The Sportsman's Club in the Saddle

by Harry Castlemon

Chase picked up his outfit and followed his captors, who, after loading themselves with various articles, which they thought they might need during the voyage, led the way across the clearing at a rapid walk, keeping a bright lookout on all sides to make sure that there was no one observing their movements.

About ten minutes after they left the house, an incident happened there that would have greatly astonished Pierre and his father, could they have witnessed it. At one side of the room in which happened the events that we have just attempted to describe, was an immense fire-place. The lower part of it was built of logs and lined with mud, which had been baked until it was as hard as a rock. The upper part—that is, the chimney—was built of sticks, and was also plastered with mud, both inside and out. As the chimney had been standing nearly ten years it was in a very dilapidated state, and leaned away from the house as though it meant to fall over every moment. Near the top were several holes which had been made by the sticks burning out and falling into the fire-place; and had Coulte and his son thought to look up at the chimney when they left the house, they would have found that some of these holes were filled with objects they had never seen there before. One of them looked very much like the toe of a heavy boot; and at another opening, about five feet nearer the top, was something that might have been taken for a black hat with three holes cut in it. But it was not a black hat; it was something else.

Shortly after Chase and his captors had disappeared in the woods, this dilapidated structure began to rock and groan in the most alarming manner. Huge cakes of mud fell down into the fire, and had there been any one in the room at the time he would have said that there was some heavy body working its way down the chimney. Presently a pair of boots appeared below the mouth of the fire-place, then a portion of a pair of trowsers, next the skirts of an overcoat, and at last a human figure dropped down among the smouldering coals, and with one jump reached the middle of the floor, where it stood stamping its feet to shake off the sparks of fire that clung to them, pounding its clothes, scattering a cloud of soot about the room, and gasping for breath. It was Leonard Wilson, but he did not look much like the neatly-dressed young fellow who had entered that room but a short half-hour before.

When Wilson found that Pierre had returned, the first place he thought of was the chimney, which he believed offered the best chances for concealment. He did not like to enter it, for there was considerable wood on the hearth; it was all in a blaze, and he was afraid to trust himself among the flames; but when he heard the door groaning under the furious blows of the axe, he knew that he had no alternative—he must brave the flames or submit to capture. He saw Chase dive under the bed, and after waiting a moment to screw up his courage, he bounded lightly across the floor and sprang into the fire-place. He did not linger there an instant—if he had, he must have been burned or suffocated, for the flames leaped around his high top-boots, and the smoke ascended so thick and fast that it was impossible to obtain even the smallest breath of air—but mounted at once into the chimney, and placing his back against one side and his knees against the other, quickly worked his way as near the top as his broad shoulders would allow him to go. As it happened there were two holes about half way up the chimney, which were just large enough to admit the toes of his boots; and by forcing a foot into each, and placing his face to another opening nearer the top, he was able to hold his position without the outlay of a great deal of strength, and to obtain all the fresh air he needed. The flimsy old chimney swayed like a tree in a gale of wind as he was ascending it, and threatened to topple over with him every instant; but it maintained its upright position in spite of his additional weight, and afforded him as perfect a concealment as he could have asked for. But, for all that, he was glad when he saw Coulte and his son disappear in the woods, and felt still more at his ease when he found himself safe out of his smoky hiding-place, and standing in the middle of the room.

“Another close shave,” panted Wilson, pulling out his handkerchief and clearing his eyes of the dust and soot. “I put myself in danger for nothing, for Chase is still a prisoner. I know what I shall do now: I’ll go straight to Walter Gaylord and tell him everything that has happened. Perhaps he won’t be very glad to see me after all the mean things I have been guilty of, but I can’t help it.”

Wilson’s Unexpected Appearance.

Wilson pulled off his overcoat and thumped it energetically, beat his slouch hat on the table, wiped his face with his handkerchief, and having thus made a little improvement in his personal appearance, he hurried out into the hall to look for his gun, which he had laid at the foot of the ladder before entering the room. He did not expect to recover it, and consequently was not much disappointed when he found that it was gone. Knowing that Coulte or Pierre had taken charge of the weapon, he did not waste time in looking for it. He stopped long enough to shake his fist at the woods where the two men had disappeared, and to utter the fervent hope that the thief would be knocked heels overhead by the gun the first time he fired it; and then jumping down the steps drew a bee-line across the clearing toward the canebrake where he had left his horse. He carried his coats on his arm, ready to drop them and put himself in light running order in case he saw Pierre or Bayard Bell and his cousins approaching; and not until he reached the cover of the woods did he regard his escape as accomplished. He found the horses near the place where he had camped the night before, and when he had saddled and bridled both of them, he mounted his own steed and rode off at a gallop, followed by Chase’s nag, which kept close behind. Taking the shortest course to Mr. Gaylord’s house, which lay through the thickest part of the woods, he went at a break-neck pace, leaping his horse over logs and fences, dashing through thickets of briers and cane that seemed almost impassable, and came at last to the bayou on the banks of which he had halted with his companions the day before to eat his lunch. As he turned down the stream toward the ford, his attention was attracted by a commotion in the bushes on the opposite shore, and in a few seconds Walter Gaylord and Phil Perkins dashed into view. They pulled up their horses when they discovered Wilson, and after gazing at his black face and hands for a moment, Perk called out:

“Now just listen to me and I’ll ask you a question; have you turned chimney-sweep?”

“No,” replied Wilson. “I’ve been in a chimney; but I didn’t stop to sweep it out. I’d like to talk to you fellows a few minutes.” He had been impatient to find Walter and his friends, but now that he was in their presence he wished that the interview might have been postponed a little longer. He did not feel at all uneasy concerning the reception he was likely to meet at their hands, for he knew that they were young gentlemen, and above taking a cowardly revenge on any one; but he was ashamed of the manner in which he had conducted himself toward them, and did not want to be obliged to look them in the face.