CHAPTER XIV
TAKEN PRISONER
“What does all this mean?” demanded Ralph, in a tone of command.
“What right have you to interfere?” said Abner Holden, sulkily.
“The right that any man has to prevent murder,” said Ralph, briefly.
“I wasn’t going to murder him.”
“What were you going to do?” asked Ralph, looking keenly at Abner. “Why were you pointing the pistol at him?”
“I wanted to frighten him.”
“You meant to have him think you were going to fire. I believe you were.”
“Why didn’t he come down when I bade him?”
“I’ll answer that question,” said Herbert, from the top of the tree. “Mr. Holden promised to beat me if I would come down, but I didn’t think that a sufficient inducement.”
“I have a right to beat you,” said Abner, doggedly. “Ain’t you bound to me; tell me that?”
“I was,” said Herbert, “and if you had treated me well, I would have stayed with you; but I don’t mean to remain to be abused.”
“You hear the lad’s answer,” said Ralph. “I like his spirit, and I’ll stand by him. He won’t return with you.”
While this conversation had been going on, Abner had been slowly edging himself toward the spot upon which Ralph had thrown the pistol, which he had wrenched from him. While Ralph was speaking, he suddenly darted forward, seized the weapon, and, facing about, said, with malicious triumph, “Now, you’re in my power, both of you. We’ll see whether he’ll go back with me or not.”
As he spoke he pointed the pistol toward Ralph.
The latter laughed contemptuously.
This irritated Abner Holden.
“I will count ten,” he said. “Unless the boy begins to come down before I stop, I fire at you. One—two–”
“Hold!” said Ralph, and, drawing his revolver from beneath his hunting-jacket, he pointed it at Abner. “Two can play at that game, Abner Holden. This revolver is fully loaded. It gives me six chances of hitting you. You have but one chance with your pistol. The moment your finger touches the trigger, your doom is sealed. I never miss my aim.”
A sickly hue overspread the face of Abner Holden. He had counted on Ralph’s being unarmed. He saw that he had made an important and most unlucky mistake.
“Put down your revolver,” he said, in a very different tone. “I wasn’t in earnest, you know.”
“I know nothing of the kind,” retorted Ralph. “You looked to me as if you were very much in earnest.”
Still with his revolver he covered Abner.
“Put down your weapon,” said Abner, nervously. “It might go off.”
“Yes, it might,” returned Ralph. “I will lower it, on one condition.”
“What is that?”
“That you lay down your pistol on the ground.”
Abner demurred, but finally felt compelled to do as he was commanded.
“That is well,” said Ralph, quietly. “Now, I will take care that you are not tempted by it again.”
He walked toward the pistol, lifted it, and, pointing it in the reverse direction, fired it off among the trees.
“So much for that,” he said. “Now, Herbert, you may come down.”
Herbert complied promptly. He felt the utmost confidence in the prowess and good faith of his new friend, and did not fear to descend, though his bitterest enemy awaited him beneath.
Meanwhile an idea struck Abner Holden. He saw that he was no match for Herbert as long as Ralph chose to befriend him. He resolved to enlist the latter on his side.
“Hark you, Ralph,” he said, “come aside with me. I wish to speak to you a moment.”
Ralph followed him a few paces in silence.
“Now what is it you have to say to me?” he demanded.
“About this boy,” said Abner, insinuatingly. “He is bound to me.”
“Well?”
“And the law gives me authority over him.”
“Well?”
“I want him to go back with me.”
“Well?”
“Will you promise not to interfere between us?”
“I can’t promise that,” said Ralph, briefly.
“Stay a moment,” said Abner, seeing that he was on the point of leaving him; “of course, I am willing to make it worth your while. I’ll give you—well, three dollars, to help me secure him, and carry him back to my house.”
“What do you take me for?” asked Ralph, looking at the other, steadily.
“For a poor man,” said Abner. “Think a moment. Three dollars will buy you provisions for a week. They couldn’t be more easily earned. In fact, you needn’t do anything. Only promise not to interfere between the boy and myself.”
Ralph turned upon him scornfully.
“I have promised the boy my protection,” he said, “and you would have me forfeit my word for a paltry three dollars?”
“I’ll give you five,” said Abner, supposing that the sum he had offered was not sufficient.
“Not for five dollars, nor five thousand,” returned Ralph, shortly. “I thought you meant to insult me, but I see you only judge me by yourself. The boy shall not return with you. Make up your mind to that.”
“I can have you arrested,” said Abner, angrily.
