The Cave by the Beech Fork Part 27

"Go-go-what's his name?"

"Goliath."

"Go-go-li-yah is one of them there fellers you read about in books.

That's the reason I did not know nothin' about him. You see, I can't read much, my lad. Squire Grundy says I'm got to larn better, and how to write, too, before the next election. But now, just tell me about the Go-go-li-yah."

"He was a very big man--a giant," began Owen. "David was a small boy.

The two had a fight, and the little boy killed the big giant."

"And that's the reason the preacher called me Go-go-li-yah," said Mr.

Lane; "because I was a big man, and was whipped by you. But what did old Go-li-yah fight with--a horse-pistol, I reckon?"

"N-o-o-o," replied Owen, with another prolonged surprise. "Goliath used a sword, and David a sling."

"One of them things that boys use for throwing rocks?" inquired Mr.

Lane.

"Yes, sir. But here's a picture of the fight. You see, here's the giant lying on his back. David has taken Goliath's sword and has raised it to cut off his head."

"Served him right," answered the visitor, calmly. "If he'd only had sense enough to use a rifle or a ho'se-pistol he wouldn't have had his darn noggle chopped off."

Owen continued to turn the pages of the history slowly, while he narrated some of the striking events of the Old and New Testament. Mr.

Lane listened with the simplicity of a child. How he marveled at the pa.s.sage of the Red Sea--the pillar of fire and luminous cloud in the desert--the fall of the walls of Jericho.

Before retiring that night Owen knelt by his bed and prayed fervently for Mr. Lane; prayed that He who had opened a way through the waters and had lit up the path in the desert would also give to his friend the gift and light of faith.

CHAPTER XXIV.

TOM THE TINKER.

"Good luck to you, my friend!" said Mr. Howard, as he accompanied Mr.

Lane to the yard gate and pointed out the path which led down to the river. "But be careful, sir; be careful. Remember that you are dealing with a villain--he is not a murderer; at least, I never heard of his killing any one--but he is cruel--as cruel a man as ever came to this State. I do believe that he would shoot down any one who dared come between him and his money. But remember, too, that he is a coward. He'll not meet you face to face. Once you've captured him, watch him closely, for I fear that he'll attempt to take his own life when he sees that he has fallen into the hands of the law."

"I'm new at this business, as you know, Mr. Howard. Luck has been with me so far, and I hope it will stay. This here is sartin; if I don't capture Tom the Tinker it won't be because I didn't do my part. Good morning, sir!"

"Good morning!"

"If I get the Tinker it will be a good shot for me in the next election for sheriff." With these words Mr. Lane started off on his perilous mission.

The farmer stood and watched him until he disappeared, and then turned and walked slowly toward the house, muttering as he went: "The villain!

the villain! If he is not captured this time, then I'll take a hand in the fight!"

Mr. Lane strode along the river bank, pushing his way through the patches of horse-weed which grew quite close to the water's edge. He did not follow the path farther up on the hill, as he did not wish to be observed. He often paused to mark his way, for he thought that it would be necessary for him to retrace his steps at night.

High above his head, on the bare limbs of a sycamore, a restive rain-crow croaked,--its call predicting heavy rains and bad luck. The old marksman raised his rifle with deadly aim toward the rufous-winged prophet, held it there for a single second, then, lowering it again, said, "If I'd only pulled the trigger, my little friend, you'd never bring bad luck to n.o.body again."

A strange feeling came over him as he drew near the cave, so that he used every means to divert his mind. He spoke to the clattering kingfishers, even though they had no inclination to tarry with him; he gazed at the stupid frogs along the river bank; he watched the tanagers which seemed like b.a.l.l.s of fire among the green foliage of the trees.

The closer he came to his destination the slower he walked; as a consequence, it was almost mid-day when he stood before the two giant rocks, the guardian genii of that mysterious place.

With his right hand grasping his revolver, he pa.s.sed cautiously through the narrow entrance. Here he paused and listened, but heard nothing.

With difficulty he found the rock door. It seemed but a part of the solid stone wall, with a slight, irregular fracture along the side. It was in a dark corner, too, where the light from without did not penetrate. The sheriff drew from his pocket two keys, if keys they could be called, for they were simply pieces of seasoned hickory about ten inches in length, so shaped as to lift a latch. With the largest of these the door was opened. Through it he went into the chamber where Martin and Owen had been held as prisoners on that eventful October night, and again he paused and listened, but still heard nothing. Only the faintest light from without was admitted here, but enough for Mr.

Lane to see that he had not reached the place where whisky was made. The walls were no longer decorated with the skins of wild animals. As no fire had been lighted there for weeks, the air was damp and chilly.

