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Frank Merriwell Down South, a novel by Burt L. Standish |
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Chapter 42. Muriel |
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_ CHAPTER XLII. MURIEL Ta-ra-tar! Ta-ra-ta-ra-ta-ra-tar! Through the misty moonlight a coal-black horse, bearing a rider who once more awakens the clamoring echoes with his bugle, comes tearing at a mad gallop. "Up with 'em!" repeats Wade Miller, fiercely, as the black-hooded men seem to hesitate. The ropes tighten. "Stop!" One of the men utters the command, and his companions hesitate. "Muriel is death on revernues," says the one who had spoken, "an' thar ain't any reason why we-uns shouldn't wait fer him." "That's so." More than half the men agree with the one who has interrupted the execution, filling Wade Miller with unutterable rage. "Fools!" snarled the chief ruffian of the party. "I am leadin' you-uns now, an' ye've gotter do ez I say. I order ye ter string them critters up!" Nearer and nearer came the clattering hoof-beats. "Av we can have wan minute more!" breathed Barney Mulloy. "Half a minute will do," returned Frank. "We refuse ter obey ye now," boldly spoke the man who had commanded his companions to stop. "Muriel has signaled ter us, an' he means fer us ter wait till he-uns arrives." "Wait!" howled Miller. "They sha'n't escape!" He snatched out a revolver, pointed it straight at Frank's breast, and fired! Just as the desperate ruffian was pulling the trigger, the man nearest him struck up his hand, and the bullet passed through Frank's hat, knocking it to the ground. Miller was furious as a maniac, but, at this moment, the black horse and the dashing rider burst in upon the scene, plunged straight through the circle, halting at the side of the imperiled lads, the horse being flung upon its haunches. "Wal, what be you-uns doin'?" demands a clear, ringing voice. "What work is this, that I don't know erbout?" The men were silent. Wade Miller cowered before the chief of the moonshiners, trying to hide the revolver. Muriel's eyes, gleaming through the twin holes of the mask he wore, found Miller, and the clear voice cried: "You-uns has been lettin' this critter lead ye inter somethin'! An' it's fair warnin' I gave him ter keep clear o' meddlin' with my business." The boys gazed at the moonshiner chief in amazement, for Muriel looked no more than a boy as he sat there on his black horse, and his voice seemed the voice of a boy instead of that of a man. Yet it was plain that he governed these desperate ruffians of the mountains with a hand of iron, and they feared him. "We-uns war 'bout ter hang two revernues," explained Miller. Muriel looked at the boys. "Revernues?" he said, doubtfully. "How long sence ther gover'ment has been sendin' boys hyar ter spy on us?" "They know what happens ter ther men they send," muttered Miller. "Wal, 'tain't like they'd be sendin' boys arter men failed." "That's ther way they hope ter fool us." "An' how do you know them-uns is revernues?" "We jest s'picions it." "An' you-uns war hangin' 'em on s'picion, 'thout lettin' me know?" "We never knows whar ter find ye, Muriel." "That is nary excuse, fer ef you-uns had held them-uns a day I'd knowed it. It looks like you-uns war in a monstr'us hurry." "It war he-uns," declared one of the black hoods, pointing to Miller. "He-uns war in ther hurry." "We don't gener'ly waste much time in dinkerin' 'roun' with anybody we-uns thinks is revernues," said Miller. "Wal, we ain't got ther record o' killin' innercent boys, an' we don't begin now. Take ther ropes off their necks." Two men hastened to obey the order, while Miller sat and grated his teeth. As this was being done, Muriel asked: "What war you-uns doin' with that revolver when I come? I heard ye shoot, an' I saw ther flash. Who did you-uns shoot at?" Miller stammered and stuttered till Muriel repeated the question, his voice cold and hard, despite its boyish caliber. "Wal," said Wade, reluctantly, "I'll have ter tell yer. I shot at he-uns," and he pointed at Frank. "I thought so," was all Muriel said. When the ropes were removed from the necks of the boys, Muriel directed that their feet be tied again, and their eyes blindfolded. These orders were attended to with great swiftness, and then the moonshiner chief said: "Follow!" Out they rode from beneath the tree, and away through the misty moonlight. Frank and Barney could not see, but they felt well satisfied with their lot, for they had been saved from death for the time being, and, somehow, they felt that Muriel did not mean to harm them. "Frank," whispered Barney, "are yez there?" "Here," replied Frank, close at hand. "It's dead lucky we are to be livin', me b'y." "You are quite correct, Barney. I feel like singing a song of praise and thanksgiving. But we're not out of the woods yet." "Thot Muriel is a dandy, Frankie! Oi'm shtuck on his stoyle." "He is no more than a boy. I wonder how he happened to appear at such an opportune moment?" "Nivver a bit do Oi know, but it's moighty lucky fer us thot he did." Frank fell to speculating over