“Peace—I command you to be silent, sir!” said Elizabeth.
“Ay, ay, ma’am,” returned the steward. “You didn’t say I shouldn’t drink, though.”
“We will not speak of what is to become of others,” said Miss Temple, turning again to the hunter—“but of your own fortunes, Natty. It shall be my care to see that you pass the rest of your days in ease and plenty.”
“Ease and plenty!” again repeated the Leatherstocking. “What ease can there be to an old man who must walk a mile across the open fields before he can find a shade to hide him from a scorching sun! Or what plenty is there where you may hunt a day, and not start a buck, or see anything bigger than a mink, or maybe a stray fox! Ah! I shall have a hard time after them very beavers, for this fine. I must go low toward the Pennsylvany line in search of the creaters, maybe a hundred mile; for they are not to be got hereaway. No, no,—your betterments and clearings have druv the knowing things out of the country; and instead of beaver dams, which is the nater of the animal, and according to Providence, you turn back the waters over the low grounds with your milldams, as if ’twas in man to stay the drops from going where He wills them to go.—Benny, unless you stop your hand from going so often to your mouth, you won’t be ready to start when the time comes.”
“Hark’ee, Master Bump-ho,” said the steward; “don’t you fear for Ben. When the watch is called, set me on my legs and give me the bearings and distance of where you want to steer, and I’ll carry sail with the best of you, I will.”
“The time has come now,” said the hunter, listening; “I hear the horns of the oxen rubbing ag’in the side of the jail.”
“Well, say the word, and then heave ahead, shipmate,” said Benjamin.
“You won’t betray us, gal?” said Natty, looking simply into the face of Elizabeth. “You won’t betray an old man, who craves to breathe the clear air of heaven? I mean no harm; and if the law says that I must pay the hundred dollars, I’ll take the season through, but it shall be forthcoming; and this good man will help me.”
“You catch them,” said Benjamin, with a sweeping gesture of his arm, “and if they get away again, call me a slink, that’s all.”
“But what mean you?” cried the wondering Elizabeth. “Here you must stay for thirty days; but I have the money for your fine in this purse. Take it; pay it in the morning and summon patience for your month. I will come often to see you, with my friend; we will make up your clothes with our own hands; indeed, indeed, you shall be comfortable.”
“Would ye, children?” said Natty, advancing across the floor with an air of kindness and taking the hand of Elizabeth. “Would ye be so kearful of an old man, and just for shooting the beast which cost him nothing? Such things doesn’t run in the blood, I believe, for you seem not to forget a favor. Your little fingers couldn’t do much on a buckskin, nor be you used to such a thread as sinews. But if he hasn’t got past hearing, he shall hear it and know it, that he may see, like me, there is some who know how to remember a kindness.”
“Tell him nothing,” cried Elizabeth, earnestly; “if you love me, if you regard my feelings, tell him nothing. It is of yourself only I would talk, and for yourself only I act. I grieve, Leatherstocking, that the law requires that you should be detained here so long; but, after all, it will be only a short month, and——”
“A month!” exclaimed Natty, opening his mouth with his usual laugh. “Not a day, nor a night, nor an hour, gal. Judge Temple may sintence, but he can’t keep, without a better dungeon than this. I was taken once by the French, and they put sixty-two of us in a blockhouse, nigh hand to old Frontinac; but ’twas easy to cut through a pine log to them that was used to timber.” The hunter paused and looked cautiously around the room, when, laughing again, he shoved the steward gently from his post, and removing the bedclothes, discovered a hole recently cut in the logs with a mallet and chisel. “It’s only a kick, and the outside piece is off, and then——”
“Off! Ay, off!” cried Benjamin, rousing from his stupor. “Well, here’s off. Ay! ay! You catch ’em, and I’ll hold on to them said beaver hats.”
“I fear this lad will trouble me much,” said Natty; “ ’twill be a hard pull for the mountain, should they take the scent soon, and he is not in a state of mind to run.”
“Run!” echoed the steward. “No, sheer alongside, and let’s have a fight of it.”
