Fighting for fortune or, Making a place for himself
As she did so she waved the torch to and fro slowly and seemed to chant
a weird gibberish-like incantation to the dark spirits her demented
fancy evidently believed haunted the spot.
At the lowest and last rock of the ledge and just within a few feet of
the lurking Daley she paused.
Her eyes gleamed fitfully, and she glanced wildly all about her.
“White witch, black witch, red, green, yellow, all of you, come here!”
she cried in shrill, unnatural tones.
She waved the torch fiercely, and looked around more quietly as it
seemed that she imagined the witches she had summoned to be near her.
“Now, then,” she said, “we are all here. Ah, you love old Crazy Meg,
for Meg is sharp and faithful. Soon her army is to be ready. Soon she
will batter down all the asylum doors. She has her captain to lead
the men on. Ha! ha! she has her captive, and he screams for liberty,
and begs for liberty, and offers to pay for liberty, but he cannot go
free. Why, my bonny witches? Because he is just the man to lead an army
to victory. Such a strong arm, such a quick way, such a bold heart. I
saw him kill a man like a flash. He can kill all the asylum people so,
too. I followed him and made him my captive. Ha! ha! And I have money
now--thousands and thousands of dollars, and I know great secrets. My
captive fears me. I could send him to the dark, cold jail. Ha! ha! ha!
ha!”
The weird effect of the words on the listening Dean and Marcus was
indescribable.
They little dreamed the dark mystery that underlay the rambling
soliloquy. They were only startled, terribly awed at the mystic scene.
Not so Daley. Evidently he thought only of recovering the stolen money,
and believed that the moment for action had arrived.
Of a sudden he sprang up from his covert and grasped the woman’s arm,
with a quick order for help to his companion.
“Woman, you are our prisoner.”
A wild cry escaped the lips of Crazy Meg.
She jerked her arm loose. She dashed the flaming torch direct in the
face of her captor.
With a scream of pain and rage, Daley recoiled. Then, like a flash,
Crazy Meg dashed up the ledge and disappeared.
“After her!” shouted Daley, frenzied with pain.
“We can’t climb that ledge,” demurred Spofford.
“Then hasten to the cliffs beyond here. Quick, she must not escape.”
So electrified by all the exciting scene had Marcus and Dean been, that
they had not thought of their enemies coming suddenly their way.
Before they could move aside or retreat, a strange thing happened.
Spofford, rushing away in obedience to Daley’s orders, fell directly
over them, struggled to his feet, seized them, and with a cry of
amazement and suspicion, dragged them into the flare of the torch,
which had fallen among a lot of dry brush that had blazed fiercely,
illuminating the vicinity plainly.
“What’s this?” gasped Daley aghast.
“Spies!”
“No! Hold them! hold them!” shouted Daley, as Dean and Marcus
endeavored to wrest themselves from Spofford’s strong grasp. “Why, one
of them is--you young traitor. It’s Bob Grant.”
Marcus Ellison stood condemned. Daley glared fiercely at him, then in
stupefaction at his companion, so like him in dress.
“Dean, now run for it.”
For once, in impulsive excitement, Marcus Ellison had done two unwise
things.
He had counted confidently on being able to escape.
He had inadvertently shouted out Dean Mercer’s real name.
As he spoke he tried to trip Spofford up. The latter was too wary for
him, however, and the attempt failed signally.
“Dean?” repeated Rodney Darringford, coming forward and staring at the
captives. “Tim, look at that boy.”
Tim Downey peered sharply into the face of Dean.
His suspicions aroused by Marcus’ words, he seemed to recognize him.
“It’s Dean Mercer!” he gasped.
“What?” cried Daley, “the boy we sent to the reform school?”
“The same.”
“Impossible!”
“It’s him,” affirmed Tim stoutly. “My, what a get up. Say, Rodney,
what does this mean, with him, of all persons, on the same trail as
ourselves?”
The episode of the capture of the boys acted as a complete
divertisement from the quest of the hour, to the plotters.
They secured both boys with ropes. They discussed their capture, the
mystery of their being there, and their possible motives, in low,
suspicious tones.
“We’re in a bad fix, Dean,” whispered Marcus, as they lay side by side
on the ground.
“I fear so.”
“Daley does not know which of us gave the alarm at the judges’s house
at Millville, but he does know that I have played traitor to him.”
“And that I would not be here if it did not mean trouble for him and
his friends.”
Daley was indeed, mystified and suspicious. He could not comprehend how
Dean Mercer had escaped from the reform school.
He talked with Tim confidentially, while he sent Spofford and Rodney to
scour the cliffs for some trace of Crazy Meg.
“See here, Tim,” Marcus heard him say, “what does this all mean?”
“What! Those boys?”
“Yes.”
“Trouble. That fellow Mercer has found out all our plans, that is sure.”
“Maybe he’s told others?”
“I don’t think he’d dare to--he’s afraid of being arrested.”
“What shall we do?”
“I know what I’m going to do.”
“What is that?”
“Make myself scarce.”
“Not run away?”
“Yes. Some time the truth will come out, and of course the burning
of the _Spray_ and the robbing of Mercer will be traced to me. As to
Rodney, he must take care of himself. His father hired me to burn the
_Spray_, and Rodney cashed the check for the eight thousand dollars. I
shall make myself scarce.”
“When?”
“As soon as we recover the money from Crazy Meg.”
“And these boys?”
“Keep them prisoners.”
“We can’t do that very long.”
“Why not?”
“It’s too much trouble.”
“We can for a day or two, until we find this woman again.”
“And then?”
