A Woman at Bay; Or, A Fiend in Skirts

thinking of looking over the swamp below the tracks a leetle, with some idea of settin' traps there late this fall and winter, and he said as how he wouldn't advise me to do it. He said as how I wouldn't be likely to ketch the sort of animals I was after, and that some of the animals might ketch me; and, as I ain't exactly a fule, I ketched onto what he meant, and I ain't been nigh that place since. And then it turned out afterward as I thought it would, them hoboes had a hidin' place in that very swamp." "Right you are, Bill!" said Nick, laughing. "Is that all the conversation you had with Handsome?" "Every bit of it." "And you have never seen him since?" "Never. Hold on; he axed me that time if I had ever mentioned the fact of our fust meetin', and I told him I had not. He seemed pleased at that, and he told me never to mention it. I allowed that I didn't see no reason why I should, and he laughed at that and seemed entirely satisfied." "That is excellent, Bill. Now, we will get at those plans. I don't want to lose any time." "Would you mind telling me why you axed me all about them two meetings?" "Not at all. When I go out into the woods in the character of Bill Turner, I am likely at some time to run across Handsome himself. I want to be posted, so that he won't know but what I am you. I don't want him to catch me; see?" "Yes. But do you suppose you kin fix yourself to look enough like me so's he won't know the difference when he sees you?" "Certainly." The old man shook his head. "I don't believe it," he said, "but maybe you can. How about the voice? Your voice ain't no more like mine than a----" "I can do that, too," replied Nick, exactly simulating the voice in which the old man was speaking; and he looked around him in wonder, and then at the detective. "It does beat all!" he said at last. "I guess you're some too many for me, sir." "Shall we get at those plans now?" "Right away." Turner brought out paper and pencil, and, having cleared the top of his table, he began to work. First he drew a large circle on the paper, and at one edge of it he made a cross. "That there cross is Calamont," he said. "Where we be now; and all that's inside of the ring I've made lies to the east of here, from nor'-nor'east to sou'-sou'east--and east. You understand?" "Perfectly." "Well, jest about in the middle o' that ring is the place where I think them fellers would hide. It's the best place for them." "Tell me about it before you draw anything; or, rather, talk while you are drawing." "That's jest what I'm going to do. Now, you follow my pencil and pay attention." "Go ahead," said Nick. "When you leave here--if you start from Calamont, which I suppose you will--you start right about here. You take a general direction nor'east from here at first. You'll find a path through the woods after you git about two miles from here, and that path will lead you several miles. But about here it'll disappear, and you won't have nothin' to guide you 'cept what I show you and tell you now." "Exactly," replied the detective. "Up here, at about the time you lose all trace o' the path, you'll come to a deep ravine. You want to follow up the middle of that, to the top. And when you git to the top of it you will think that you have run up ag'inst a cliff, and there ain't no gettin' out of it without goin' back. "But that ain't so. There's a waterfall at the end of the ravine. It comes around a sort of a twist in the rocks, and if you ain't afraid of gettin' damp, you follow around there, and you will find as nice a piece of steps cut in them stones as you ever saw in your life. Indians cut 'em more'n a hundred years ago, so I'm told. "Well, they take you to the top of that cliff. When you're up there, you find you're in another ravine, not so deep as t'other. Right here that would be," he added, making a mark with the pencil. "All right," said Nick. "About a mile farther up that second ravine you want to leave it. You'll find a big dead oak that hangs out over it, and beside the dead oak there is a path up the side of the ravine. It is one of my own paths. You get up it by hangin' onto two things you find there for the purpose. I put 'em there more'n twenty years ago, mister." "Go ahead." "When you git to the top, you want to branch off this way--so. You'll find a clearin' about there, and off to the east you'll see some high hills. You want to make for them." "And those hills, I suppose, is my destination." "That's where the caves are. That's where you will find the gang if they are hiding anywhere in that 'ere region." "Now, tell me about the caverns. Tell me how to find them." "They're easy enough to find--some of 'em is; others ain't. Wait a minute." He pushed that paper aside, and took a fresh one. "Now, when you come to the hills, you will approach 'em at what we call the Dog's Nose. So named because that's what it looks like. It's a rock that sticks out right about here, and you can't miss it. It looks exactly like a dog's nose, stickin' out and smelling things. "You want to go right up under that there dog's nose; and when you git there you'll see a hole in the rock that ain't no bigger than the lower half of that window. It's a leetle bit of a hole, and it's as dark as a pocket inside it, too. Nobody, even if they found the hole, would ever think of going in there. It ain't invitin' to look at." "How did you happen to go into it?" "I didn't. I came out of it. I got lost in that cave for three days once, when I was a boy, and when I found my way out I came out of that hole. Nobody knows about that entrance but me, though I suppose lots of folks knows it's there." "And it communicates with the cave?" "It does. It'll take you to any part of the cave; and there is only one rule to follow in going through