University of Virginia Library

3. CHAPTER III.

On the morning following that night of events,
the sun rose in splendor, and as his golden rays
rested upon the ridge where our story first opened,
they occasionally, from between the branches of the
surrounding trees, fell with a mellow gleam upon
three figures, well mounted on three noble steeds.
Two of the three were large, powerful men, while
the third, well formed, full of grace and activity,
was by no means an inferior individual. Each of
the party was well armed, with two pistols, a long
hunting knife, and a rifle slung behind him,
across his shoulders, ready for immediate use
when necessary. That they had ridden fast was
evident from the expanded nostrils and foaming
breasts of the animals beneath them; but at the
moment introduced their speed was only a fast
walk, and they were gazing in various directions
upon the beautiful scenery around with seeming
delight.

“This ere's a putty considerable kind o' a
country of yourn, Bill Webber,” remarked Bernard,
at length—for the reader has doubtless recognised
the three horsemen as Webber, Bernard
and Tyrone:—“a putty considerable kind o' a
country, I swow, and no mistake. Its wuth a
feller's travel out here jest to look at it like, let
alone the chance he has for gittin' intu a bit o' a
fuss now and then. Why a look at the old Mississippi
'd pay the cost, I'm darned if twouldn't,
that's a fact, don't you think so Mark? Howsomever,
I seed it when I's out here afore”—continued
he, without waiting for a reply from Tyrone—“so
twasn't exactly new to me, though I
looked on't with jest about the same satisfaction
as I did at first. Mark, here, though, thought
he'd got right on tu the ocean, kerslap.”

“Pshaw!” exclaimed Tyrone, who was not particularly
fond of a joke; “you always exaggerate,
Harvey. 'Tis true I thought it a great stream,
and in that opinion I am borne out by geographical
facts, which prove it one of the first in the
world, but I did not mistake it for the ocean, nevertheless.”

“O you needn't try to creep out on't now,
Mark; it's all fact, I swow!” said Bernard, casting a
side glance at Webber, who smiled and changed
the conversation by saying:

“I suppose we are near the cave you mentioned,
Harvey?”

“Right down there's the spot,” he replied
pointing to the right,—“where you see them are
stones all jumbled up together, jest as if they didn't
care 'bout how they looked.”

“I remember the place now, very well,” returned
Webber; “for only a short time since a
man was supposed to have been murdered there.”

“Ah!” exclaimed Tyrone, with interest: “happened
it very lately?”

“About four months since,” answered Webber.

“Indeed! Why you did not mention this before,
to my recollection.”

“In fact I had forgotten it,” said Webber, in
reply; “such things being too common in this
country to live long in memory, unless the individual
be well known, and this one was a stranger.
It is not known for a certainty that he was
murdered, but circumstances place it beyond a
doubt. A man somewhat past the middle age was
seen in this vicinity during the day, and the night
succeeding one of my neighbors heard a shriek
and cry for help, proceeding as near as he could
judge from yonder cave; but being unarmed and
alone he dared not go to the rescue; the more so, as
he believed there would be more than one to encounter.
A search wasinstituted the day following,
but save some marks of blood in and about the
cave, nothing was discovered of importance. As
the stranger has never been seen since, it is believed
that he was attacked by ruffians, murdered
for his money, and his body sunk in the Maramee.
It was thought by many that the old Jew could
tell something of the matter if so disposed; and
now I think of it, doubtless these same kidnappers
were concerned also.”

“Such is my opinion from what I can gather by
your narration,” observed Tyrone.

“Well,” returned Webber, compressing his
lips, “a day of retribution is at hand, and an evenger
on their trail—let them beware!”

The party had by this time reached the foot of
the hill. “Right here's the place where I had the
satisfaction of trying my science on that are scoundrel,
Curdish!” said Bernard, as they rode past
where the attack had been made on Edward and
Emily.

“Well chosen for their design,” returned Webber;
“but I trust, Harvey, when you display your
science again, you will make a better shot than
before.”

“I'd jest like to git another chance to display it
like,” rejoined Bernard.

“Doubtless you will have one ere long,” said
Webber; “but come, we waste time; let us to the
spur.”