“Peace!” ordered Elizabeth.
“Ay, ay, ma’am.”
“You will not leave us, surely, Leatherstocking,” continued Miss Temple; “I beseech you, reflect that you will be driven to the woods entirely, and that you are fast getting old. Be patient for a little time, when you can go abroad openly and with honor.”
“Is there beaver to be catched here, gal?”
“If not, here is money to discharge the fine, and in a month you are free. See, here it is in gold.”
“Gold!” said Natty, with a kind of childish curiosity. “It’s long sin’ I’ve seen a gold piece. We used to get the broad joes, in the old war, as plenty as the bears be now. I remember there was a man in Dieskau’s army, that was killed, who had a dozen of the shining things sewed up in his shirt. I didn’t handle them myself, but I seen them cut out with my own eyes; they was bigger and brighter than them be.”
“These are English guineas and are yours,” said Elizabeth; “an earnest of what shall be done for you.”
“Me! Why should you give me this treasure?” said Natty, looking earnestly at the maiden.
“Why! Have you not saved my life? Did you not rescue me from the jaws of the beast?” exclaimed Elizabeth, veiling her eyes, as if to hide some hideous object from her view.
The hunter took the money, and continued turning it in his hand for some time, piece by piece, talking aloud during the operation.
“There’s a rifle, they say, out on the Cherry Valley, that will carry a hundred rods and kill. I’ve seen good guns in my day, but none quite equal to that. A hundred rods with any sartainty is great shooting! Well, well—I’m old, and the gun I have will answer my time. Here, child, take back your gold. But the hour has come; I hear him talking to the cattle, and I must be going. You won’t tell of us, gal—you won’t tell of us, will ye?”
“Tell of you!” echoed Elizabeth. “But take the money, old man; take the money, even if you go into the mountains.”
“No, no,” said Natty, shaking his head kindly; “I would not rob you so for twenty rifles. But there’s one thing you can do for me, if ye will, that no other is at hand to do.”
“Name it—name it.”
“Why, it’s only to buy a canister of powder—’twill cost two silver dollars. Benny Pump has the money ready, but we daren’t come into the town to get it. Nobody has it but the Frenchman. ’Tis of the best, and just suits a rifle. Will you get it for me, gal?—say, will you get it for me?”
“Will I! I will bring it to you, Leatherstocking, though I toil a day in quest of you through the woods. But where shall I find you, and how?”
“Where!” said Natty, musing a moment—“tomorrow, on the Vision; on the very top of the Vision, I’ll meet you, child, just as the sun gets over our heads. See that it’s the fine grain; you’ll know it by the gloss and the price.”
“I will do it,” said Elizabeth, firmly.
Natty now seated himself, and, placing his feet in the hole, with a slight effort he opened a passage through into the street. The ladies heard the rustling of hay, and well understood the reason why Edward was in the capacity of a teamster.
“Come, Benny,” said the hunter; “ ’twill be no darker tonight, for the moon will rise in an hour.”
“Stay!” exclaimed Elizabeth. “It should not be said that you escaped in the presence of the daughter of Judge Temple. Return, Leatherstocking, and let us retire, before you execute your plan.”
Natty was about to reply when the approaching footsteps of the jailor announced the necessity of his immediate return. He had barely time to regain his f
eet, and to conceal the hole with the bedclothes, across which Benjamin very opportunely fell, before the key was turned, and the door of the apartment opened.
“Isn’t Miss Temple ready to go?” said the civil jailor. “It’s the usual hour for locking up.”
“I follow you, sir,” returned Elizabeth, “good night, Leatherstocking.”
“It’s a fine grain, gal, and I think ’twill carry lead further than common. I am getting old, and can’t follow up the game with the step that I used to could.”
Miss Temple waved her hand for silence, and preceded Louisa and the keeper from the apartment. The man turned the key once, and observed that he would return and secure his prisoners, when he had lighted the ladies to the street. Accordingly, they parted at the door of the building, when the jailor retired to his dungeons, and the ladies walked, with throbbing hearts, towards the corner.