it. You'll want a light, though." "I've got the light. What is the rule?" "Always--no matter where you are in any of them caves, take the way to the right. Never take a gallery to the left, goin' in either or any direction. It's a rule that holds good in them caves. It's a sort of way that nature provided so's you could find your way through there; and I happened to discover what it was." "It all sounds very simple and easy." "And it is, if you've got the pluck and the sand. But it's a ticklish place. There is a good many places in there that I ain't never explored, and don't want to; and it's safe to bet that the hoboes ain't done it, neither. I reckon, mister, that that's about all I kin show you--hold on, though!" "What now?" "Well, there's one place up there which it might be handy for you to know about, and I don't think anybody but me knows about it, either." "What is that?" "Well, you might find occasion to want to hide yourself away while you are in there." "That is more than likely, Bill." "Well, just arter you pass through the hole that is under the Dog's Nose, and about twenty rods from there, you'll find a place where there is a bowlder sort of set into the rocks. You won't notice it unless you look for it, but it is there. Under it you'll find a small stone wedged fast. If you pull out that small stone, and then push on the big rock, it'll swing around like it was on a pivot, and you kin step inside the hole it leaves, and close up the door after you. You'll find an interestin' place in there, too, if you ever have occasion to use it, mister; and nobody will find you there, either." CHAPTER XIII. BLACK MADGE'S LIEUTENANT. The detective passed the remainder of that day, and much of the night, in old Bill Turner's company, and during that time they talked incessantly about the mountains to which Nick was going, about the caverns in those mountains, and the trails through them; and when the conversation was finished Nick felt that he could find his way without difficulty wherever he cared to go among them. When he saw that the old man was tired out, he sent him to bed, and himself dropped upon a couch in Turner's living room, where he slept like a top till morning. Soon after dawn they were both astir; and after they had eaten some breakfast, and Turner had made his usual pilgrimage to the post office, they began again upon the plans and went over them for the last time. And then came the task of making the changes in their personal appearance. This, to the layman, sounds like no easy task; but to Nick Carter it was merely the practicing of an art of which he was thoroughly a master. He had brought with him the things necessary to accomplish the changes; and when the old man returned from the village he set to work--first upon himself--for he knew that he must make his own disguise letter perfect if he hoped to deceive such a man as Handsome. He first made up his face, not with paints, but with stains that would not wash off, to represent the leathery, weather-beaten countenance of the old man; and here he was, perhaps, fortunate in the fact that the profusion of white whiskers worn by the old man rendered his face the easier to copy, and in reality concealed much of it from view. Then he adjusted the beard. But not as false beards are supposed to be adjusted. This was done almost hair by hair. That is, the beard was divided into tufts of hair, and each tuft was stuck on with a glue of Nick's own creation, so that there was no danger that it would drop off under any circumstances--and so that it could not be pulled off without drawing patches of skin with it. And this was as it should be, since if any one should suppose that the whiskers might be false, and should seize them and pull sharply upon them, they would resist the effort exactly as if the beard was natural. In height the two men were about the same. In figure, the old man was possibly somewhat stouter than Nick; but there was not enough difference to be noticeable. The detective occupied about three hours in making up that disguise, so particular was he about it; but when it was finished at last it was perfect. So perfect, indeed, that Turner regarded him in amazement; then came closer to look into his eyes, and at last he said: "I'm glad, Mr. Carter, that I didn't meet you on the street in that rig. It would have frightened me to death. I'd have been sure that I was dead and had met my own ghost, out for a walk." That night, when the train bound for the city passed through Calamont at half-past eleven, a man climbed aboard of it who--if anybody had noticed him particularly--it would have been supposed was the same French Canadian lumberman who had appeared there the day before. But there was no one there save the ticket agent, and he did not notice particularly. It is certain that he had no idea that in the black-haired man who went away was old Bill Turner. But so it was. Nick had made the old man up in a representation of the Frenchman; or at least near enough to it so that in the darkness the difference would not be noticed; and the old man, being made to appear young, really felt young, and he went away joyously. In his pockets he carried letters; one was to Chick, and the other was to Joseph, his confidential servant, in case Chick should happen not to be at home when Turner arrived there. And those letters gave instructions that Turner was to be treated to everything he wanted, and that Chick and Ten-Ichi should take turns in showing him about the city. Nick assured them that they could help him quite as much in that way as if they were among the mountains with him, assisting him in the actual work. And the next morning--the morning after the departure of Turner--Nick took the old man's place in the customary stroll, or hobble would be a