The Daughter of Anderson Crow
while. To-night we can take her outside the place. Good Lord, Sammy,
I've got a bit of heart! I can't see her die in this hole. Look at her!
Can't you see she's nearly done for?"
After considerable argument, pro and con, it was decided that it would
be safe and certainly wise to let the girl breathe the fresh air once in
a while. That morning Sam took her into the cabin through the passage.
The half hour in the cold, fresh air revived her, strengthened her
perceptibly. Her spirits took an upward bound. She began to ask
questions, and for some reason he began to take notice of them. It may
have been the irksomeness of the situation, his own longing to be away,
his anger toward the person who had failed to keep the promise made
before the abduction, that led him to talk quite freely.
CHAPTER XX
In the Cave
"It's not my fault that we're still here," he growled in answer to her
pathetic appeal. "I've heard you prayin' for Daddy Crow to come and take
you away. Well, it's lucky for him that he don't know where you are.
We'd make mincemeat of that old jay in three minutes. Don't do any more
prayin'. Prayers are like dreams--you have 'em at night and wonder why
the next day. Now, look 'ere, Miss Gray, we didn't do this rotten job
for the love of excitement. We're just as anxious to get out of it as
you are."
"I only ask why I am held here and what is to become of me?" said
Rosalie resignedly. She was standing across the table from where he sat
smoking his great, black pipe. The other members of the gang were
lounging about, surly and black-browed, chafing inwardly over the delay
in getting away from the cave.
"I don't know why you've been held here. I only know it's d---- slow.
I'd chuck the job, if there wasn't so much dust in it for me."
"But what is to become of me? I cannot endure this much longer. It is
killing me. Look! I am black and blue from pinches. The old woman never
misses an opportunity to hurt me."
"She's jealous of you because you're purty, that's all. Women are all
alike, hang 'em! I wouldn't be in this sort of work if it hadn't been
for a jealous wife."
He puffed at his pipe moodily for a long time, evidently turning some
problem over and over in his mind. At last, heaving a deep sigh, and
prefacing his remarks with an oath, he let light in upon the mystery.
"I'll put you next to the job. Can't give any names; it wouldn't be
square. You see, it's this way: you ain't wanted in this country. I
don't know why, but you ain't."
"Not wanted in this country?" she cried blankly. "I don't stand in any
one's way. My life and my love are for the peaceful home that you have
taken me from. I don't ask for anything else. Won't you tell your
employer as much for me? If I am released, I shall never interfere with
the plans of--"
"'Tain't that, I reckon. You must be mighty important to somebody, or
all this trouble wouldn't be gone through with. The funny part of it is
that we ain't to hurt you. You ain't to be killed, you know. That's the
queer part of it, ain't it?"
"I'll admit it has an agreeable sound to me," said Rosalie, with a
shadow of a smile on her trembling lips. "It seems ghastly, though."
"Well, anyhow, it's part of somebody's scheme to get you out of this
country altogether. You are to be taken away on a ship, across the
ocean, I think. Paris or London, mebby, and you are never to come
back to the United States. Never, that's what I'm told."
Rosalie was speechless, stunned. Her eyes grew wide with the misery of
doubt and horror, her lips moved as if forming the words which would not
come. Before she could bring a sound from the contracted throat the
raucous voice of old Maude broke in:
"What are you tellin' her, Sam Welch? Can't you keep your face closed?"
she called, advancing upon him with a menacing look.
"Aw, it's nothin' to you," he retorted, but an uncomfortable expression
suddenly crept into his face. A loud, angry discussion ensued, the whole
gang engaging. Three to one was the way it stood against the leader, who
was forced to admit, secretly if not publicly, that he had no right to
talk freely of the matter to the girl. In vain she pleaded and promised.
Her tears were of no avail, once Sam had concluded to hold his tongue.
Angry with himself for having to submit to the demands of the others,
furious because she saw his surrender, Sam, without a word of warning,
suddenly struck her on the side of the head with the flat of his broad
hand, sending her reeling into the corner. Dazed, hurt and half stunned,
she dropped to her knees, unable to stand. With a piteous look in her
eyes she shrank back from another blow which seemed impending. Bill
Briggs grasped his leader's arm and drew him away, cursing and snarling.
Late in the afternoon, Bill was permitted to conduct her into the cabin
above, for a few minutes in the air, and for a glimpse of the failing
sunlight. She had scarcely taken her stand before the little window when
she was hastily jerked away, but not before she thought she had
perceived a crowd of men, huddling among the trees not far away. A
scream for help started to her lips; but Bill's heavy hand checked it
effectually. His burly arm sent her scuttling toward the trap-door; and
a second later she was below, bruised from the fall and half fainting
with disappointment and despair.
Brief as the glimpse had been, she was positive she recognised two faces
in the crowd of men--Anderson Crow's and Ed Higgins's. It meant, if her
eyes did not deceive her, that the searchers were near at hand, and that
dear, old Daddy Crow was leading them. Her hopes flew upward and she
could not subdue the triumphant glance that swept the startled crowd
when Bill breathlessly broke the news.
Absolute quiet reigned in the cave after that. Maude cowed the prisoner
into silence with the threat to cut out her tongue if she uttered a cry.