Accordingly at the word they set forward at a
rapid gallop, through the ravine previously mentioned,
nor did they loose rein again until they
neared the old hut occupied by Hetty Brogan,
when turning aside into some bushes they came
to a halt, and Webber said:

“Look well to your weapons, comrades; for
somehow I have a presentiment we shall have difficulty
ere we have done here. The door is closed
however, and the hut has the appearance of being
deserted; nevertheless we are on an ugly mission,
and there is nothing lost by being cautious.
It is possible Hetty may not have arisen, though
the sun is already over the hill; and it is possible
too there may be some of the rascals within, as
they doubtless, at times, make this place a rendezvous;
but I will soon ascertain;” saying which he
dismounted and threw his reins to Bernard.

“Look a here, Bill Webber,” returned the latter,
“afore you go to work in this ere business,
jest listen a minute. Ye see, Bill, you're putty
considerable kind o' apt to have every thing jest
your own way, but in this ere perticular case I
want mine.”

“Well, Harvey, what is it?” asked Webber.

“Why to say it right out and out it's jest this:—
You're somewhat older than I am, and per'aps aint
quite so strong, though you're a putty strong
man, that's a fact; but then you've got a family
and I haint, and what's more, never expect to
have; though I did love a gal Down East, as the
saying is, but then she kind o' took to another
feller, and so I jest let her go it, and concluded to
punish the hull race by never gitting married at
all.”

“Well, well, Harvey, but what has that to do
with this affair?” asked Webber, a little impatiently.

“Why jest this: that you'll stay out here with
the horses, and let me and Mark venter in; 'cause
per'aps there'll be trouble, and like enough somebody'll
git hurt; and if its me, ye see, why I haint
no family depending on me, and twont matter
much.”

“Noble, generous fellow!” exclaimed Webber,
warmly, approaching and grasping his hand,
while a tear glistened in his eye. “I know you
well, Bernard, and I know that you would give
your life for a friend at any moment; still I do not
think that I have any more claims on your life
because it would be freely given, nor that I
should stand back and let you run all the risks
because you are single. 'Tis true I have a family,
who would mourn my loss should I meet
with a fatal accident; but then I have no right
to sacrifice a friend on this account, neither will
I do it.”

“O, as to that,” replied Bernard, “you aint a
going to sacrifice any body in that way, so you
needn't be afeard; but one thing I'm jest a going
to tell you, and that is, if you don't want to quarrel
with me, you'll jest stay here with these ere
animals, and let me and Mark go ahead.” As
Bernard spoke, both himself and Tyrone dismounted.

“I shall add my voice,” said the latter, “that
you take Bernard's advice.”

“Well, comrades,” answered Webber, “since
you are both determined on this point, why of
course I must acquiesce; but do not be too venturesome,
and bear in mind I hold the horses
here, ready for instant mounting if necessary.”

“All right,” returned Bernard, drawing his pistols
and looking to their priming, while Tyrone did
the same. “All right, I say; and now Mark, we'll
jest go ahead;” and at the word both started forward.

The hut was only some hundred yards distant,
and but little time elapsed ere Bernard was knocking
on the door. Not receiving an answer to this, he
pressed with considerable force against it, when
somewhat to his surprise it quietly swung back
on its hinges.

“I guess the bird's flew,” Tyrone, said he, in a
low voice, as pistol in hand he entered, followed in
like manner by his companion.

“One thing is certain,” returned Tyrone, as
having entered he glanced around the gloomy
apartment, “and that is that nobody is here but
ourselves.”

“True's preaching, Mark,” rejoined Bernard;
“but I can tell you one thing more, they haint
been gone long, and there's been a number on 'em
here too. Don't you see them ere cards scattered
all about, and that are bottle on the table, and
these ere wet spots, where they've spilt their
licker; and don't you smell old stinking tobacker
smoke too?”

“Right!” answered Tyrone; “these certainly
are sure indications of a party having been here
quite lately, and perhaps even now are not far off-Who
knows —”

His speech was here cut short by the sudden

entrance of three figures, whose faces were concealed
by black masks.

“Ha! by St. Christopher, we've got you now!”
cried the foremost, whose left arm was bandaged,
and whom of course the reader will at once recognise
as Curdish. “You don't 'scape this ar' perticular
time, you — Yankee!” and rushing forward,
he fired a pistol directly at the head of Bernard,
who, though taken by surprise, and but a moment
left for thought, still had sufficient presence
of mind to cast his head aside, just at the instant
of the discharge, by which means the ball slightly
grazed his cheek, carried away a small portion of
his ear, and lodged in the wall beyond.