Ralph laughed.
“Let that comfort you for the loss of the boy,” he said.
“I’ll have the boy, too,” muttered Abner, turning to leave them.
“Where are you going?” demanded Ralph.
“I am going home.”
“Not yet.”
“Why not?” demanded Abner, facing about.
“Because I can’t spare you yet.”
“What right have you to interfere with my movements?” said Abner.
“None, perhaps; but I will inquire into that afterward. It is enough that, for the present, you must stay here.”
“I shall do no such thing,” said Abner, and he again turned to go.
Ralph deliberately lifted his weapon, and took aim.
“What do you say now?” he asked.
“Surely, you will not fire at me,” said Abner, turning pale.
“Not if you remain where you are.”
“How long do you mean to keep me?” demanded Abner, sullenly.
“As long as may be necessary. That is all. Herbert, go into the cabin and look in one corner for a cord.”
Herbert soon returned with a stout cord, tough and strong.
“What are you going to do with that?” asked Abner suspiciously.
“I’m going to bind you,” said Ralph, coolly.
“I’ll have the law on you for this,” said Abner, hoarsely.
“All in good time,” said Ralph. “But I advise you to consider whether the law has nothing to say against attempted murder.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean that you attempted to murder this boy, and would have done so, in all probability, if I had not interfered. When I am arrested, I shall feel it my duty to make this known to the authorities.”
Abner was silent. He felt that Ralph’s testimony would have an ugly look.
“Let me go,” he said, after a pause. “You needn’t be afraid of my troubling either of you. Don’t tie me.”
“Abner Holden,” said Ralph, “I know you, and I know you are not to be trusted. I have resolved to help this boy to escape from you, and I mean to do it effectually. For this purpose, I must subject you to temporary inconvenience. I advise you not to resist.”
He had already tied the hands of Abner Holden, who, as he looked into the fearless, resolute face of the Ranger, felt that it would not do to resist. It chafed him most to think that Herbert, his bound boy, should be a witness of his humiliation, and he scowled savagely at our hero. But Herbert showed no triumph. His was a brave and generous nature, and had it rested with him, he would have let Mr. Holden go, but he did not think it best to interfere.
Ralph quickly tied both hands and feet, and then took the helpless body of Abner into the cabin, where he placed him in one corner.
“Are you thirsty?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Abner, sullenly.
Ralph placed a cup of water to his lips. He also placed a loaf of bread beside him, which, though his hands were tied at the wrist, he would still be able to reach, and then beckoned to Herbert.
“Come,” he said, “it is time that we were going.”
Abner gnashed his teeth with anger, as he watched them issue from the cabin together, and felt how utterly helpless he was to prevent them.
CHAPTER XV
A FOUR-FOOTED FOE
Abner Holden’s reflections, when he found himself left alone in Ralph’s cabin, bound hand and foot, were not of the most agreeable nature. It was humiliating to find himself baffled at every point, and, for once, completely defeated in his attempt to exercise his authority over the boy who had been bound to him.
That Herbert should escape from him beyond the chance of recovery seemed now almost certain. If he were free, something might be done. But he was so securely bound that it was impossible to get free without help, and the lonely situation of the cabin made it very doubtful whether anyone would come within hearing until the return of Ralph himself. When that would be was uncertain.
Three hours passed, and still no prospect of release. The bonds chafed his wrists, and his situation was far from comfortable. He tried to loosen the cords, but without success.
“Must I stay here all night?” he thought, in alarm.
But deliverance was at hand, though its first approach was disagreeable.
A large dog entered the cabin through the open door, drawn thither, probably, by curiosity. When he saw Abner he appeared to take a dislike to him, and barked vehemently.
“Go away, you brute!” said Abner, wrathfully.
The dog, however, appeared instinctively to understand that Abner Holden was able only to threaten him, and barked more furiously than before; sometimes approaching within a foot of the helpless prisoner, and showing a formidable row of teeth, which Abner feared every moment might fasten upon his arm or leg.
Abner Holden was not a man of courage. Though his disposition was that of a bully, he was easily frightened, and the fierce look of the dog alarmed him not a little. In fact, it might have tested the courage of a much braver man than Mr. Holden.
“Go away!” he shrieked, shrinking back as far as he could from the open mouth of his persecutor.
A hoarse bark was the only reply, and the dog made an artful spring, which was only a feint, but had too much the appearance of earnest to suit his enemy.