The sheriff suddenly recollected that Stayford had spoken to him of two pa.s.sages leading from this second room, and had directed him to take the one opposite the rock door. He lit a firebrand which he had brought and walked toward this second entrance. He was convinced by this time that no one was in the cave; besides, Jerry had a.s.sured him that neither the Tinker nor Simpson ever remained there during the day.

The whisky still was found, and near it several barrels full of mash.

The furnace was warm, and, although the fire beneath it had been extinguished, it was evident that some one had been working there during the previous night. It was equally evident that they would return to complete their labor.

Mr. Lane had intended to examine the cave closely, but not to stay there until dark. His plan was to conceal himself in the woods, watch the men when they entered and then follow them. Now, however, he concluded that it was better to remain in the cave, as he could easily find a hiding place.

At one end of the room in which the whisky was made was a pa.s.sage leading into the "hold out." The sheriff took from his pocket a second key, unlocked the door, and went into the former dwelling place of Jerry the Trapper. This door could be bolted from within, and so firmly that it was impossible to force an entrance without breaking the solid rock slab of which it was made. Mr. Lane decided to wait here until Simpson and the Tinker returned to the cave, and turned the heavy bolt.

The new occupant then began to examine the contents of his strange abode. At one side hung an iron lamp, with just a little tallow in it.

Scattered on the floor were deer-skin leggings and moccasins, caps, and jackets of home-spun, just as Jerry had left them a few days before, when he was preparing for the stage robbery. There were various devices used for cooking utensils. But what interested the sheriff most were the instruments for cutting stone. They were of the very finest material, and had evidently been brought from England. With them the old trapper had cut the two ma.s.sive doors, and had also opened a way from the side of the cave through which to introduce corn and wood and to roll out the barrels of whisky. Then there was the small window with a single pane of gla.s.s; the whole being ingeniously covered by wild grapevines which Jerry had trained along the ledge without.

After Mr. Lane had examined everything in the little room the pa.s.sing hours became long and tiresome. The little window gradually lost its light, until finally all around was shrouded in darkness. With the night came a protracted vigilance on the part of the sheriff. Mr. Lane sat close to the rock door which he had opened and kept a few inches ajar.

At length he heard footsteps at the entrance of the cave. He closed the door, and waited, for he wished to give the Tinker time to begin his work.

When ten minutes had pa.s.sed he c.o.c.ked his revolver, threw open the door, and rushed from the "hold out."

All was darkness, everywhere perfect quiet. Not a person! not a sound!

For a moment the sheriff stood as if petrified, then turned and groped his way back into the "hold out."

With his flint he lighted a firebrand, then returned to examine the cave. In one of the narrow pa.s.sages he found a place which seemed to have been recently disturbed; this he examined closely. A large fragment of a stone had fallen away from the mother rock and had crushed down the rough sides. It was this noise, no doubt, which he had heard, and had mistaken for footsteps. Back to the "hold out" he went again. The rest of that night and the following day dragged on slowly, Mr. Lane sleeping but little.

Just as it was growing dusk on the second day, he determined to take a short rest. When he awoke it was quite bright. He sat up, and rubbed his eyes, and wondered what had happened. Could it be possible that he had slept during the entire night? He unbolted the door and went out into the cave. Things had been changed there. Some barrels had been filled and others emptied, and there was a smouldering fire under the simmering still.

The sheriff was not discouraged. As several barrels of mash remained, one or two nights would be required to boil them down. From the amount of work done during the preceding night, he judged that two men at most had been there, and these two would, no doubt, return to finish the work. True, he would have to wait another day, but this seemed little to him now that he felt so sure of capturing the Tinker and his companion.

Before the day had pa.s.sed he ate the last of his provisions, smoked his last pipeful of tobacco; then sought to take another rest, as he felt confident that he would have to stand guard over his prisoners during the greater part of the night.

At one end of the "hold out" there was a ledge of rock protruding so far that it formed a natural bed, where he could rest without being seen, even if any one entered the room. With difficulty the sheriff mounted up into this hard bed, and soon was fast asleep.

He was awakened by an explosion like the crash of an earthquake. He sprang up suddenly, hitting the top of the cave with such force that he fell back half unconscious. As he gradually recovered he heard the sound of voices below.

"What would Jerry say," asked one, "if he knew that we had blasted the rock door into fragments?"

"Jerry is in jail," said the other, with a growl. "Jerry is in jail; I hope he will stay there. All that I want is his money. He never spent any. I wonder where he hid it?"

"What part am I to get?" asked the first speaker, as the two began to search among the old clothes and in crevices in the rocks.

"We'll settle that when we find the money."

"We'll settle it now. How much am I to get?"

"You'll be satisfied with----"