The Daughter of Anderson Crow
quiet as the grave. You are a fine lot of jokers, and I'll admit that
the laugh is on me."
But Bonner was mystified, uncertain. He had searched the house
thoroughly from top to bottom, and he had seen nothing unusual, but
these men and boys were so positive that he could not believe the eyes
of all had been deceived.
"This interests me," he said at last. "I'll tell you what we'll do, Mr.
Crow. You and I will come down here to-night, rig up a tent of some sort
and divide watch until morning. If there is anything to be seen we'll
find out what it is. I'll get a couple of straw mattresses from our
boathouse and--"
"I've got rheumatiz, Mr. Bonner, an' it would be the death o' me to
sleep in this swamp," objected Anderson hastily.
"Well, I'll come alone, then. I'm not afraid. I don't mean to say I'll
sleep in that old shack, but I'll bunk out here in the woods. No human
being could sleep in that place. Will any one volunteer to keep me
company?"
Silence.
"I don't blame you. It does take nerve, I'll confess. My only
stipulation is that you shall come down here from the village early
to-morrow morning. I may have something of importance to tell you, Mr.
Crow."
"We'll find his dead body," groaned old Mr. Borton.
"Say, mister," piped up a shrill voice, "I'll stay with you." It was Bud
who spoke, and all Tinkletown was afterward to resound with stories of
his bravery. The boy had been silently admiring the bold sportsman from
Boston town, and he was ready to cast his lot with him in this
adventure. He thrilled with pleasure when the big hero slapped him on
the back and called him the only man in the crowd.
At eight o'clock that night Bonner and the determined but trembling Bud
came up the bank from the river and pitched a tent among the trees near
the haunted house. From the sledge on the river below they trundled up
their bedding and their stores. Bud had an old single-barrel shotgun, a
knife and a pipe, which he was just learning to smoke; Bonner brought a
Navajo blanket, a revolver and a heavy walking stick. He also had a
large flask of whiskey and the pipe that had graduated from Harvard with
him.
At nine o'clock he put to bed in one of the chilly nests a very sick
boy, who hated to admit that the pipe was too strong for him, but who
felt very much relieved when he found himself wrapped snugly in the
blankets with his head tucked entirely out of sight. Bud had spent the
hour in regaling Bonner with the story of Rosalie Gray's abduction and
his own heroic conduct in connection with the case. He confessed that he
had knocked one of the villains down, but they were too many for him.
Bonner listened politely and then--put the hero to bed.
Bonner dozed off at midnight. An hour or so later he suddenly sat bolt
upright, wide awake and alert. He had the vague impression that he was
deathly cold and that his hair was standing on end.
CHAPTER XVIII
The Men in the Sleigh
Let us go back to the night on which Rosalie was seized and carried away
from Mrs. Luce's front gate, despite the valiant resistance of her
youthful defenders.
Rosalie had drooned Thackeray to the old lady until both of them were
dozing, and it was indeed a welcome relief that came with Roscoe's
resounding thumps on the front door. Mrs. Luce was too old to be
frightened out of a year's growth, but it is perfectly safe to agree
with her that the noise cost her at least three months.
Desperately blue over the defection of Elsie Banks, Rosalie had found
little to make her evening cheerful indoors, but the fresh, crisp air
set her spirits bounding the instant she closed Mrs. Luce's door from
the outside. We have only to refer to Roscoe's lively narrative for
proof of what followed almost instantly. She was seized, her head
tightly wrapped in a thick cloak or blanket; then she was thrown into a
sleigh, and knew nothing more except a smothering sensation and the
odour of chloroform.
When she regained consciousness she was lying on the ground in the open
air, dark night about her. Three men were standing nearby, but there was
no vehicle in sight. She tried to rise, but on account of her bonds was
powerless to do so. Speech was prevented by the cloth which closed her
lips tightly. After a time she began to grasp the meaning of the
muttered words that passed between the men.
"You got the rig in all right, Bill--you're sure that no one heard or
saw you?" were the first questions she could make out, evidently arising
from a previous report or explanation.
"Sure. Everybody in these parts goes to bed at sundown. They ain't got
nothing to do but sleep up 'ere."
"Nobody knows we had that feller's sleigh an' horses out--nobody ever
will know," said the big man, evidently the leader. She noticed they
called him Sam.
"Next thing is to git her across the river without leavin' any tracks.
We ain't on a travelled road now, pals; we got to be careful. I'll carry
her down to the bank; but be sure to step squarely in my
footprints--it'll look like they were made by one man. See?"
"The river's froze over an' we can't be tracked on the ice. It's too
dark, too, for any one to see us. Go ahead, Sammy; it's d---- cold
here."
The big man lifted her from the ground as if she were a feather, and she
was conscious of being borne swiftly through a stretch of sloping
woodland down to the river bank, a journey of two or three hundred
yards, it seemed. Here the party paused for many minutes before
venturing out upon the wide expanse of frozen river, evidently making
sure that the way was clear. Rosalie, her senses quite fully restored by
this time, began to analyse the situation with a clearness and calmness
that afterward was the object of considerable surprise to her. Instead
of being hysterical with fear, she was actually experiencing the thrill
of a real emotion. She had no doubt but that her abductors were persons
hired by those connected with her early history, and, strange as it may
seem, she could not believe that bodily harm was to be her fate after
all these years of secret attention on the part of those so deeply,
though remotely, interested.
