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Frank Merriwell Down South, a novel by Burt L. Standish |
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Chapter 44. Frank's Suspicion |
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_ CHAPTER XLIV. FRANK'S SUSPICION "It's all right." Kate uttered the words, and the boys began to recover from their alarm, as she did not hesitate in the least. "Who is it?" asked Frank. "Dummy." "Who is Dummy?" "A cousin o' mine. He'll do anything fer me. I put him thar ter watch out while I war in hyar." They went forward. Of a sudden, Kate struck a match, holding it so the light shone on her face, and the figure at the mouth of the cave was seen to wave its hand and vanish. "Ther coast is clear," assured the girl. "But it's gittin' right nigh mornin', an' we-uns must hustle away from hyar afore it is light. We won't lose any time." The boys were well satisfied to get away as quickly as possible. They passed out of the dark cavern into the cool, sweet air of a spring morning, for the gray of dawn was beginning to dispel the darkness, and the birds were twittering from the thickets. The phantom of a moon was in the sky, hanging low down and half-inverted as if spilling a spectral glamour over the ghostly mists which lay deep in Lost Creek Valley. The sweet breath of flowers and of the woods was in the morning air, and from some cabin afar on the side of a distant mountain a wakeful watchdog barked till the crags reverberated with his clamoring. "Thar's somethin' stirrin' at 'Bize Wiley's, ur his dorg wouldn't be kickin' up all that racket," observed Kate Kenyon. "He lives by ther road that comes over from Bildow's Crossroads. Folks comin' inter ther maountings from down below travel that way." The boys looked around for the mute who had been guarding the mouth of the cave, but they saw nothing of him. He had slipped away into the bushes which grew thick all around the opening. "Come on," said the girl, after seeming strangely interested in the barking of the dog. "We'll git ter ther old mill as soon as we kin. Foller me, an' be ready ter scrouch ther instant anything is seen." Now that they could see her, she led them forward at a swift pace, which astonished them both. She did not run, but she seemed to skim over the ground, and she took advantage of every bit of cover till they entered some deep, lowland pines. Through this strip of woods she swiftly led them, and they came near to Lost Creek, where it flowed down in the dismal valley. There they found the ruins of an old mill, the moss-covered water-wheel forever silent, the roof sagging and falling in, the windows broken out by mischievous boys, the whole presenting a most melancholy and deserted appearance. The road that had led to the mill from the main highway was overgrown with weeds. Later it would be filled with thistles and burdocks. Wild sassafras grew along the roadside. "That's whar you-uns must hide ter-day," said Kate, motioning toward the mill. "Why should we hide?" exclaimed Frank. "We are not criminals, nor are we revenue spies. I do not fancy the idea of hiding like a hunted dog." "It's better ter be a live dorg than a dead lion. Ef you-uns'll take my advice, you'll come inter ther mill thar, an' ye'll keep thar all day, an' keep mighty quiet. I know ye're nervy, but thar ain't no good in bein' foolish. It'll be known that you-uns have escaped, an' then Wade Miller will scour ther country. Ef he come on yer----" "Give us our arms, and we'll be ready to meet Mr. Miller." "But yer wouldn't meet him alone; thar'd be others with him, an' you-uns wouldn't have no sorter show." Kate finally succeeded in convincing the boys that she spoke the truth, and they agreed to remain quietly in the old mill. She led them into the mill, which was dank and dismal. The imperfect light failed to show all the pitfalls that lurked for their feet, but she warned them, and they escaped injury. The miller had lived in the mill, and the girl took them to the part of the old building that had served as a home. "Har," she said, opening a closet door, "I've brung food fer you-uns, so yer won't starve, an' I knowed ye'd be hongry." "You are more than thoughtful, Miss Kenyon." "Yer seem ter have fergot what we agreed ter call each other, Frank." She spoke the words in a tone of reproach. "Kate!" Barney turned away, winking uselessly at nothing at all, and kept his back toward them for some moments. But Frank Merriwell had no thought of making love to this strange girl of the mountains. She had promised to be his friend; she had proved herself his friend, and as no more than a friend did he propose to accept her. That he had awakened something stronger than a friendly feeling in Kate Kenyon's breast seemed evident, and the girl was so artless that she could not conceal her true feelings toward him. They stood there, talking in a low tone, while the morning light stole in at one broken window and grew stronger and stronger within that room. Frank was studying Kate's speech and voice. As he did so a new thought came to him--a thought that was at first a mere suspicion, which he scarcely noted at all. This suspicion grew, and he found himself asking: "Kate, are you sure your brother is still wearing a convict's suit?" She