Walter and his companions, comprehending the state of affairs at a glance, threw themselves from their horses and hurried to Perk’s assistance; but knowing that if he could not manage the hog they had no business with him, they shouted lustily for Rex. The faithful animal was always on hand when he was wanted, and before they had spoken his name the second time he came dashing through the bushes and seized the hog, just as Perk, completely exhausted, released his hold and sank to the ground. The hog fought desperately with his new enemies, but Rex was more than a match for him, and in a few minutes the boys had him securely bound. After that they tied up his mouth, and then turned their attention to Perk, who lay where he had fallen, panting loudly and utterly unable to move or speak. They carried him out of the thicket and laid him upon their overcoats, which they spread at the foot of a tree, and while Walter supported his head and Bab fanned him with his hat, Eugene ran to the bayou and presently returned with a cup of water.

“I’m clean done out,” panted Perk, when he had drained the cup. “Now, listen to me a moment and I’ll tell you something; that was the hardest fight I ever had. Just look at that,” he added, extending his hands, which were so badly cramped that he could not open them.

It was fully half an hour before Perk’s face resumed its natural color, and then he told his companions how he had got into the predicament in which they found him. As he had a somewhat roundabout way of getting at it, we will tell the story in our own words; and in order that you may fully understand it, we must give you a little insight into Rex’s character.

The greyhound had but two faults in the world: He was a constitutional thief, and he always kept as close to Walter as he could. He was master of all the hounds on the plantation, and if he caught any of them in the act of appropriating articles that did not belong to them, he did not hesitate to thrash them soundly; and yet, at the same time, he stole more than all the other dogs put together. He would sneak into the kitchen when he thought no one was observing his movements, and purloin any eatables that happened to be within his reach; and as for hens’ nests, the Club used to say that he would have nosed out one on top of the house, and conjured up some plan to rob it. Walter tried every way he could think of to make an honest dog of him, and to induce him to abandon this bad habit. He fed him until he refused to eat any more, thinking that he would certainly have no inclination to steal for at least an hour or two; but in less than ten minutes he would hear a rumpus in the kitchen, and see Rex retreating toward the barn followed by a shower of stove-wood. The habit could not be broken up—it was constitutional.

The other habit was almost as annoying on some occasions as the first. Rex kept close at his master’s side night and day. He would sleep in his room if he left his door open, and if he did not, Rex would jump up on the wood-shed, thence on to the kitchen, from which he could easily reach the upper porch, that ran entirely around the main building, and so go in at the window. It made no difference to him whether the window was open or not, for he had been known to jump through the sash. He was regular in his attendance at church, and whenever Walter went visiting, Rex always went too. He seemed to take it for granted that he was welcome wherever his master was, and if any one thought differently, and attempted to drive him out of the house, he would stand his ground, and show his teeth in the most threatening manner. As it was well known throughout the settlement that Rex always used those teeth on anything that he got angry at, he was generally allowed to have his own way.

It was this habit that had saved Eugene’s life, and placed Perk in his dangerous predicament. While Walter remained with him, Rex clung to the game manfully; but when he went away to assist Eugene, Rex went too, leaving Perk to manage the hog as best he could. The latter, having great confidence in his endurance and power of muscle, did not at first feel at all uneasy; but it was not long before he discovered that a hog, weighing three hundred and fifty pounds, was an ugly customer to handle. He held the animal by his hind legs, which he had lifted from the ground, and it required the outlay of every particle of strength he possessed to retain his hold. He could not manage the hog with one hand, and, of course, while both his hands were employed he could not tie him.

Bear in mind, now, that this was no tame hog, that would have run away if Perk had released him. He was wild, savage and angry; and if he could have reached his enemy the career of one of the Sportsman’s Club would have been brought to a sudden close. The hog would have attacked him at once, and Perk would have been easily overcome.

The young hunter became alarmed when he saw what a scrape he had got into, and began shouting for help; but the rest of the Club were too far away to hear him, and finding that he was wasting his breath to no purpose, he did the only thing he could do—he held fast to save his life. Walter was gone fully three-quarters of an hour, and during all this time Perk clung to that savage beast, afraid to let go, and almost unable to hold on. His companions arrived just in time to save him; a moment more would have sealed his fate. Perk had a high opinion of a hog’s strength and endurance now, and wound up his story by declaring that he would a heap sooner face a bear.