“There's such a thing as being mistaken in this
ere world, Mr. Jack Curdish,” returned Bernard,
cooly, following his example, and sending a ball
through the fleshy portion of the wounded arm of
his antagonist, near the shoulder, who staggered
back with a howl of rage and pain, and gnashed
his teeth together in terrible fury.

Instantly recovering himself, and drawing a
long knife from his belt, Curdish again sprang forward,
with a horrible oath, and aimed a rapid blow
at the heart of the other. But here again Bernard's
coolness and dexterity saved him; for watching
the movement with a keen, sure eye, he sprang
suddenly aside—the blow missed its object—and
Curdish, who had thrown his whole force into it,
fell heavily against him. Quick as thought Bernard
again started back, and ere the other had
time to regain his balance, with a tremendous
blow he drove the breech of the discharged pistol
full in his face, destroying his mask, and he fell
backward upon the ground--senseless--his features
besmeared with blood. This, Bernard was on the
point of following up with severer measures, when
a cry, and a glance at Tyrone, arresting him, he
sprang quickly to his relief—fortunately just in
time to save his life.

Whether the manner of attack on Bernard and
Tyrone was preconcerted, or whether the ruffians
were governed by circumstances after their entrance,
we do not pretend to say; but certain it is, in
either case, there was a grand oversight in their
proceedings; for had two attacked Beruard, instead
of Tyrone, the result might have been more
to their liking. Doubtless, Curdish, thirsting for
revenge, and feeling sure of his man, had chosen
Bernard for himself—alone—expecting to give
him a sudden quietus, while the other two should
as easily despatch his companion. Be this as it
may, however, no sooner did Curdish rush towards
Bernard—who was standing near the centre
of the room, and the farthest from the door—than
his two followers, Saxton and Riley, turned upon
Tyrone. Saxton being the foremost of the two,
instantly snapped a pistol at the breast of Tyrone,
which fortunately missed fire, when Tyrone, seeing
how matters stood, and knowing his life depended
upon his greatest exertions, discharged
each of his pistols in quick succession, but with
no other effect than that of slightly wounding Riley
in the head. Perceiving his failure—owing
to his haste—and knowing there was not a moment
to be lost, as his enemies were close upon
him, he took one step backward, and then suddenly
bounding into the air, planted both feet
against the breast of Saxton with such tremendous
force that he fell back upon Riley, who, not
being prepared for the shock, was thrown to the
ground. Following up this slight advantage, Tyrone
instantly drew his knife and made a pass at
Saxton's throat, who caught his arm with a
mighty grasp, as the blow was in progress, and
then closing in with, endeavored to wrench the
weapon from him, or get an opportunity to draw
his own. Saxton, although a powerful man, and
far superior to Tyrone in size and strength, was
yet greatly his inferior in supleness and science;
and taking advantage of his knowledge of wrestling,
Tyrone had no sooner fairly closed in with
him, than by a dexterous movement he coiled his
legs around the other's, took a sudden lock, and
threw him upon his back with tremendous violence—himself
falling uppermost. Ere he could
make use of this advantage, Saxton seized upon
the rifle which was still attached to Tyrone's
shoulder—one hand on either side—and by this
means drew him down with so close a hug,
that his breath was completely suspended, and all
power of action. Riley had by this time regained
his feet; and on a call from Saxton to release him
by killing Tyrone, and somewhat enraged at his
own wound and fall, he drew a pistol, cocked,
presented it to his head, and his finger was already
pulling upon the trigger, when Bernard, who had
seen the movement in time to reach him, suddenly
hurled him backward, by which means the
muzzle was elevated sufficiently, as it went off, to
clear the head of Tyrone, and bury the ball in the
earth a few feet beyond.

“You wont try that are motion again soon, I
guess,” remarked Bernard, cooly, as he deliberately
drew his other pistol, pointed it at the head of Riley,
and glanced steadily along the barrel. “Take
that for your pains!” he added, and with the word
came a sharp report. Riley bounded from the
earth, with a shriek, and fell dead at his feet—his
forehead pierced by a ball.

