CHAPTER XIII.
That night we had a chase such as I had never before indulged in. Theaide-de-camp believed Frank Amory to be ill with fever:--delirium infact, but to my knowledge delirium was unusual as a first symptom of anordinary Southern fever. He might be feverish; might indeed be ill; butthat alone would not be apt to cause his extraordinary excitement. Twoor three officers at headquarters had remarked his strange manner andabsent-minded replies, said the aide, while he had been there early inthe evening, but at that time his face was pale rather than flushed.
At the stables on Magazine Street we again questioned the sergeant. "Didthe lieutenant appear to be under any strong excitement?" asked theaide-de-camp, and the sergeant eyed him askance a moment as though hemisunderstood the drift of the question, seeing which I interposed,--
"The captain fears that Mr. Amory is seized with just such a fever asthat which prostrated Major Vinton." Whereat the sergeant lookedrelieved, and answered,--
"I couldn't say, sir. He never spoke more than to order his horse andthen go off at a gallop. But two or three times lately at Sandbrook hehas done that,--taken his horse and gone off riding at the dead ofnight. He may be ill, sir, but I couldn't say."
This news in some way strengthened my view of the case. The fact that hehad frequently or occasionally gone off in a similar manner went toprove that the ailment was not a new bodily trouble. Knowing what I knewand felt bound to keep to myself, it was not hard to determine thatmental perturbations, aggravated perhaps by recent fatigues andexcitements, were at the bottom of Amory's strange conduct. None theless, however, I was eager to find and bring him back. He ought not tobe away from his command at such a time. Directing the sergeant to sayto Mr. Amory that we were in search of him and begged him to wait for uson his return, the aide-de-camp and I hurried down the street; sought acab-stand; and, jumping into one of the light cabriolets that were thena feature of the New Orleans streets, we drove rapidly down to Vinton'squarters. I thought Amory might have galloped thither. A dim light wasburning in the sick-room, as we could see from the front. The door wasclosed and locked, but I rang, and presently a servant came sleepilythrough the hall and stared at me in mild stupefaction. "No. Mr. Amoryhadn't been there." I brushed past the darky and went noiselessly upthe stairs and tapped at Vinton's door. The nurse came and peered at methrough the inch-wide crack: not a whit more would he open the door lestthe night air should be wafted in.
"We fear that Lieutenant Amory is taken ill," I said in a low tone. "Hemay come here to see his captain. Try and get him to lie down in ColonelSummers's room until we get back, if he should come." The nurse nodded;said that Vinton was sleeping quietly, and directed me to Harrod's door.I knocked there, and it was opened in a moment.
"What! you, Brandon? Anything wrong?"
"We can't find Amory. He is on horseback and galloping around town allby himself. They think at headquarters that he may be ill with feverlike Vinton. Mr. Parker and I are hunting for him. If he should comehere, get him into your room and make him lie down, will you?"
"Certainly I will. But, Brandon, had not I better go with you? Are yousure he is ill? I thought him strange enough at Moreau's, but----"
"I cannot say what it is," I broke in, impatiently. "I must hurry off,as he must be found as quickly as possible."
"With that I turned away and retraced my steps through the dimly-lightedhall. Reaching the stairs I paused, for another door had softly opened,and Pauline's voice, low-toned and anxious, was heard.
"Harrod, what is it?"
"Mr. Amory is ill, I'm afraid," was the reply, and I hurried back to thestreet.
Rapidly we drove to the levee, and there at the depot found MajorWilliams's sleeping battalion. The aide sprang out and accosted asentry. A sergeant came with a lantern and ushered the staff-officer inamong the snoring groups; for the men had thrown themselves in theirblankets upon the wooden flooring. Presently they reappeared, and withthem came Mr. Turpin, hurriedly adjusting his collar and cravat.
"Sheep always was a most excitable fellow," he was saying, "but thisbeats me. He hasn't been here at all, and I've no idea where he can havegone."
Leaving directions what was to be done in case he did appear, we droveaway up Canal Street. It was then nearly two o'clock, but there werestill loungers around the Clay statue; lights gleaming from one or two"open-all-night" bars and from the cab-lanterns on St. Charles Street.Our driver pulled up, and Mr. Parker sprang out and exchanged a fewwords with a policeman. I could not hear, but saw that the latterpointed up the street; and the aide came quickly back,--
"Drive on,--right out Canal, and keep a bright lookout for an officer onhorseback," were his orders, as we whirled away over the smoothpavement.