“I believe I own more property now than I did this morning,” said Walter, when Perk ceased speaking. “I think I heard you say that if you couldn’t tie any hog that ever ran wild in Louisiana, you would make me a present of your horse. I consider the animal mine, but you may use him until you can provide yourself with another. Can any one tell what has become of Featherweight?”

No one could. Eugene said that when the hounds first discovered the wild hogs, he and the missing member were riding side by side; and that the last time he saw Featherweight he was galloping through the bushes at the top of his speed. Every one wondered what had become of him. There was plenty of room in the swamp for him to get lost, but still it was not likely that such a misfortune had befallen him, for Featherweight had hunted over the ground so often that he knew it like a book. Bab suggested that it would be a good plan for some one to sound a horn, and Eugene did so; but no response came. Again and again the horn was blown, and finally they heard an answer, but it was not such as they expected. It was the shrill neigh of a horse which rang through the swamps at short intervals, and came nearer and nearer every moment. The Club began to look at one another rather anxiously; and when at last a riderless pony—Featherweight’s pony—burst from the bushes and galloped up to the place where their own horses were standing, the boys were really alarmed. Something had certainly happened to their friend; but whether he had been thrown from his horse or had met with some more serious trouble, they had no means of judging.

“We must start in search of him at once,” said Walter. “Cuff,” he added, addressing himself to the negro who at that moment drove up with the cart in which lay the two wild hogs, securely bound; “tie that horse behind your wagon, take him to the house with you, and tell father that Fred Craven is missing, and that we are looking for him. If we are not at home before dark he will know what detains us.”

The boys did not reach home before dark. It was long after midnight when they entered their room and sat down before the fire to dry their clothes, which were covered with mud; and they did not bring Featherweight with them, and neither had he come home during their absence. Bright and early the next morning they renewed their search, accompanied by Mr. Gaylord, Uncle Dick, and some of the negroes. As they were riding through the quarters they met the old servant whose duty it was to feed and take care of the hounds, and he told them that Featherweight’s dog had come home during the night all cut to pieces, and so weak from loss of blood that he could scarcely stand. He declared that the mischief had been done by a wild hog, and expressed the fear that Featherweight might have been injured also. The boys were greatly terrified by this piece of news. They went to the kennels to look at the hound, which had been wrapped up in blankets and tended as carefully as though he were a human being, and then set out for the woods.

They rode all that day, and not only did they fail to find Featherweight, but they did not see anybody until about three o’clock in the afternoon. Then Walter and Perk, who had separated from the others, came suddenly upon some one they did not expect to see. It was Wilson, but at first they did not know him. His hands and face were as black as a negro’s, his clothing was torn and covered with soot, and, taken altogether, he was the worst-looking boy they had ever seen. They saw at a glance that he had been in close quarters somewhere.

CHAPTER VI.
BAYARD’S PLANS.

An angrier boy than Bayard Bell was, when he leaped his horse over the fence and rode away from the thicket, which had so nearly been the scene of a desperate conflict between his followers and the members of the Sportsman’s Club, was never seen anywhere. He told himself over and over again that Walter Gaylord had insulted him (although how he had done so, it would have puzzled a sensible boy to determine), and declared that he had done it for the last time, and that he had put up with his meanness just as long as he could. Although Perk had said, almost in so many words, that he was willing and even eager to fight, and Bab, Eugene and Featherweight had shown by their actions that they were ready to stand by their friend to the last, Bayard did not waste a thought upon them, but laid all the blame upon Walter, who had conducted himself like a young gentleman during the whole interview, and kept himself in the back-ground as much as possible. The reason for this was, that Bayard had long ago learned to hate Walter most cordially; and the cause of this hatred was the latter’s popularity among the students at the Academy. Bayard, like many a boy of our acquaintance, desired to be first in everything. He wanted the students to look up to him and treat him with respect, and yet he was not willing to make any exertions to bring about this state of affairs. Besides being stingy and unaccommodating, he showed his tyrannical disposition at every opportunity, and then wondered why he had so few friends. Walter, on the other hand, was modest and unassuming, never tried to push himself forward, was always polite to his companions, and would put himself to any amount of trouble to do a favor for one of them. The result was that, with the exception of a few congenial spirits whom Bayard had gathered about him, the boys all liked him, and showed it by every means in their power. The more Bayard thought of it the angrier he became.

“They’re conceited upstarts, the whole lot of them,” said he, turning around in his saddle to face his companions, who were galloping along behind him. “It’s lucky for them that Mr. Gaylord and those niggers came up just as they did, for I was going to punch some of them.”

