The afternoon waned, and the sun went down behind the gold and crimson clouds that blended their brilliant hues in the western sky.
Night came on apace, and still the two men remained on the spot where the canoes of the Indians were concealed. Jim McCabe, however, began to grow restless, and it was plain that he wished to say something to his companion, which fear of the result prevented him from doing. He coughed and “ahem’d,” ran his trembling fingers through his hair, cast frequent glances through the darkening woods, in the direction of the ravine, and then amused himself by thrusting his hands into his pockets and pacing up and down with quick, nervous tread. Though fully understanding these demonstrations of uneasiness, and scarcely able to repress a smile in consequence thereof, yet Nick Robbins seemed to be entirely ignorant of the change that had taken place in his would-be friend. At last the troubled man appeared to have made up his mind. He stepped right in front of the hunter, and blurted out:
“I say, Robbins, shall we stay here until the Indians come, and join them in their attack on the whites?”
“Why not?” coolly asked the hunter. “Wa’n’t that the agreement ’twixt you an’ Girty? Didn’t yer say as ye’d be hyur when they come to embark, ready to take part in the fightin’?”
“Not exactly. I told him I should be here if I was nowhere else, but, to be frank, it was my intention to be somewhere else.”
“What! ye ain’t afeard, be yer?”
“Oh, no! not in the least,” was the quick rejoinder. “It isn’t fear that urges me to keep out of the fight, but stronger and better reasons. You see, I’m deeply, madly in love, and can not run the risk of losing the bewitching beauty I have taken so much pains to secure. Suppose I should go into the fight and get killed; where would be the reward for my labor? and what would become of the girl? Besides all this, if the Indians should, by any chance, be defeated, and I captured, I should be strung up to the nearest tree for the part I had taken in the conflict. Don’t you see?”
Nick Robbins seemed to meditate. After a while he asked:
“Wal, what d’ye perpose to do?”
“Before answering that question,” said McCabe, “I should like to know whether you are going to take part in the massacre or not?”
“It have been my intention to do so all along, but ef you don’t I don’t, that’s sartin.”
“Very good. I will suggest, then, that we move down the bank of the river about half a mile, or whatever the distance may be, and take our stand just opposite the island.”
“What then?”
“Just this: we can lie there in concealment and watch, or, rather, listen to, the battle on the water, and when it is all over, we can join our white friend and his dusky crew, and make them believe it was simply impossible for us to be present at the massacre.”
“Why d’ye want to go so fur down the river as to be opposite the island?”
“Only that we may be near the scene of the conflict, where we shall be able to note its progress and termination.”
Nick Robbins knit his brows, and seemed to meditate again. Then, with a slight show of perplexity, he said:
“Tell yer what, kumrid, my brain are kinder muddled this evenin’, an’ I kin skeercely decide how to act. Yer perpose to take no part in the tussle, an’ I make no doubt yer reasons fur slidin’ out of it are good, but, on second thort, I don’t know whether I ort to shirk my duty or not. With you I reckon it’s all right, but what cause have I fur not ’tendin’ to my duty?”
“Pooh! it isn’t going to hurt you to tell a lie, if you find it necessary to offer an excuse for your absence.”
“Nevertheleast, I ain’t in the habit o’ doin’ that. I don’t want to make ’em think I’m a coward, ’cause thar ain’t nothin’ ’ut I’m afeard of. Tell ye what I’ll do. You kin go on down the river, an’ leave me hyur to think awhile. Ef I decides to stay with yer, I’ll foller er in a few minutes, but ef I don’t, I’ll wait hyur fur the Injuns, an’ go with them. How will that suit yer?”
“That suits me very well,” replied McCabe. “But I sincerely hope you will decide to follow me.”
The delighted villain, glad to get away from the place where the savages were to embark on their errand of death, turned on his heel and quickly took his departure, making the river-bank his guide as he hurried away to the point designated.
Nick Robbins watched his receding form until it was lost to view in the purple twilight, and then, finding himself once more alone, he sat down on a log and buried his face in his hands to think.
