Carl was almost driven to despair by the indifference of these men and the time wasted in discussion. He could have hugged the grim and bony Stackridge when he saw him make a decided move at last. Three others volunteered to accompany them. The cask was once more rolled away from the entrance, and one by one they crept quickly through the passage into the first cellar.
Stackridge preceded the rest, to see that the way was clear. There was no one at the bar; the door leading into the shop was closed; and Carl, following the four men, passed out by a long entry communicating with the street, the door of which was thrown open to the public on occasions when there was a great rush to Jim's bar, but which was fastened this night by a latch that could be lifted only from the inside.
IV.
A SEARCH FOR THE MISSING.
The academy was situated in a retired spot, half a mile out of the village. Stackridge and his party were soon pushing rapidly towards it along the dark, unfrequented road. Carl ran on before, leading the way to the scene of the lynching.
The place was deserted and silent. Only the cold wind swept the bleak wood-side, making melancholy moans among the trees. Overhead shone the stars, lighting dimly the desolation of the ground.
"Now, where's yer tar-and-feathering party?" said Stackridge. "See here, Dutchy! ye hain't been foolin' us, have ye?"
"I vish it vas notting but fooling!" said Carl, full of distress, fearing the worst. "We have come too late. The willains have took him off."
"Feathers, men!" muttered Stackridge, picking up something from beneath his feet. "The boy's right! Now, which way have they gone?—that's the question."