“Perhaps it is fortunate for us that the fight didn’t come off,” said Leonard Wilson, who, if he had no other qualities, was at least honest. “Did you hear what Perkins said about knocking our heads together?”

“O, he wouldn’t have done it,” said Will Bell, with a sneer; “he couldn’t. He’s a regular milk-sop, and so are they all.”

“Well, if they are, I don’t know it,” said Wilson.

“No, nor nobody else,” chimed in Henry Chase. “That Phil Perkins is a perfect lion, and Walter Gaylord isn’t a bit behind him. What a lovely muscle Walter showed on the day we pulled that boat-race! Why, it was as large as the boxing-master’s. And what long wind he has! And can’t he pick up his feet, though, when he is running the bases?”

Bayard looked sharply at Chase, and made no reply. He had commenced by abusing and threatening the Sportsman’s Club, and expected to be assisted in it by his men; but here was Chase praising his rival up to the skies, and Wilson nodding his head approvingly, as much as to say that he fully agreed with his companion, and that every word he uttered was the truth. Bayard was very much disgusted at this, and showed it by facing about in his saddle, and maintaining a sullen silence for the next quarter of an hour. The deep scowl on his forehead indicated that he was thinking busily, and his thoughts dwelt quite as much upon two of the boys who were galloping along the muddy lane behind him, as they did upon the members of the Sportsman’s Club. At last he seemed to have decided upon something, for he straightened up, and began to look about him.

“Fellows,” said he, “we are but a short distance from the bayou, and I propose that we ride over there, water our horses, and eat our lunch. I’m hungry.”

“So am I,” replied Will; “but I’d rather go home. I can’t see any fun in sitting down in the mud, and eating cold bread and meat, when there are a comfortable room and a warm dinner awaiting us only three miles away.”

Bayard paid no more attention to his cousin’s words than if they had not been spoken at all, but turned his horse out of the lane into the bushes, and rode toward the bayou. His companions hesitated a little, and then followed after him; and in a few minutes more they were sitting on the banks of the stream discussing their sandwiches, and gazing into the water, as if they saw something there that interested them very much. No one spoke, for Bayard was in the sulks, and that threw a gloom over them all.

If Bayard was hungry his actions did not show it, for he ate but a very few mouthfuls of his sandwich, and finally, with an exclamation of impatience, threw it into the water. The movement attracted the attention of his cousins, and that seemed to be just what Bayard wanted, for he began to make some mysterious signs to them, at the same time nodding his head toward the bushes, indicating a desire to say a word to them in private.

Will and Seth must have understood him, for they winked significantly, and went on eating their sandwiches, while Bayard, after yawning and stretching his arms, arose to his feet and walked up the bayou out of sight. As soon as he thought he could do so without exciting suspicion, Will followed him; and shortly afterward Seth also disappeared. Wilson and Chase gazed after him curiously, and as soon as the sound of his footsteps had died away, turned and looked at one another. “What’s up?” asked the latter.

“That’s a question I can’t answer,” replied Wilson. “They’re going to hold a consultation about something.”

“Or somebody,” observed Chase. “I believe you and I will be the subjects of their deliberations—in fact I know it. Didn’t you see how angry Bayard looked over what we said about Walter and his crowd? I know him too well to believe that he will allow that to pass unnoticed. He’s up to some trick now, and if we creep through the bushes very carefully we can find out what it is. We’d be playing eavesdropper though, and that would be mean, wouldn’t it?”

“I don’t see that it would. When one knows that a fellow like Bayard Bell, who is bad enough for anything, is laying plans against him, he has a perfect right to resort to any measures to find out what those plans are. Come on; I’ll go if you will.”

Chase, needing no second invitation, arose to his feet and stole up the bayou in the direction Bayard and his friends had gone, closely followed by Wilson. They moved very cautiously, and presently arrived within hearing of the voices of the three conspirators, for such they believed them to be. A few seconds afterward they came within sight of them, and found them seated in a little thicket which grew on the bank of the bayou, engaged in an earnest conversation. So deeply interested were they in what they were saying that they thought of nothing else, and the two eavesdroppers approached within twenty yards of them, and took up a position from which they could observe their movements and hear every word that was said. Bayard was talking rapidly, and the others were listening with an expression of intense astonishment on their faces; and Chase and Wilson had not been long in their concealment before they began to be astonished too.

“Everything I tell you is the truth,” said Bayard, emphatically. “There is scarcely a person in the settlement who does not know that there is such an organization in existence; but I do not suppose there is any one outside of the band who knows who the members are except myself. I know three of them, and I found them out by accident. They are the ones who must do this work for us.”