His presentiment had proved too true.

At this moment came the report of a rifle, and
a cry from without. Bernard started in alarm.—
Webber was evidently attacked—perhaps killed.
No time was to be lost. Unslinging his rifle
with the rapidity of thought, he dealt Saxton so
powerful a blow with the breech, that his hold
instantly relaxed, leaving Tyrone free.

“Up, Mark!” cried Bernard; “I guess there's
more work on hand out o' doors;” and without
pausing longer he rushed forth, followed by Tyrone,
both of whom made all haste possible to
where Webber had been left with the horses.—
Here, much to their joy, they found Webber,
rifle in hand, in company with Edward Merton,
who had just arrived and dismounted from his
horse, which he still held by the bridle.

“Thank God, friends, you are safe!” exclaimed
Webber, joyfully, as they approached, extending
a hand to each, while Merton did the same: “I
feared you were killed, as I heard the report of
several pistols.”

“Why we've had a putty considerable rough
time on't,” said Bernard in reply; “but I guess
as how them are chaps have had a rougher—
though one on 'em I don't believe knows much
about it now, or ever will know again either.”

“Have you killed one, Harvey?” asked Webber,
quickly.

“Wal I rather guess as how one on 'em 'll be
gitting cold afore long,” he answered; “at least
that's my candid opinion about it; but I thought
there was a fuss out here, for I heerd a gun go
off, and heerd somebody holler like too, or my
ears deceived me.”

“Why yes,” returned Webber, “there was some
trouble here a few minutes since; but thanks to
the timely arrival of friend Edward, here, nothing

serious has happened on our part, though whether
the other side escaped as scatheless is somewhat
doubtful.”

“Then you were attacked also?” said Tyrone.

“I was,” answered Webber. “Scarcely had
you entered the hut, and while I was anxiously
looking in that direction, anticipating difficulty
for you, two men crept stealthily behind and instantaneously
seized me, one hold of either arm,
which they crossed upon my back. I made a
sudden spring forward, but I am not what I once
was I find, and they were both strong men and
held me firmly. At that moment I saw three
ruffians enter the hut, and immediately heard several
reports of firearms in quick succession, and
believed that all was over with both of you; for
taken as you were by surprise, I did not deem it
possible for you to escape. I made another attempt
to free myself, but in vain; and thinking
my own time had now come, I resigned myself
to my fate, expecting every moment to be shot or
stabbed in the back. But much to my surpise
however, instead of such severe measures, I only
felt my captors securing my hands with a cord,
and hope revived that they were not perhaps seeking
my life. Why they used no other violence is
yet a mystery. At this moment a horseman
dashed suddenly into the bushes, and with a thrill
of joy I recognised in the rider the familiar face of
friend Merton. At sight of him a panic seemed
to seize upon my captors, who instantly let go
their hold and fled. Determined not to let them
part without a token of remembrance, I unslung
my rifle, which they had left untouched, and with
a hasty aim fired at the nearest, just as he was
leaving my sight by entering some thick shrubbery.
What was the result of the shot I know not; but
he appeared to stumble forward, and uttered a
piercing cry as of pain—which were, I presume,
the sounds you heard. I had just time to grasp Edward
by the hand, tell him of your supposed
fates, and the necessity, if living, of our coming
speedidy to your assistance, when, to my astonishment,
and I need not add joy, I saw you both issue
forth, and awaited your approach. But come,
we have already talked too long in a time when
decided action is so necessary. Let us reload as
speedily as possible, and follow up our so far good
fortune.”

“Right!” said Bernard and Tyrone in a breath;
and all four instantly commenced carrying out
Webber's suggestion. We wish the reader to
bear in mind here, that though we have been
somewhat long in describing the events as they
took place—owing to our relating each one separately—the
whole time occupied, from the entrance
of Curdish, Riley and Saxton, to the meeting
of Webber, Bernard and Tyrone, did not exceed
three minutes.

But a short time elapsed ere our party were
again ready for action; and nothing daunted by
what had taken place, on a second suggestion
from Webber, they made the bridles of their horses
fast to some of the shrubbery, and all four set
forward to the old hut, to secure the ruffians—
not doubting they were still there. But in this
they were mistaken; for on arriving at the place,
not a trace of either, with the exception of some
red spots of blood, could be found,—Curdish and
Saxton having recovered in their absence and left,
bearing the corpse of Riley with them.

