University of Virginia Library

4. CHAPTER IV.

On the same day of the events immediately preceding,

and at the hour of twilight, Ronald Bonardi
was seated by the richly carved table in the
gorgeous apartment known as the Chieftain's
Chamber. His head was uncovered, and his long,
black, curling hair, thrown back from his high,
broad, pale forehead, in rough disorder, seemed
indicative of a mind disturbed and ill at ease.
This was signally apparent in his features. His
brows were knit together, and there was a combination
of the sad and sullen in his eyes, as
though by one thing he was grieved, and by
another roused to a severe, unshaken determination,
the terminus of which would be far from
pleasant. There was great severity also exhibited
around his mouth, the lips of which were compressed
and drawn slightly apart, leaving visible
a small portion of his front teeth. He was seated,
as we have said, by the table, and his eyes were
resting with the expression we have described, upon
some two or three letters which were lying
open thereon. At a little distance in front, on a
sofa, sat his wife, the beautiful Inez, her large
dark eyes fastened tenderly upon him, with a look
of sorrow, while the smile we have previously
described around her mouth, was mournful. Her
features were pale, exhibiting tokens of much
anxiety, and one would easily be led to fancy she
had been weeping. Behind Inez stood the slave
Cyntha, gazing also upon the bandit captain, with
an expression little less sad than that of her mistress.

For some five minutes Bonardi sat in the same
position, during which time not a muscle of his
features changed, as though made fast by the spell
of some deep revery, while the other two, immoveable
as himself, gazed on in silence. At
length he started, and with a deep drawn sigh relaxed
his rigidity of expression, and his eyes wandered
to those of Inez with a softer glance. No
sooner did Inez notice the change, than with an
airy bound she sprang forward, threw her soft
arms around his neck, buried her head upon his
shoulder, while her dark curls mingled playfully
with his.

“My Inez, my own dear Inez,” said Ronald,
in a low, tender voice, far sweeter to her ear than
the softest notes of music, “my own dear Inez,
you at least are true!” As he spoke, he threw
one arm around her waist, drew her fondly to
him, and, as she turned her eyes towards him,
now moist with tears, pressed a kiss of love upon
her rosy lips. “Yes, my own dear Inez, you at
least are true!”

“True, Ronald,” murmured Inez, “ay, true,
true, forever, ever true!” and she bowed her head
upon his breast and wept. “But why do you say
thus, dear Ronald, and why do you look so grieved
and angered to-day?” enquired she at length,
looking up with a sigh. “Are not all true, dear
Ronald?”

“No, dearest,” replied he, compressing his lips,
“all are not true: I would to Heaven they were!
But they at least shall find me true to what I have
sworn.”

“There is trouble then, dear Ronald, and danger
perhaps,” said Inez, quickly.

“There is trouble, Inez, much trouble; but I
apprehend no danger as yet. I have a few treacherous
spirits to deal with, and then I trust all will
be well. My letters from abroad bring me bad
news. Three of my best men, whom I sent forth
as spies, are dead, through their own imprudence.
One shot in a street fight in Cincinnati; one killed
in a duel in New Orleans; and the third, in New
York, for shooting a man on a slight provocation,
has been tried and executed. This is sad news
to receive by one post, for they were all tried
men and true. Each had in his possession private
papers of great moment, from two of whom
they were recovered by their comrades, immediately
after their death; but with regard to the
third, the one executed in New York, it has not
turned out so well—his papers having been seized
upon by the authorities. I have some fears how
it may terminate; for in those so lost, was a secret
plan of extending our band in that quarter; in
fact, of establishing a league, the head quarters of
which should be here, throughout different sections
of the United States. However, the secret
correspondence was written in an invisible ink,
which will only show when the paper is heated,
while in ordinary ink was written something entirely
foreign to the subject. I do not think it
probable they will warm the papers—if not, all is
safe; and even should they do so, I fancy the
contents, by reason of the characters introduced,
will prevent them from making any thing of them
that will lead to our detection: still I would they
had them not. In the neighborhood of Cincinnati
we have already found a few bold hearts who
are ready and willing to join us. But enough of
this, dear Inez, for it is matter that scarcely concerns,
and of course cannot interest you.”

