A Cousin's Conspiracy: or, A Boy's Struggle for an Inheritance

CHAPTER XVI
IN THE OUTLAW’S HOME

Where he was to be carried or what was to be his fate, Ernest could not conjecture, nor did he speculate much. It was enough for him to know that he was in the power of one of the notorious outlaws.

There was considerable difference between his appearance and that of the man at his side. He was silent and depressed, while James Fox, for it was he, seemed in excellent spirits. He turned to the boy with the remark: “You don’t say much.”

“No, for it would be no good.”

“Brace up, boy! There is no occasion to look as if you were going to a funeral.”

“Give me back the bonds and I will look lively enough.”

“Come now, don’t be foolish. These bonds don’t belong to you.”

“They were given into my care.”

“Very well! You took as good care of them as you could.”

“I shall be held responsible for them.”

“No, you won’t. I shall send your employers a letter letting them know that you did the best you could to keep them out of my hands. But perhaps they never heard of me,” and he laughed.

“If your name is Fox they have heard of you.”

“There is no need to beat about the bush. My name is Fox – James Fox.”

“What made you take up such a business, Mr. Fox?” asked Ernest gravely.

“Well, I like that! You, a kid, undertake to lecture me.”

“You were once a kid yourself.”

The outlaw’s face grew grave suddenly and his tone became thoughtful.

“Yes, I was a kid once. At sixteen – is that your age?”

“Yes.”

“Well, at sixteen I was as innocent as you. I had a good mother then. If she had lived perhaps I would have turned out different. Why, it seems a great joke, doesn’t it. I attended Sunday-school till I was fifteen. Are you afraid that you will come to harm?”

Ernest looked intently in the brigand’s face.

“No,” he said, after a pause. “I think you won’t do me any more harm. But you can do me a great favor.”

“What is that – return you the bonds?”

“I would ask that if I thought you would do it, but I don’t expect it. I should like to have you release me and let me go home.”

“I can’t do that, for I want you to visit me. You may not think it, but I always liked young people. It will be quite a pleasure to me to have you for a visitor.”

“Thank you, but I am afraid that I shall become an unwilling guest.”

“Besides, it will be a pleasure to my little boy to meet you. He does not often meet other boys.”

“Have you a son?” asked Ernest in surprise.

The outlaw’s face softened.

“Yes,” he answered. “He is a sweet little boy, as I can say even if he is my son. His name is Frank. Would you like to see his picture?”

“Yes,” answered Ernest, with interest.

James Fox drew from an inner pocket a small card photograph of a young boy with a very winning face. Ernest was attracted, for unlike many boys of his age he liked younger children. He looked at the picture long and earnestly.

“It is a sweet face,” he said at last.

“Isn’t it?” asked the proud father.

“Is his mother living?”

“No.”

“Was there no difficulty in getting it taken?”

“I suppose you mean on account of my profession. Well, there might be around here, but this was taken in Minneapolis – about a year ago. It was one of the few visits that Frank has made with me.”

“Are you going to bring him up to your business?”

“Take care, boy!” said the outlaw, frowning. “Don’t be impertinent.”

“I don’t mean to be. Do you think the question an improper one?”

“Well, perhaps I have no right to think so. Somehow the business, though it seems all right to me, I couldn’t think of for my boy. No, I shall soon place him at school, where no one will know that he is related to the celebrated outlaw. I want him brought up to lead an honest life.”

“I am glad you do. I respect you for that.”

“My lad, you seem to be one of the right sort. As you will see my son I want you to promise me that you won’t say a word about the business I am engaged in.”

“I will make that promise. Then the boy doesn’t know?”

“No, he has no suspicion. He is too young to think much about that. Perhaps if he had associated with other boys much he would have found out.”

While this conversation was going on they had entered a wood, and the road became wilder and rougher. Indeed, it was hardly a road, but rather a lane, narrow and grass-grown.

Ernest began to wonder in what sort of a home his companion lived. His evident affection for his son gave Ernest a different feeling toward him. It was plain that he had a softer side to his nature, bandit though he was.

Ernest had never read the story of Jekyll and Hyde, but he felt instinctively that the man beside him had a double nature. On the road he was an outlaw, with corresponding traits, a rough and unscrupulous man, but at home and in the presence of his son, as Ernest judged, he was a warm-hearted and affectionate father.

In truth, the young bank messenger looked forward with interest to a meeting with the boy who was so dear to the heart of a man whom the world generally supposed to be a stranger to the softer emotions.

At length they reached a rocky hillside. Here the outlaw pulled up his horse and jumped from the buggy. Ernest looked at him in a questioning way.

“You can get out,” he said. “We have arrived.”

Ernest alighted and looked about him. He naturally expected to see a dwelling of some kind, but there was none in sight. If it was at a distance, why should they not have driven to it?

James Fox looked at him with a smile, enjoying his perplexity.

From his pocket he drew a large silk handkerchief.

“Come here, my boy,” he said.

Ernest did not quite understand what he proposed to do, but he felt better acquainted with the outlaw now, and he knew that there was no cause for apprehension. He accordingly approached without question.

James Fox bandaged his eyes so that he could see nothing. Then he took him by the hand and led him forward.

Ernest could not tell what was being done, but he found himself walking on a rocky path, hand in hand with his guide. How far he walked he could not tell. It might have been two hundred feet. Then his guide stopped, and of course he stopped too.

Next the handkerchief was removed and he found himself in what seemed a rocky cavern. At any rate it was a large room of irregular shape, but the stone floor had been made smooth and was covered by a soft carpet. It was furnished like a sitting-room in a private house. There were comfortable chairs, including a rocking-chair and a capacious armchair. On one side of the room was an inviting-looking couch.

Of course there would have been perfect darkness but for artificial light. On a table was a large student’s lamp and in a niche in the wall was another. Besides this there was a lantern hanging from the roof of the chamber, but this was not lighted.

Ernest looked about him with curiosity and surprise. It was something new to him and recalled a story he had once read in which a cave dwelling was described.

“Well, what do you think of it?” asked the outlaw, smiling.

“It is wonderful,” said Ernest.

“You did not know where I was bringing you?”

“No. It is a cave, is it not?”

“Well, it looks like it.”

“There are other rooms, are there not?”

“Yes, but this is my private apartment; my parlor, you may call it. This is my sleeping room.”

He drew aside the hangings on the farther side and revealed an inner chamber of less size.

On a bed Ernest’s attention was drawn to the figure of a sleeping boy – evidently the original of the picture which the outlaw had shown him.

“That is your son?” asked Ernest.

“Yes, that is Frank.”

The outlaw’s stern countenance softened as he regarded the sleeping boy.

Suddenly the boy stirred; he opened his eyes and when he recognized his father a glad smile lighted up his innocent face.

“Papa!” he said, and James Fox bent over and kissed him.

CHAPTER XVII
FRANK

After kissing his father the young boy looked inquisitively at Ernest.

“Who is that boy, papa?” he asked.

“I have brought him here to stay with you. Shall you like to have his company?”

“Yes, papa. You know it is very lonely while you are away. What is his name?”

The outlaw looked at Ernest significantly. He took the hint and answered: “My name is Ernest Ray.”

“How old are you, Ernest?” went on the boy.

“Sixteen.”

“I am only ten.”

“Are you going to get up, Frank?” asked his father.

“Yes,” answered the young boy briskly. “I got sleepy because I was alone. Where did papa find you, Ernest?”

“Oh, I met him outside and he took me to ride.”

James Fox looked approval of this answer.

“I am glad you came with him.”

By this time Frank had slid from the bed and put his hand in Ernest’s.

“Come here,” he said, “and I will show you my books.”

Led by his small companion Ernest went up to a bookcase which he had not before observed in the main room. About thirty books stood on the shelves.

“Where did you get your books?” he asked.

“Papa bought them for me in Minneapolis. Were you ever in Minneapolis?”

“No.”

“It is a nice place. Sometimes I think I would like to live there instead of here.”

“You are not getting tired of home, are you, Frank?” asked his father half reproachfully.