“Well,” remarked Webber, as he glanced around
the late scene of strife, “they have escaped
us I perceive; and perhaps it is better that it is so,
as we still have other very important matters on
our hands, which they might have prevented us
from attending to in season.”

“To what do you allude?” asked Tyrone.

“Have you forgotten the Jew and those papers
—that is if he has any in his possession?”

“Ah! true,” rejoined Tyrone:—“But do you
think of proceeding upon that business at once?”

“I do,” answered Webber, “as soon as may be;
for if he is connected with these fellows, as I
doubt not he is, he will be likely to receive from
them information of what has happened; and perhaps,
expecting a like visit from us, will decamp—
at least for the time being; and by the way too,
the more so, as these fellows doubtless—though I
cannot for the life of me imagine where they got
it--had knowledge of our present design; for you
see they had their plans all laid to attack us,
while Hetty herself, whom we came to seek, is
absent.”

“It does certainly appear singular,” observed
Tyrone, thoughtfully, after a short pause; “but
still I do not see how they could have been informed;
for it was only last evening we talked the
matter over, and it has been communicated to no
one since.”

Webber suddenly started, as though some disagreeable
thought had flashed through his mind,
and his cheeks grew pale and red, and he hung his
head thoughtfully for some time, but made no answer.
Perhaps a vague suspicion of his son John
—whose disposition he knew too well—troubled
him. But whatever it was, as we have said, he
returned no answer Bernard was the next to
speak.

“I've been a thinking it all over, Mark,” said
he, “and I rather guess I can 'splain it away without
making any witchery on't. Ye see its been
tarnal hot weather lately, and all the winders has
been hysted 'bout our house, so that if any feller
was about as chose to listen, he could hear all that
was said easy enough. Now this ere was the case
last night, when we's talking it all over, and like
as not one of these ere same chaps come along, and
played the spy, and got hold of all twas said; and
like as not too he's done it all along afore, jest to
know like how things was a going on.”

“True,” rejoined Tyrone, “I did not think of
this before; but now it strikes me very forcibly as
being correct. What is your opinion on the subject,
Webber?”

“It may be so,” answered the latter; “I hope it
is;” and then turning abruptly to Merton, he
continued:—“By the way, Edward, you are the
very person I wished to see, to question concerning
that stranger whom you met here, and who
gave his name as Barton—the particulars of which
I got from Emily.” At the mention of the name
of Emily, there was a brighter glow on the cheeks
of Edward, which Webber apparently heeded not
as he continued:—“I wish you to describe the
personal appearance of this Barton.”

Merton did so.

“Do you think Barton is his real name?” asked
Webber, as the other concluded his description.

“I have no reason to doubt it,” answered Merton.

“Did he tell you his occupation?”

“Not at our first interview, but he has since
done so.”

“Ah! then you have seen him again?”

“I have. I rode in company with him awhile
this morning—he overtaking me shortly after my
leaving St. Louis, while the day was yet grey,

and parting from me some three miles back, to go
and look at some land, which he stated he had
lately been purchasing.”

“He is then a land speculator?”

“Such he told me was his business.”

“'Tis the same then,” said Webber. “But
what does he know of the Jew, and how did he
explain that matter of the ring?”

“O, simply as thus,” answered Merton. “He
stated that some months since he had purchased a
large tract of land, at a very low price, from the
fact that the titles to it were considered very
doubtful, on account of a supposed prior claim;
that afterward, examining the land, he had found
it of great value, by reason of its lead mines; that
determining, if possible, to find whether there
was a prior claim—and, if so, to purchase it, ere his
discovery leaked out—he had advertised the same
in the papers, and posted bills in different sections
of the country—the result of which had been his
receiving a call from the Jew, who held the papers
of prior right, and who offered to sell, but on
high terms:—that on asking the Jew to produce
his documents, he had done so; but to his utter
astonishment had found that the deed—though
drawn up in proper form—lacked the signatures
of two persons necessary to make it valid,—said
persons names having once been there, to all appearance,
but since faded out, owing, doubtless,
to their having been written with a villainous ink,
to render the instrument valueless:—that at this
discovery the rage and disappointment of the Jew
had been great: and he had declared in piteous
tones that he was a ruined man—having exhausted
all his funds in the purchase of this now worthless
paper: that thinking perhaps the Jew had been
duped, and taking pity on his grey hairs, he had
agreed to pay him a fair price for his papers, notwithstanding,
but on condition that he should
grant him any favor in his power, at any moment,
upon his presenting a curious ring, which
he wore on his finger, or on its being presented
by any one he might see proper to deputise:—that
to this the Jew had sworn most solemnly, by his
religion, and by everything he held sacred—and
that the first trial of his oath had been made by
myself, in the release of Emily. Such was his
story.”