“Send Mercer back to the reform school, and get some of your friends in
Springfield to take care of the other boy until we are safe out of the
country.”
Just then Spofford and Rodney returned from an unavailing quest for
Crazy Meg.
“No use to-night, Daley,” said Spofford.
“We’ll wait till morning, then.”
Two hours later the quartette was asleep, trusting to the stout bonds
that secured their captives to prevent their escape.
The two boys did not sleep, however. They strained and tugged at their
bonds, but it was no use. They withstood all efforts to sever them.
Finally Dean spoke cautiously.
“Marcus.”
“Yes, Dean?”
“Look there.”
“Where?”
“On the ledge.”
“A moving figure?”
“Yes.”
“It’s the woman.”
“Yes; it must be Crazy Meg.”
In the dim light they watched breathlessly the stealthy form that began
to descend the ledge of rocks.
It reached the last rock, and moved to where the boys were.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
IN OLD MEG’S CAVE.
“Don’t speak!” whispered a low voice.
The woman leaned over and bodily seized Marcus, lifting him in her
powerful arms as if he were a mere child.
She bore him up the ledge of rocks and disappeared, reappeared, and
carrying Dean quite as easily, landed him on the cliff overhead by the
side of Marcus.
Both boys were too astonished to speak. The manner of the woman
indicated an entire absence of any vicious or insane idea. She seemed
to be acting from a friendly and coherent motive.
She cut their bonds with a knife, and glanced fixedly at the boys.
“Do you know me?” she asked.
“Yes,” replied Marcus.
“Who am I?”
“They call you Crazy Meg.”
“Ha! ha! Crazy! Yes, yes, they say so, and those men who tied you up
are bad men?”
“Terribly bad,” replied Marcus.
“They want to rob Meg?”
“Yes. They stole a lot of money and you got it.”
“Did I? Ha! ha! You must get away from here. Do you want to?”
“Yes.”
“Then follow me.”
Meg led the way along a particularly dangerous cliff path. It ended at
a cave-like opening.
“I have been your friend,” she said, “and to send you safely out of
the way of those men to the other side of the valley I must take you
through one of Meg’s houses in the hills.”
“Thank you.”
“Would you be bad enough to say anything about it or lead those bad men
here?”
“No, indeed.”
“Meg will trust you. She had boys once herself, but they died and it
broke her heart, and then they put her in a cruel asylum. But--ha! ha!
Meg will raise an army to batter down its walls. She has her captain
now.”
She took up and lit a pine knot, and bade her companions follow her,
leading the way through a dark, underground corridor.
Finally it widened, and here, to the amazement of the boys were
evidences of living, for several articles of furniture and a lot of
food on a table showed.
Piled around, too, were various articles, evidently the result of Meg’s
predatory raids on farmhouses.
At one side was a small aperture in the rock, and chained to a ring in
the solid stone was a man laying asleep.
“Come on! come on!” cried Meg excitedly. “Meg did not mean that you
should see her captain. Come, hasten!”
Dean Mercer obeyed readily enough, but Marcus Ellison was startled. He
had recognized the man chained to the rock, and the fact had been a
terrible revelation to him.
They finally reached an opening some distance on.
“You are now far away from the bad men,” said Meg. “Promise not to
betray her secrets.”
“I promise,” said Marcus. “Can I say a word to you, Meg?”
“What is it?”
“Those bad men locked this boy up in a jail.”
“Bad, bad. Bars, too?”
“Yes; in a dark, cold cell.”
Meg shuddered.
“They stole all his money--the money you got. He dare not go home to
his family; he will be put in jail again because he cannot get the
money.”
The simple words seemed to affect Meg deeply. She was silent for
several moments.
“Are you trying to deceive Meg?” she said.
“No.”
“It is his money?”
“Yes, and there were some papers,” continued Marcus earnestly. “Meg, I
know your captain; he is a bad man.”
“But strong, and he would kill the asylum men quick.”
“No, he would kill you, Meg. You know all about him. You know his
secret. You know who killed James Conroyd. My father, Robert Ellison,
is accused of the crime. I am his son. Won’t you help me?”
Dean Mercer stared at Marcus in blank bewilderment. The scene mystified
him.
Marcus had seized the mad woman’s hand and his tears fell upon it.
That wild face softened. Meg seemed battling with strange emotions.
“Boy,” she said finally, “look around you.”
“Yes, Meg.”
“Would you know this place again?”
“Yes.”
“Come here to-night at dusk.”
“I will--I will!”
“Then, when Meg has talked with the witches she will see, she will see.
Now, go.”
The boys walked from the spot.
“Marcus,” cried Dean, “for Mercy’s sake, what did all your wild talk
mean?”
“About my father?”
“Yes.”
“The truth.”
“Meg knows all about James Conroyd’s murder?”
“I am sure of it.”
“Why?”
“Because that prisoner of hers--her captain, she calls him----”
“Yes, yes?”
“Is James Conroyd’s old hired man, Manseur, and his murderer.”
The minute the two boys were gone the demented woman began feeling in a
cranny in the rock near the exit from the cave.
Her bright eyes gleamed as she groped about, and drew forth first parts
of some dried meat and then pieces of string and paper.
Some birds fluttered away as she did this, as if they had discovered
this cranny in Meg’s storehouse, and had been pillaging its contents.
“Gone!” muttered the woman in some dismay. “The package that had the
money and the papers is not here.”
She groped vainly in the cavity. Evidently she had there secreted the
money and the papers that she had taken from Tim and Rodney in the old
cabin.
Now they were gone.
“Who has taken it?” she gasped. “Ah! maybe the witches sent the eagles