Pierre left the cabin, and his father raised the trap-door and went down into the cellar to take another look at the prisoner. He tightened up a little on the ropes with which he was confined, and when he went out of the cellar he piled the bureau, table and all the chairs upon the door so that it could not be raised from below. Having thus, as he thought, put it out of Chase’s power to ascend out of the cellar, even if he succeeded in freeing his hands and feet, Coulte locked the door of the house and joined Pierre, who stood with a sail on one shoulder and a pair of oars on the other, ready to start for the bayou where the pirogue lay.
Pierre little dreamed how near he came to discovering something, while he was securing the sail and oars that belonged to the pirogue. They were kept in one of the corn-cribs—a log building about twenty feet long and fifteen feet high, which was filled with corn in the ear to a level with the eaves. A ladder on the outside of the building led up to a small door ten feet from the ground. As Pierre mounted this ladder he was surprised to see that the door, which he was always careful to keep closed, was ajar; and when he reached in to get the sail he found that, instead of being rolled up as it was when he left it, it was spread out over the corn. He thought, too, that the sail had increased wonderfully in weight since the last time he handled it, for it was all he could do to pull it out of the crib. But he got it at last, and the oars too; and after closing and fastening the door he backed down the ladder to the ground.
No sooner had the sound of his footsteps died away than a boy, who was snugly hidden among the corn, lifted a very pale face and turned it towards the door, and after picking up his hat, which had been knocked off his head by the sail when Pierre drew it out of the crib, cautiously raised himself to a sitting posture, and waited to recover from the fright he had sustained. He listened intently all the while, and having satisfied himself at last that Pierre did not intend to return to the crib, he crept carefully over the corn to the opposite end of the building, and, looking out between the logs, saw him and his father disappear in the woods on the opposite side of the clearing.
“Now, that’s what I call a close shave,” said he, drawing a long breath. “I’d give something to know what they would have done with me if they had found me here. That fellow who pulled the sail off me is one of those who attacked us last night in Mr. Gaylord’s yard. I know him, if he hasn’t got his pea-jacket and tarpaulin on. I wonder where they are going, and whether or not they will be away long enough for me to do something for Chase.”
It was Leonard Wilson who spoke. Instead of riding straight for Bellville, as Chase hoped and believed he would, he had loitered about in the woods all night, turning over in his mind a hundred wild schemes for assisting his distressed friend, and at no time had he been more than five miles away from him.
The last we saw of Wilson, he was riding down the road post-haste, eager to put a safe distance between himself and the double-barrelled pistol that one of Chase’s captors drew from his pocket. After he had run his horse a few hundred yards it occurred to him that he was exhibiting anything but a courageous spirit by deserting his companion in that inglorious manner, when he had a gun slung at his back, both barrels of which were heavily loaded with buckshot. As this thought passed through his mind, he pulled up his horse with a jerk, and being determined to make same amends for his cowardly behavior, faced about and went tearing down the road towards the gate, unslinging and cocking his gun as he went. It was his intention to ride boldly into the yard, level his double-barrel at the heads of Chase’s assailants, and demand his immediate release; but the plan was conceived a little too late in the day to be successfully carried out; for when he reached the gate, he found that both Chase and his captors had disappeared.
“Never mind,” soliloquized Wilson, who thought that he understood the matter as well as though it had been explained to him; “I am not beaten yet. Those two fellows are Coulte’s boys, and they have made a mistake and captured Chase instead of Walter Gaylord. But they shan’t keep him long. Bayard said yesterday that Coulte is very much afraid of the law, and I’ll test the truth of that assertion the first thing to-morrow morning. If I catch the old fellow by himself, I will tell him if he doesn’t have Chase set at liberty, I will lodge him in jail in less than two hours. I ought to go to his house this very night, and I would, if I were not afraid that I should find his boys there. I should not dare to threaten them for fear they might not scare as easily as the old man.”
While these thoughts were passing through Wilson’s mind he was riding along the road toward the residence of the old Frenchman, still closely followed by Chase’s horse, which galloped after him like a dog. He approached as near the house as he dared, and then halted in a little ravine and set about making himself comfortable for the night. He started a fire with the flint and steel he always carried in the pocket of his shooting-jacket, built a blind to protect him from the cold north wind that was blowing, hobbled the horses and turned them loose in the cane to graze, and after collecting a supply of fire-wood, sufficient to last until morning, he scraped together a pile of leaves to serve as a bed, pulled his overcoat over him and tried to go to sleep. But that was a matter of some difficulty. The recollections of the exciting events of the day, and his anxiety concerning the success of his plans for effecting Chase’s release, banished sleep for the better part of the night, and it was four o’clock before he closed his eyes.
He awoke just as the sun was rising, and as soon as his eyes were fairly open he was on his feet making preparations for visiting the old Frenchman’s house. He pulled on his overcoat, slung his gun over his shoulder, and stood for some minutes looking first at his saddle and bridle which lay on the ground near him, and then toward the cane, where he could hear his horse browsing, debating in his mind whether he had better ride or walk. He finally decided on the latter course. His first care must be to ascertain whether or not Coulte was at home, and if so if he was alone; and, in order to accomplish this, he must approach as near the cabin as he could without being discovered. If he went on horseback, he would certainly be seen by any one who might happen to be in the house before he was half way across the clearing; but if he went on foot, he could make use of every tree and stump to cover his approach. Having settled this point, Wilson set off at a brisk walk, and in half an hour more was concealed in one of the old Frenchman’s corn-cribs waiting to see what would turn up. He found the house deserted, Coulte having started off at the first peep of day to visit the schooner, and ascertain how his boys have succeeded in their efforts to capture Walter Gaylord.
“I don’t know where the old fellow has gone,” said Wilson to himself, taking up a position in the crib from which he could see every part of the house, “but there is one thing certain, and that is that he can’t remain away for ever. I’ll stay here and wait for him. If he comes back alone I will go out and speak to him; but if his boys come with him I’ll keep close. The wind blows cold through these cracks, but this sail will serve me as an extra overcoat.”