the man I want to see. How’s the wind to-day?”
The Frenchman started, and removing his pipe from his mouth replied slowly and almost reluctantly, as if the words were forcing themselves out in spite of all his efforts to prevent it: “Sou’sou’-west.” Then, as if he were alarmed at what he had done, he stamped his foot on the ground, exclaiming: “Vat you know about ze wind, Meester Bayard?”
“O, that’s all right,” replied Bayard, carelessly; “I know all about it. If it is south-south-west to-day, it was north-north-east last night. Coulte, may I say a word to you in private?”
The Frenchman, who appeared to be utterly confounded, stared very hard at the boys for a moment, took his pipe out of his mouth and gave a loud whistle, then put it in again, and picking up his hat followed Bayard, who dismounted and led the way toward a corn-crib that stood at a little distance from the house. When he seated himself on the ground and motioned Coulte to a place beside him, the latter gave another whistle louder than before; and having by this means worked off a little of his astonishment, he leaned forward and placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Meester Bayard,” said he in a low, excited voice, “be you one of ze—ze—”