“Must!” repeated Seth.

“Yes, they must, whether they are willing or not.”

“Have you spoken to them about it?”

“No, I have not had a chance.”

“Why, you said you had got matters all arranged!” said Will.

“I told you that in less than two days Walter Gaylord would find himself miles and miles at sea, with a fair prospect of never seeing Louisiana again,” replied Bayard. “It’s lucky I didn’t tell you any more, for you, Seth, came near blabbing it on two different occasions. You never could keep anything to yourself.”

“I didn’t intend to tell them what we are going to do to them,” retorted Seth, with some spirit. “I only wanted to give them to understand that we have laid our plans to punish them in some way.”

“And so put them on their guard!” snarled Bayard. “That’s a pretty way to do business, isn’t it? Now, unless you promise faithfully to keep everything I tell you a profound secret, I won’t say another word.”

“I promise,” said Seth, readily.

“So do I,” chimed in Will.

“Well, then, I will tell you how I came to find out about these smugglers,” continued Bayard, settling back on his elbow. “It happened last summer, shortly after that boat-race. I felt so mean over our defeat that I wanted to keep away from everybody, and you know that I left the Academy and came home. One day I took my gun and strolled out into the swamp. At noon I found myself about ten miles from home, and on the bank of a little stream which emptied into the bay. I stopped there to rest, and after eating my lunch, stretched myself out on the leaves and was fast going off into a doze, when I was aroused by the sound of oars; and, upon looking up, saw a large yawl just entering the bayou. There were three men in it, and they were Coulte and his two sons.”

“Coulte!” exclaimed Will, in amazement. “The old hunter?”

“And his two sons!” echoed Seth. “Are they smugglers?”

“Let me tell my story without interruption, if you please,” said Bayard, impatiently. “You will know as much about it as I do when I am done. I wondered what they could be doing there,” he continued, “and raised myself to a sitting posture, intending to speak to them when they came up, and would have done so, had I not noticed that they were very stealthy in their movements, and that they did not pull the boat into the bayou until they had looked up and down the bay, to make sure that there was no one watching them.

“Now, when one man sees another sneaking about, and showing by every action that he is anxious to escape observation, it is natural that he should want to see what he is going to do. I did not suppose that Coulte was up to any mischief, for, like everybody else in the settlement, I believed him to be an honest old fellow; but I knew that he did not want to be seen, and that was enough for me. As quick as thought I slipped behind a tree, whose high, spreading roots afforded me an excellent concealment, and lying flat upon the ground, looked over into the bayou, and watched the three men in the yawl as closely as ever a panther watched his prey. They seemed to be satisfied at last that there was no one in sight, for they pulled quickly into the bayou and stopped on the opposite shore, directly in front of me. The bank, at that particular place, was about twenty feet in height, and was partially concealed by thick bushes, which grew up out of the water. When the boat stopped Coulte raised his oar and thrust it into the bushes, where it came in contact with something that gave out a hollow sound. He struck three blows, and after waiting a moment struck three more; and presently I heard something that sounded like an answering knock on the other side of the bushes. Coulte replied with two knocks, and I distinctly heard a latch raised and a door opened—although where the door was I do not know—and a voice inquired:

“‘How’s the wind to-day?”

“‘South-south-west,’ replied Coulte, in his broken English.

“‘How was it last night?’

“‘North-north-east.’

“‘Where from?’ asked the voice.

“‘Havana, Galveston, and New Orleans.’

“‘Whither bound?’

“‘Here, and there, and everywhere.’”

“What did they mean by talking that way?” asked Seth, who had listened eagerly to his cousin’s story, but with an expression on his face which said plainly that he did not believe a word of it. “I can’t make any sense out of it.”

“Neither could I—neither could anybody,” replied Bayard, “not even if he were a member of the organization, because there is no sense in it. But there was use in it, for the man on the other side of the bushes knew that Coulte was one of the smugglers by the way he answered the questions; at least I thought he was satisfied of it, for he pulled aside the bushes and showed himself. He shook hands with the men in the yawl, and began a conversation with them. I heard every word that was said, but the only information I gained was, that Coulte’s two sons were employed as foremast hands on board the vessel in which the smuggling is carried on. When the conversation was ended, Coulte passed out some bales and boxes he had brought in his yawl, and then got out his oars and pulled down the bayou.”

“What do you suppose was on the other side of those bushes?” asked Will, after a long pause.

“I am sure I don’t know, unless it was a cave where the smugglers stowed away their goods.”