"That policeman says he saw a young officer gallop out this way not tenminutes ago, and he's been wondering ever since what was going on. Hewalked up as far as Dryades Street to find out, thinking he might havestopped at the State-House; but all is quiet there, and the patrols toldhim the officer went on out Canal, riding like mad."
Evidently, then, Mars had stopped somewhere or had ridden elsewherebefore going out towards the swamps. We peered eagerly up and down thedimly-lighted cross-streets as we whirled rapidly past them. The lampsalong the broad thoroughfare grew infrequent; the street was deserted.Once in a while we passed a carriage-load of revellers returning fromthe shell road and a supper at the "Lake End." Well out towards thestables of the street-railway we caught sight of another policeman;hauled up, and hailed him with anxious questioning. No, he had seen noofficer on horseback; his beat lay along Canal Street, but he had "takena turn through a side street after a couple of s'picious-lookin'parties," and might have been gone four or five minutes. Crack! went thewhip, and we pushed ahead. Gas-lamps now became few and far between;open stretches of level turf or prairie were visible here and therebetween the houses or garden-walls; the moonlight was tempered andshrouded by low-hanging clouds, and surrounding objects were only dimlyseen. Still we whirled ahead over the smooth-beaten road, and at lastdrove rapidly between the high walls of the silent cities of the deadthat bounded the highway near the crossing of the canal. Two or threeloungers were hanging about the dimly-lighted portico of a saloon. Mr.Parker sprang out and made some rapid inquiries, then hurried back tothe cab.
"He crossed here nearly half an hour ago,--went right on over thebridge," he exclaimed, as he sprang in and told the driver to whip up."Turn to the right," he added. "Drive towards Lake End. It's the onlyplace he can have gone." And in a moment more the wheels were whirringover the level track; a dense hedgerow of swamp undergrowth on our left;the dark waters of the canal on our right.
We passed two or three roadside hostelries, whose enticing lights stilllured the belated or the dissipated into the ready bars. Mr. Parkerscanned them as we drove ahead.
"He never drinks a drop, I hear, and it's no use looking for him there."
Nevertheless, our driver suddenly pulled up in front of a lamp-lightedentrance. "There's a couple of buggies and a horse in under that shed,"said he.
The aide-de-camp jumped out and stepped briskly off in the directionindicated by the driver's hand. Our cab again pulled up. Presently heemerged from the darkness of the shed.
"It isn't Amory's horse. It's a Louisiana pony," said he. "Wait onemoment and I'll see who's inside."
With that he sprang up the steps and walked rapidly towards the glassdoorways of the bar.
He was in civilian dress except for the forage-cap, which he had hastilypicked up when we left the office. Its gold cord and crossed sabresgleamed under the lamp as he sharply turned the door-knob and enteredthe room. Even without that cap I by this time would have known hisprofession; he had that quick, springy, nervous walk and erect carriageso marked among the younger West-Pointers. My eyes followed him until hedisappeared; so apparently did others.
From the farther end of the gallery two dark forms rose from a sittingposture, and one of them came tiptoeing along towards the doorway. Ourcab ha
d halted near the steps at the end opposite them, and, despite ourlights, the stealthily-moving figure seemed to pay no attention to us.Before I had time to conjecture what his object could be, the mancrouched before the door, his hat pulled low over his forehead, andpeered eagerly through the glass. Then he turned his head; gave a lowwhistle, and, almost at a run, the second figure, in slouch hat like thefirst and with overcoat pulled well up about his ears, hurried to hisside; stooped; peered through, and shook his head.
"Drive up there, quick!" I said. And, as hoof and wheel crunched throughthe gravel, the pair drew suddenly back; sprang noiselessly down thesteps and in among the shrubbery out of my sight. Almost at the sameinstant Mr. Parker reappeared; took his seat beside me, and, before Icould interpose, called out, "Drive on,--Lake End." And away we went,leaving the mysterious strangers in the dusk behind us.
"Amory has not been seen there, nor beyond. There are two young sportsin there who came in from Lake End half an hour ago, but they are bothpretty full. The barkeeper said there were two more gentlemen who cameout from town with another buggy earlier, but they had gone outside."
"I saw them," answered I, "and they are bad characters of some kind.They stole up on tiptoe and peered after you as you went in, then sprangback out of sight as you came out. I wanted to tell you about them. Theyseemed waiting or watching for somebody."
"Gamblers or 'cappers' probably. Fellows who lie in wait for drunkenmen with money and steer them into their dens,--fleece them, you know.The streets are full of them day and night."
"Yes; but these men wore slouch hats and overcoats that muffled theirfaces, and they watched you so oddly. Why did they leap back as you cameout?"