“Any thing that concerns or interests you,
dear Ronald, I always listen to with delight,”
said Inez, sweetly.

“Ah, what would life be without you, sweet
one;” and again Ronald, bending down, pressed
his lips to hers. “But, dear Inez, I must no longer
here, for I have deep matters on my hands. To-night
our band meets on a special purpose, and
already I hear them assembling in the Outer Cave.
There, there, dear Inez, I must go;” and pressing
his lips again to hers, he arose and gathered up the
letters on the table. “Ho! Cyntha,” continued
he, turning to the slave, “bring wine!” and as the
latter obeyed, he took the cup from her hand and
drained it. “Again!” he added, reaching it forth.
Again it was filled, and again he emptied it. “Once
more, Cyntha,” said he, with a wild light in his
eyes; “once more!” The slave obeyed, and the
third cup was drained.

“Oh, Ronald, dear Ronald, what means this?”
cried Inez, who had been gazing upon him with
a look of astonishment. “You are not yourself,
dear Ronald! Something terrible is going to take
place! You, who seldom taste liquor, have drank
three cups, and there is an awful look in your
eye. Oh, dear Ronald, tell me, tell me what is
about to happen!” and she threw her arms around,
as though to detain him.

“Nay,” said he, gently disengaging himself,
“there are things, dear Inez, of which one like
you should know nothing. Question not, but
remember you are a bandit's wife!”

“But one who loves him to whom she pledged
her hand no less for that,” returned Inez, sweetly.
“I fear you are about to encounter danger,
dear Ronald, and if — and if —”

“Nay, nay,” interrupted he, “fear not. I apprehend
no danger. But hark! there is the signal
for me. I must be detained no longer;” and
turning hastily away, without further ceremony,
he drew aside the crimson curtains concealing the
passage, and entered the Outer Cave, while Inez,
with a sad expression, gazed long upon the spot
where she had seen him disappear.

As Ronald had said, a special meeting of the

band had been called for this evening, and already
a large number had assembled when he appeared
among them, with an expression on his
features but few had ever seen before. With a
quick, firm step he mounted the stand, where the
lieutenant already was before him.

“Has the roll been called?” demanded he of the
latter.

“It has not, captain,” answered Piketon.
“The time set for the meeting has not yet expired.”

“You may as well call it, however, for I see
most of our band are here; and should the others
arrive in due time, they shall be exempted from
disobedience.”

As the lieutenant proceeded to obey his command,
Bonardi stepped down and closed the door
of the Inner Cave. It was a massive stone, some
ten inches in thickness, and swung on heavy
iron hinges. Many an eye of that reckless band
of outlaws, was fastened with an enquiring look
upon their leader as he did this, for it was a something
done only on rare occasions, and when matters
were of a too private nature for the ears of
women.

“Give me the roll!” said Bonardi, as the lieutenant
concluded the call; and taking it in his
hand, his eye ran over it hastily, but with a keen,
sure glance. “They are all here,” he continued
in a low tone to Piketon, “that I expected, with
the exception of Saxton, Curdish and Niles. You
will proceed, as soon as circumstances will admit,
to find and order them under arrest, to meet here;
and, mark you! put spies upon them, that they
may not escape. I have my doubts of their fidelity;
but not a word of this to any one—you understand?”

Piketon bowed.

“Gentlemen,” said Bonardi, in a louder tone,
addressing the assemblage, “you are here met for
a special purpose, as of course you are aware,
being notified out of your regular time. For
your promptness in responding to the call, I
thank you! and by it feel assured that though I may
govern some traitors, most of my band are true.
I perceive surprise on your countenances, by
which I know that most of you do not understand
me. I shall not detain you with any long explanation,
but rather let actions speak. In short,
gentlemen, you are here met to witness the trial of
a traitor!”

At the last words, a sudden start was visible
with most of the party present, while with some
few it was accompanied with a slight paleness.—
Bonardi noticed all, with a quick, searching
glance, and turning to Piketon, added: “Bring
up the prisoner.”