“No, papa, but it is lonely here sometimes. Am I to live here always?”

“No, Frank. Some time I will send you to school. But you won’t see me every day then.”

“Then I don’t want to go.”

The outlaw stooped over and kissed the boy.

“Now, Frank, I have something to do, so you may amuse yourself with Ernest.”

“Can you play dominoes?” asked Frank.

“Yes; have you a set?”

“Yes.”

The boy opened a drawer in a bureau and drew out a box of dominoes. He poured them out on the table and they began to play the ordinary game. When they tired of that Ernest taught him a new one.

After they grew tired of playing Ernest read aloud to the boy from one of his favorite books.

They were sitting together in the armchair when James Fox, who had left the room, returned. He smiled approvingly at the picture. He was pleased to think that he had found a companion whom his boy liked.

“What have you been doing, Frank?” he asked.

“He has been reading to me, papa. He reads nicely and I liked it very much.”

“I am sorry to interrupt you, but are not you young people hungry?”

“I think I could eat something,” answered Ernest.

“Frank, you may bring him into the dining-room.”

The drapery was lifted and they passed into a room as large as the one they were in. On a table in the center a substantial meal, consisting principally of roast beef, was set forth. An old colored woman hovered near, evidently the cook.

“Juba,” said the outlaw, “this is a new boarder. His name is Ernest.”

“Glad to see you, Massa Ernest,” rejoined the old woman, nodding her turban. “Sit down here next to Massa Frank.”

It seemed very strange to Ernest to reflect that he was the guest of one of the famous outlaws of whom he had heard so much. He was half inclined to doubt whether it was real. If he had been alone he would have pinched himself to see whether he was awake or dreaming. Here he was in the bowels of the earth on intimate terms with an outlaw and his family. How long was he to stay in the cavern? That was a question impossible to answer. Meanwhile he was hungry and the dinner was well cooked.

“Where is Uncle John, papa?” asked Frank suddenly.

Ernest remembered that one of the Fox brothers was named John, and he awaited the answer with interest.

James Fox seemed busily thinking and Frank had to repeat the question.

“Your Uncle John?” repeated the outlaw. “He went away on business.”

“What kind of business, papa?”

It was a natural question, but it startled James Fox. He saw that as his son became older it might not be easy to evade embarrassing questions.

“You seem curious, Frank,” he answered after a pause. “You wouldn’t understand if I were to tell you.”

“Will you teach me your business some day, papa?”

It was on the tip of the outlaw’s tongue to say, “Heaven forbid!” but he only answered: “Wait till you are older, Frank. Then we will talk about it.”

At length they rose from the table.

They went back to the main room and Ernest read a little more to the young boy. But Frank’s eyes grew heavy and he finally dropped off to sleep.

“Shall I lay him on the bed, Mr. Fox?” asked Ernest.

“No, I will do so.”

He took the boy tenderly in his arms.

“If I had known he would fall asleep I would have undressed him,” he said.

After placing the boy on the bed he resumed his seat in the armchair and began to smoke. Finally he looked over at Ernest.

“Do you like my little boy?” he asked abruptly.

“He is a dear little fellow,” answered Ernest.

“So he is,” said the father in a soft voice. “You have no prejudice against him because he is my son?”

“No,” answered Ernest. “Whatever you are he is not responsible.”

“True, but all might not take that view of it. I don’t know why I should speak so confidentially to you, lad, but if I ever regret my line of life it is when I look at him. I wouldn’t like to have his future marred by his association with me. I wouldn’t like people to turn from him because he was an outlaw’s son.”

“I hope you will forgive my boldness,” said Ernest, “but don’t you think you will ever change your mode of life?”

“It is too late; I am too well known. Yet who knows?” he said after a pause.

At nine o’clock Juba entered the room.

“Has John returned?” asked the outlaw.

“No, massa.”

A shade of anxiety overspread the outlaw’s face.

“He should have been here before this,” he said. Then looking at Ernest he said: “I am going out a while. Lie down on the bed with Frank and if he wakes up undress him.”

“Yes, sir.”

