The Boys of Old Monmouth Part 7

"For a little time they didn't suspect that, but wanted to know where her husband was. Of course she didn't tell them. How could she, when he wasn't there? Well, they searched the place high and low. They tore open the feather beds, and broke down the walls in two or three places, but they couldn't find Peter. Then they went out into the barns and searched them, but not a trace of him could they find. They must have been pretty angry by that time, for when they came back to the house they told her they knew there must be more money than they had found in the stocking, and she must tell them where it was.

"Just then one of the children called out that she knew where it was for she had seen her mother dig a hole in the ground and put a bag of money in it. Two of the men then took the child out into the garden and tried to make her show them the place where the money was, but she must either have forgotten or else did not know, for the men came back into the house more angry than before, and told her mother that she must go with them and show them the place.

"Of course she refused, and then Fenton raised his gun and told her he'd give her till he could count five, to tell. She didn't say a word, and when the blacksmith had counted four he stopped a minute to give her a chance to speak. He waited, and as she only shook her head the outlaw pulled the trigger and shot her in the breast."

"And killed her?" inquired Tom in a low voice.

"Yes, killed her. The bullet must have struck her heart, for Little Peter said she fell dead. They threw the body on the bed and then they turned upon Little Peter. He said he thought his turn had come then, but at that very minute the guard they had stationed down by the road came running into the house, and going up to Fenton whispered something in his ear.

"Little Peter didn't know what it was, he said, but in a minute Fenton turned to his men and gave them some directions, and they all stopped and went out of the house, that is, all except two, who were looking after Little Peter and the children.

"In almost no time Little Peter heard some one coming up the lane on horseback and stop right before the kitchen door. He heard him jump off from the horse, and after a pause of a minute the men all made a rush out of the house. Pretty soon they came back, and Little Peter saw that his own father was a prisoner in their hands.

"He said his father took on fearfully when he saw his wife dead, and what the men had been doing, but in a minute they bound him hand and foot, and put a gag in his mouth, and then he was as helpless as a baby in their hands.

"Little Peter said he didn't know what was coming next. He thought they'd torture him or his father into telling where the money was, or would set fire to the house; but before they could do anything the guard came running into the house again and called out that some one was coming.

"They only stopped long enough to tie Little Peter to the post of the very bed on which his mother was lying dead, and then they made a break out of the house and took their horses and were off down the lane in no time."

"How did you hear about it? How did Little Peter get away?" said Tom slowly.

"Why, in a few minutes Indian John came into the house, and he set Little Peter free. 'Twas lucky for him that he did, for Fenton might have come back, you see."

"And Little Peter came over to your house with the children, then?"

"Yes, he brought them all over, and they're at our house now. But, oh Tom, it's dreadful! dreadful! I'm so afraid they'll come to our place next, and so I ran out here to get you. Come Tom! Come right away! They may be there now!"

Tom hesitated, not knowing just what to do. He was only a boy, and knew that alone he could do nothing against Fenton and his band. But the appeal of Sarah and the unprotected condition of the children and her mother moved him strongly, and his first impulse was to return with the frightened girl.

"Sarah," said he abruptly, "where is your father?"

"Why, you know he went away this morning, and he hasn't come back yet.

He said he might not be back before to-morrow morning. We're all alone, Tom, and you must come right away. Oh, it's awful!" And Sarah buried her face in her hands again as she spoke.

It was almost upon Tom's lips to tell her what he knew of Benzeor. But the misery of the weeping girl before him was even stronger than the impression produced by the sad tale she had just related, and he could not quite bring himself up to the point of telling her what he suspected,--that her own father had been connected with the attack upon Little Peter's home. But he had decided now as to the course of action he must follow.

"Sarah," said he gently, "there isn't the least danger in the world that your house will be attacked. I can't tell you how I know, but I know it's so."

"But we're all alone, Tom! I don't know what you mean! We're as likely to be attacked as any one. You must go back with me! We must go right away, for they may be there now! Poor mother, she was so frightened that she didn't want me to leave and come over here for you! Come! We must go right back now!"

"Sarah, I'm never going into that house again. You can tell your father that I've slept for the last time under his roof."

"Not going back with me?" said Sarah aghast, and looking up in surprise as she spoke. "Not going back?" she repeated, as if she did not fully understand what Tom had said.

"No, I'm not going back," said Tom firmly. "You know I've been thinking a good while of leaving, and after what you've just told me I know the time has come."

The color slowly faded from Sarah's face and a different expression came into her eyes. Even her alarm was apparently forgotten for the moment, and as Tom looked at her, her eyes seemed to snap and a sneer replaced the look of sorrow.

"Tom Coward, you're afraid!" she said; "that's what's the trouble with you. You're afraid, that's what you are! You'd rather leave mother and me alone there with the children than run any risks of meeting the blacksmith! I wouldn't have believed it, but my father was right. You're a coward by nature as well as by name."

"Sarah"--began Tom, his face flushing at the words of the angry girl.

"Don't 'Sarah' me! I know you now! I never could have believed it, never! But I've heard you with my own ears, and now I know it's true!

You're afraid! You're a coward, that's just what you are! Oh, you're well named, you are! Very well, sir, it shall be as you say. Perhaps we shall be better off without you than we would with you, for it would only make another child for us to look after if you should come back!