the providential appearance of the moonshiner chief. It was plain that Muriel must have known that something was happening, and he had signaled with the bugle to the Black Caps. In all probability, other executions had taken place beneath that very tree, for the young chief came there direct, without hesitation. For nearly an hour they seemed to ride through the night, and then they halted. The boys were removed from the horses and compelled to march into some kind of a building. After some moments, their hands were freed, and, tearing away the blindfolds, they found themselves in a low, square room, with no windows, and a single door. With his back to the door, stood Muriel. The light of a swinging oil lamp illumined the room. Muriel leaned gracefully against the door, his arms folded, and his eyes gleaming where the lamplight shone on them through the twin holes in the sable mask. The other moonshiners had disappeared, and the boys were alone in that room with the chief of the mountain desperadoes. There was something strikingly cool and self-reliant in Muriel's manner--something that caused Frank to think that the fellow, young as he was, feared nothing on the face of the earth. At the same time there was no air of bravado or insolence about that graceful pose and the quiet manner in which he was regarding them. Instead of that, the moonshiner was a living interrogation point, everything about him seeming to speak the question that fell from his lips. "Are you-uns revernues?" "Why do you ask us?" Frank quickly counter questioned. "You must know that we will lie if we are, and so you will hear our denial anyway. That can give you little satisfaction." "Look hyar--she tol' me fair an' squar' that you-uns warn't revernues, but I dunno how she could tell." "Of whom are you speaking?" Frank fancied that he knew, but he put the question, and Muriel answered: "Ther gal that saved yore lives by comin' ter me an' tellin' me ther boys had taken you outer her mammy's house." "Kate Kenyon?" "Yes." "God bless her! She did save our lives, for if you had been one minute later you would not have arrived in time. Dear girl! I'll not forget her!" Muriel moved uneasily, and he did not seem pleased by Frank's words, although his face could not be seen. It was some moments before he spoke, but his voice was strangely cold and hard when he did so. "It's well ernough fer you-uns ter remember her, but ye'd best take car' how ye speak o' her. She's got friends in ther maountings--true friends." Frank was startled, and he felt the hot blood rush to his face. Then, in a moment, he cried: "Friends! Well, she has no truer friends than the boys she saved to-night! I hope you will not misconstrue our words, Mr. Muriel." A sound like a smothered laugh came from behind that baffling mask, and Muriel said: "Yo're hot-blooded. I war simply warnin' you-uns in advance, that's all. I thought it war best." "It was quite unnecessary. We esteem Miss Kenyon too highly to say anything that can give a friend of hers just cause to strike against us." "Wal, city chaps are light o' tongue, an' they're apt ter think that ev'ry maounting girl is a fool ef she don't have book learnin'. Some city chaps make their boast how easy they kin 'mash' such gals. Anything like that would count agin' you-uns." Frank was holding himself in check with an effort. "It is plain you do not know us, and you have greatly misjudged us. We are not in the mountains to make 'mashes,' and we are not the kind to boast of our conquests." "Thot's right, me jool!" growled Barney, whose temper was started a bit. "An' it's mesilf thot loikes to be suspected av such a thing. It shtirs me foighting blud." The Irish lad clinched his fist, and felt of his muscle, moving his forearm up and down, and scowling blackly at the cool chief of moonshiners, as if longing to thump the fellow. This seemed to amuse Muriel, but still he persisted in further arousing the lads by saying, insinuatingly: "I war led ter b'lieve that Kate war ruther interested in you-uns by her manner. Thar don't no maounting gal take so much trouble over strangers fer nothin'!" Frank bit his lip, and Barney looked blacker than ever. It seemed that Muriel was trying to draw them into a trap of some sort, and they were growing suspicious. Had this young leader of mountain ruffians rescued them that he might find just cause or good excuse to put them out of the way? The boys were silent, and Muriel forced a laugh. "Wal, ye won't talk about that, an' so we'll go onter somethin' else. I judge you-uns know yo're in a po'erful bad scrape?" "We have good reasons to think so." "Begorra! we have thot!" exclaimed Barney, feeling of his neck, and making a wry face, as if troubled by an unpleasant recollection. "It is a scrape that you-uns may not be able ter git out of easy," Muriel said. "I war able ter save yer from bein' hung 'thout any show at all, but ye're not much better off now." "If you were powerful enough to save us in the first place, you should be able to get us out of the scrape entirely." "You-uns don't know all about it. Moonshiners have laws an' regulations, an' even