Uncle Pius continued to rehearse his story, changing and distorting facts at each successive repetition. Owen scarcely hearing what the old man said; his mind was too busily engaged in working out a plan of action. As soon as he had made his decision he released his grasp upon the handle of the mill, seized a large willow basket, quickly distributed the oats in the troughs for the horses, leaped from the barn door and ran toward the house. It was lucky for him that he met no one, for his face was flushed with excitement. He took his coat and the pistol which he had won at the shooting-match; passing through the kitchen he thrust a few crusts of bread into his pocket, then dashed off again toward the barn. On his way he met Uncle Pius, who made an ineffectual effort to stop Owen and give him a more detailed account of old Bowen and the cave.
Five minutes later when the old negro saw the boy riding at a breakneck speed across the field toward Martin Cooper's, he shook his head ominously and muttered, "Dat chile am goin' to do somethin' awful. I jes' knows he is!" He had enkindled a fire, but could not quench the flame.
Martin was at supper, but on hearing Owen's familiar call, he went out to the stile-block in front of the yard-gate. The two boys exchanged a few words, and Martin caught his friend's enthusiasm at once. They were not boys who acted without the knowledge and consent of their parents; but on this occasion they were borne away by a sudden impulse and excitement. They consulted no one; they asked no one's permission. In less time than it takes to describe their movements, they had galloped off and disappeared in the gloom of the forest.
The cave! how often had the boys spoken of it, and thought of it, and dreamed of it during the past months! How the secret to which they had pledged themselves burned within their breasts! How they had longed to wander once more through its weird and mazy passages, its dim-lit vaults!
The cave! To enter it in the full light of day, and with the assurance that all was safe within—even this would have been an adventure for the boys—one that past recollections would have clothed with romance. But to penetrate it at night, to stand face to face before a villain whom ill-fortune had made desperate, to rescue Mr. Lane and make old Bowen a prisoner—all this caused the boys' blood to tingle in their veins. Yet it was not the excitement that comes of fear! True, they had quailed before the danger on that October night when Stayford had threatened them with death; but now that friendship called them, with beating hearts and firm resolve they pressed on without a falter.
The cave! Nearer and nearer the boys came to it. At first they spurred their horses and raced along the narrow path by the river bank, but when darkness had enveloped the forest their progress was slow. With difficulty the horses kept the winding road. Dark it was; yet light enough to see the dog-wood, as its long, white branches swayed to and fro in the evening breeze, and appeared like ghosts moving among the shadows of the thick Spring foliage. A hawk darted from a neighboring evergreen, screaming as it flew.
The cave! The boys were close to it now. They dismounted, and noiselessly threaded their way among the underbrush, and up the uneven hillside. There were the two giant rocks which stood as sentries near the entrance.
The cave! All was silent without; no sound was heard from within. Slowly! slowly! noiselessly! The heavy stone door was reached.
When Louis Bowen felt the powerful grip of the sheriff, he made no effort to resist, but permitted himself to be bound hand and foot. Simpson, too, yielded without a struggle, and before they had time to realize what had happened, the two men were helpless prisoners.