I'll go back home and face Fenton and every one of his band myself! I'm afraid, but I'm no coward!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: "TOM COWARD, YOU'RE AFRAID!"]

Turning abruptly away, after giving Tom a glance which he never forgot, she started resolutely and swiftly back along the pathway which she had followed in her flight to the ten-acre lot.

Tom looked after her in helpless amazement. Never before had he heard such an outburst from the gentle and even-tempered Sarah, who had been the leading spirit in Benzeor's household. The children had gone to her with their troubles rather than to their mother, and Sarah had never failed to have a word of comfort or of help for every one. Even Benzeor himself had come to depend upon her judgment in many of his affairs, and she had been as patient and gentle with him as she had been with the troubled little ones.

And to Tom she had been the one true friend he had ever known. Somehow she had always understood him, and from the days of their early childhood it had always been a matter of pride to him that he was her acknowledged champion and protector. Many a time, when he was a st.u.r.dy little lad, had he taken her part against the tormenting boys in the school. For her he had carved quaint and strange looking dolls out of horse-chestnuts, and the childish Sarah had never failed to receive them with many expressions of pleasure, and had lavished a wealth of affection upon them which was almost as pleasing to Tom as to the little mother herself. For her he had gathered the chestnuts in the autumn and the bright colored flowers in the springtime; and when, with the pa.s.sing of the years, there had come to them both new feelings and new interests, he still had shared with her all those dimly perceived ambitions and longings which are ever present in the boyish heart when it arrives at that position where it can look out upon the time when the boy is to become a man.

Perhaps Tom had enjoyed her sympathy and interest the more because of the loneliness of his own position. But Sarah never by word or act had caused him to feel that he was only Benzeor Osburn's "bound boy," and not truly one of the household.

Tom was thinking of some of these things as he watched the departing girl, and, forgetting for the moment all the anger and shame which her last words had aroused, he called aloud after her.

"Sarah! Sarah!" he shouted. "Wait a minute! Come back! Come back!"

Sarah apparently did not hear him, or heed him if she heard, and without once turning her head or looking behind her soon disappeared in the forest.

An impulse to follow her seized Tom, and he even ran a few steps after her, but quickly stopped. How could he explain himself to her without informing upon Benzeor? And then her sorrow would be harder for him to bear than her present anger, hard as that was. No; all he could do was to remain silent for the time, and trust that in the future some explanation might be made which should set him aright once more in the estimation of the best friend the homeless boy had ever known.

The departure of Sarah left him face to face with the perplexing problem of what he was now to do. To return to Benzeor's house was impossible; but where should he go?

Tom stood for several minutes in deep thought. There was no home which would now be open to him except Little Peter's, and that had been wrecked by the dreadful deeds of Fenton and his followers. Washington's army he had heard was at Hopewell, and that was at least forty miles away. It was to the army he had ultimately hoped to go, and perhaps the present was the very time to which he had been looking forward so long.

The longer he thought about it the more strongly was he impressed with the conviction that his best plan would be to try to make his way to Hopewell, or to the place to which the army might have moved by this time. It was true he was without provisions, and he knew of no place in which he would be likely to obtain any, or in which he might find a resting-place for a night. Of the long journey he thought but little, for a walk even of forty miles had no terrors for him.

Tom decided to start for Washington's army, but first he must stop at Little Peter's and learn what his friend's plans were to be, and offer him such aid as it lay within his power to give.

The decision once made, Tom picked up his rifle, which now he somehow had come to regard as his own property, and started through the forest toward the distant road.

When at last he gained it and started towards Little Peter's home, he was startled as he saw some one running down the road, and his first impulse was to conceal himself in the forest and wait for the stranger to pa.s.s; but his fears were relieved when he recognized the long lope of the runner, and then knew that his old friend Indian John was approaching.

CHAPTER VIII

INDIAN JOHN

INDIAN JOHN had for years been a frequent visitor in the home of Benzeor, as he had in many of the other homes of the region. He was an old man now,--how old no one knew, perhaps not even Indian John himself,--but he had lingered about old Monmouth long after the Schwonnack had taken possession of the lands and his own tribe had gradually relinquished their homes and mostly withdrawn from the region.

For months together he would disappear, and no one would know whither he had gone, although it was thought that he was on a visit to some of his kindred, who had withdrawn farther into the interior of the country; but he would soon return and resume his wandering life. At such times, Indian John would be restless and uneasy. Perhaps then he realized more fully the loss of the homes of his ancestors, and his heart would be filled with thoughts he never uttered. He continued to be friendly with the settlers, and though he never refused to accept the food which almost every housewife was willing to give him, he had never been willing to pa.s.s a night under a roof. It was commonly reported that he used a cave in the woods not far away as his abode, but he never had welcomed any one there, nor had any one ever seen the aged Indian in the place. Still the report was believed, and "Indian John's cave" was a well-known name among the boys of Old Monmouth.

Between Tom and the lonely warrior there had been a very strong feeling of sympathy, although not even Tom himself was able to explain it. It had come about, however, as the result of an accidental meeting between them a few years previous to this time. Tom had gone down to the sh.o.r.e one day when a storm had been raging, and the great breakers had been rolling in upon the beach.