Читать книгу The Bandits of the Osage - Emerson Bennett - Страница 5

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THE STORM—THE KIDNAPPERS.

Although Bernard approached the cave with a firm step, apparently indifferent as to what might be therein concealed, yet it must be admitted there were feelings within his breast strangely at variance with his calm, unmoved exterior. Twice he seemed on the point of coming to a halt, but then, as though actuated by some counteracting feeling, he strode steadily onward, and was soon standing at the entrance. It was now fast growing dark, for the coming storm had considerably advanced the night, and although the sun had barely set, objects at but a little distance appeared dim and indistinct, save when thrown into bold relief, for a moment, by some vivid flash of lightning, when, as if to repair the error, they apparently sunk into a deeper gloom than ever.

Casting a hasty glance behind him, and perceiving his companion close at hand, Bernard motioned him to silence, and had cautiously began his entrance, when a hurried exclamation from the other caused him to look around, and seeing him gazing steadily towards the west, he turned his eyes in that direction, and soon became transfixed as though by a spell.

We have already remarked it was growing dark, but below the gloom had deepened into night, which lay like a pall along the valley, into which even the lightning, as it played along the tops of the trees with a lurid glare, seemed unable to penetrate. But the scene higher up was what had caught and riveted the attention of our travelers.

Just over the summit of another hill, towards the west, was a white misty streak, which lay spread along the horizon, like in appearance a bank of snow seen through a fog, above which awful black clouds were rolling, and tumbling, and twisting themselves into the most angry shapes possible — belching forth their forked tongues of lightning—seeming like some dark and mighty spirits of the etherial, enraged, and charging with all Heaven's artillery against this nether world. During the intervals between each clap of thunder, a roaring sound, like that of some distant waterfall, was borne to the ears of the travelers with a startling distinctness, gradually increasing each moment, until it sounded like the roll of an hundred drums.

During this brief space—for brief indeed it was— not a twig was seen to move—not a leaf to stir— but all, all was motionless, us though Nature were holding her breath in awe of some great and mighty convulsion. The air felt hot, thick and oppressive, as from the breath of an evil spirit. Suddenly the trees on the other hill became dreadfully agitated—bowing their heads, and writhing, and twisting themselves into all manner of shapes possible, while a dark misty shadow crept, or rather swept along, and buried them in terrible night.

Thus it appeared to our travelers, who, warned by this and a few heavy drops of rain, now eagerly sought their shelter; Bernard, as previously, taking the precedence. Moving cautiously forward, after entering the mouth of the cave— for caution was a part of his nature—he presently gained the interior, where he was immediately joined by his companion.

A flash of lightning at this moment discovered to our travellers that they were the only occupants of the cave, when something like a sigh from Bernard, and the ejaculation of "Thank God!" from Tyrone, attested the relief felt by both.

"I say, Mark," began Bernard, who was the first to speak, "I don't believe this ere cave's a ren— what d'ye call it?"

"Rendezvous," answered Tyrone.

"O yes, rendezvous. I say, I don't believe this ere cave's a rendezvous for robbers, for when that are last streak o' lightning danced around in here, I could'nt see no traces of its being inhabited."

"But what led you to think inhabited, Harvey?"

"Why, when I's out here afore, I hearn a good deal o' talk about a banditti, which had been skeering people round here, and some feller told me they used to meet in this ere cave."

"Indeed? But why did not the citizens take measures to apprehend them?" enquired the other.

"Wal, there was some such kind o' talk, but I don't know how it come out, for jest about that time I went back to the East, and haint never heard nothing on't since. But I say, Mark, its lucky we've got in here, I swow—robbers or not— for that are harrycane's ripping every thing afore it. Jest listen how it roars. I never—" the remainder of the sentence, if spoken, was drowned in a terrible crash of thunder, that shook the ground beneath them, and caused both the speaker and his companion to start involuntarily.

During the conversation just recorded, the storm had been rushing on with all the wild fury of a tornado, and now came sweeping down the opposite hill—tearing along through the valley— up the hill—dashing against the cave, as though to rend it asunder—snapping lofty trees like twigs— tearing them, in many instances, quite up by the roots--hissing, and foaming, and roaring—on, on it went in its mad career, seeking new victims amid the quiet glades, and making the very earth beneath it tremble in its fierce carousal! For some half hour our travelers stood mute—awed to silence by the raging of the elements—gazing forth through the aperture, assisted by the incessant flashes of lightning, upon the awful devastation going on without.

"A fortunate escape, truly!" remarked Tyrone, at length, drawing a long breath.

