The Sportsman's Club in the Saddle

by Harry Castlemon

“Now just look at that!” exclaimed the boy, indignantly, gazing after his hound which was retreating precipitately through the cane, with his sides bleeding from several ugly-looking wounds made by the long teeth of the wild hog. “That puts an end to your hunting for a month or two, my fine fellow; perhaps for ever. I’ll capture that hog now if I have to follow him for a week. I’ll try to tire him out and ride him down; and if I can’t do that, I’ll head him off and turn him back toward the old bee-tree, so that some of the other dogs can have a chance at him.”

Featherweight, knowing that his wounded favorite would make the best of his way to Mr. Gaylord’s house, and that when he arrived there he would receive every attention from Uncle Jim, the old negro who had charge of the hounds, once more put spurs to his pony and dashed through the cane in hot pursuit of the hog. He did not follow directly after him, but gradually turned off to the left of the trail, hoping to pass him and compel him to turn back in the direction from which he had come.

How long the chase continued Featherweight could not have told. The rapid pace soon began to tell upon the pony, which showed a desire to settle down into a slow gallop; but the hog went ahead as swiftly as ever. As the boy had eyes and ears for nothing except the game he was pursuing, he did not know in what direction he was going or where he was, until he discovered an opening through the trees in front of him, and came suddenly upon the bank of the cove where the smugglers’ schooner was hidden. He thought he must be close upon the hog now, for, just as he drew rein, he heard a rustling among the bushes a little distance off; but had he investigated the manner, he would have found that the noise was not occasioned by the wild hog, but by Bayard Bell and his cousins, who were concealed behind a log, watching his movements.

The sight of a schooner hidden away among the bushes in that lonely place was a most unexpected one to the eyes of the young hunter, and speedily drove all thought of the game out of his mind. He could not account for her presence there, and the longer he looked at her the more he wondered, and the more surprised he became. He ran his eye all over the vessel, noting the fine points about her that had so deeply interested Bayard Bell, but he could not discover anything that looked familiar, and he was finally obliged to conclude that he never had seen her before.

“I’ve lost the hog,” said Featherweight to himself, gazing all around him to see if there were any of the crew of the vessel in sight, “but I’ve found a schooner. Who owns her? Who brought her here? Where are the men who belong to her, and why is she hidden away in this cove? I can’t see any one about her,” he added, seizing a branch above his head and standing erect in his saddle to obtain a view of her deck. “Yes, sir; she’s deserted, and here’s her yawl lying on the shore. Now, that’s lucky. I’ll just step aboard and examine into things a little.”

As Featherweight said this he hitched his pony to a limb of the tree, sprang to the ground, and in a few seconds more was pushing the yawl through the bushes toward the schooner. Had he gone around the stern and looked in at one of the windows—the curtains were raised now—he would have seen that the vessel was not deserted, and that there were four men there engaged in consultation: but he pulled straight toward the bow, and after making the yawl’s painter fast to the bobstay, sprang over the rail and looked about him. He could see no one. He listened, but could hear nothing, for the door leading into the cabin was closed, thus shutting out the sound of the conversation carried on by the captain and his men. Stepping to the forehatch he looked down into the hold, and the first, object that caught his eye was a lighted lantern, standing at the foot of the ladder—the same one Bayard had used during his interview with the prisoner.

“That’s the very thing I need,” said Featherweight, as he descended into the hold. “I will look all over this craft now, and see if I can find something to tell me what she is and where she belongs. Suppose she should prove to be a private yacht, whose owner has come up here with a party of friends to go deer-hunting? If they should return suddenly and find me prowling about, they might not like it. Perhaps it would teach them that it is a good plan to leave a watch on board a vessel.”

The first thing Featherweight noticed when he reached the bottom of the ladder was, that for a vessel the size of the schooner, her hold was very shallow. He could scarcely stand erect in it. He was surprised at this, and he would have been still more surprised if he had known that the floor of the hold was provided with a fore, main and after hatchway, like the deck above, and that they led down into a second hold—the real hold of the vessel, in fact—which was nearly as large as the one in which he was then standing. He learned all about that, however, and about a good many other things, before he got through with the schooner. If he had known all that was to happen to him before he put his foot on shore again, he would have got out of that vessel without the loss of a single instant.

The hold was empty, and Featherweight did not see anything to attract his attention until he crawled through a narrow passage-way that led around the forecastle to the extreme forward part of the vessel. There he discovered a locker, and the key was in the door. Little dreaming what was on the other side of that door, he turned the key, and holding his lantern above his head looked into the room. He was not easily frightened, but he saw something that made the cold chills creep all over him, and caused him to utter a cry of alarm and stagger back into the hold as if some one had struck him a blow. It was a pale, haggard face which looked at him over the top of a coil of rope. He did not see anything familiar in it, but he recognised the voice which asked in indignant tones: