University of Virginia Library

11. CHAPTER XI.

The silence of Gordon and his wife, for she was
no other, was interrupted by a gentle tap of the widow
from above stairs at their door.

“Who is that?” exclaimed Gordon, putting his
hands on his breast.

“Nobody, John, but Mrs. Baxter from up stairs—
shall I let her in? let me put away the bottle first.”

“Well, you never told her you were my wife, did
you?”

“Never!”

“Well, let her in then. I should like to form my
own opinion of her.”

Obedient to the order, Mrs. Gordon opened the door
and welcomed in Mrs. Baxter.

“It is very late,” said the widow, bustling to a chair
which Mrs. Gordon handed her; “but this is market
night at the fish-market, and a country friend of mine
wants to make change for a ten dollar bill; have you
got two fives, sir?” to Gordon.

“The very thing,” said Gordon; “you're in luck;
ask your friend to walk down and take a friendly
glass with me. Catharine, that change I gave you
the other day.” Catharine looked imploringly at Gordon,
who took no notice of her, while the widow remarked,
rising: “Well, you're very kind—I'll call
him;” and she proceeded up stairs.

“For God's sake, John,” said his wife to him
when they were left alone; “don't pass that money on
him.”

“For the devil's sake, and that's your own, keep
your tongue, or I'll knock you down. No, then,”
he said, as the sudden thought struck him; “I won't
pass it on him, you shall do it yourself.”

The steps of Ross and Mrs. Baxter were now heard
descending the stairs, and as they entered the room the
widow observed that that, pointing to the disguised
constable, was her friend.

“Aha! glad to see you,” said Gordon; “now is the
time for the country folks to make money. Let's
have a glass to our better acquaintance.”

“Agreed,” said the wagoner. “I objects to
liquor much while I'm working, but it comes very
natural to me when I'm from home.”

“It's good if kept in subjection,” said Gordon, handing
him the tumbler, and apologising for having but
the one; like fire, it's a good servant but bad master.
Have we met before? there's something in your voice
that strikes me, but I certainly can't say that I remember
you.”

“Maylike we have met—I'm not certain—I think
I did see you in market one morning. Do you live
in these parts? My service to you, stranger,” and
he swallowed his liquor.

“No, no; not exactly. In a big city like this, men,
though, might live forever and never know each other.
How much money do you want changed?”

“Only a ten dollar bill. I've got word that a friend
of mine living up by Springdale wants to barter with
me for a farm, and I think I'll go there to-morrow
and see if we can't drive a bargain.”

“Aha! Springdale! are you much acquainted in
that neighbourhood?”

“No, not the least. I live in the other direction. I
sent out to him yesterday some money that I owed
him, and he sent word that to-morrow he would be
at Springdale.”

“I mistrust him a little.”

“What's his name?” asked Gordon.

“Battleborough—old Job Battleborough. Do you
know him?”

“No, I don't—I heard of such a man, though.
Catharine, give the gentleman the two fives there, on
the Merchant's Bank.”

“What's your note?”

“The Mechanics.”

“Ah! let's look at it; yes, a good note—it's well to
be careful now-a-days. Catharine, hand the money.”

She hesitated, when Ross remarked, “I see you
let your wife keep the money, and she hates to part
with it. Mayhaps she thinks that of mine is not
genuine.”

“I don't know what she thinks!” exclaimed Gordon,
throwing an angry eye on his wife. “I suppose
she ought to be willing to accommodate her neighbours;
she says that Mrs. Baxter has been very kind
to her.”

“I always like to be neighbourly,” rejoined Mrs.
Baxter, looking at Mrs. Gordon, as she handed the
money to Ross, while the latter rose, and said:

“I'm obliged to you, stranger—whenever I can do
as much for you I'll do it. Good night to you.”

“When do you go into the country? I'm going
myself, and should like to have company,” said Gordon,
holding the light and observing the stranger
closely. The minuteness of the inspection caused Ross
to look steadily, but unabashed, in the eye of Gordon,
and to say:

“I don't care when, for the matter of that; if I had
my horse here, I'd go to-night.”

“Where is your horse?”

“At the—the Eagle, I think they call it.”

“It's a fine night,” replied Gordon. “I hate travelling
alone. What say you to another glass. Then
get your horse, and meet me here in half an hour.
I expect we can trust ourselves together, and keep off
bad company?”

“Agreed! agreed!” They drank over the proposition,
and shook hands; Gordon staggering as they
did so, for he was intoxicated, when the wagoner, on
leaving the room, said to Mrs. Baxter, that he had
left his whip in her room and would get it. She accordingly
went with him.

“Give me a pen and ink,” said Ross; “I don't
want to make myself known to my man at the stable,
and I must take an order to him from myself. I shall
say to him that I left your humble servant at the
theatre. The thing works well, almost too well.”

“Why run the risk of his company out into the
country, when you know his character?” said the
widow. “Why not get some officers and take him?”

“No, he's baffled me once, and I'll show him that
I can play as deep a game as he can. I know the
man at the cross roads; I'll make a first rate police
report of it. He has, by his dress, entirely changed
himself—he does it well, too.”

“Well, well; I can't but think you're doing wrong,
Mr. Ross,” returned the widow, “and I shall lose my
best friend in you.”

“Must do it,” said Ross. “How in the world
would I have ever gotten my name—if not for daring
in these matters.”

The conversation in Gordon's room was as interesting
as that above.

“John,” said his wife to him, “you are not going
with that stranger?”

“I am, certainly—why—you are always blasting
me with doubts.”

“Because, my dear John, he eyed you so very
closely when you were looking away from him. I
don't know why it is, but I think he means you some
wrong.”

“A woman's reason. How does he know but
what I mean him some wrong.”

“But, don't do it—don't do it, John; think that
here would be this woman to swear that he left the
house with you—and about the money, too.”

“Hang the money! you gave it to him; and they
can't bring the guilty knowledge home to me—and,
to put you at ease, nor you, either.”

“John, I did not hesitate because I thought of myself—there
he comes down stairs; you must do as
you choose—but I wish you were more of yourself.
He observed you had been drinking.”

“He did, hey?—well, that's the reason he takes me
to be honest; there' something in the fellow's tone
that I have heard before—or it might have been only
the liquor. But I tell you, if you must know, this,
that I suspect the officers are after me, and if I am
seen in this half-rough country dress of mine with a
countrymen, who'll suspect me? It's a bold stroke
to be off clear to the hills. I believe I was dogged
the other night to a certain place. I could'nt trust
myself to come here till it was dark. Damn it! I've
been in a cellar all day. This woman up stairs has
never seen me before, and she don't know me in any
other dress. I thought that countryman was a coming
in here—it seems he's gone—did you hear him
go out?”

At this moment the door opened, and the widow
entered, saying she would keep them company if
they liked till her friend returned.

Ross proceeded directly to his livery stable, rejoicing
in the success of his plan, for he had no doubt
that he should be enabled to hear something of the
counterfeiter from his contemplated operations. He
soon rapped his boy up, and gave him the order,
which, as the circumstance had turned up before, and
all turned out right, was instantly obeyed, and without
being in the least suspected by his hostler, the great
admirer of Vidocq rode off upon apparently an
errand of reckless involvement of his personal
safety.

Before Ross returned to Gordon's the latter left the
house several times as if on the look out, and, on hearing
the tread of a solitary horse in a brisk trot, he
entered, and announced his approach.

“Where is your horse?” asked Ross, entering the
room. “I staid a bit, for I went to the market to
speak to my man who sells for me.”

“Up street,” was the rejoinder; and, bidding the
women a hasty good night, they went off together.
Gordon, walking by the side of Ross, with his left
hand on his horse's neck, until they got to a shed
which stood upon a common, from which Gordon
led out his animal already caparisoned, and they
rode away.

In a miscellaneous, common-place conversation, in
which each tried to disguise his true character, and
which was not kept up as briskly as it had commenced,
owing to the rapid rattling of their horse's
hoofs, our new acquaintances proceeded onward.
The exercise of riding, and the freshness of the night
air, which was invigorating and wholesome, though
it sighed through the forest as if mourning for the
green glories of summer, soon sobered Gordon; and,
not having the most distant recollection of what had
occurred, a morbid suspicion was possessing his

mind, which was not only a part of his mental constitution,
but which was greatly increased by the
decaying excitement of his frequent potations.

Gordon broke a long silence, after they had proceeded
some ten miles, by observing:

“A damn good horse that of your's, stranger—as
far as I can see he's well kept; you must be fond of
a nag.”

“Did you ever see a farmer that was not? I love
a horse next to my wife and children—don't you?”

“Better, maybe,” rejoined Gordon. “I say,
stranger, here's a house—a bit of a tavern, I suppose;
yes, there are wagons—and there's a light in
the bar-room—they be in early to-morrow—suppose
we alight, and take something?”

“No, I believe not,” replied Ross.

“Well, you can do as you like; I can't stand this
night air without something. I've been taking too
much this day or two.”

“I'll wait for you; there, the bar-door is just opened,
so ther'll be not much rapping.” Alighting with a
dogged step, Gordon trod heavily into the bar-room
and closed the door after him. In a moment afterwards
he came out with a glass of brandy in one
hand and a light in the other, and said to Ross:

“Here—I never drink alone.”

Ross accepted the glass, and, as he put it up to his
lips, Gordon exclaimed involuntarily:

“By heavens! I know that horse—how came you
with him?”

The assumed wagoner, or farmer, started, but recovering
his self-possession, instantly replied: “I
thought, stranger, that you were agoing to charge
me with stealing him; I bought him this morning
from a chap they call Ross—a peace officer, I
believe.”

“I'm a judge of horse flesh,” said Gordon after a
pause, which did not suffer Ross to be entirely at his
ease, “and I thought I had seen the animal before.
Will you smoke?”

“No, I thank you.”

“I'll be with you, then, in a moment,” observed
Gordon, and he entered the tavern and returned with
a segar, when he mounted his horse, and they rode on
to the cross roads. A brisk ride soon took them to it.
The regular road to Springdale was here crossed by
another, which led through the valley at the foot of
the hills, and formed a part of that which our readers
may remember was called the “old road,” and which
our early acquaintances, Pompey and Bobby, trod the
night of Mr. Elwood's husking match. The tavern
which stood at its junction was not remarkable for
its respectability, though it was well known if not
much frequented. The keeper of the establishment
did not bear the best character.

Gordon alighted at the door, and thundered away
with the butt-end of his whip for some time before
there appeared any indications of inhabitancy, saving
the fierce yelping of a cur, mingled with the growl of
a large house-dog. At last a gruff voice asked from
a window up stairs—

“Who's there?”

“Tell him, stranger,” said Gordon to Ross, “for I
expect he knows you better than me.”

“Travellers,” shouted Ross.

“Got no accommodations, my friends—it's now hard
unto the morning; you'd better ride on.”

“Can't do it,” said Gordon, and after a considerable
parley the door was sullenly opened, and our
companions entered. The host, after consulting with
his wife, who occupied together a bed-room adjoining
the bar, which also served for a parlour, said that he

could give them beds in a room back of their's, but
they'd have to take them as they were. This was assented
to by the travellers. Ross asked to be shown
to it, when Gordon said he would look after his beast,
and went out accordingly, remarking:

“I'll soon be back—I'm sleepy.”

Ross lifted a light which the landlord offered him,
on the promise that he himself would attend to his
beast, and entered his bed-room. Gordon took a light
from a remaining candlestick, and, placing it in a
dark lantern, bade the landlord show the way, which
the publican did. As the latter went before, Gordon
stepped without noise to the window of the room in
which Ross was, and looked through at him intensely.
He observed his companion place his hand in one of
the beds which trembled, and look inspectingly around.
His false whiskers had gotten away so as to exhibit
his natural ones, and his wig was somewhat in the
same predicament.

“Ross,” muttered Gordon through his clenched
teeth. “Yes, it's Ross; he's feeling to see if the
nest's warm—the bird's off. My brave bully of a
constable, you're nearer your last home than I am.
Damn this liquor—it will ruin me yet.”

Stepping away from the window, Gordon entered
the stable after the tavern-keeper, and said, “Hall,
where's Tom?”

“He did'nt think all was fair,” replied Hall, in a
whisper, “and he left his bed through the back door
while I was opening the front one for you.”

“Do you know that man in there, Hall?”

“No; I did'nt notice him particularly; a friend,
ain't he? you brought him.”

“It's Ross, the constable.”

“Damnation, is it?”

“Yes; his time's near over. Let's shoot him
through the window.”

“No; no such things in my house. What, if some
of these market folks should hear the crack of the
pistol?”

“I don't care who hears it. He's on my track after
me like a bloodhound—and he carries it off as if
there was nothing but fun in it. It takes two to play
that game. No man's life is safe with such a dare
devil as that after him. Where's Tom?”

“Up in the loft, I expect.”

“Tom,” said Gordon, ascending the ladder, and
speaking in an eager whisper. “Tom, I say.”

“Come to me, if you want me—some one may be
below,” whispered a voice, lower and more eager
than Gordon's.

Gordon obeyed the request, and, passing along,
felt amidst the hay for Tom's hand, and found it
grasping a pistol.

“That's right—you're ready: there's treason somewhere,
Tom.”

“And on my trail,” said Tom, gritting his teeth.

“How did you hear it?”

“From Benbow's account of Ross searching his
house—from their being after you. It's that matter
of your own at Springdale with that cripple and the
gal that's did the thing. I waited here to-night for
the boys to come with my share of the notes, and I'm
off to Canada or some other diggings. The devil's
delight is kicked up.”

“I'll go with you!” exclaimed Gordon, “if you assist
me to revenge myself on Ross: he's in Hall's now.”

“In Hall's now?” whispered Fenton, springing up,
“then we're done for. I lay my life he's in this very
barn—ruin, ruin.”

“No, he suspects nothing; he's disguised as a
farmer.”

“Disguised as a farmer—here, and suspects nothing,”
muttered Tom.

“He's after me, then—and only me.”

“Do your own revenge then, Jack.”

“Ah! speak low; but he's been after you before
to-day.”

“Yes, the pair of us. He ought to have his throat
cut.”

“And we ought to do it; low, speak low. Bully
Ben and Pounder, you say, will be here to-night.”

“They ought to be here now—hush. Hall will
leave a sign out to let them know things are wrong
there to-night—and they'll come round the back way
here. Bully will make a sign of a cat's mewing.”

Tom had scarcely whispered the remark when the
sign was made and returned by his scratching against
the wall.

In a few moments the counterfeiters were huddled
together in the straw, and were made acquainted by
Gordon with the facts familiar to our readers. Besides
Gordon and Fenton, there were met Bully Ben,
Pounder, and Hall.

Hall objected sternly to any violence in his house.

“All this trouble was brought in the camp from
you, Gordon,” he said, “and that Benbow business.”

“All from me!” said Gordon,—“all from Ross.”

“I must leave you,” said Hall, “he'll suspect
something; you all know what he is.”

“I know what he is,” muttered Bully Ben through
his teeth. “He had me, against all law, beat nearly
to death, to make me confess—when I had neither
judge nor jury. And when I sued him afterwards,
he got off by denying it—though I swore plumply to
it. I was handled worse 'an a nigger, and I'm for
revenge—revenge. Let's take him to the cave.”

“Agreed,” said Gordon; “the cave. Hall shall
entice him in the front room—no, I'll go in, and while
he's in bed, you must make a rush on him.” These

plans were all matured so as to have Tom at the
window to shoot him if he attempted to escape
through it, while Pounder, Bully Ben, and Gordon,
were to make him captive in the room. Gordon then
entered the house with a careless whistle, and found
him seated by the table, reading:

“You take it coolly, my new friend, after such a
hard ride,” said Gordon, throwing himself on his bed,
carelessly.

“Always do,” replied Ross.

“What may be the matter that you're reading?”
inquired Gordon.

“I picked up the book after you left, stranger—'tis
called the adventures of Burrows, the counterfeiter.”

“Ha! a great scoundrel.”

“That's as men think, my friend,” replied Ross,
“just as men think. The lawyers cheat their clients—
the brokers the banks—the banks the people—and
the counterfeiters all. But counterfeiting is a commoner
trade than you think—many a fair cheeked
girl is but a counterfeit, and sails like a pirate, and
counterfeiters are land pirates, under false colours.
How many men do you think wear false whiskers
and false hair?”

“You for one,” said Gordon, wondering why his
comrades did not enter, and mad at their delay.

“Certainly, Gordon, my friend,” resumed Ross,
without testifying the least surprise, “and both of us
false clothes—business is business.”

“But you're done for, hang you!”

“No, that's going too fast, Gordon; never count
your chickens before they're hatched—you're, maybe,
my prisoner.”

“Not exactly; here, through the window, Tom!”
exclaimed Gordon, and as he spoke he sprang to his
feet, while Bully Ben and Pounder rushed in. Ross

made no attempt to escape or to draw his weapons.
His entire coolness astonished the gang into inactivity.
Bully Ben held a pistol in his hand, but
made no attempt to use it.

“Done like men, gentlemen!” exclaimed Ross;
“done like men—and, let me add without complaint,
gentlemen, who scorn to attack a foe with odds.”

“You attacked me with odds,” cried Bully Ben,
“when you had me thrashed in that style.”

“But it was in the way of business, Ben; and I
gave you a hint afterwards that saved you—confess
the fact.”

“You said you did,” retorted Ben, “but I don't believe
you had the proof against me.”

“Clear—conclusive; but it's wrong in you, gentlemen,
to quarrel with me; you seem to think me a
natural enemy—not so: I never arrest a man unless
I am satisfied that I can convict him—and not always
then. There's policy in war—and now, as we're at
peace, there's no policy.”

“Ha, ha! well, you are a buster!” exclaimed
Pounder.

“Precisely,” replied Ross, “we're all busters, as
you call them, if we are great men in our line—boys,
you're busters, too—Bully Ben's a buster, and as to
Gordon here, he's a buster, equal to the biggest of
you.”

“But what makes you pursue me in such a way,
like a hell-hound?” asked Gordon.

“A great mistake, Jack,” retorted Ross; “didn't
we part fair friends that night at Benbow's? had we
not social glasses this very night? How know you
that I've anything against you? No, you have a
greater enemy than I ever was to you.”

“Who's that?” asked Jack.

“Liquor, Jack—liquor!” said Ross, emphatically.

“That's the fact!” shouted Bully Ben and Pounder,
while Tom, who had entered the room, struck with
the appearance of things within, and forgetting his
duty at his post, remarked:

“That was into Gordon.”

“Gentlemen,” continued Ross, speaking of liquor,
let's have some. Gordon, how did you know
me?”

“By your whiskers, Ross—by your whiskers: your
false ones slipped aside.”

“Damn them!” said Ross, tossing them from his
head with a vexation that astonished the counterfeiters,
and made them look at him with their first expression
of features.

“Here, Hall,” he continued, “bring in the liquor;
boys I was different game from what you thought; I have
nothing against you, but against my whiskers I have
a quarrel. Hall, let's have your shaving apparatus
here—I'd take them off if they sat as closely to my
head as my scalp.”