"Jest what I's a thinking on exactly," returned Bernard. "I knowed when I seed it a coming up, that there wouldn't be no child's play about it; but its gone clean ahead o' my calculations altogether. How them are streaks o' lightning did dance around us here, and cut capers 'mong the trees. I never seed the like on't afore in all my born days. For the matter o' that, they haint done yet," added he, as a bright flash for a moment blinded him, and a peal of thunder shook the cave.

For some minutes his companion made no reply, and then in a complaining, petulent tone said: "Was there ever any thing so unlucky? Only to think of our being literally forced to pass the night in such a place as this, and so near our destination too! I declare it vexes me."

"Hello! What's all this ere gammon about now?" cried Bernard. "You're the strangest, queerest chap I ever seed in all my life; one minute all thankfulness and the next all grumbles. Why don't ye larn a little patience? A body'd think when you'd jest 'scaped with your life, you would'nt, in all human probability, set up grumbling for half an hour, at least."

"Well, well, Bernard, say no more," replied Tyrone, in a voice of contrition. "You know my hasty, impatient nature, and must overlook my language. I know it was wrong in me to complain; but I had set my heart so much on reaching Webber's to-night, that it seemed hard to relinquish the design."

"Now you speak a little more sensible like," rejoined Bernard; "and as to gitting to Webber's, I guess we'll be able to do it yit. The moon 'll be up in about an hour, and I reckon this ere storm will clear away by that time."

And Bernard was right. In an hour the storm had passed on to the east, leaving behind it a few broken, scattered clouds, sailing lazily through the air—above which Heaven's diamonds gleamed and sparkled—now hidden from the sight, now shining out merrily—while the far off flashes and distant rumble betokened the storm still speeding on in its fury. Anon the moon arose, slowly and majestically, to pour her silvery flood of light upon the scene,

While here and there a modest star

Drew back from Luna's ray,

Yet shining in its realm afar,

Perchance the queen of day.

Our travelers, now that the storm was passed and moon risen, deeming it expedient to resume their journey, emerged at once from the cave, and had advanced a few paces towards the road, when their attention and progress were arrested by the sound of voices in conversation. At first the sounds were indistinct, but gradually they seemed to grow louder, denoting thereby the approach of the speakers. At length they descried two figures descending the hill, and instantly crouching behind a rock, were enabled to overhear a few sentences as they passed.

"I don't believe a word on't," growled a gruff voice, accompanied with an oath. "Its only one of the old fool's freaks; and for my part, I've served him long enough, and blast me if I don't slit his wesand, as soon as I find out whar he stows the shiners, and then make off and set up for a gentleman in some foreign part; hey, Bill? ha, ha, ha!"

"Hist!" returned his companion. "Thar's no perticular use in telling every body else what you're going to do, as I knows on; and besides, if the gal and her lover should happen to hear ye, why ye see its all up at once. Curses on that ar' storm," he added; "I'm feard as how they'll bunk somewhere and take daylight for't. I wouldn't like 'em to slip me now, for such a chance don't come every day, you know."

"But what can the old fool want of the gal?" growled the other.

"Why I've told ye once, you—but hark! they're coming, and so—" here the conversation became so indistinct that our travelers could make out nothing further, save the word "pistols," which occured shortly after; but enough had been gleaned to denote foul play, and simultaneously grasping their weapons, both advanced cautiously in the direction taken by the others.

The moon as yet had not risen sufficiently to be of any material service in distinguishing objects even on the summit of the hill, and the ravine below still lay in the gloomy repose of solitude and darkness.

Gliding quickly forward, but at the same time as stealthily as possible, our travelers soon gained sufficient on the ruffians to enable them to see their dusky forms, and overhear their conversation.

At length the foremost two came to a halt, at the foot of the hill, just where you enter the ravine already mentioned, and separating, each took his station opposite the other—one on either side of the road—which being at this point uncommonly narrow, owing to some rocks having been removed and piled up on either hand, made it a desirable place for their attack upon the individuals approaching, who must necessarily pass within their reach.

Ensconsing themselves behind some bushes, which grew by the way side, Bernard and Tyrone awaited in anxious suspense the moment when they would, probably—in defence of others—be called into action of no enviable nature. For some moments all was still, and then the silence was broken by one of the ruffians.

"I say, Bill Riley!" began he of the gruff voice, "blast me, but your ears is a little over-keen to-night. Per'aps you hears 'em coming now, but hang me if I do, and what's more, haint heard 'em."

"Per'aps I's mistaken," answered the other; "at least I thought I heard 'em. However, thar's no perticular harm in being ready 'gin they do come, you know."