“Oh, will nobody save me from the brute?” groaned Abner, in an ecstasy of terror. “If I could only get my hands loose!” and he tugged frantically at the cord.
Feeling how utterly he was at a disadvantage, he condescended to coax his fierce antagonist.
“Be quiet, that’s a good dog,” he said, with hypocritical softness.
The dog noticed a change in his tone, and evidently viewed it with some suspicion. Still his bark became less fierce and his looks less threatening.
“Good dog!” repeated Abner, in wheedling tones. “There’s some dinner.”
And he pushed over the provisions which Ralph had left.
While the dog was apparently taking his offer into consideration, a boy’s voice was heard outside, calling “Carlo, Carlo!”
The dog pricked up his ears and ran out of the cabin.
“So you are here, you truant,” said the boy. “Why did you run away? What have you to say for yourself, sir?”
The dog answered by a wag of his tail.
“Oh, yes, you may wag your tail, but I’ve a great mind to punish you for running away, and putting me to the trouble of finding you.”
“Hello!” cried Abner, in a loud voice.
“Who’s that?” thought the boy, surprised.
As the voice evidently came from within the cabin, he ventured to the door, and looked in. He was considerably surprised to see Abner Holden, whom he knew well by sight, lying bound hand and foot in the corner.
“Is that you, Mr. Holden?” he asked, in a tone of surprise.
“Of course it is,” said Abner, who was not in a very pleasant frame of mind.
“Are you tied?”
“Don’t you see I am?” snarled Abner.
“Who tied you?”
“That rascal Ralph. I mean to have him hung, if I live.”
“Ralph! Why, I thought he was quiet and peaceable.”
“He tried to murder me, but changed his mind, and tied me, as you see.”
“I can’t understand it.”
“There is no need of understanding it. Come and unfasten these cords. I feel stiff and cramped.”
The boy tried to unfasten the cord, but it was too securely tied.
“Where is your knife?”
“I haven’t got any.”
“Then take the axe.”
There was an axe standing at the corner of the room. This the boy got, and, with the keen edge, severed the string.
Abner stretched himself to relieve his cramped limbs. Then he bethought himself of his late persecutor.
“Is that your dog?” he asked, surveying his four-legged enemy with no friendly expression.
“Yes, that’s Carlo. Come here, Carlo.”
“He’s been in here barking at me, and threatening to bite me, and now I’ll have my revenge.”
“What do you mean?” inquired the boy, in alarm, as Abner seized the axe and swung it over his head.
“Stand aside, boy!”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to kill that brute.”
“No, no, he’s a good dog. He won’t do any harm,” said the boy, in alarm.
“I’ll kill him,” said Abner, fiercely.
The dog surveyed his enemy with suspicion. He seemed to understand that danger menaced him. He growled in a low, hoarse, ominous tone, which showed that he was on his guard, and meant to do his part of the fighting, if necessary.
His owner had retreated to the door, and now tried to call him away.
“Carlo, Carlo, come out here, sir.”
But Carlo would not come. He had no intention of shrinking from the danger that threatened him, but was bent on defending himself, as became a brave and dauntless dog, whose courage was above suspicion.
If Abner had not been so exasperated, he might have been terrified, but anger re-enforced his courage, and, moreover, he had a great deal of confidence that the axe which he held in his hand would make him more than a match for the dog.
“I’ll kill him!” he exclaimed, and once more he swung the axe over his head, and brought it down with a tremendous force in the direction of the dog.
Alas for poor Carlo, if the axe had struck him! But he was wary, and knew something of warlike tactics, and with watchful eye carefully noted Abner’s movements. The boy uttered a cry of alarm at the peril of his favorite, but Carlo sprang to one side just as the axe descended, and it was buried in the earthen floor of the cabin so deeply that Abner could not immediately recover it.
The advantage was thus transferred to the other side, and the dog was not slow in perceiving it.
With a bound he sprang upon his adversary, and bore him to the floor, seizing his coat between his strong teeth. He pulled and tugged at this with a strength which no ordinary cloth could possibly withstand.
“Take him off! take him off!” shrieked Abner in terror.
The boy sprang to the rescue.
“Come away, Carlo,” he said, grasping him by the collar; “come away, that’s a good dog.”
But, habitually obedient as Carlo was, his young master found it difficult to get him away. He felt that he had received a grievous injury—that his life had been attempted—and he wanted to have satisfaction. Finally his master succeeded in drawing him away, but not till Mr. Holden’s coat was badly torn.
The latter was crestfallen and angry, and not so grateful as he ought to have been to his young defender.