Raising a trap door at the far end of the platform—which
by the way was some fifteen feet in
length—Piketon immediately disappeared, while
every eye was bent in that direction, with a look
of anxious wonder, to learn who was the one suspected
of a crime in their eyes so degrading, and
which, if followed by conviction, must end in a
manner the most tragical. They were not long
kept in suspense, for Piketon shortly reappeared;
and low curses, deep imprecations, horrible oaths,
and fierce, angry gestures succeeded, as they
recognised in his companion, the ugly, quivering,
coward'y features, and the stooped, aged, trembling
form of David the Jew. As Piketon led
him forward in front of the stand, his small black
eyes turned with a rapid, sickly glance from one
to the other of the party; but he saw nothing,
save such dark, stern, angry looks, as made his
very heart shrink within him.

“Oh, good shentlemens —”

“Silence, Jew!” interrupted Bonardi, in a voice
of thunder. “You are here to speak only when
called upon!”

“Oh, good Mistoor Captains —”

“Silence, I say!” cried Bonardi, with an angry
gesture. “This insolence in the face of my commands
is unbearable! Piketon, place a pistol to
his head; and if he speak again ere spoken to,
send a bullet through his brain!” Piketon instantly
obeyed, and the Jew, knowing the command
would be promptly executed to the letter,
stood mute and trembling.

“You remember, gentlemen,” said Ronald,
“that when we met here last, one of our party,
Curdish—who I am sorry to say is now absent—
insinuated in rather strong terms that the Jew
intended to betray us—or to that effect—but at
the same time was not willing to swear to it.—
You will also recollect that I ordered him under
arrest, and told you the matter should be looked
to. I questioned him in private, and learned
enough to be satisfied that for the present our safety
might depend upon having the Jew closely
watched. However, as I wished also to give the
latter a fair opportunity to forego any wicked design
he might have in contemplation, and to talk
with him on some other matters, I ordered him
under arrest likewise. During my examination
of him, I became more than ever convinced that
he was meditating treachery; and my last words to
him were, `go Jew, but beware, for a sleepless eye
will be upon you!' He made no reply, but there
was in his countenance a look of savage cunning,
which seemed to say, `I shall outwit and betray
you.' So I interpreted it; and as soon as he was
gone, I called one of my sentinels—a man in whom
I had implicit confidence, both as to being trusted,
and possessing sufficient cunning to overreach
the Jew—related the whole matter, bade him dog
his steps, and take whatever measures he might
see proper to learn if my suspicious were correct;
and, if so, so soon as he could gather proof sufficient,
to bring him hither—which latter you perceive,
gentlemen, has been done. Now for the
proof. Hendrick, you will stand forth, so as to
confront the prisoner!”

At the word, a tall, thin faced, intellectual,
cunning looking man, with grey eyes, came forward
to the stand.

“I suppose you are aware, Hendrick,” continued
the captain, addressing him, “of the penalty
of giving false evidence?”

“I am!” replied Hendrick, calmly.

“Enough! Now let us hear your testimony in
regard to David.”

“Shall I relate everything that occurred, captain?”

“No, it is unnecessary for us to waste time.—
Relate only that which bears directly on his treasonable
design.”

“Well, then,” began Hendrick, “after following
the Jew through all his crooks and turns, until
he reached his place of abode, on the banks of
the Mississippi, which he did about dusk on the
third day from his leaving here—having traveled
the whole distance on foot—I determined, if possible,
to secrete myself within his hovel, where I
judged I should be the better able to learn of his
private intentions. Fortunately his own imprudence
favored me in the first, as his tongue afterwards
did in the last. By great adroitness I managed

to keep him within sight the whole distance,
and remain myself unseen. As I have said, he
reached his hovel about dusk of the third day; and
the shadows of the coming night favoring me, I
was enabled to be close upon him when he entered.

“To my surprise he did not close and bolt his
door immediately, and availing myself of this, a
moment or two after, I noiselessly followed him
across the threshold, and found him engaged with
flint and steel in striking a light. The flash from
the steel enabled me to perceive a table, which I
succeeded in reaching, and concealing myself under,
without alarming him. After having lit a
candle, he proceeded to bolt his door, and then,
as if he felt himself entirely free from danger, let
off a volley of curses and all manner of imprecations
on the banditti, its captain especially,
which he finished by swearing to have revenge
on the whole party. After this, for a time,
he became more quiet, and proceeding to a kind
of closet, regaled himself with food. This done,
he seated himself by the table, underneath which
I was lying, and for some two hours was silent.
At length he began again, by uttering the word
revenge, and swearing he would have it on those
who had foiled him in a matter concerning some
girl; that to get this revenge, he would, on the
following day, proceed to St. Louis, betray the
band, and secure the reward offered for our captain's
head.”