Gordon and his companions called out to Hall to
humour the joke, and preparations were made accordingly.
Ross fixed his table and arrayed the lights as
if he were seated in his own bed-room. He commended
Hall for the neatness of his shaving-cup, and
said he liked the habit of burning spirits of wine in
heating the water, and, as he spoke, he ignited.

“But bring the liquor,” said he.

It was accordingly brought, and they all helped
themselves—Gordon particularly—to a copious libation.

“Boys—or rather gentlemen, excuse the familiarity,”
observed Ross, pausing from the operation of
lathering his most ample whiskers, “as I expect you
always mean to continue in your present honourable
profession, may you live the full measure that the

law allows, and die as it points out. I'll give you
three pieces of advice, which I have learned in my
observations. Firstly; as the preachers would say,
never take an accomplice where you can do the deed
without—accomplices entertain often suspicions of
each other, and in that way we constables come to
find you out. A fellow is always wanting to know
where his accomplice is, fearful of being blown.
Secondly; the moment you are arrested hold your
tongues, and make no confessions or admissions—I
know many a man so ruined. Thirdly; always send for
a keen lawyer, and pay him well: And fourthly, and
lastly; always keep on the best possible terms with
the gentlemen of my profession. We often do each
other great services—secret services that the world is
not aware of, and we respect each other accordingly.
In fact, our professions mutually sustain each
other.”

“Fact!” shouted Gordon, tossing himself on his
bed.

At this moment there was heard without the rapid
trampling of horses.

“We're betrayed,” shouted Bully Ben, aiming his
pistol at the head of Ross and firing, but wide of his
mark. It would not have taken effect, perhaps,
though aimed directly at the body of the constable,
for that quick-witted character, before the trigger was
pulled, jerked the bed-clothes round him. Bully Ben
presenting his shoulder towards the window jumped
through it, sash and all, followed by Pounder and Tom
Fenton. Gordon jumped up, and staggered towards
the window to follow their example, but was thrust
back by Ross, and fell on the bed in a state of drunken
insensibility.

“What's all the rumpus, Hall?” said Ross, stepping
to the door, and calling out to the landlord, who was
letting in the horsemen.

“Nothing,” replied Hall, stepping up to him and
replying in a whisper, “but a parcel of chaps who
are larking it from Springdale.”

“It's not the first lark that's nearly cost a man his
life. It's morning, ain't it?”

“Yes, it's breaking.”

While Gordon was prostrated in drunkenness, Ross
proceeded to tie him, while the counterfeiter muttered
to himself: “Catharine, mind me now—we'll fix him,
Tom—die dogs—hang liquor.”

After accomplishing his purpose, Ross resumed his
seat before the looking-glass, and finished shaving
himself with great deliberation, making this internal
reflection, as he looked at Gordon:

“Damn him! I thought well of him until I saw his
treatment to the woman. He can go it with a rush.
I suppose I must take him to Springdale jail, as that's
the nearest—not very safe, though. What's that my
business; all I've got to do is to cage the bird. The
other fellows are clean gone, except Tom Fenton—
he's got, what they say I have, the bump of adhesiveness.
He'll haunt about here till he's nabbed. I've
that bump, by-the-by, myself, or I never should have
held on so long to my whiskers.” Then surveying
himself in the glass, he continued: “I don't know
but what I look more like a gentleman without
'em.”

Ordering his breakfast in the room where Gordon
lay, Ross had a knife and fork placed for his prisoner,
and awoke him. Gordon glanced wildly round, while
the full force of his situation broke over his bewildered
faculties, and he exclaimed:

“No, no; give me brandy—brandy!”

Proceeding to get it himself, Ross handed it to him
with the remark:

“I told you, Jack, it was your worst enemy.”

Gordon gulped it down without a word, and, in a
half of an hour afterwards, Ross had him seated in a
wagon, which he drove himself, and conveyed him
safely to the Springdale jail.