ther leader must stan' by them." Frank was still troubled by the unpleasant suspicion that Muriel was their enemy, after all that had happened. He felt that they must guard their tongues, for there was no telling what expression the fellow might distort and turn against them. Seeing neither of the lads was going to speak, Muriel went on: "Yes, moonshiners have laws and regulations. Ther boys came nigh breakin' one o' ther laws by hangin' you-uns ter-night 'thout givin' ye a show." "Then we are to have a fair deal?" eagerly cried Frank. "Ez fair ez anybody gits," assured Muriel, tossing back a lock of his coal-black hair, which he wore long enough to fall to the collar of his coat. "Ain't that all ye kin ask?" "I don't know. That depends on what kind of a deal it is." "Wall, ye'll be given yore choice." "We demand a fair trial. If it is proven that we are revenue spies, we'll have to take our medicine. But if it is not proven, we demand immediate release." "Take my advice; don't demand anything o' ther Black Caps. Ther more ye demand, ther less ye git." "We have a right to demand a fair deal." "Right don't count in this case; it is might that holds ther fort. You-uns stirred up a tiger ag'in' ye when you made Wade Miller mad. It's a slim show that ye escape ef we-uns lets yer go instanter. He'd foller yer, an' he'd finish yer somewhar." "We will take our chances on that. We have taken care of ourselves so far, and we think we can continue to do so. All we ask is that we be set at liberty and given our weapons." "An' ye'd be found with yer throats cut within ten miles o' hyar." "That would not be your fault." "Wal, 'cordin' to our rules, ye can't be released onless ther vote ur ther card sez so." "The vote or the cards? What do you mean by that?" "Wal, it's like this: Ef it's put ter vote, one black bean condemns you-uns ter death, an' ev'ry man votes black ur white, as he chooses. I don't judge you-uns care ter take yer chances that way?" "Howly Sint Patherick!" gurgled Barney Mulloy. "Oi sh'u'd soay not! Ixchuse us from thot, me hearty!" "That would be as bad as murder!" exclaimed Frank. "There would be one vote against us--one black bean thrown, at least." Muriel nodded. "I judge you-uns is right." "Pwhat av th' carruds?" "Yes, what of them?" "Two men will be chosen, one ter hold a pack o' cards, and one to draw a card from them. Ef ther card is red, it lets you-uns off, fer it means life; ef it is black, it cooks yer, fer it means death." The boys were silent, dumfounded, appalled. It was a lottery of life and death. Muriel stood watching them, and Frank fancied that his eyes were gleaming with satisfaction. The boy began to believe he had mistaken the character of this astonishing youth; Muriel might be even worse than his older companions, for he might be one who delighted in torturing his victims. Frank threw back his head, defiance and scorn written on his handsome face. "It is a clean case of murder, at best!" he cried, his voice ringing out clearly. "We deserve a fair trial--we demand it!" "Wal," drawled the boy moonshiner, "I warned you-uns that ther more yer demanded, ther less yer got. Ye seem ter fergit that." "We're in fur it, Frankie, me b'y!" groaned Barney. "If we had our revolvers, we'd give them a stiff fight for it!" grated Frank, fiercely. "They would not murder us till a few of them had eaten lead!" Muriel seemed to nod with satisfaction. "You-uns has stuff, an' when I tell yer that ye'll have ter sta' ter vote ur take chances with ther cards, I don't judge you'll hesitate. It's one ur t'other." "Then, make it the cards," said Frank, hoarsely. "That will give us an even show, if the draw is a fair one." "I'll see ter that," assured Muriel. "It shall be fair." Without another word, he turned and swiftly slipped out of the room. They heard him bar the door, and then they stood looking into each other's faces, speechless for a few moments. "It's a toss-up, Barney," Frank finally observed. "Thot's pwhat it is, an' th' woay our luck is runnin' Oi think it's a case av heads they win an' tails we lose." "It looks that way," admitted Frank. "But there is no way out of it. We'll have to grin and bear it." "Pwhat do yez think av thot Muriel?" "He's an enigma." "Worse than thot, me b'y--he's a cat's cradle toied in a hundred an' sivintane knots." "It is impossible to tell whether he is friendly or whether he is the worst foe we have in these mountains." "Oi wonder how Kate Kenyon knew where to foind him so quick?" "I have thought of that. She must have found him in a very short time after we were taken from the cabin." "An' she diskivered thot we hed been taken away moighty soon afther we wur gone, me b'y. Thot is sure." "Remember one of the horses neighed. It may have aroused Kate and her mother, and caused them to investigate." "Loikely thot wur th' case, fer it's not mesilf thot would think she'd kape shtill an' let ther spalpanes drag us away av she knew it." "No; I believe her utterly fearless, and it is plain that Wade Miller is not the only one in love with her." "Who ilse?" "Muriel." "Mebbe ye're roight, Frankie." "It strikes