An hour later Frank and Ernest were sleeping peacefully side by side.

When Ernest awoke the next morning Frank was still asleep on the bed beside him. In the large room adjoining, James Fox lay on the lounge. He had given up his bed to Ernest. He had not himself undressed, but had thrown himself on the couch in his ordinary clothes.

Breakfast was ready by the time they were, and the three sat down together.

“Where is Uncle John, papa?” asked Frank.

“He has not returned, Frank,” said James Fox, soberly.

“What made him stay away all night?”

“Probably it was business,” answered the outlaw, but Ernest noticed that he looked disturbed.

In truth he had been out till two o’clock seeking for his brother, who he feared had got into trouble. We know that he was in the prison at Crampton, whither he had been conveyed by Luke Robbins and Ezekiel Mason. Of course it was in the mind of James Fox that his brother might have been arrested, since this was a risk which he daily incurred.

Just as breakfast was over there was a new arrival. It was a tall, stalwart fellow whom James Fox addressed as Hugh.

“Do you bring any news, Hugh?” asked the outlaw eagerly.

“Yes,” answered Hugh Humphries.

“Is it about John?”

Hugh glanced significantly at the two boys. Ernest he saw for the first time.

James Fox understood and followed Hugh out of the room.

“Well,” he said inquiringly when they were out of hearing.

“Mr. John is in trouble,” answered Hugh briefly.

“Go on,” said James Fox. “Do you know where he is?”

“In Crampton jail.”

“Go on. Give me the particulars.”

“He was carried there by two persons.”

“Who were they?”

“One I think was a farmer who lives in Claremont. The other seemed to be a Quaker.”

“I don’t remember any Quaker in this neighborhood. He must be a stranger hereabouts.”

“I think I have seen him before.”

“Where?”

“At the Emmonsville bank. I was passing there one day in disguise and, chancing to look in, I saw this man sitting on a bench near the paying teller’s desk.”

“Ah!” said James Fox, thoughtfully. “He may be a detective.”

“That is what I thought.”

“That is bad news, but the jail at Crampton is not very strong. I have been confined there myself and made my escape. However, John will need assistance from the outside.”

“I see you have a new boy,” said Hugh curiously. “When did you pick him up?”

“Yesterday, a few miles from here. He is a bank messenger.”

“From what bank?”

“The Emmonsville bank.”

“Then he may know something of this Quaker detective?”

“Well suggested. I will question him.”

CHAPTER XVIII
FOX’S BAND

When James Fox returned to the apartment where the boys were still seated at the table he said: “Ernest, I should like to speak to you a minute.”

Ernest followed him out of the room.

“Is there any person connected with the bank at Emmonsville who wears the dress of a Quaker?” began the outlaw.

Ernest hesitated a moment.

“Speak out, boy!” said Fox. “I must and will know.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Is he a detective?”

“He may act as such.”

“Is he under pay at the bank?”

“I think he is.”

“Do you know where he is now?”

“No.”

“Was he at the bank when you left it yesterday afternoon?”

“No, sir.”

“Do you know where he was?”

“I saw him ride away with a farmer.”

James Fox and Hugh exchanged glances. Their suspicions were confirmed.

“Is he in any trouble?” asked Ernest, becoming a questioner in his turn.

“No. For aught I know he may be at the bank.”

Ernest looked relieved and for two reasons. He was glad that Luke was not in trouble. Then he knew that when his disappearance was discovered Luke would leave no stone unturned to rescue him. It was a comfort to think that he had a powerful friend outside.

“That will do,” said the outlaw. “You may return to Frank.”

“How long are you going to keep me here?” asked Ernest anxiously.

“Are you tired of remaining with us?”

There was something in the outlaw’s tone that savored of kindness. Ernest felt that in some way he had ingratiated himself with him.

“I would like my freedom. I am not used to confinement,” he said.

“Very natural. I cannot let you go just yet, but I will not allow you to be harmed. Listen! I shall be away all day probably. Do what you can to amuse Frank.”

“I will. I should be very lonely without him.”

“That is a good boy, Hugh,” said James Fox, as Ernest left them. “I should like to keep him with us.”

“Why don’t you then?”

“I am afraid he would be unhappy.”

“I never knew you to take such a liking to a boy before.”

“I never have. Indeed I have seldom met any. All my dealings have been with men. But, Hugh, we must lose no time. We must try to rescue John. It is no more than he would do for me if our cases were reversed.”

“Very well, captain. I am ready to follow wherever you lead.”

“I know that, Hugh. You have always been faithful to my brother and myself.”

“I always will be, captain,” said Hugh, with a look of loyal devotion.

“I know it. I am sure that we have no better friend than Hugh Humphries.”

“You only do me justice, captain. Will you forgive me if I say something?”

“Say what you please, Hugh.”

“What you have said of me is just, but I don’t think you can say it of all in the band.”

“Is there anyone whom you suspect?”

“I don’t take much stock in Peter Longman.”

“I am afraid you are suspicious, Hugh.”

“Not without cause. I have noticed some things about him that I don’t like. I think he is quite capable of turning against you.”

“I have never remarked anything of the sort, but I know you would not speak without cause. Tell me what you want me to do.”

“Only to be on your guard. Don’t trust Peter as you trust me.”

“I never have. And now have you any suggestions to make?”

“You might visit this farmer who helped the Quaker arrest your brother.”

“It may be a good plan. Who is the farmer?”

“His name is Ezekiel Mason.”

“I know where he lives. He is the last man I should suppose would be capable of such mischief.”

“He could have done nothing without the Quaker’s help.”

“Very well, we will take the farm on the way. Still I don’t know that we shall learn anything beyond what we already know.”

Before leaving the cave they disguised themselves as farm workmen. In this dress they approached the farmhouse, but there was something that diverted them from their original purpose and led them to keep their distance.

Sitting on the portico was a tall man dressed as a Quaker.

“That’s the man!” said Hugh quickly. “That’s the man who drove up to the jail last evening with your brother.”

James Fox looked at him closely.

“It is best to let sleeping dogs lie,” he said. “We will push on to the jail.”

CHAPTER XIX
LIVING WITH THIEVES

Meanwhile Ernest was left in the cave with Frank. He had been brought in blindfolded and was therefore ignorant as to the entrance or exit. He thought he might, without arousing the boy’s suspicion, seek information from him on these points.

“Are there many rooms here, Frank?” he asked.

“Oh, a good many,” answered the boy.

“Have you been in many?”

“I have been around with papa.”

“I should like to go around,” said Ernest. “Suppose we take a little walk.”

The boy was quite ready to accept any suggestion from Ernest. So he took his hand and they went from the main room farther into the cavern.

Ernest found that only the portion near the entrance had been furnished. Beyond there was a large amount of empty space. Here and there a small light revealed trunks and boxes arranged without regard to regularity. These, Ernest conjectured, contained stolen articles which had accumulated during the years in which the dreaded outlaws had been a power and a menace in the neighborhood.

It occurred to him that he would like to open some of these boxes, but the companionship of the boy prevented.

He ventured to ask, however: “What is in those boxes, Frank?”

“I don’t know. Something of papa’s and Uncle John’s.”

As they kept on they reached parts of the cavern which were quite empty. The Fox brothers were in the position of householders who occupied a house too large for their needs.

By and by the lamps ceased and the portion farther on looked dark and gloomy.

“I am afraid to go any farther, Ernest.”

“Why, Frank? What are you afraid of?”

“There may be wild animals there.”

“But how could they live there?”

“I don’t know, but papa told me there were some.”

Ernest understood why the boy had been told this. It was to prevent his going too far. But it made Ernest all the more eager to continue his explorations.

“Even if there were any wild animals I would protect you, Frank.”

“But we may not find our way back. It is so dark,” said the child with a shudder.

“I won’t go farther. But, see, it seems to be lighter.”

At a point fifty feet farther on, through a rift in the roof, a gleam of light entered the cavern.

Ernest was anxious to trace this, for, as he judged, it came from some outlet, through which he might possibly obtain deliverance.