“What’s the reason you have never told this before?” inquired Seth. “Why didn’t you go straight to your father with the news, and have him put the authorities on the lookout? Don’t you know that there is a heavy reward offered for any information that will lead to the breaking up of this band?”

“I do,” replied Bayard, leaning toward his cousins and sinking his voice almost to a whisper, “but I don’t want the band broken up. I may join it myself sometime.”

“You!” cried his auditors, starting back in surprise.

“Yes, I; that is if they will take me; and if they won’t, I will blow the whole thing. Here’s where I have the advantage of them, and that’s the way I am going to induce Coulte to help us carry out our plans against Walter Gaylord. We’ll ride over and call on the old fellow this very afternoon, and tell him that we want him and his boys to make a prisoner of Walter at the very first opportunity, take him on board their vessel, carry him to the West Indies, and lose him there so effectually that he will never find his way home again.”

As Bayard said this he settled back on his elbow and looked at his cousins, and Seth and Will, too astonished to speak, settled back on their elbows and looked at him. They had always known that Bayard was cruel and vindictive, but they had never dreamed that he could conceive of a plan like this. How coolly he talked about it, and how confident he seemed of success!

“I flatter myself that this is a grand idea, and one that nobody else in the world would ever have thought of,” continued Bayard.

“You’re right there,” replied Will. “I don’t suppose you have thought of the obstacles in your way?”

“You can’t mention one that I have not thought of and provided for. Try it.”

“Well, in the first place, suppose that Coulte declines to assist you in carrying out your plans? He likes Walter.”

“He likes his liberty better. If he refuses I will just say ‘law’ to him, and that will bring him to terms.”

“That’s so,” said Will, hesitatingly, as if he did not like to yield the point. “In the next place, suppose that Coulte agrees to comply with your demands and captures Walter, and the rest of the crew (I do not believe that Coulte’s two sons comprise the entire company of the smuggling vessel), refuse to take him to the West Indies; what then?”

“No one except Coulte and his sons need know anything about it. They can smuggle Walter on board at night, as if he were a bale of contraband goods, and keep him concealed until the vessel reaches its destination.”

“And then he will be set at liberty, and the first thing you know he will come back here a hero, and you and Coulte will find yourselves in hot water,” exclaimed Will. “That will be the upshot of the whole matter. I don’t like those boys any better than you do, and should be glad to see them brought up with a round turn; but this thing won’t work.”

“Don’t I tell you that one part of my plan is to lose him so that he will never find his way back here?” asked Bayard, angrily. “You are very dull, both of you.”

“I am not,” said Seth; “I understand it all, and begin to think that it will prove a complete success. I never could have studied up a scheme like that. It almost takes my breath away to think of it.”

“I know it will be successful,” said Bayard, confidently; “and if you will ride over to Coulte’s with me, I will convince you of it in less than a quarter of an hour after we get there.”

“What shall we do with Chase and Wilson?” asked Seth. “Are you going to take them into your confidence?”

“Of course not. We must get rid of them immediately; for if they remain with us they will want to accompany us to Coulte’s, and that is something we can’t allow. We’ll raise a quarrel with them. We’ll ask them what they meant by praising Walter and his crowd a little while ago, and as they are very independent and spunky, they will be sure to give us some impudence. When they do that, we’ll tell them that we have seen quite enough of them, and that they can just pack up their traps and go home.”

“It’s almost too bad to go back on them in that way,” said Seth. “They’ve stuck to us like bricks.”

“And if you send them off it will break up our society and boat-club,” said Will.

“No matter for that. The society and boat-club must not stand in the way of this plan. I am going to carry it out if I lose every friend I’ve got by it. You can stick to me or not, just as you please.”

As Bayard said this he arose to his feet, indicating a desire to bring the interview to a close, and Chase and Wilson retreated backward until they were out of sight of the conspirators, and then took to their heels. They made the best of their way to the place where they had left their horses, and when Bayard and his cousins came in sight they were sitting on the bank of the bayou, looking steadily into the water. Something in their faces must have aroused Bayard’s suspicions, for he glanced from one to the other and demanded:

“What’s the matter with you fellows?”

“Nothing,” replied Chase, sullenly.

“I know better,” cried Bayard.

“So do I!” exclaimed Seth. “Something’s the matter with you, or you would not have stood up for Walter and his crowd as you did a while ago. We think hard of you for that, and want to know what you meant by it. It would serve you just right if we should put you where we’re going to put——”

When Seth’s tongue was once in motion he seemed to lose all control over it. He was on the very point of divulging the secret which he had so faithfully promised to keep inviolate; but an angry glance from Bayard, and a timely pinch from his brother, cut short his words.