"That was odd," said Mr. Parker, thoughtfully. "Could you see nothing oftheir faces?"
"Nothing at all, except that the first man had a heavy dark moustache,and was tall and stoutly built; the other seemed young and slight; hisface was hidden entirely."
The aide-de-camp leaned out and looked back along the dark road; thendrew in again.
"No use to look," he said. "Even if they were to follow I could not see;their buggy has no lamps, our rig has to have them. Are you armed?"
"No; I never carry anything."
"Nor I, as a rule; yet had I thought we would come so far at this timeof night I would have brought my revolver. Not that any attack is to befeared from those two unless there should be a crowd at their back;otherwise we would be three to two."
"But they are armed, and we are not."
"They think we are, all the same. The average citizen hereabouts goesprepared to shoot if he is on a night-prowl like this. I don't know whyI asked if you were armed."
Then for some distance we rattled along in silence. The clouds had grownheavier; a few heavy rain-drops had pattered in on our faces, and thenight air was damp and raw. We passed one or two more dark houses, andthen came in view of the lights at Lake End. Here, despite the latenessof the hour, one or two resorts seemed still to be open and patronized.Directing the driver to turn towards the lights on the right, Mr. Parkeragain sprang out, looked in the carriage-shed, then into the bar-room;came out, crossed the way, and made a similar search in a neighboringestablishment. Then I saw him questioning a sleepy-looking stableman,and then he came back to me. Perplexity and concern were mingled in hisface as he stood there looking up at me in the glare of our lamp.
"Nobody has been here on horseback since midnight. These are the onlyplaces open since that hour, and now there are not more than half adozen people out here--roysterers after a late supper. Where could Amoryhave gone? Do you suppose he knew his way back by Washington Avenue, andhad turned to the left instead of this way?"
"He is an entire stranger in New Orleans,--never was out here before inhis life,--and I don't know what to make of it."
He looked at his watch, retook his seat. "We must get back to thebridge," said he. "Driver, stop at Gaston's,--where we were before,--andgo lively."
Now through the pattering rain we hurried on our return trip. We weresilent, plunged in thought and anxiety. In some way those two skulkersat Gaston's had become connected in my mind with Amory's disappearance.I could not shake off the impression, and, as though the same train ofthought were affecting my companion, he suddenly spoke,--
"You say that those men followed me as I went in, and sprang out intothe shrubbery as I came back?"
"Yes; as though to avoid being seen by you."
He took off his forage-cap and looked disgustedly at it a moment.
"Confound this thing! Why didn't I wear my hat?" he muttered; thenturned suddenly to me: "Mr. Brandon, when we get back to Gaston's let mehave your hat, will you? I would like to take another look in there, andif you will stay in the cab, we will stop this side of the entrance, andI'll go ahead on foot. Here, driver, hold up a moment."
Cabby reined in his horse and turned towards us in surprise. Theaide-de-camp sprang out in the rain and began working at the lamp.
"Don't put it out, sir; it's against orders," said the driver.
"Never you mind, driver; I'll be responsible for any row there may beover it. There is reason for it, and a mighty good one. Douse that glimon your side. That's right! Now go ahead, lively as you can, and stopjust this side of Gaston's."
Then for a while we pushed on in the darkness, and nobody spoke. Finallythe driver turned, saying that Gaston's lights were near at hand;presently he reined up. Mr. Parker exchanged head-gear with me; pulledthe brim of my roomy black felt well down over his face; and, cautioningus in a low tone to remain where we were, disappeared in the directionof the lights.
It must have been long after three. I was tired and chilled. The drivergot out his gum coat and buttoned it around him. Five--ten minutes wewaited. No sound but the dismal patter of the rain. Full quarter of anhour passed, it seemed to me, before I saw a lantern coming rapidly outof the darkness in front, and presently Mr. Parker's voice was heard.
"Come on; drive slowly. Go right in to Gaston's," and, even as he spoke,he swung in beside me. "Had Amory any money, do you know?" he asked,before fairly taking his seat.
"No. Why?"
"There is something strange about this affair I cannot fathom. I've beentalking with Gaston and one of his men. They have been sitting upwaiting for us to get back. Those two footpads were up to some mischief,and I'm afraid it was Amory they were after. You will hear in a moment.Come into the bar," he said, as the cab stopped at the steps.