me that way. The fellow tried to lead me into a trap--tried to get me to boast of a mash on her. I could see his eyes gleam with jealousy. In her eagerness to save us--to have him aid her in the work--she must have led him to suspect that one of us had been making love to her." Barney whistled a bit, and then he shyly said: "Oi wunder av wan of us didn't do a bit av thot?" "Not I," protested Frank. "We talked in a friendly manner--in fact, she promised to be a friend to me. I may have expressed admiration for her hair, or something of the sort, but I vow I did not make love to her." "Well, me b'y, ye have a thrick av gettin' all th' girruls shtuck on yez av ye look at thim, so ye didn't nade ter make love." "It's not my fault, Barney." "It's nivver a fault at all, at all, me lad. Oi wish Oi wur built th' soame woay, but it's litthle oice I cut wid th' girruls. This south av Oireland brogue thot Oi foind mesilf unable to shake counts against me a bit, Oi belave." "I should think Miller and Muriel would clash." "It's plain enough that Miller is afraid av Muriel." "And Muriel intends to keep him thus. I fancy it was a good thing for us that Kate Kenyon suspected Wade Miller of having a hand in our capture, and told Muriel that we had been carried off by him, for I fancy that is exactly what happened. Muriel was angry with Miller, and he seized the opportunity to call the fellow down. But for that, he might not have made such a hustle to save us." "Thin we should be thankful thot Muriel an' Miller do not love ache ither." The boys continued to discuss the situation for some time, and then they fell to examining the room in which they were imprisoned. It did not seem to have a window anywhere, and the single door appeared to be the only means of entering or leaving the place. "There's little show of escaping from this room," said Frank. "Roight ye are," nodded Barney. "This wur built to kape iverything safe thot came in here." A few minutes later there was a sound at the door, and Muriel came in, with two of the Black Caps at his heels. "Ther boys have agreed ter give ye ther chance o' ther cards," said the boy moonshiner. "An' yo're goin' ter have a fair an' squar' deal." "We will have to submit," said Frank, quietly. "You will have ter let ther boys bind yer hands afore ye leave this room," said Muriel. The men each held the end of a stout rope, and the boys were forced to submit to the inconvenience of having their hands bound behind them. Barney protested, but Frank kept silent, knowing it was useless to say anything. When their hands were tied, Muriel said: "Follow." He led the way, while Frank came next, with Barney shuffling sulkily along at his heels. The two men came last. They passed through a dark room and entered another room, which was lighted by three oil lamps. The room was well filled with the black-hooded moonshiners, who were standing in a grim and silent circle, with their backs against the walls. Into the center of this circle, the boys were marched. The door closed, and Muriel addressed the Black Caps. "It is not often that we-uns gives our captives ther choice uv ther cards or ther vote, but we have agreed ter do so in this case, with only one objectin', an' he war induced ter change his mind. Now we mean ter have this fair an' squar', an' I call on ev'ry man present ter watch out an' see that it is. Ther men has been serlected, one ter hold ther cards an' one ter draw. Let them step forrud." Two of the Black Caps stepped out, and Frank started a bit, for he believed one of them was Wade Miller. A pack of cards was produced, and Muriel shuffled them with a skill that told of experience, after which he handed them to one of the men. Miller was to draw! Frank watched every move, determined to detect the fraud if possible, should there be any fraud. An awed hush seemed to settle over the room. The men who wore the black hoods leaned forward a little, every one of them watching to see what card should be drawn from the pack. Barney Mulloy caught his breath with a gasping sound, and then was silent, standing stiff and straight. Muriel was as alert as a panther, and his eyes gleamed through the holes in his mask like twin stars. The man who received the pack from Muriel stepped forward, and Miller reached out his hand to draw. Then Frank suddenly cried: "Wait! That we may be satisfied we are having a fair show in this matter, why not permit one of us to shuffle those cards?" Quick as a flash of light, Muriel's hand fell on the wrist of the man who held the cards, and his clear voice rang out: "Stop! Unbind his hands. He shall shuffle." Frank's hands were unbound, and he was given the cards. He shuffled them, but he did not handle them with more skill than had Muriel. He "shook them up" thoroughly, and then passed them back to the man who was to hold them. "Bind him!" Muriel's order was swiftly obeyed, and Frank was again helpless. "Draw!" The cards were extended. Wade Miller reached out, and quickly made the draw, holding the fateful card up for all to see. It was the ace of spades! _ |
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