“We haven’t said or done anything that we are ashamed of,” declared Chase. “If you don’t like us or our ways, all you have to do is to tell us so.”

“Well, we don’t. There!” said Will.

“All right. Let’s start for Bellville, Wilson. Good-by, fellows. When you want to make up a crew next summer to pull against the Sportsman’s Club, call on somebody besides us; will you?”

Chase and Wilson sprang into their saddles and rode away, directing their course toward Mr. Bell’s house, intending to get their saddle-bags, which contained the few articles of clothing which they had brought with them from home, and return to the village without the loss of a single hour; while Bayard and his cousins, after dancing a hornpipe to show the delight they felt at the success of their stratagem, set out for the dwelling of the Frenchman, which was five miles distant. At the end of half an hour’s rapid gallop they arrived within sight of it—a double log-house, flanked by corn-cribs and negro quarters, and standing in the middle of a clearing of about two hundred acres. Here old Coulte and his sons lived isolated from everybody; and before they engaged in the more lucrative business of smuggling, they had spent their summers in superintending the cultivation of a few acres of cotton and corn, and their winters in hunting.

As Bayard and his friends approached the house a man, who was sitting in the doorway smoking a cob-pipe, arose to welcome them. It was old Coulte himself—a little dried-up, excitable Frenchman, whose form was half bent with age, but who was nevertheless as sprightly as a boy of sixteen. Bayard, who was leading the way, reined up his horse with a jerk, and having come there on business opened it at once.

“Hallo, Coulte!” he exclaimed: “you’re just the man I want to see. How’s the wind to-day?”

The Frenchman started, and removing his pipe from his mouth replied slowly and almost reluctantly, as if the words were forcing themselves out in spite of all his efforts to prevent it: “Sou’sou’-west.” Then, as if he were alarmed at what he had done, he stamped his foot on the ground, exclaiming: “Vat you know about ze wind, Meester Bayard?”

“O, that’s all right,” replied Bayard, carelessly; “I know all about it. If it is south-south-west to-day, it was north-north-east last night. Coulte, may I say a word to you in private?”

The Frenchman, who appeared to be utterly confounded, stared very hard at the boys for a moment, took his pipe out of his mouth and gave a loud whistle, then put it in again, and picking up his hat followed Bayard, who dismounted and led the way toward a corn-crib that stood at a little distance from the house. When he seated himself on the ground and motioned Coulte to a place beside him, the latter gave another whistle louder than before; and having by this means worked off a little of his astonishment, he leaned forward and placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Meester Bayard,” said he in a low, excited voice, “be you one of ze—ze—”

The word seemed to stick in his throat, but Bayard spoke it without the least difficulty. “One of the smugglers?” he inquired. “No; but I know something about them. I say, Coulte, don’t you think you are engaging in rather a risky business? Suppose it should be found out, what would become of you?”

The Frenchman took his pipe out of his mouth long enough to give another whistle, and then went on with his smoking.

“If I were disposed to be mean,” continued Bayard, looking down at the ground and speaking in a low voice, as if he were talking more to himself than for the benefit of his companion, “I could make plenty of trouble for you by whispering about the settlement that your sons belong to the crew of that smuggling vessel, and that you have been seen with contraband goods in your possession. Let me see; the penalty is—I forget just what it is, but I know it is something terrible.”

“Whew!” whistled Coulte, his face turning pale with alarm.

“Of course I have not the slightest intention of doing anything of the kind,” continued Bayard; “for you and I are old friends. But I say that if I should do it, it would be bad for you, wouldn’t it? By the way—sit down here; I have a favor to ask of you, and I am sure that you will not refuse me.”

Although the old Frenchman was one of the bravest hunters in the parish, and would not have hesitated a moment to attack the largest bear or panther single-handed, he was thoroughly cowed now. Bayard knew what he was talking about when he said he was sure that Coulte would not refuse him the favor he was about to ask of him, for the old man was so badly frightened that he would have given up his ears if he had been commanded to do so. He seated himself on the ground beside the boy, and listened attentively while the latter unfolded his plans, only interrupting him occasionally with long-drawn whistles, which were very low at first and very loud at last, increasing in volume proportionately with the old man’s astonishment. After Bayard finished his story, a few minutes’ conversation followed, and finally the boy arose and walked toward his companions, leaving Coulte standing as if he were rooted to the ground.