Another moment and Gaston himself had ushered us into a little room andproceeded to tell his tale. We had no sooner left, he said, than thosegentlemen who came from town in the buggy after midnight re-entered thebar, ordered drinks, and asked Gaston to join them. One was a big man,with a heavy moustache, and deep-set eyes under very shaggy brows; hewas rather poorly dressed, and had no watch. The other was a young,dark-eyed, handsome fellow, with dark moustache, stylish clothes, and afine gold watch, which he kept nervously looking at every moment or so.The former did all the talking; the latter paid for everything theyordered both before and after our visit. After a few ordinary remarksthe big man asked Gaston who the young officer was, and Gaston, knowinghim to be stationed in the city and having often seen him, gave hisname. Then they wanted to know who was with him in the cab, and "whattook him off so sudden." Gaston had seen nobody with him, but told themunhesitatingly that Mr. Parker was in search of a friend,--an officerwho had ridden out on horseback. At this the men had looked suddenly atone another, and very soon after had gone out, saying they believed theywould drive back, it looked like rain.
Five minutes afterwards, Louis, the hostler, came into the bar and askedGaston who those men were, and, on being told that they were strangers,had replied, "Well, they're here for no good, and I'd like to followthem up. They didn't see me out there in the dark, and were talking verylow and fast when they came for their buggy." We called Louis in and hadhis story from his own lips. He had heard their talk, and it alarmed andpuzzled him. The big man was saying with an oath that some man th
ey werewaiting for must be around there somewhere; he had come across thebridge, for Gaston told them the officer said so. The little man wasexcited, and had answered, "Well, we've got to tackle him; but don't youdrive into any light." With that and some more talk they had got intothe buggy and had driven rapidly off towards the Canal Street bridge.
"How long ago?" asked Mr. Parker.
"Full half an hour," was the answer.
"Then we had better start at once," said the aide to me. "What otherplaces are there near here that would be open now, Gaston?"
"None at all. I'd have been shut long ago but for this affair. There areone or two saloons near the bridge and the Metairie track, but nonewould be open this late."
Thanking them for their information, and promising to let them know ifanything resulted, we hurried out to the cab and told the driver to goto the bridge. We were both more than anxious by this time, and wereunable to account for the strange proceedings in any satisfactorymanner.
The rain seemed to have held up for a few moments, and the veil ofclouds thrown over the face of the moon had perceptibly thinned, so thata faint, wan light fell upon roadway, swamp, and canal. The lamps at thecrossing burned with a yellowish glare. No one was visible around thebridge or the buildings at the city end,--no one from whom we couldobtain information as to the movements of Amory or of the two strangers.
"There are one or two places over here on the upper side I mean to havea look at," said Mr. Parker, "and if no one is there, Amory must havegone back to town."
We had turned to the right, towards Lake Pontchartrain, on coming out.Now the driver was directed to go to the other side. Parker kept peeringout into the darkness, and presently the driver said,--
"I think there's a light in there at Gaffney's."
"Hold up, then," said the aide. "Now, Mr. Brandon, lend me your hatagain: I'm going to hunt through one or two sheds hereabouts for thatbuggy. I may be gone ten or twelve minutes. You get the cab into thislittle side alley here and wait. Those men will be on the watch for ourlamps if they are still here, but I can crawl up on them by keeping thecab out of sight."
The side alley proved to be a lane leading through the tall hedge ofswampy vegetation. I could not see where it led to, but the driver saidit only ran out a few hundred feet to some barns that lay near the oldMetairie track. He drove in, however, and halted the cab close under thehedge on one side. Too nervous to sit still, I got out and walked backto the main road, where the buildings of Gaffney's place could be seen.There was, as the driver had said, a dim light, but it seemed to be inone of the rear rooms.
For five minutes all was silent. Then, far up the road, I thought Iheard the beat of horses' hoofs coming on at a jog-trot. Listeningintently, I soon was assured. Nothing could be seen along the darkshadow of the hedgerow; the light was too feeble to point out objects inthe road; but every moment, more and more distinctly, I heard what Ifelt certain to be a horse and buggy coming towards us. Then all of asudden the sound ceased.
The approach to Gaffney's was a semicircular sweep of shell road leadingfrom the main highway to the galleries of the saloon. There wasprobably a distance of a hundred yards between the two entrances. I wasstanding at the northern end. That buggy had evidently stopped at orvery near the other. I almost fancied I could see it. Now, had Parkerheard it coming? Waiting a moment more in breathless expectancy, Isuddenly heard, as though from the shrubbery in front of Gaffney's, low,prolonged, and clear, a whistle. My nerves leaped with sudden start. Thesame odd thrill of tremulous excitement seized me that had so masteredme that strange night in the old plantation home at Sandbrook. It wasfor all the world like the signal-whistle that had so roused me thatnight, only very much softer. Could it have been from Mr. Parker?Whether it was or no he would probably need me now. I crept into theshadow of the hedgerow and, on tiptoe, hastened up the curve towards thegallery. A dim figure was standing at the end of the house peeringtowards the other entrance,--a figure that held out a warning hand, andI stole noiselessly up beside it, my heart beating like a trip-hammer.It was Parker.