started, and looked at him closely. "Sure o' it?" she repeated. "No, fer he may be dead." "You do not know that he is dead--you have not heard of his death?" "No." "Is he bold and daring?" Her eyes flashed, and a look of pride swept across her face. "Folks allus 'lowed Rufe Kenyon wa'n't afeard o' ary two-legged critter livin', an' they war right." "Perhaps he has escaped." She clutched his arm, beginning to pant, as she asked: "What makes you say that? I knowed he'd try it some day, but--but, have you heard anything? Do you know that he has tried it?" The suspicion leaped to a conviction in the twinkling of an eye. If Rufe Kenyon was not at liberty, then he must be right in what he thought. "I do not know that your brother has tried to escape. I do not know anything about him. I did think that he might be Muriel, the moonshiner." Kate laughed. "You-uns war plumb mistooken thar," she said, positively. "Rufe is not Muriel." "Then," cried Frank, "you are Muriel yourself!" Kate Kenyon seemed astounded. "Have you-uns gone plumb dafty?" asked the girl, in a dazed way. "Me Muriel! Wal, that beats all!" "But you are--I am sure of it," said Frank, swiftly. The girl laughed. "Well, that beats me! Of course I'm not Muriel; but he's ther best friend I've got in these maountings." Frank was far from satisfied, but he was too courteous to insist after this denial. Kate laughed the idea to scorn, saying over and over that the boy must be "dafty," but still his mind was unchanged. To be sure, there were some things not easily explained, one being how Muriel concealed her luxurious red hair, for Muriel's hair appeared to be coal-black. Another thing was that Wade Miller must know Muriel and Kate were one and the same, and yet he preserved her secret and allowed her to snatch his victims from his maws. Barney Mulloy had been more than astounded by Frank's words; the Irish youth was struck dumb. When he could collect himself, he softly muttered: "Well, av all th' oideas thot takes th' cake!" Having seen them safely within the mill and shown them the food brought there, Kate said: "Har is two revolvers fer you-uns. Don't use 'em unless yer have ter, but shoot ter kill ef you're forced." "Begorra! Oi'm ready fer th' spalpanes!" cried Barney, as he grasped one of the weapons. "Let thim come on!" "I feel better myself," declared Frank. "Next time Wade Miller and his gang will not catch us napping." "Roight, me b'y; we'll be sound awake, Frankie." Kate bade them good-by, assuring them that she would return with the coming of another night, and making them promise to await her, and then she flitted away, slipped out of the mill, soon vanishing amid the pines. "It's dead lucky we are ter be living, Frankie," observed Barney. "I quite agree with you," laughed Merriwell. "This night has been a black and tempestuous one, but we have lived through it, and I do not believe we'll find ourselves in such peril again while we are in the Tennessee mountains." They were hungry, and they ate heartily of the plain food that had been provided for them. When breakfast was over, Barney said: "Frankie, it's off yer trolley ye git sometoimes." "What do you mean by that, Barney? Is it a new sell?" "Nivver a bit. Oi wur thinkin' av pwhat yez said about Kate Kenyon being Mooriel, th' moonshoiner." "I was not off my trolley so very much then." "G'wan, me b'y! Ye wur crazy as a bidbug." "You think so, but I have made a study of Muriel and of Kate Kenyon. I am still inclined to believe the moonshiner is the girl in disguise." "An' Oi say ye're crazy. No girrul could iver do pwhat thot felly does, an' no band av min loike th' moonshoiners would iver allow a girrul loike Kate Kenyon ter boss thim." "They do not know Muriel is a girl. That is, I am sure the most of them do not know it--do not dream it." "Thot shows their common sinse, fer Oi don't belave it mesilf." "I may be wrong, but I shall not give it up yet." "Whoy, think pwhat a divvil thot Muriel is! An' th' color av his hair is black, whoile the girrul's is red." "I have thought of those things, and I have wondered how she concealed that mass of red hair; still I am satisfied she does it." "Well, it's no use to talk to you at all, at all." However, they did discuss it for some time. Finally they fell to exploring the old mill, and they wandered from one part to another till they finally came to the place where they had entered over a sagging plank. They were standing there, just within the deeper shadow of the mill, when a man came panting and reeling from the woods, his hat off, his shirt torn open at the throat, great drops of perspiration standing on his face, a wild, hunted look in his eyes, and dashed to the end of the plank that led over the water into the old mill. Frank clutched Barney, and the boys fell back a step, watching the man, who was looking back over his shoulder and listening, the perfect picture of a hunted thing. "They're close arter me--ther dogs!" came in a hoarse pant from the man's lips. "But I turned on 'em--I doubled--an' I hope I fooled 'em. It's my last chance, fer I'm dead played, and I'm so nigh starved that it's all I kin do ter drag one foot arter t'other." He listened again, and then, as if overcome by a sudden fear of being seen there, he suddenly rushed across