As Hendrick said this, several of the party
present, unable longer to smother their wrath,
burst into a yell of rage, with cries of, “Death—
death! Away with him! Enough proof! Wretch!
Villian!”—while knives and pistols flashed in the
light of the torches, and some few moved forward
as if to seize the Jew, who, ghastly and breathless,
was nearly fainting with terror.

“Hold!” exclaimed Bonardi, waiving his hand
with dignity. “Justice shall be done, gentlemen,
fear not.” In an instant that rough sea of passion
was calm as a still lake, when Ronald again
added, “Go on, Hendrick, but be brief as possible.”

“Railing in this manner for awhile,” resumed
Hendrick, “he finally touched upon his money,
some papers in his possession, and how best he
might dispose of the latter.”

“Yes, papers!” said Bonardi, quickly, interrupting
the speaker. “Yes, well, what of the
papers?”

“Why, as I did not understand the allusion,”
answered Hendrick, “I paid but little regard to
his remarks; though I remember his muttering
something about disposing of them to some one
who loved the girl, probably meaning the same
one he had alluded to before.”

“The same, doubtless, but continue.”

“After going on in this manner sometime, he
proceeded to the closet, and brought forth a bag
and some papers. The bag contained money, as
I could tell by hearing him empty it on the table;
and for a full hour he amused himself, as nigh as
I could judge, in counting and handling it, and
some half hour more in examining the papers,
when he returned them to the closet. While
there, I heard him mutter something about killing
some one; then he came for the light, and
seemed much agitated. Soon after he went back,
the light disappeared, and curiosity prompting
me, I crept forth to learn what had become of
him. I entered the closet carefully, and, to my
surprise, found a trap-door raised, leading down
into a vault, from which issued a stench so disagreeable,
that I immediately retired, but not until
I had heard some words passed with one below,
whom the Jew, as I judged, had gone down
to murder.”

“Indeed!” remarked Ronald, with interest,
“here is mystery, truly. I would I had known
of this before. Speak, Jew, who had you there?”
But the Jew, in his fright and astonishment at
hearing all these things, which he believed known
only to himself, so correctly narrated, had lost all
power of speech, and Ronald nodded to Hendrick
to proceed.

“How it terminated below, I do not know,”
continued the witness; “but just at this moment
I was astonished by hearing the approach of a
horse, and, following immediately, a knocking
on the door, with a demand for admittance, and
I crept under the table, wondering what I was to
behold next. The Jew shortly appeared, evidently
much alarmed, for he enquired in a trembling
voice who was there. The answer was in our
phrase, `Ele lio.' ”

“Ha!” exclaimed Bonardi: “Well?”

“The Jew, out of fear, then opened the door,
when a tall figure walked in, and, after some prevar
ication, told him (the Jew) that he had papers
concerning a young girl, for which he (the
stranger) had come expressly. This the Jew
stoutly denied, when the stranger took another
method, and frightened him into owning the
truth. The result was that the Jew brought forward
the papers, and gave them to the other, who
immediately departed.”

“And do you know that stranger?” asked Ronald.

“I do not, for his face was concealed by a
mask.”

“That he is one of our band, is evident from
his reply to the Jew,” said Ronald. “See you
in any person present a figure corresponding with
his?”

Hendrick glanced slowly around upon the assemblage,
who were listening with breathless interest,
until his eye fell upon John Webber,
where it rested for a moment, while the latter
grew deadly pale. Hendrick noticed this, and
replied:

“I see none, captain, that better corresponds
than the person of Webber.”

“Ha! how is this, sir?” asked Ronald, quickly,
fastening his eyes keenly upon John, and marking
the change in his countenance. “How is
this, sir?”

“I know nothing of it,” replied John, firmly,
immediately recovering himself.

“The voice tallies well,” remarked Hendrick.

“Would you insinuate, sir!” began John, with
a flashing eye, and fierce expression.