“And a singular one,” added Webber, in reply;
“though perhaps a true one.”

“Wal now, Bill, I jest don't believe a darned
word on't,” said Bernard. “If all the stories
'bout that are tarnal old Jew be true, he aint the
feller that would mind anything 'bout an oath.”

“Unless for his interest to do so,” rejoined Webber.
“You overlook, Harvey, that it might, for
that time, have been more to his interest to let
the girl go than to detain her. Doubtless his intentions
were, and still are, to recapture her. He
is a cunning knave. But whether true or false,
it is the best and only explanation we have of the
matter at present; and so we will take it for what
it is and let it drop—for time wears fast, and
we should even now be on the road;” saying
which, he turned and led the way from the cottage.

“Do you need my services?” enquired Merton,
as the party retraced their steps to their horses.

“No!” answered Webber: “I trust our force is
sufficient; and as I presume you were on your
way to see Emily, you had better ride on; and
doubtless your presence will cheer her, for she
seems exceedingly low spirited.”

“Ah!” ejaculated Merton, with a flushed countenance;
“I will see her then, and quickly.”

By this time they had reached the bushes,
where the animals were standing, and each selecting
his own, all four were presently mounted.
As they rode out into the path and separated—
Merton to go on to Webber's, and the other three
to the river—Webber turned in his saddle, and
said:

“Do not mention this little skirmish, Edward,
to any of my family, as it would only alarm
them needlessly;” and spurring his horse as he
spoke, he started off in full gallop, while the others
imitated his example.

A good ride of two hours brought the party of
Webber to the river, and a few minutes more
served to discover the residence of the Jew; for
although neither of them had seen it before, the
exact location had been clearly pointed out.

Dismounting at a little distance, and fastening
their horses, they together proceeded to the old
hovel. As they neared the entrance, they were
somewhat surprised to see the figure of a man—a
little distance below them, near the water's edge—
his face turned from them, apparently in a meditative
mood. At sight of him all three made a
halt, and Bernard and Tyrone laid their hands on
their pistols, thinking perhaps it was another of
the gang with whom they had been contending.
Webber thought differently, however, and bidding
them stand where they were, he started cautiously
forward to ascertain. At the same time the
figure turned his head to the right and left—as
though examining the exact location of the banks
and stream—by which means Webber caught a
side view of his features, and at once recognised
him as Barton. Turning to his friends, heinformed
them who he was, and all three proceeded at
once towards him. Hearing footsteps behind
him, Barton started, drew a pistol from a wampum
belt around his waist, and suddenly confronted
them; when, perceiving the familiar face
of Webber, and nothing in the looks of his companions
of a hostile nature, he quickly replaced
the weapon, and, stepping forward, frankly extended
his hand, saying at the same time, in an
easy, cordial tone:

“I give you good morning, friend Webber; and
you also, gentlemen,” politely bowing to the others;
“and a beautiful morning it is, truly.”

As we have heretofore, on his first introduction
to the reader, taken much pains in describing the
personal appearance and singular dress of Barton,
we shall not do so now, but refer the curious to
that; merely stating, by the way, that his look
and dress were now almost exactly as then—save
perhaps a more bland expression of countenance,
and a change from his then strange cap to one of
silk velvet, from which hung a silver corded tassel.

After the usual salutations were over, Barton
said: “I trust you to excuse me, gentlemen, for
drawing an offensive weapon; but I knew not who
were approaching, and this part of the country is
not entirely free, as you are aware, from dangerous
individuals.”

“You may well say as we are aware,” returned
Webber; “for scarcely two hours since we were
contending for our lives with a party of villains.”

