When the cave began to brighten in the ruddy light from the fire which our two worthies had set vigorously going, Mr. Lane climbed down from his rocky bed and crept carefully toward the door. There he stood for some time where he could observe the men without running any risk of being seen. What a strange, weird sight! They looked like ghosts as they passed to and from the glowing furnace, and their shadows leaped and danced along the walls. Simpson fed the fire and brought the mash, while the Tinker looked after the still and watched the pipes which conducted off the whisky. The sheriff grew so interested in the work that he almost forgot the object of his coming. Were he to seize the men now he could certainly swear that he had captured Tom the Tinker while the latter was making whisky; yet everything seemed so quiet and peaceable that he could with difficulty force himself to begin his disagreeable task. Still now was the time for action. He drew his revolvers and stepped quickly toward the two men.
Imagine the surprise of Simpson and the Tinker when they beheld the giant sheriff stalking forth from the room which they had examined but a few minutes before, his long arms turned menacingly toward them, and his stentorian voice calling on them to surrender. He seemed to them a huge spectre, not a living man. On he came with giant strides, until his revolvers were pointed into their very faces.
"Who are you?" demanded Tom the Tinker, with a show of courage.
"I reckon it don't matter much who I am," replied the sheriff, "but I know who you are. Louis Bowen, you are my prisoner."
CHAPTER XXV.
OFF TO THE CAVE.
On the evening of the third day after the departure of Mr. Lane from the Howard's, Owen was busy at the hand-mill cutting oats for the stock, when Uncle Pius came hobbling into the barn shaking his head in a most mysterious way.
"I know'd it, I know'd it," he muttered, in a low tone, while with solemn steps he paced up and down the barn floor.
"What did you know?" asked Owen, as he made the mill-wheel twirl and buzz, pretending not to be in the least interested in what the old negro had said.