“What success?” whispered Will, as Bayard swung himself into the saddle.

“The very best,” was the exultant reply. “Walter Gaylord’s goose is cooked now—done brown. In the first place, Coulte says that all the smuggling is carried on in one small vessel named the Stella, which sails from the coast once every ten days. She is now hidden in the bay a few miles from here (I know right where she is, and have promised to visit her early to-morrow morning), and will leave for Cuba day after to-morrow. The only men on board are Coulte’s two sons, who stayed to watch the vessel while the rest of the crew went to New Orleans to spend their money. They will return some time to-morrow, and consequently the work must be done to-night. Coulte says that he will go down at once and talk to his boys, and that Walter Gaylord shall be secured before morning. You’re sorry for it, are you not?” he demanded, turning fiercely upon his cousins, who seemed to be disappointed rather than elated.

“No,” replied Will, “I am not sorry, exactly, but I feel kind of—you know.”

“I don’t know anything about it,” answered Bayard. “I never have such feelings.”

“I feel afraid,” said Seth, honestly. “Suppose something should happen?”

“O, now, what’s going to happen? The only thing I am afraid of is that Walter will keep himself close to-night, or that if he does come out, Coulte’s boys will miss him. If they meet him at all, it will probably be while he is on horseback—the Club are always in the saddle—and I described him so minutely that they cannot possibly mistake him. Coulte’s sons are not very well acquainted with Walter, you know, and I told him to tell them that if they saw a boy about my size and age riding a white horse, and wearing a heavy dark-blue cloak with a red lining, to catch him at all hazards and hold fast to him, for he is the fellow they want. Wasn’t the old fellow taken down completely when I told him that I knew he was a smuggler? He could scarcely speak.”

The boys faced-about in the saddle, and gazed back at the house. The Frenchman was still standing where they had left him, smoking furiously; and as they turned to look at him he took his pipe out of his mouth, and a long-drawn whistle came faintly to their ears. It was plain that he had not yet recovered from his astonishment.

CHAPTER VII.
BAYARD VISITS THE SCHOONER.

While Bayard and his cousins were galloping through the swamp on their way to the old Frenchman’s house, Henry Chase and Leonard Wilson were riding slowly along the road toward the residence of Mr. Bell. To say that they were astonished at what they had heard would not half express their feelings. They told themselves that they had never known anything about Bayard before that day, and were glad indeed that he had not asked their assistance in carrying out his plans. Chase was the first to speak.

“What shall we do about it?” he asked.

“I think our duty is very plain,” replied Wilson. “In the first place, we ought to say that we will never have anything more to do with those fellows.”

“I don’t think we shall have any difficulty in carrying out that resolution,” answered Chase, “for it is plain that they have made up their minds to have nothing more to do with us.”

“In the next place,” continued Wilson, “we ought to go straight to Walter Gaylord and tell him to look out for himself, and to give Coulte and his sons a wide berth. I never heard of such a cowardly way of taking revenge before, and I could not sleep soundly again if I did not do something to prevent it. And in the third place, we ought to go home and tell our fathers everything we have heard. They will know just what ought to be done.”

“I will agree to that—all except calling on Walter,” replied Chase. “I don’t want to meet him or any of the Club. If Mr. Gaylord or Uncle Dick should see us in the yard, they would order us out without giving us time to make known our business.”

“We need not go there in the day-time. We will wait until after dark, and tell the person who answers our knock at the door that we want to see Walter a moment. Now that I think of it, what have these fellows done that we dislike them so much?”

If one might judge by Chase’s actions, it was a question that he did not care to answer. He looked very sheepish, gazed down at the handle of his riding-whip, and had nothing to say.

“It was very mortifying to be beaten in that boat-race, after we had bragged so lustily of our muscle and long wind, and all that,” continued Wilson; “but it was fairly done, and we ought to have accepted the result like gentlemen.”

“That’s a fact,” said Chase; “although it was a severe blow to me to have that little upstart, Fred Craven, elected Vice Commodore, when I wanted the position so badly, and tried so hard to get it.”

“Well, he is a good sailor, and popular among the students; and perhaps you can thank yourself for your defeat. I tell you, Hank, this day’s work has opened my eyes. I am going to turn over a new leaf and behave myself from this time forward, if I know how. Why, man alive, just think of it! What will the folks in Bellville say about us when it becomes known that we have been associating with fellows who have dealings with smugglers? Gracious! We’re getting rather low down in the world, the first thing you know. Let’s whip up, and get our things out of that house before Bayard returns.”