“Stay where you are,” he said. “I will just go forward and see what I can.”

“Don’t stay long,” entreated Frank nervously.

“No, I won’t.”

Ernest was just as well pleased to go forward alone, for if there were really, as he supposed, an outlet, it was as well that Frank should not have his attention drawn to it, lest he should speak of it to his father and so reveal the fact of their explorations. This might excite the suspicion of James Fox and put a stop to their further walks.

Continuing on alone, Ernest then saw, perhaps fifteen feet above him, an opening some three feet in diameter, through which he could obtain a glimpse of the clear sky above.

It made his heart beat with exultation and longing. There was freedom if he could only manage somehow to lift himself up to the outlet and make his way through it.

“What is it, Ernest?” asked Frank.

“Oh, it is nothing,” answered Ernest with studied indifference. “It isn’t anything you would care to see.”

The little boy accepted this assurance, for he did not feel the interest that excited Ernest.

“Let us go back,” he said, as he resumed his clasp of Ernest’s hand.

“Yes, we will go back. Have you ever been as far as this before?”

“No.”

“Then we had better not say anything about it. Your papa might not like it.”

“All right, Ernest. Will you read to me when you go back?”

“Yes, Frank.”

Ernest was glad to comply with the little boy’s request, as he thought he might in this way put the thoughts of their exploration out of his mind.

They were fortunate enough to get back without exciting the attention of Juba, who was busy in the kitchen.

Her work, however, was soon over and she brought her sewing into the room where the two boys were seated.

“Well, Massa Frank, what am you doing?”

“Ernest is reading to me. Why don’t you ever read to me, Juba?”

“O lor’, chile, you know I can’t read.”

“But why can’t you read? You’re old enough.”

“Yes, honey, I’m old enough, but I never had no chance to learn.”

“Why didn’t you?” persisted Frank. “Didn’t you go to school when you was little?”

“No, chile, never went to school. They didn’t have no schools where I was raised.”

“Where was that?”

“In ole Virginny.”

“Were you a slave, Juba?” asked Ernest.

“Yes, massa, I was a slave.”

“And how did you get here?”

“It was all along of the war. Ole massa he went to the war and got killed. Then young massa went, and he got killed, too. Then one day there came an officer – one of Abe Linkum’s officers – and he told us we were free and might go where we pleased.”

“Weren’t you glad to be free?” asked Ernest.

“No, honey, we didn’t know where to go nor what to do. We’d allus had some one to look after us, but now there wasn’t anybody.”

“Were you married, Juba?”

“Yes, but I don’t know whether my ole man is livin’ or not. He was sold down in Georgie to a cousin of ole massa.”

“Then he may be living yet?”

“Yes, honey.”

“How old are you, Juba?” asked Frank.

“I don’t know, chile. I’s powerful old. S’pecs I’s a hundred.”

Ernest smiled.

“No, Juba,” he said, “you are not nearly a hundred. You may be sixty.”

“Juba, did you ever hear about Uncle Tom?”

“Yes, chile, I knew Uncle Tom,” was the unexpected reply. “He was raised on Mr. Jackson’s place next to ours.”

Ernest asked some question about this Uncle Tom, but learned, as he expected, that it was quite a different person from the negro immortalized by Mrs. Stowe.

In looking over Frank’s books Ernest found an old copy of “Uncle Tom’s Cabin,” and taking it down he read some portions, particularly those relating to Topsy. Both Frank and Juba were very much entertained.

“Did you know Topsy, Juba?” asked Frank.

“No, chile, never knowed Topsy. She must have been a no-account young nigga. If she’d lived on our plantation she’d have got flogged for her impudence.”

“How did you come here, Juba?” asked Frank.

“One of them officers took me to Chicago. I lived out with a lady, but when she died, I went to a ’telligence office and there I met your papa. He brought me out here. I didn’t at first like livin’ down under the ground, but I don’t mind it now. Massa Fox treats me well, and I ain’t no wish to change.”

This was the substance of what Juba had to communicate. The rest of the day passed quietly. At nightfall James Fox came home, looking very sober. But he came alone.