“Hold!” exclaimed Ronald, interrupting him;
“this is no place to quarrel. You say you know
nothing of it—so let it pass. If I find you have
deceived me, however,—beware, sir, beware!
Hendrick, you will proceed with your evidence
concerning the Jew.”

“After the stranger had departed,” again resumed
Hendrick, “the Jew seemed beside himself
with rage; and instead of waiting for the
morrow, as was his first intention, he swore he
would instantly set off for St. Louis, betray the
band, and at once seek security from the law.
With this intent he started, and with a very different
one I followed. When he had reached
some half way, I touched him on the shoulder,

and told him I arrested him in the name of Ronald
Bonardi. He trembled violently, and offered
me his bag of gold to let him go. I answered I
was not to be bought, and brought him hither.
Thus ends my testimony, which, according to
our laws, I affirm before God and man is true,
and stake my life upon the oath!”

“You have done well, Hendrick,” said Ronald,
as the other concluded, “and deserve great praise,
with a suitable reward.”

“The praise is sufficient, noble captain,” returned
Hendrick. “The reward I wish not. I
have done but my duty.”

“Nevertheless you shall not be forgotten.
Promptly to reward, as promptly to punish, shall
henceforth be the justice motto of Ronald Bonardi.
Gentlemen, you have heard the testimony
against the Jew. If there is one or more among
you, who doubts the evidence just given, or who
believes the Jew guiltless of the crime with
which he is charged—namely, intentional perjury,
and treason against us as a body—he or they
will now come forward and make known the
same.”

Silence reigned throughout the cave. Not a
man moved.

“Jew,” continued Bonardi, solemnly, with
compressed lips, “before this body, in the hearts of
each, you stand condemned as a traitor. When
you joined us, you took a solemn oath, which in
your heart you have broken, as you would have
broken by your deeds, had not our interference
prevented. Your minutes are numbered. You
are an old, grey-headed, grey-bearded man, and
your soul is black with crimes, which, if not repented
of now, will go with you to another world.
You present a spectacle at once pitiable and revolting;
and base as you are, I cannot but regret
that it falls to my lot to fulfil the letter of our law,
and make you an example to others; but I have
sworn to do my duty faithfully; and were you
my own brother, my bosom friend, I would keep
my oath. Although appearances were much
against you when here before, I deemed it my
duty to warn you, so that if in reality you meditated
treachery, you might have a chance to repent
of your base design in season. You heeded
not my warning, and now with you rest the consequences.
Your sentence is death! Have you
any request to make ere the fatal moment? If so,
speak! we listen.”

“Oh, oh! mine Gott! mercys—mercys!” gasped
the Jew, sinking upon his knees.

“Coward!” cried Ronald, fiercely; “base, paltry
coward!—you were unworthyto belong to us!
I'll hear no more! Piketon, you will put a bandage
around his eyes, and lead him forward. If he
attempt to cry out, gag him!” But this latter injunction
was unnecessary, for the Jew in his
fright had actually fainted.

Piketon instantly passed a kerchief around
the Jew's eyes; and then, placing his hands under
his armpits, raised and drew him forward, with
his feet trailing on the ground, to within a short
distance of where paced the sentinel, while every
eye followed the movement, and every heart felt
a pressure of awe upon it. As long as they had
been a band, an execution they had never yet
witnessed.

“It only remains now,” said Bonardi, in a deep,
solemn voice, “for me to read the law, that I may
not be accused hereafter of acting illegally;” and
taking from a desk before him a roll of parchment,
he opened it and read as follows:

“Sec. II, Art. X. If any member shall at any
time be accused of treasonable intentions, he shall
be duly tried before the captain, and such members
as the latter may deem advisable to be present,
and if found guilty of betraying the band, or
even of an attempt to betray the same, he shall
suffer death within an hour from his conviction,
as provided under the Black Law, in Article XV
of Section I.” Taking up another roll he continued:

“Black Law, Sec. I, Art. XV. Any member
sentenced to punishment under this law, shall be
shot in the head, unto death, by the hand of the
chief, and his body be cast forth in the open air,
to be devoured by wild beasts.”

“And now, gentlemen,” continued Bonardi,
laying down the roll, “am I not fully justified in
all that I have done, and am about to do, in executing
yonder traitor?”