“Ah!” exclaimed Barton, with a start, his dark
eye brightening; “pray, and who were they?”

“I know not,” answered Webber, “unless the
same gang that kidnapped my ward Emily, who
through your interference was rescued again, for
which service hold me ever indebted.”

“Nay, that was but my duty!” replied Barton,

hastily. “But are you sure that any of these persons
are the same as were concerned in that
affair?” asked he, with interest.

“I could not tell, for their faces were concealed
by masks,” answered Webber; “though I doubt
not two of them are the same—in fact, I have
never seen but one myself.”

“And that are one was there,” said Bernard,
“for sartin; for when I knocked him down with
the butt of one o' my shooting irons, his tarnal
black thing come off, so as I could see his face;
and, besides, I knowed his voice.”

“His name?” demanded Barton, quickly.

“Jack Curdish!”

“Ha!” ejaculated Barton, mentally, with a start:
“So, so, as I feared!” and then turning to Webber,
while his features exhibited great severity of
expression, he continued: “But how did the
fight commence, and how terminate?”

Webber in a few words explained all—telling
him of their design of taking Hetty and the Jew
prisones, and how it was supposed the party of
Curdish got wind of it, and so laid in wait.

Barton mused for a few moments, with a
troubled expression, and then said: “And so one
was killed, and three others wounded? Truly,
you fought well, gentlemen! And so Hetty was
away? Well, and the Jew is also away.”

“How!” exclaimed Webber; “the Jew gone
too?”

“So you will find, when you enter you hovel.—
I had but just quitted it when you came hither.”

“Then our plan has certainly been divulged,”
returned Webber, gravely, placing his hand to his
brow, while a look of mental anguish swept over
his features. “He has got news of our design
upon him and fled; and all hope of obtaining the
papers, should he have any, is lost.”

“To what papers do you allude?” asked Baton.

Webber here informed him of his suspicion in
regard to the Jew's seizure of Emily, and why he
supposed the latter held proofs of her parentage.

“Ha! then there is a mystery about her birth?”
rejoined Barton, enquiringly.

“There is!” answered Webber; and then in a
few words he related the most prominent events
of her life.

Barton again reflected some time, seriously, and
then said abruptly: “I must see her. If I can
assist you in this matter I will. For the present
adieu!”

“Whither now?” enquired Webber, as he turned
to depart; “and why such haste?”

“I must immediately to St. Louis,” replied
Barton, “as I have business of importance there
that will not brook delay. I will see you anon
and talk this matter over.”

“By the way, Barton,” said Webber, as he
again turned to go, “you are much about the
country, in various sections, and I wish to enquire
if you have heard of late any thing of that
strange bandit leader, Ronald Bonardi, who created
so much excitement here a few years ago?”

At the mention of Bonardi, there was a perceptible
start in Barton, a little palor in his cheek,
and a slight quiver of some of the muscles
around his mouth; but all passed instantly—was
noticed by Bernard only—and when he replied,
all was again calm.

“I have not,” he said, in answer to Webber's
question; “but wherefore do you ask?”

“Merely to satisfy a curiosity,” replied Webber.
“I was relating some anecdotes of him last
evening. He was a strange, singular being; but
I do not think myself he was so bad as he has
been represented. Doubtless you have heard
much of him in your travels?”

For a moment Barton looked Webber steadily
in the eye, and then replied: “I have heard of
him; but I have no time to talk of him now: I
will, as I said before, see you again. A happy
morning to you all, gentlemen;” and turning
away, he strode forward a few yards to where his
horse was standing concealed amid some thick
shrubbery, when hastily mounting, he touched
him with his spurs, and was quickly out of sight.

“Barton aint his name!” muttered Bernard, as
he watched him disappear.

“Come,” said Webber, “if the Jew has gone,
we will search his house, at all events;” and retracing
their steps up the hill, all three entered
the hovel. “A place just fit for such an old villain!”
remarked Webber, as he glanced around
the dirty apartment. “Ha!” continued he, as he
noticed the closet at the farther end, “what have
we here?” and passing through the door, he examined
every part of it minutely; but, save an
old pistol-lock lying on the shelf, with a broken,
rusty dagger beside it, he found nothing; and he
was just on the point of leaving, when his foot
struck against a ring in the floor. Stooping
down, he took hold of it, and pulling gently, was
surprised to find it raised a trap-door. “Ho, comrades,”
cried he, “here is a discovery! Ugh, what
a stench!” he added, as having thrown open the
door, he attempted to peer into the darkness below.