“Now the Leatherstocking refuses the money,” whispered Louisa, “it can all be given to Mr. Edwards, and that added to——”
“Listen!” said Elizabeth; “I hear the rustling of the hay; they are escaping at this moment. Oh! they will be detected instantly!’ ”
By this time they were at the corner, where Edwards and Natty were in the act of drawing the almost helpless body of Benjamin through the aperture. The oxen had started back from their hay, and were standing with their heads down the street, leaving room for the party to act in.
“Throw the hay into the cart,” said Edwards, “or they will suspect how it has been done. Quick, that they may not see it.”
Natty had just returned from executing this order when the light of the keeper’s candle shone through the hole, and instantly his voice was heard in the jail, exclaiming for his prisoners.
“What is to be done now?” said Edwards. “This drunken fellow will cause our detection, and we have not a moment to spare.”
“Who’s drunk, ye lubber!” muttered the steward.
“A break-jail! a break-jail!” shouted five or six voices from within.
“We must leave him,” said Edwards.
“ ’Twouldn’t be kind, lad,” returned Natty; “he took half the disgrace of the stocks on himself today, and the creater has feeling.”
At this moment two or three men were heard issuing from the door of the “Bold Dragoon,” and among them the voice of Billy Kirby.
“There’s no moon yet,” cried the wood chopper; “but it’s a clear night. Come, who’s for home! Hark! What a rumpus they’re kicking up in the jail—here’s go and see what it’s about.”
“We shall be lost,” said Edwards, “if we don’t drop this man.”
At that instant Elizabeth moved close to him, and said rapidly, in a low voice:
“Lay him in the cart and start the oxen; no one will look there.”
“There’s a woman’s quickness in the thought,” said the youth.
The proposition was no sooner made than executed. The steward was seated on the hay, and enjoined to hold his peace, and apply the goad that was placed in his hand, while the oxen were urged on. So soon as this arrangement was completed, Edwards and the hunter stole along the houses for a short distance, when they disappeared through an opening that led into the rear of the buildings. The oxen were in brisk motion, and presently the cries of pursuit were heard in the street. The ladies quickened their pace, with a wish to escape the crowd of constables and idlers that were approaching, some execrating, and some laughing at the exploit of the prisoners. In the confusion, the voice of Kirby was plainly distinguishable above all the others, shouting and swearing that he would have the fugitives, threatening to bring back Natty in one pocket, and Benjamin in the other.
“Spread yourselves, men,” he cried, as he passed the ladies, his heavy feet sounding along the street like the tread of a dozen; “spread yourselves; to the mountains; they’ll be in the mountain in a quarter of an hour, and then look out for a long rifle.”
His cries were echoed from twenty mouths, for not only the jail but the taverns had sent forth their numbers, some earnest in the pursuit, and others joining it as in sport.
As Elizabeth turned in at her father’s gate, she saw the wood chopper stop at the cart, when she gave Benjamin up for lost. While they were hurrying up the walk, two figures, stealing cautiously but quickly under the shades of the trees, met the eyes of the ladies, and in a moment Edwards and the hunter crossed their path.
“Miss Temple, I may never see you again,” exclaimed the youth; “let me thank you for all your kindness; you do not, cannot know, my motives.”
“Fly! fly!” cried Elizabeth. “The village is alarmed. Do not be found conversing with me at such a moment, and in these grounds.”
“Nay, I must speak, though detection were certain.”
“Your retreat to the bridge is already cut off; before you can gain the wood your pursuers will be there.—If——”
“If what?” cried the youth. “Your advice has saved me once already; I will follow it to death.”
“The street is now silent and vacant,” said Elizabeth, after a pause; “cross it, and you will find my father’s boat in the lake. It would be easy to land from it where you please in the hills.”
“But Judge Temple might complain of the trespass.”
“His daughter shall be accountable, sir.”
The youth uttered something in a low voice that was heard only by Elizabeth and turned to execute what she had suggested. As they were separating, Natty approached the females, and said:
“You’ll remember the canister of powder, children. Them beavers must be had, and I and the pups be getting old; we want the best of ammunition.”