“You are, you are!” cried a dozen voices.

“Enough!”

Drawing a pistol from his belt, Ronald descended
from the stand, and with a firm step, and compressed
lips, walked forward to the Jew, while
each member rose to his feet, to look on with an
expression peculiar to himself. And strange and
varying were those expressions. Some frowned
heavily; some smiled darkly; some looked pale,
and shut their teeth hard; and some gazed on
with seeming indifference. Bonardi himself seemed
composed and calm, with a look of unshaken
determination; but there was, notwithstanding, a
slight paleness in his features, an unusual compression
of the lips, as though requiring an effort
to keep them firm. As he approached the Jew,
who was lying on the ground, the latter appeared
suddenly to recover his senses, and with one hand
raised himself into a sitting posture, while with
the other he removed from his eyes the bandage,
and with a horror stricken look glared round
upon the assembly.

“ 'Tis well, Jew!” said Ronald, as he paused
by his side, while the cave was as silent as the
chamber of death. “You would see once more the
faces of those you would have betrayed. 'Tis
well, Jew, 'tis well! Look well on each, and bear
the impression with you to eternity, for on earth
you will behold them no more. Brothers of you
they were—who would have risked life for you,
many of them, if necessary—but they are your
brothers no more.”

The Jew turned his old eyes upon the speaker,
with a strange, bewildered expression. For a
moment Ronald ceased, and then said solemnly:

“Justice waits. Your time, Jew, has come.—
Farewell!” Raising his pistol as he spoke, with
the last words came a sharp report—a shudder
passed through the assembly—and the Jew, with
a ghastly contortion of visage, fell back without
a groan.

His soul was with his God.

“So die all traitors!” spoke the voice of Ronald
Bonardi, after a moment's pause, in a tone so deep
and solemn almost sepulchral, that it thrilled the
bosom of every one present. “Comrades,” and
he moved his eyes slowly over each, in a most
impressive manner, “comrades, whose turn among
you next? 'Tis the first blood upon my
hands;” and he held them forth, and gazed sadly
upon them; “whose blood is destined to cover the
foul stain? Be warned, be warned in time!” and
turning away, he slowly retraced his steps to the
farther end of the cave, and again mounted the
stand. “Bear the corpse without the cave until

you depart,” he continued, “when some of you
will take it in a boat to the Osage, row a short
distance up the stream, and cast it upon the bank,
far above high water mark. So ends the career
of the Jew.”

As he spoke, four men laid hold of the body and
bore it up the ladder. In a moment they returned,
when Bonardi resumed:

“Here,” he said, taking up a well filled bag,
“is the money which belonged to the deceased.—
This will be divided among you, when our other
business for the evening is closed. Piketon will
make the division. By our law, I am entitled to
one-tenth. Hendrick, besides your share, you
will accept mine.”

“But, captain—”