"Quiet," he whispered; "I think we have treed our buggy friends."
"The buggy is out there on the road," I answered.
"It was, but that whistle will bring it in here. There stands the bigman just at the other end of the gallery. He cannot see us; he islooking the other way. Follow me across into the shrubbery and we willget up near him. I'm bound to hear what devilment they are up to."
With that he sprang lightly across. I followed; and, crouchingnoiselessly along the soft grass, we stole through the low trees andbushes until nearly opposite the southern end of the gallery. Almost atthe same instant the buggy came driving up the turn, and a voice utteredan impatient "Whoa!"
"What have you seen?" queried the party in the buggy in a low, agitatedvoice,--a voice I knew I had heard before, and instinctively reachedforth my hand and placed it on my companion's arm.
"Seen! Not a d--d thing. Your blue-bellied skunk has been too smart foryou, Cap. He not only hasn't come himself, but he's got his friends outhere on your track."
"He has come, I tell you," answered the first speaker. "You knowyourself they were asking for him at Gaston's, and that fellow at thebridge told you he saw him ride across."
"Then where'd he go to?" said the other, sulkily and savagely. "No manpassed Gaston's on horseback, I can swear to that; and if he came at allas far as the bridge, why didn't he come the rest of the way? Where didhe go? How did he get back? Are you sure you wrote plain directions?"
"Plain! Of course I did. I wrote turn towards the lake, to the south,after crossing the bridge, and he'd find me; and so he would, d--n him!"added the younger man between his teeth. His voice was growing more andmore familiar to me every moment in its sulky, peevish tones.
"But you said he was a stranger here. How was he to know where the lakelay?"
"Suppose he didn't! I told him to turn south. Any man knows north fromsouth I reckon. Perhaps the white-livered sneak was a Yank at bottom,and lost his nerve."
"Tain't likely. Not from what I seen of him. His kind don't scare sod--d easy at yours, and he came out here to find you, you bet. Whydidn't you say turn to the right instead of south? Damfino which isnorth or south here anyhow. How was he to know?"
"Don't be a fool!" said the other, impatiently, "everybody knows theriver runs north and south, and Canal Street runs out right angles tothe river, and you turn to the right to go to the lake. It must besouth."
Here I couldn't help nudging my neighbor, the aide, who was chucklingwith delight at this scientific statement.
"Well, by Gawd! you may know more 'bout it than I do; but when I gotoff that boat yesterday morning up there by Julia Street, d--n me if thesun wasn't rising in the west then,--over there across Algiers,--and ifthe Yank is no better posted on the points of the compass than I am,strikes me he's slipped out of your trap easy enough."
"You mean he's gone to the left--past here?" asked the other,snarlingly.
"Just that. He's taken the turn to the left. None of these places thisside have been open since we came out; and seeing no one, he's kept on,and probably got back to town some other way. Like enough he's in bedand asleep by this time, and here we've been fooling away the wholenight."
Chilled as I was, trembling 'twixt cold and excitement, I was beginningto enjoy this conversation hugely. More than that, both the aide andmyself were beginning to feel assured that Amory was safe.
"Then all we can do is go back," said the young man in the buggy, aftera moment of silence. "But I'll get that fellow yet," he added, with atorrent of blasphemy. "Get in."
"Where's that flask of yours?" asked the man on the steps. "I want adrink."
"Get in first and I'll give it to you."
Then we heard the creaking of the springs, and the dim, shadowy form ofthe big man lumbered into the light vehicle. A gurgle and a long-drawn"ah-h-h" followed, then,--
"Got a cigar?"
"Yes; but hadn't we better wait until
we get back on Canal Street beforelighting them? We want to look out for those other fellows in that cab,you know."
"Oh, d--n them! You can see their lamps half a mile off. Here, give us amatch."
Another minute and a feeble glare illuminated the dark interior. Paleand blue at first, it speedily gained strength and lighting power.Eagerly we scanned the two faces, now for one never-to-be-forgotteninstant revealed to our gaze. One lowering, heavy-browed, coarse, andbearded; the other--ah, well I knew I had heard that voice, for there,half muffled in the heavy coat, half shrouded by the slouching hat, werethe pale, clear-cut, dissipated features I had marked so keenly atSandbrook. It was the face of Ned Peyton.