Later, the tramp of feet could be heard on the floor of the cabin.
There was a sound of voices, loud peals of laughter, and then the noise
made by some one in the cellar that served as a blind at one end of the
cabin. After that, dead silence. At nightfall, Sam stealthily ventured
forth to reconnoitre. He came back with the report that the woods and
swamps were clear and that the searchers, if such they were, had gone
away.
"The house, since Davy's grandma's bones were stored away in that cellar
for several moons, has always been thought to be haunted. The fools
probably thought they saw a ghost--an' they're runnin' yet."
Then for the first time Rosalie realised that she was in the haunted
cabin in the swamp, the most fearsome of all places in the world to
Tinkletown, large and small. Not more than three miles from her own
fireside! Not more than half an hour's walk from Daddy Crow and others
in the warmth of whose love she had lived so long!
"It's gettin' too hot here for us," growled Sam at supper. "We've just
got to do something. I'm going out to-night to see if there's any word
from the--from the party. These guys ain't all fools. Somebody is liable
to nose out the trap-door before long and there'll be hell to pay. They
won't come back before to-morrow, I reckon. By thunder, there ought to
be word from the--the boss by this time. Lay low, everybody; I'll be
back before daybreak. This time I'm a-goin' to find out something sure
or know the reason why. I'm gettin' tired of this business. Never know
what minute the jig's up, nor when the balloon busts."
Again he stole forth into the night, leaving his companions more or less
uneasy as to the result, after the startling events of the afternoon.
Hour after hour passed, and with every minute therein, Rosalie's ears
strained themselves to catch the first sound of approaching rescuers.
Her spirits fell, but her hopes were high. She felt sure that the men
outside had seen her face and that at last they had discovered the place
in which she was kept. It would only be a question of time until they
learned the baffling secret of the trap-door. Her only fear lay in the
possibility that she might be removed by her captors before the rescuers
could accomplish her delivery. Her bright, feverish, eager eyes,
gleaming from the sunken white cheeks, appealed to Bill Briggs more than
he cared to admit. The ruffian, less hardened than his fellows, began to
feel sorry for her.
Eleven o'clock found the trio anxious and ugly in their restlessness.
There was no sleep for them. Davy visited the trap over a hundred times
that night. His mother, breaking over the traces of restraint, hugged
the jug of whiskey, taking swig after swig as the vigil wore on. At last
Davy, driven to it, insisted upon having his share. Bill drank but
little, and it was not long before Rosalie observed the shifty, nervous
look in his eyes. From time to time he slyly appropriated certain
articles, dropping them into his coat pocket. His ear muffs, muffler,
gloves, matches, tobacco and many chunks of bread and bacon were stowed
stealthily in the pockets of his coat. At last it dawned upon her that
Bill was preparing to desert. Hope lay with him, then. If he could only
be induced to give her an equal chance to escape!
Mother and son became maudlin in their--not cups, but jug; but Davy had
the sense to imbibe more cautiously, a fact which seemed to annoy the
nervous Bill.
"I must have air--fresh air," suddenly moaned Rosalie from her corner,
the strain proving too great for her nerves. Bill strode over and looked
down upon the trembling form for a full minute. "Take me outside for
just a minute--just a minute, please. I am dying in here."
"Lemme take her out," cackled old Maude. "I'll give her all the air she
wants. Want so--some air myself. Lemme give her air, Bill. Have some air
on me, pardner. Lemme--"
"Shut up, Maude!" growled Bill, glancing uneasily about the cave. "I'll
take her up in the cabin fer a couple of minutes. There ain't no
danger."
Davy protested, but Bill carried his point, simply because he was sober
and knew his power over the half-stupefied pair. Davy let them out
through the trap, promising to wait below until they were ready to
return.
"Are you going away?" whispered Rosalie, as they passed out into the
cold, black night.
"Sh! Don't talk, damn you!" he hissed.
"Let me go too. I know the way home and you need have no fear of me. I
like you, but I hate the others. Please, please! For God's sake, let me
go! They can't catch me if I have a little start."
"I'd like to, but I--I dassent. Sam would hunt me down and kill me--he
would sure. I am goin' myself--I can't stand it no longer."
"Have pity! Don't leave me alone with them. Oh, God, if you--"
Moaning piteously, she pleaded with him; but he was obdurate, chiefly
through fear of the consequences. In his heart he might have been
willing to give her the chance, but his head saw the danger to itself
and it was firm.
"I'll tell you what I'll do," he whispered in the end. "I'll take you
back there and then I'll go and tell your friends where you are and how
to help you. Honest! Honest, I will. I know it's as broad as it is
long, but I'd rather do it that way. They'll be here in a couple of
hours and you'll be free. Nobody will be the wiser. Curse your whining!
Shut up! Damn you, get back in there! Don't give me away to Davy, and
I'll swear to help you out of this."
A minute or two later, he dragged her back into the cabin,
moaning, pleading, and crying from the pain of a sudden blow. Ten
minutes afterward he went forth again, this time ostensibly to meet Sam;
but Rosalie knew that he was gone forever.
CHAPTER XXI
The Trap-Door
A sickly new moon threw vague ghostly beams across the willow-lined