The boys urged their horses into a gallop, and in half an hour drew rein and dismounted in front of the porch at Mr. Bell’s dwelling—a rambling old structure, which seemed in a fair way to crumble to pieces, and from the outside looked as though it was entirely deserted. The wide hall, which was destitute of furniture, echoed loudly as the boys passed through it, and the stairs creaked as they ascended them. They made their way to the room they occupied without meeting any one, and began to pack up their clothing. Wilson put on his overcoat, while Chase threw his cloak over his arm, picked up his saddle-bags, and turned and looked at his companion.

“I say!” he exclaimed, suddenly. “Don’t this look rather—it isn’t just the right thing now, is it?”

“What?” inquired Wilson.

“It’s very ungentlemanly, not to say sneaking!”

“What do you mean?”

“Why, stealing out of the house without saying good-bye to anybody. Bayard’s father and mother have treated us very kindly since we have been here, and it would be rude in us to go off without taking leave of them.”

“I know that; but I don’t see how we are going to do it without telling them we had a falling out with Bayard, and, of course, we can’t do that. We’ll let him give his own version of the affair when he comes home, and I know it will be anything but flattering to us. What shall we say to them?”

“Leave it to me,” replied Chase. “I’ll fix it all right.”

The boys being ready for the start picked up their luggage, descended the stairs, and in a few minutes more were standing in the library taking leave of Mr. and Mrs. Bell. Chase did all the talking, and succeeded in taking himself and companion through the interview in a perfectly satisfactory manner. Without alluding in any way to what had passed between them and Bayard, he gave their host to understand that certain circumstances had happened which rendered it necessary for them to start for home that very night; which, by the way, was the truth.

“That’s over,” said Chase, mounting his horse—which looked enough like the one Walter rode to have been his brother—and leading the way at a rapid gallop toward the gate; “and now comes another unpleasant piece of business, which is to call upon the President of the Sportsman’s Club. After that, a forty-mile ride over the muddiest road in the United States.”

When the boys arrived within sight of the chimneys of Mr. Gaylord’s dwelling, they became cautious in their movements, and if a stranger had seen them loitering about on the edge of the woods, and peeping through the bushes at the house, he would have looked at them rather suspiciously. He would not have supposed from their actions that they had come there on a friendly mission, but would have thought rather that they were a couple of burglars, who were taking notes of the mansion and its surroundings, and waiting for the darkness to hide their movements in order that they might make a descent upon the silver. They repeatedly declared that it “looked sneaking,” but they lacked the courage to ride into the yard and face Walter Gaylord in broad daylight; although if he had come out into the woods where they were, they would have met him gladly. They watched the house closely, and Wilson kept his lips puckered up in readiness for a whistle to attract the attention of the Club if they came out; but Eugene was fast asleep on the sofa in his uncle’s cabin, Walter and Featherweight were busy with their books, Perk and Bab were deeply interested in their games of backgammon, and not one of them showed himself.

The afternoon wore slowly away; darkness came on apace, and Chase and Wilson, hungry and shivering with the cold, began walking their horses up and down the road, the former, who was to act as spokesman, repeating, for the twentieth time, what he intended to say to Walter when he came to the door. They passed the gate several times without possessing the courage to enter it, and each time they did so two men, who were closely watching all their movements, drew back into the bushes and concealed themselves.

“It must be done some time!” exclaimed Chase, at length, “and it might as well be done first as last. The sooner it is over the sooner we can start for home. Let’s go in now.”

As Chase said this he turned his horse, and put him into a full gallop, being determined to ride to the house and go through the interview with Walter, while he was in the humor for it. Arriving at the gate, he bent down from the saddle and raised the latch; but just then a thought struck him, and he paused.

“Suppose Walter puts no faith in our story,” said he; “what then? If he isn’t suspicious that we are up to a trick of some kind, he will think it very strange that we, who were so friendly to Bayard this morning as to be willing to fight for him, should be at loggerheads with him now.”

A long debate followed, the result of which was, that the boys determined to adhere to their resolution and warn Walter of his danger, leaving him to do as he pleased about believing their story. After that Chase once more rehearsed his speech in order to fix it in his memory, and again placed his hand on the latch; but just as the gate swung open and he was on the point of riding through, two dark figures suddenly appeared beside him; and while one seized his horse by the bridle, the other caught him by the arm and dragged him to the ground, placing a brawny hand over his mouth, to stifle his cries for help.