"You're right thar', my trump. But what d'ye think, croney; is't best to leave the younker in Heaven?"

"No! no! Curdish," replied the other vehenently; "no murder, if we can help it. Tap the feller over, but no killing; that's a perticularly agly business, brings ugly consequences, and a feller's mighty apt to catch hemp fever arter it. No, no, Jack, my boy, we musn't have no killing. Jest knock the younker over gently—mount his horse—I'll mount behind the gal, and then we'll sort o' travel, you know."

"Why hang me for a green un, but I think— rayther think, Bill—we'll travel then, ha, ha, ha. But 'sposin, my ace o' trumps, the younker happens to take it into his head not to be knocked over gently?"

"Why then, Jack, you must kind o' take it out agin, you know,—ha, ha, ha."

"Well, well," growled Curdish, don't be gittin' foolish over it."

"No!" returned the other drily; "one fool in a party'll do, I reckon."

Following this last remark, was a pause of some minutes, when the conversation was again renewed by Curdish.

"I say, Bill, what's yer honest, disinterested, confidential and most perticular opinion of old Ben, any how?"

"Why that's come at without any study," answered Bill. "I jest think he's an arrant knave."

"A what?"

"A bloody rascal!"

"I'll take yer fist on that, Bill, by —," and the speaker uttered an oath. "What a long hooked nose he's got, haint he? If I'd such a nose, by St. Christopher! I'd sell myself for a screech owl—ha, ha, ha."

"Hush, Jack! You always laugh as if you wer' a going to split yer jaws."

"Ye-e-s, per'aps so."

"By-the-by, Jack, I couldn't never exactly understand how you and old Ben come to be on such friendly terms? You've said you didn't like him."

"Like him!" cried Jack. "O yes, I like him— ha, ha, ha! Jest wait, Bill, don't be in a hurry, and I'll show ye how I like him. Hang me for a dog, if I don't cut his bloody old heart out o' him 'fore I'm done!"

"Well but Jack, I say, how the dence comes it you've seemed on such friendly terms?"

"Why ye see, Bill, I'll tell ye. The old chap kind o' did me a favor one time, in the way of savin' me from the hemp fever, in the case o' that ar' young man as was suddenly missed, when people took the perticular trouble to swear that I— put him out o' the way, you know; and being's I'm sort o' in his power yit, why I've rather kept up an affectionate feeling, ye see—ha, ha, ha! But I say, old feller, seein' as how I've answered your question, maybe you'll have the perticular goodness to answer mine. What is the old cut-throat goin' to do with the gal?"

"Why's I've told ye afore, I ain't sure, but I 'spect thar's a curious design about it. I've bin kind o' watching round, a pickin' up a little here and a little thar, puttin' 'em together and guessin' on the whole, and it looks rayther mysterious, I tell ye. You know the old feller we stuck and fleeced a few months back, and how old Ben, not satisfied, stuck him twice more, and then saved his life—a thing he warn't never known to do afore; well you know as how he got hold o' some papers too, which he said warn't o' no account to us, and so took 'em for his share, which looked sort o' curious agin, and which bein' all put together, makes me think as how them ar' papers, this gal, and the 'tother old feller ar' all kind o' mixed up into a secret; for ever since he's bin mighty anxious to git hold o' the gal, and I overhearn him say one time, when talkin' to himself, that he'd sometime be a great man, and as soon he could get the gal he was goin' to mizzle and set sail on the big brine."

"Set sail, eh!" growled Curdish. "He said as how he'd set sail, did he? Well, blast me, if he don't too; but it'll be an ugly voyage he'll be goin', by—! or else Jack Curdish ain't no prophet."

The conversation after this for something over an hour, was carried on in a tone so low, that our travelers were unable to distinguish what was said, when the voice of Riley was again heard to articulate:

"I'm afeard this ere storm's knocked our calculations all in the head, Jack."

"Hark!" returned the other; "don't you hear 'em?"

"Ha! yes, 'tis they at last. Now be careful, my boy, and jest do up the thing safe and genteel, for thar's a few shiners at stake, you know." As he spoke, horses were heard approaching at a quick pace, and presently the voices of their riders in conversation.

"Now then, Mark," whispered Bernard, grasping a pistol with one hand and his companion's arm with the other, "jest let us show these ere chaps that there's other folks about."

"Ay!" returned Tyrone, setting his teeth hard, "they need an honest man's lesson."

A thrilling scream aroused them to action, and both sprang forward at once. Immediately after was heard the sharp report of a pistol—a groan— another scream, and the clatter of a horse's hoofs on through the ravine.