“What means this?” asked Tyrone, as he entered
and strove also to look down.

“Some of the old Jew's villainy, I presume,”
replied Webber; “but we must explore it, at all
events, for I see a ladder leading down. But
then,” he added, “we have no light, and it were
useless to go down without one. Ugh! it smells
like a charnal house.”

“There is a sort of candle on the table that
would serve us,” returned Tyrone, “if we only
had the means of lighting it.”

“O, that is easily done,” rejoined Webber; and
stepping into the larger apartment, he drew one
of his pistols, applied some fine paper to the pan,
and fired the charge into the ground. The flash
ignited the paper, and lighting the candle, he
shortly returned to the mouth of the vault. “You
had better stay without, by the horses, Bernard,”
continued he, “as we should not leave our watch
too long in a place so every way villainous!
Will you descend with me, Tyrone?”

“I will!” replied the latter.

Webber carefully placed his feet upon the ladder,
and about half of his body had disappeared,
when there issued from below a deep, sepulchral
groan. Webber was a brave man, and so was his
companion; but there was something awful in
that sound, and both turned pale.

“Heavens!” exclaimed the former, after listening
a moment, “what was that, Tyrone?” Ere
the other could reply, that same hollow sound
came up again. “God of Heaven!” cried Webber,
“it is some human being—probably one
stabbed by the Jew and thrown down here to
die! Follow me!” and quickly descending the
ladder, he was immediately joined by Tyrone.
Holding the light before them, they slowly groped
their way along the passage to where the prisoner
lay starving to death in his rusty chains.

“Oh, my God, what a sight!” exclaimed Webber,

turning pale, as the light gleamed full upon
the loathsome spectacle before him, while Tyrone
was too deeply affected to speak.

“Food—food!” ejaculated the prisoner, in an
unearthly voice, unable to rise for his weakness.
“Oh, for God-sake give me food, or kill me! Oh,
oh! I am dying for food!”

“Great Heaven, and starving to death in this
land of plenty!” said Webber, turning away, and
wiping a tear from his eye. “Be quiet, poor
man!” resumed he, turning to the prisoner; “be
quiet—you shall have food.”

“Ha!” cried the other wildly, partly rising and
gazing upon Webber; “who speaks in that kind
tone?”

“A friend,” replied Webber, “come to release
you.”

“Friend!” screamed the prisoner; “friend—release—yes,
yes—I know you,—ha, ha, ha!” and
so overpowered was he with joy, at the thought
of escape from his dungeon, that he fainted and
fell back.

“Let us raise him,” said Webber, bending
down. “Ho! chains here, and no means to cut
them—what is to be done?”

“One of us had better speed instantly to St.
Louis,” replied Tyrone, “and get tools.”

“And food, and a blanket to wrap around him,
and a physician also,” rejoined Webber, hastily.
“Yes, yes; and I will go, for I know where every
thing can be found. Stay you here, Tyrone,
stay you here, and cheer him when he revives.
I will be back presently. My God, what a sight—
what misery! Oh, Jew, Jew, your cup of iniquity
is full! God forgive you, for I cannot!”
saying which, he gave Tyrone the light, darted
along the passage, up the ladder, and was soon
standing by Bernard. Hurriedly explaining what
he had seen, Webber mounted the fleetest horse,
and, burying the spurs in his flanks, away bounded
the noble animal in the direction of St. Louis,
distant some eight or ten miles.

We shall not dwell longer here, for other and
more important matters are pressing hard upon
us. Suffice, that in a couple of hours Webber returned—his
horse dripping water—bringing the
necessary articles, and a physician with him:—
that the prisoner was somewhat restored, his
chains cut, and, wrapped in a blanket, was placed
upon a horse in front of Bernard; and that about
noon the whole party—with the exception of the
physician, who returned to St. Louis—set out for
Webber's, where they arrived a little after nightfall,
only to feel more deeply the thrusts of villainy,
and pass a sleepless night of activity and
anguish.