His sole object in lingering behind was to be alone for a while with his thoughts. Of course he had no intention of joining the savages in their attack on his friends, though he had made such a pretense to the poor dupe McCabe. Having carried out his plan successfully so far, he wished to bring the latter part of it to perfect maturity before proceeding further, in order to prevent such a thing as running into an unlooked-for difficulty, which he had done once already. To do this he desired a few minutes of solitude, that he might think it all over undisturbed, and it was for this reason alone that he sent McCabe on ahead.
For a long time he sat there on the log, lost in study, and when at last he rose to his feet, the mellow twilight had deepened into the blacker shades.
Surprised to find that he had tarried there so long, the hunter snatched up his gun and hastened away in the direction McCabe had taken. He was pleased with the latter’s proposition to keep out of the fight, as it prevented the suspicion that might have been excited by such a one being offered by himself. They could station themselves on the shore directly opposite the island, and, with their ears, note the commencement, end and result of the contemplated contest. Thus he reflected as he walked along the river-bank through the gathering darkness of night, and a strange smile twitched the beard that covered his mouth, as he muttered:
“Result, indeed! Ha! ha! ha! It will be a far different result from that which he expects, for Kirby Kidd and Wapawah would not have been caught napping even if I had failed to put them on their guard. Kidd declared that, if the rest of the party would follow strictly the directions of himself and Wapawah, they could defeat the assailants without the loss of a man, and I believe he spoke the truth.”
Nick Robbins now ended his soliloquy, and brought his mind down to the present. He walked on some distance further, with long, rapid strides, and at length became aware that he had reached the point he was aiming for. Off to his right he could see the shadowy outlines of the island. He came to a dead halt. Where was Jim McCabe? He looked around him, but saw only the frowning tree-trunks on one side, and the glistening water on the other. It was quite dark now, and the only luminaries visible were the myriads of twinkling stars that bespangled the blue canopy above. He was about to move on, when his footsteps were arrested by a loud, angry voice, exclaiming:
“So you have been following me, have you?—you accursed brat! And you now hint that you will proclaim me a murderer to the world rather than see me accomplish my purpose.”
The speaker was undoubtedly Jim McCabe!
“Faith, Jamie, I haven’t been follerin’ iv yeez, at all, at all,” said another voice, in rich Irish brogue. With astonishment the hunter recognized this one as that of the boy, Mike Terry! He stood perfectly quiet, and listened.
“What, rascal! Will you say you have not been following me? Tell me, then, how came you here?”
“Begorra, how should I know ye were in this part iv the counthry? An’ av I did know why should I be afther follerin’ iv yeez? It’s goin’ crazy ye are, to be sure, an’ Mike Terry won’t have any thing more to do wid the likes iv yeez. Tell ye why I’m here? Av course I will. I’m this fur on me way to that fort—phat ye call it?—where the Moreland family is movin’ to.”
“And why are you going there?”
“I’m goin’ there to live, yer honor.”
“To live! Why don’t you stay where you have so long been living?”
“Fur this raison. Whiniver I walk out I can’t help seein’ the place where Doctor Trafford’s house stood, an’ it makes me fale as if I was his murderer, sure. Nayther can I go outside iv the stockade unliss something l’ades me straight to the grave av Masther Russell. I’m goin’ away now, so I’ll niver be throubled be these sights ag’in. Musha! musha! the payple used to say Mike Terry was a first-class b’y, but he’s a rascal an’ a spalpeen now, an’ yerself it was that made me that, an’ it’s me own cousin ye are, too.”
“Fool! will you cease your whining? Suppose you have done a rascally act by telling a lie in my defense; I have paid you well for it, and am willing to pay you more. You won’t have my money? Well, that is your fault, not mine. The fact that I killed Doctor Trafford, and caused the death of his nephew, need not trouble you, as the only thing you did was to swear that Russell was the murderer. Now that I have confided in you so far as to tell you that I am striving to get Isabel Moreland in my power, you say something to the effect that you will go over to the encampment of the whites, and disclose my whole secret.”