Somehow there raced through her brain the exhilarating conviction that
at last the mystery of her origin was to be cleared away, and with it
all that had been as a closed book. No thought of death entered her mind
at that time. Afterward she was to feel that death would be most
welcome, no matter how it came.
Her captors made the trip across the river in dead silence. There was no
moon and the night was inky black. The exposed portions of her face
tingled with cold, but she was so heavily wrapped in the blanket that
her body did not feel the effects of the zero weather.
At length the icy stretch was passed, and after resting a few minutes,
Sam proceeded to ascend the steep bank with her in his arms. Why she was
not permitted to walk she did not know then or afterward. It is
possible, even likely, that the men thought their charge was
unconscious. She did nothing to cause them to think otherwise. Again
they passed among trees, Sam's companions following in his footprints as
before. Another halt and a brief command for Davy to go ahead and see
that the coast was clear came after a long and tortuous struggle through
the underbrush. Twice they seemed to have lost their bearings in the
darkness, but eventually they came into the open.
"Here we are!" grunted Sam as they hurried across the clearing. "A hard
night's work, pals, but I guess we're in Easy Street now. Go ahead,
Davy, an' open the trap!"
Davy swore a mighty but sibilant oath and urged his thick, ugly figure
ahead of the others.
A moment later the desperadoes and their victim passed through a door
and into a darkness even blacker than that outside. Davy was pounding
carefully upon the floor of the room in which they stood. Suddenly a
faint light spread throughout the room and a hoarse, raucous voice
whispered:
"Have you got her?"
"Get out of the way--we're near froze," responded Davy gruffly.
"Get down there, Bill, and take her; I'm tired carryin' this hundred and
twenty pounder," growled Sam.
The next instant Rosalie was conscious of being lowered through a trap
door in the floor, and then of being borne rapidly through a long,
narrow passage, lighted fitfully by the rays of a lantern in the hands
of a fourth and as yet unseen member of the band.
"There!" said Bill, impolitely dropping his burden upon a pile of straw
in the corner of the rather extensive cave at the end of the passage;
"wonder if the little fool is dead. She ought to be coming to by this
time."
"She's got her eyes wide open," uttered the raucous voice on the
opposite side; and Rosalie turned her eyes in that direction. She looked
for a full minute as if spellbound with terror, her gaze centred at the
most repulsive human face she ever had seen--the face of Davy's mother.
The woman was a giantess, a huge, hideous creature with the face of a
man, hairy and bloated. Her unkempt hair was grey almost to whiteness,
her teeth were snags, and her eyes were almost hidden beneath the shaggy
brow. There was a glare of brutal satisfaction in them that appalled the
girl.
For the first time since the adventure began her heart failed her, and
she shuddered perceptibly as her lids fell.
"What the h---- are you skeering her fer like that, ma," growled Davy.
"Don't look at her like that, or--"
"See here, my boy, don't talk like that to me if you don't want me to
kick your head off right where you stand. I'm your mother, Davy, an'--"
"That'll do. This ain't no time to chew the rag," muttered Sam. "We're
done fer. Get us something to eat an' something to drink, old woman;
give the girl a nifter, too. She's fainted, I reckon. Hurry up; I want
to turn in."
"Better untie her hands--see if she's froze," added Bill savagely.
Roughly the old woman slashed the bonds from the girl's hands and feet
and then looked askance at Sam, who stood warming his hands over a
kerosene stove not far away. He nodded his head, and she instantly
untied the cloth that covered Rosalie's mouth.
"It won't do no good to scream, girl. Nobody'll hear ye but us--and
we're your friends," snarled the old woman.
"Let her yell if she wants to, Maude. It may relieve her a bit," said
Sam, meaning to be kind. Instinctively Rosalie looked about for the
person addressed as Maude. There was but one woman in the gang. Maude!
That was the creature's name. Instead of crying or shrieking, Rosalie
laughed outright.
At the sound of the laugh the woman drew back hastily.
"By gor!" she gasped; "the--she's gone daffy!"
The men turned toward them with wonder in their faces. Bill was the
first to comprehend. He saw the girl's face grow sober with an effort,
and realised that she was checking her amusement because it was sure to
offend.
"Aw," he grinned, "I don't blame her fer laughin'! Say what ye will,
Maude, your name don't fit you."
"It's as good as any name--" began the old hag, glaring at him; but Sam
interposed with a command to her to get them some hot coffee while he
had a talk with the girl. "Set up!" he said roughly, addressing Rosalie.
"We ain't goin' to hurt you."
Rosalie struggled to a sitting posture, her limbs and back stiff from
the cold and inaction. "Don't ask questions, because they won't be
answered. I jest want to give you some advice as to how you must act
while you are our guest. You must be like one of the family. Maybe we'll
be here a day, maybe a week, but it won't be any longer than that."
"Would you mind telling me where I am and what this all means? Why have
you committed this outrage? What have I done--" she found voice to say.
He held up his hand.
"You forget what I said about askin' questions. There ain't nothin' to