the plank and plunged into the mill. He ran fairly upon Frank Merriwell. In the twinkling of an eye man and boy were clasped in a close embrace, struggling desperately. "Caught!" cried the fugitive, desperately. "Trapped!" He tried to hurl Frank to the floor, and he would have succeeded had he been in his normal condition, for he was a man of great natural strength; but he was exhausted by flight and hunger, and, in his weakened condition, the man found his supple antagonist too much for him. A gasp came from the stranger's lips as he felt the boy give him a wrestler's trip and fling him heavily to the floor. The man was stunned for a moment. When he opened his eyes, Frank and Barney were bending over him. "Wal, I done my best," he said, huskily; "but you-uns trapped me at last. I dunno how yer knew I war comin' har, but ye war on hand ter meet me." "You have made a mistake," said Frank, in a reassuring tone. "We are not your enemies at all." "What's that?" "We are not your enemies; you are not trapped." The man seemed unable to believe what he heard. "Why, who be you-uns?" he asked, in a bewildered way. "Fugitives, like yourself," assured Frank, with a smile. He looked them over, and shook his head. "Not like me," he said. "Look at me! I'm wore ter ther bone--I'm a wreck! Oh, it's a cursed life I've led sence they dragged me away from har! Night an' day hev I watched for a chance ter break away, and' I war quick ter grasp it when it came. They shot at me, an' one o' their bullets cut my shoulder har. It war a close call, but I got away. Then they follered, an' they put houn's arter me. Twenty times hev they been right on me, an' twenty times hev I got erway. But it kep' wearin' me weaker an' thinner. My last hope war ter find friends ter hide me an' fight fer me, an' I came har--back home! I tried ter git inter 'Bije Wileys' this mornin', but his dorg didn't know me, I war so changed, an' ther hunters war close arter me, so I hed ter run fer it." "Begorra!" exclaimed Barney; "we hearrud th' dog barruckin'." "So we did," agreed Frank, remembering how the creature had been clamoring on the mountainside at daybreak. "I kem har," continued the man, weakly. "I turned on ther devils, but when I run in har an' you-uns tackled me, I judged I had struck a trap." "It was no trap, Rufe Kenyon," said Frank, quietly. The hunted man started up and slunk away. "You know me!" he gasped. "We do." "An' still ye say you-uns are not my enemies." "We are not." "Then how do you know me? I never saw yer afore." "No; but we have heard of you." "How?" "From your sister Kate." "She tol' yer?" "She did." "Then she must trust you-uns." "She saved us from certain death last night, and she brought us here to hide till she can help us get out of this part of the country." Rufe Kenyon looked puzzled. "I judge you-uns is givin' it ter me straight," he said, slowly; "but I don't jes' understan'. What did she save yer from?" "Moonshiners." The man seemed filled with sudden suspicion. "What had moonshiners agin' you-uns? Be you revernues?" "No. Do we look like revenue spies?" "Yer look too young." "Well, we are not spies; but we were unfortunate enough to incur the enmity of Wade Miller, and he has sworn to end our lives." "Wade Miller!" cried Rufe, showing his teeth in an ugly manner. "An' I s'pose he's hangin' 'roun' Kate, same as he uster?" "He is giving her more or less trouble." "Wal, he won't give her much trouble arter I git at him. He is a snake! Look har! I'm goin' ter tell you-uns somethin'. Miller allus pretended ter be my friend, but it war that critter as put ther revernues onter me an' got me arrested! He done it because I tol' him Kate war too good fer him. I know it, an' one thing why I wanted ter git free war ter come har an' fix ther critter so he won't ever bother Kate no more. I hev swore ter fix him, an' I'll do it ef I live ter meet him face ter face!" He had grown wildly excited, and he sat up, with his back against a post, his eyes gleaming redly, and a white foam flecking his lips. At that moment he reminded the boys of a mad dog. Woe to Wade Miller when they met! When Kenyon was calmer, Frank told the story of the adventures which had befallen the boys since entering Lost Creek Valley. The fugitive listened quietly, watching them closely with his sunken eyes, and, having heard all, said: "I judge you-uns tells ther truth. Ef I kin keep hid till Kate gits har--till I see her--I'll fix things so you won't be bothered much. Wade Miller's day in Lost Creek Valley is over." The boys took him up to the living room of the old mill, where they furnished him with the coarse food that remained from their breakfast. He ate like a famished thing, washing the dry bread down with great swallows of water. When he had finished and his hunger was satisfied, he was quite like another man. "Thar!" he cried; "now I am reddy fer anything! But I do need sleep." "Take it," advised Frank. "We will watch." "And you'll tell me ef thar's danger?" "You may depend on it." "You-uns will watch close?" "Never fear about that." So the hunted wretch was induced to lie down and sleep. He slept soundly for some hours, and, when he opened his eyes, his sister had her arms about his neck. _ |
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