“Divil a bit did I say that, Jamie. I only s’id the poor craythers ought to be warned iv their danger, an’ I’ll say it ag’in av I want to. It ain’t me as’ll warn ’em, though, fur I have no boat, at all, an’ divil a sthroke can I swim. L’ave ’em alone. They’re not doin’ any harrum to anybody.”
“Bah! you talk nonsense, Mike. I shall not leave them alone, so long as my suit is rejected by the fair daughter of Mr. Moreland. Look you, boy! it is just possible that those red-skins will be defeated to-night, and if they should be, I will of course, go back home. In that case, I will live in constant fear that you will betray me. To make sure that you will not do this, I want you now to take a solemn oath that you will never breathe a word of my secret to mortal ears!”
“Oh, don’t ax me to do that?”
“Ask, indeed! I command you to do it! Down on your knees, and swear that you will forever hold your tongue on this subject.”
“No, no, no! I can’t swear that, at all, at all. Maybe I’ll have to tell some time, to save me own life.”
“Swear!”
“No—oh, no!”
“Idiot! do you refuse?”
“Yis, Jamie, I’ll have to refuse.”
“Then, by the gods, you shall die! Do you hear? you shall die! Look at this knife! It shall cut your infernal heart out, unless you immediately swear secrecy—”
“Oh, don’t—don’t! In the name iv the Howly Vargin, ye wouldn’t be afther murtherin’ iv me? Don’t, dear cousin; pl’ase don’t!”
“Then you will swear?”
“Never! Cut me heart out, av ye will, but don’t ax me to take sich an oath as that. Kill me, cousin, an’ do it quick! I’m a wicked b’y an’ desarve to be kilt, but I shall niver listen to yer blarney ag’in, though it should save me life a hundred times!”
Thus far, Nick Robbins had listened to the conversation without moving from his tracks, but now, fearing the monster would carry out his dire threat, he thought the time for action had come. Beginning to hum a popular air, and dropping his gun to a trail, he walked boldly forward through the thick underbrush, creating as much noise as possible in the act. A few steps took him to a small opening in the woods, where Jim McCabe and the Irish boy, Mike Terry, were standing.
“Hello! what have we hyur?” exclaimed the hunter, stopping short and staring, with well-feigned surprise, at the lad.
McCabe was evidently somewhat flurried by the appearance of Robbins, but he managed to answer:
“Why, upon my word, you startled me, old fellow. Where did you come from so suddenly? You have been so long a while in making up your mind to follow me, that I had almost despaired of seeing you again very soon. That boy? Oh, he’s my cousin, Mike Terry. Come Mike; look up. Don’t you believe, I found him lying here asleep.”
“Did, hey? What’s he hyur fur?”
“He’s been searching for me, I presume. He is always wandering about and getting lost.”
“’Pears to me this is a bad place fur a chap o’ his heft to be strollin’ ’round alone,” said the hunter, gazing as closely and curiously at the boy as if he had never seen him before.
“My sentiments, precisely,” laughed McCabe, “and for that reason I think we had better keep him under our protection, now he’s here.”
“Ye’ll do no sich a thing,” spoke up Mike, firmly. “It isn’t the likes iv yeez that’ll kape me here two minutes longer, unless ye ties me feet. I won’t stay here so close to the poor craythers that’s goin’ to be kilt intirely be the lots iv red niggers in yer employ.”
The lad was sidling away as he spoke, and looked as if he were about to take to his heels. Observing this, Nick Robbins stepped quickly forward and seized him by the arm.
“Hold on younker,” he said. “It’s the opinion o’ this coon ’ut ye’ll be a deal safer by stayin’ with us.”
Then, stooping down, he whispered in the lad’s ear:
“Keep mum. I am not the friend of that man, nor the enemy of those on the island! Stay with me and you are safe!”
The young Hibernian shot a glance of mingled amazement and gratitude at the speaker, but said nothing in reply. The hunter turned carelessly away, and began to converse with McCabe, while Mike Terry, watching them with a strange expression in his blue eyes, quietly seated himself on a stone, as if he had never had a thought of running away from the two men!