“Nay, Hendrick, no remark: I would have it
so. And now, comrades, I have something important
to communicate. Listen! You will remember
that for some time past we have held in
contemplation an attack on a rich planter living
in Tennessee. To speak candidly my own
mind, I must say the design never suited me;
and in its place I have one to offer, which I trust
will meet your approbation. Some two or three
days since, I received a letter from one of my secret
agents in New Orleans, which informs me
that of late there has been a great run on the banks
there for specie; and that to supply the demand,
they will be forced to borrow, for a time, from
neighboring cities; and that he believed an order
had already been sent to St. Louis for a large sum,
which doubtless would shortly pass down on one
of the steamers, and which, should we be fortunate
enough to capture, would in all probability
make our fortunes. As soon as I had read this, I
set to work to learn the truth of it; and as I am well
known among the merchants and men of wealth
in St. Louis, as a speculator in land, under a different
cognomen, I was not long in finding it fully
corroborated. By dint of perseverence, I have
been enabled to learn that a boat, which leaves
within a few days, will carry this money; of the
amount I am yet ignorant, though without question
the sum will be large. My plan is this: I
will ascertain to a certainty the day of her leaving,
and also the hour. I will learn, too, the speed of
the boat, and calculate the distance, so that we
may find a good point to station ourselves, where
the current hugs the western shore, and where
she will pass about dark. In the meantime I will
procure several skiffs, and have them floated down
to the rendezvous. These must be manned, and
lie concealed under cover of the bank until the
given signal. As the steamer heaves in sight,
some two or three of our party must hail her from
the bank, when she, under the impression that
they wish to take passage, will lay to and send out
a boat. As the latter touches the shore, the oarsman
must be seized, gagged and bound, quickly
and quietly, while some three of our party will
instantly leap into the boat and row back. Instead
of approaching the larger boat direct, they
will cross her bows, and when on the other side,
will seemingly get into a fight, and discharge several
pistols. This of course will attract the attention
of all on board the steamer, and be the
signal for the concealed boats to shoot out and
approach her on the larboard side—her head being
up stream—which must be done with lightning
speed, but without noise. These, however, will
be commanded by Piketon and myself. The moment
we come along side, some of the boldest and
most agile of our party will follow me in leaping
on board, where will be found three of our band,
who have come down from St. Louis, ready to
show us where the money is stowed, and assist
us in getting it into our boats. The money will
be found in small casks, which can be easily handled,
and, to succeed, must be handled expeditiously.
It is not probable that we can remove it all;
but in the confusion that will ensue, doubtless
enough to enrich us. If we are pressed hard, we
must discharge some of our pistols, not with the
intention of wounding, but merely to frighten,
and thicken the confusion, while at the same time
we will add the old cry, which I trust is not yet
forgotten: `Yield to the attack of Ronald Bonardi!'
We must keep a plenty of undischarged
pistols by us, however, to be used only in cases of
extreme necessity, and then not to take life if it
can be avoided. As soon as we have accomplished
our design, I will give the signal by a shrill
whistle, when each man must spring for his boat,
and row as for life to the shore. We will then
knock out the heads of the casks, empty the
money into bags, throw them across our saddles,
(for our horses must be in waiting, close at hand)
mount and away, in various directions, to rendezvous
here as soon as possible. Such is my plan.”

As he concluded, the cave echoed with three
tremendous cheers, and “Long live Ronald Bonardi,”
when he immediately responded:

“I am pleased, gentlemen, to know that my
project finds with you so much favor; but I will
not disguise from you, what I cannot from myself,
that my plan may fail; and at the best, will
be attended with a great deal of danger, perhaps
loss of life; and, furthermore, that it will in all
probability rouse up the country against us, as
was done heretofore. In the latter case, each
must make his way out of it as quietly as possible,
and remain until the storm has blown over.—
And now, a word or two more, and I have done.
You will each and all of you hold yourselves in
readiness for a moment's warning, with horses
well fed and rested for a long journey. When
you hear the signal of three blasts on a bugle, be
it night or day, you will mount and ride to the
river. The rendezvous is the hut of the traitor
Jew, where you will learn more. And now, so
soon as Piketon has made a division of the money,
you will quietly disperse to your several homes,
and hold yourselves, as I said before, prepared for
any event. For your kind attention, I thank you!
Adieu.”

Descending from the stand, Bonardi opened the
stone door and entered the Chieftain's Chamber,
with a clouded brow and heavy heart; for he felt
there was blood upon his hands. An hour later,
he was seated by the table, on which rested his
arms, with his head bowed upon them, while Inez,
standing by his side, was playing upon her guitar,
and singing a tender strain. Suddenly he
raised his head.

“Ha!” said he; “there is the signal for me again!
What can it mean at this hour?” and rising as he
spoke, he entered the larger cave, where he found
the sentinel alone, the remainder of the party having
departed.

“A woman awaits you in a boat without, captain,”
said the sentinel, bowing respectfully.—
“She could not give the pass and countersign, and
so I could not admit her.”

“A woman!” exclaimed Ronald, in astonishment.
“To see me—a woman!—what wants she
here?” and with a quick step, he moved forward
and mounted the ladder. In a few minutes he

returned, and seemed much agitated.

“Inez,” said he, entering the Inner Cave, “it
is necessary for me to be absent now. Ere morning
I will return;” and without waiting a reply,
he seized upon a brace of pistols lying on the ta
ble and withdrew. “Did Piketon leave word
where he should rest to-night?” asked he of the
sentinel, as he again mounted the ladder.

“Ay, captain; he mentioned the Hollow.”

“ 'Tis well!” and Ronald disappeared.