“I’ll make your father pay for this coat, you young rascal!” he said.
“It isn’t my fault, Mr. Holden,” said the boy.
“Yes, it is. It was your dog that tore my coat.”
“Carlo wouldn’t have torn it, if you hadn’t attacked him.”
“He attacked me first.”
“You had better go away, Mr. Holden, or he may go at you again.”
A low growl from the dog whom he held by the collar re-enforced this suggestion, and Abner, uttering threats both against the dog and his master, strode out of the cabin and bent his steps homeward.
As he entered the kitchen, the housekeeper turned, and, noticing his torn coat, exclaimed, “Good gracious, Mr. Holden, what’s happened to you? How came your coat so badly torn?”
“It was a dog,” muttered Abner, who did not care to be questioned.
Mrs. Bickford supposed he must have taken off the coat, and the dog had torn it as it lay upon the ground.
“What a pity!” she exclaimed. “Whose dog was it?”
“Alfred Martin’s. I’ll make Martin pay for the coat. He has no right to keep such a brute.”
“You must be hungry, Mr. Holden.”
“Yes, get me something as quick as possible.”
“Have you seen anything of Herbert?” asked the housekeeper.
“No,” snapped Abner.
This was a falsehood, of course, but he felt rather ashamed to confess that he had seen Herbert, and that the latter had got the better of him. Mrs. Bickford perceived that he was out of humor, and did not press the question. She concluded that he was angry because his quest had been unsuccessful.
CHAPTER XVI
JUST TOO LATE
Leaving Abner Holden bound in his cabin, Ralph led Herbert, by a short path, out of the woods.
“Your best course,” he said, “will be to take the cars for Columbus at Vernon. At Columbus you will go to Wheeling, and from there, over the Baltimore & Ohio Railroad to Baltimore, and thence to New York. But all this will cost money.”
“I have money,” said Herbert.
“How much?”
“About fifteen dollars.”
“Is that all?”
“Is it not enough to carry me to New York?”
“Hardly. Besides, when you get there, how will you get along? Have you any relations in the city?”
“Yes, an uncle.”
“Then you will go to him?”
“No,” said Herbert, hastily.
“Why not?”
“He does not care to see me. Shall I tell you what sort of a letter he wrote to Dr. Kent about me?”
“Yes, tell me.”
Herbert, in indignant language, which correctly represented his feelings, gave the substance of the letter, which is already known to us.
“I shall not feel easy,” he said, “until I am able to return the ten dollars which my uncle sent me. I am not willing to remain under obligations to one who cares so little for me.”
“I think you are proud,” said Ralph, bending his eyes upon the lad’s glowing countenance.
“Perhaps I am,” said Herbert; “but is it not a proper pride?”
“I cannot say no,” answered Ralph; “but would you feel the same about incurring obligations to a friend?”
“No,” said Herbert; “that would be different.”
“I am glad to hear you say so, for I am going to ask you to accept help from me.”
To Herbert’s surprise, Ralph drew out a small bag, originally intended for shot, and drew therefrom five golden coins, of five dollars each.
“Take them,” he said, simply.
Herbert hesitated, while his face indicated extreme surprise.
“I thought—” he commenced, and then paused.
“You thought me poor,” said Ralph, finishing the sentence for him. “Is it not so?”
“Yes,” said Herbert.
“Most people think so,” said Ralph. “But it was not poverty that drove me from the busy world to this solitude. Rich or poor, I had money enough for my wants. Here I have little use for money. To me it is a useless and valueless thing. You need have no hesitation in taking this. But on second thoughts, I had better give you more.” And he was about to draw forth more.
“No, no,” said Herbert, hastily. “It is quite sufficient. You are very, very kind. Some time I hope to repay you.”
“No,” said Ralph. “Do not talk of repayment. Let me have the pleasure of giving you this small sum.”
“How kind you are,” said Herbert, impulsively, “and to a stranger.”
“Yet my obligation to you is greater than yours to me,” said Ralph.
“How can that be?” asked the boy, raising his eyes to Ralph’s grave face.
“You are the first human being in whose society I have taken pleasure for years. Deeply injured by man, I conceived a hatred for the whole race. But in your frank face I see much to like. I think I could trust you.”
“I hope so,” said Herbert.
“You have inspired in me a new feeling, for which I cannot account. Yesterday the world had no attractions for me. To-day I feel an interest in your welfare, at least.”
“Why do you bury yourself in this lonely place?” said Herbert. “You cannot be happy in it. Come with me to New York. It must be a beautiful place.”