“Come, Natty,” said Edwards, impatiently.
“Coming, lad, coming. God bless you, young ones, both of ye, for ye mean well and kindly to the old man.”
The ladies paused until they had lost sight of the retreating figures, when they immediately entered the mansion house.
While this scene was passing in the walk, Kirby had overtaken the cart, which was his own, and had been driven by Edwards without asking the owner, from the place where the patient oxen usually stood at evening, waiting the pleasure of their master.
“Whoa—come hither, Golden,” he cried. “Why, how come you off the end of the bridge, where I left you, dummies?”
“Heave ahead,” muttered Benjamin, giving a random blow with his lash that alighted on the shoulder of the other.
“Who the devil be you?” cried Billy, turning round in surprise, but unable to distinguish, in the dark, the hard visage that was just peering over the cart rails.
“Who be I? Why I’m helmsman aboard of this here craft, d’ye see, and a straight wake I’m making of it. Ay, ay! I’ve got the bridge right ahead, and the bilboes dead aft; I calls that good steerage, boy. Heave ahead.”
“Lay your lash in the right spot, Mr. Benny Pump,” said the wood chopper, “or I’ll put you in the palm of my hand and box your ears. Where be you going with my team?”
“Team!”
“Ay, my cart and oxen.”
“Why, you must know, Master Kirby, that the Leatherstocking and I—that’s Benny Pump—you knows Ben?—well, Benny and I—no, me and Benny; dam’me if I know how ’tis; but some of us are bound after a cargo of beaver skins, d’ye see, and so we’ve pressed the cart to ship them ’ome in. I say, Master Kirby, what a lubberly oar you pull—you handle an oar, boy, pretty much as a cow would a musket, or a lady would a marlinespike.”
Billy had discovered the state of the steward’s mind, and he walked for some time alongside of the cart, musing with himself, when he took the goad from Benjamin (who fell back on the hay and was soon asleep) and drove his cattle down the street, over the bridge, and up the mountain, towards a clearing, in which he was to work the next day, without any other interruption than a few hasty questions from parties of the constables.
Elizabeth stood for an hour at the window of her room, and saw the torches of the pursuers gliding along the s
ide of the mountain, and heard their shouts and alarms; but, at the end of that time, the last party returned, wearied and disappointed, and the village became as still as when she issued from the gate on her mission to the jail.
CHAPTER XXXVI
“And I could weep”—th’ Oneida chief
His descant wildly thus begun—
“But that I may not stain with grief
The death song of my father’s son.”
GERTRUDE OF WYOMING
IT was yet early on the following morning, when Elizabeth and Louisa met by appointment and proceeded to the store of Monsieur Le Quoi in order to redeem the pledge the former had given to the Leatherstocking. The people were again assembling for the business of the day, but the hour was too soon for a crowd, and the ladies found the place in possession of its polite owner, Billy Kirby, one female customer, and the boy who did the duty of helper or clerk.
Monsieur Le Quoi was perusing a packet of letters with manifest delight, while the wood chopper, with one hand thrust in his bosom, and the other in the folds of his jacket, holding an ax under his right arm, stood sympathizing in the Frenchman’s pleasure with good-natured interest. The freedom of manners that prevailed in the new settlements commonly leveled all difference in rank, and with it, frequently, all considerations of education and intelligence. At the time the ladies entered the store, they were unseen by the owner, who was saying to Kirby:
“Ah! ha! Monsieur Beel, dis lettair mak me de most happi of mans. Ah! ma che‘re France! I vill see you aga’n.”
“I rejoice, Monsieur, at anything that contributes to your happiness,” said Elizabeth, “but hope we are not going to lose you entirely.”
The complaisant shopkeeper changed the language to French and recounted rapidly to Elizabeth his hopes of being permitted to return to his own country. Habit had, however, so far altered the manners of this pliable personage that he continued to serve the wood chopper, who was in quest of some tobacco, while he related to his more gentle visitor the happy change that had taken place in the dispositions of his own countrymen.