Ralph smiled gravely.
“To the young the world seems bright,” he said. “It is after years have swept away one illusion after another, after faith in one’s fellowmen has been sorely tried, and the hollowness of the world’s friendship has been proved, that the brightness fades.”
“You have seen more of life than I,” said Herbert, “and perhaps it is presumption in me to question what you say; but I cannot help feeling that you are mistaken. I am sure that there is such a thing as true friendship.”
“How many true friends are you blessed with?” asked Ralph, a little sarcasm in his tone.
“Not many, perhaps, but some. There is good Dr. Kent and his family. I am sure of their friendship. Then,” he added, his color slightly rising, “I think I have found another friend,” and he looked in the face of his guide.
The grave face softened.
“Thank you, my lad,” said Ralph. “You are right there, at least. You can rely upon my friendship being sincere.”
“Then I am right, am I not?” said Herbert, smiling brightly.
“I believe you are,” said the guide, after a pause, “and I thank you for teaching me a lesson.”
“Man was made in the image of God,” said Herbert. “If we doubt man, I think it is the same as doubting God.”
Ralph did not reply, but walked on in thoughtful silence.
“How far is it to Vernon?” asked Herbert, when they had emerged from the woods.
“It is five miles farther. Can you walk so far?”
“Oh, yes; I have good stout legs. But suppose Mr. Holden should escape. He might pursue us.”
Ralph smiled.
“I think I shall find him in the same place when I return,” he said.
“He will be very angry with you.”
“Yes, I suppose so,” said Ralph, indifferently.
“Are you not afraid he will have you arrested?”
“No, I care little. If I am fined, I will pay the fine, and that will be the end of it.”
“But you might be imprisoned?”
“If I see any danger of that, I shall be tempted to charge Abner Holden with his attempt upon your life. Don’t make yourself anxious about me, my lad. I have little fear of what the law may do as far as my agency in this affair is concerned.”
Ralph seemed so entirely unconcerned that something of his confidence was imparted to Herbert. Noting the erect mien and fearless glance of his guide, every movement betokening strength, he could not help feeling that Abner Holden would be rash to make such a man his enemy. He felt safe in his protection, and his apprehensions of capture passed away. So with lightened heart he walked the five dusty miles to the village of Vernon, accompanied by Ralph.
It was a thrifty village, with neat and tasteful dwellings lining the principal street. The railroad and manufactories had built it up rapidly and given it an air of prosperity which was pleasant to see.
“We will go at once to the railway station,” said Ralph. “You may catch the next train, and it will be as well to leave this neighborhood as soon as possible.”
They were fortunate enough to reach the station fifteen minutes before the eastern train departed.
Herbert bought a ticket for Columbus, fifty miles distant, and entered the train.
“Good-by, Herbert,” said Ralph, from the platform.
“Good-by,” said Herbert. “Thank you for all your kindness to me. Shall I not see you again?”
“I do not know,” said Ralph, musing. “I have no wish nor intention of going to New York at present, yet I have a feeling that we shall meet again.”
“I hope it may be so,” said Herbert. “I shall be glad to see you again.”
While he spoke the shrill sound of the railway whistle was heard, the train started, and Herbert was fairly off on his journey.
Just as he was leaving the depot, a wagon drove hastily up to the station, and Abner Holden jumped out. Herbert saw him as he looked from the window, and for a moment he was apprehensive, but the train was fairly on the way.
“Stop! stop!” vociferated Abner. “Stop, I say!” for he had also caught sight of his bound boy on the way to freedom.
“You don’t think they will stop the train for you, you fool!” said a man standing by. “You ought to have come sooner if you wanted to go by this train.”
“I don’t want to go by it,” said Abner.
“What do you want, then?”
“My boy’s run away, and I have just seen him aboard the train.”
“Oh, that’s it, is it? Your son?”
“No, I hope not. It’s a young rascal that’s bound to me.”
“If he’s a young rascal, I shouldn’t think you’d want him back.”
Turning away, for he saw that he had failed, his glance rested on Ralph.
Instantly his anger rose.
“It’s your doings,” said he, shaking his fist in impotent wrath at the sturdy hunter, whom he would have attacked had he dared. “It’s your fault, and you shall pay for it if there’s law in the land.”
“What will the law say to your attempt to shoot the boy?” demanded Ralph, coolly.
Abner turned pale, and realized that his best course was to keep quiet about an affair which might seriously compromise himself.