The Boys of Old Monmouth Part 35

"Where is he?"

"He hasn't been seen or heard from in four days. I don't think he'll come home again very soon. Tom, Sarah wanted me to tell you, if I saw you, that you were to come home just as soon as you could. I think she wants to explain something to you," he added, noting Tom's expression of surprise. "Since she's found out about Benzeor she feels all broken up, and wants you to come home."

"Then she knows about Benzeor, does she?" inquired Tom thoughtfully.

"Yes, and so do I. You'll go, won't you?"

"I can't now; perhaps I will after a while," and Tom went on to explain the circ.u.mstances which seemed to make his return to Benzeor's impossible for a time.

"But how does it happen that you are here so early in the morning, and with Benzeor's team? You're almost the last person I expected to see."

"Oh, the way of it is like this. Barzilla and Jacob and some of the Whigs have been on the track of Fenton for several days now. We've got word that he's down in the pines, about two miles below Blue Ball.

Several parties are out after him, for they've made up their minds to rid Old Monmouth of the outlaw, if such a thing can be done. Well, Barzilla came up to Benzeor's yesterday, and when he found I was all right again, he suggested that Ted and I report the matter to some of the officers in the American army, and get a detachment to go down there, so that's what we've done, you see."

"No, I don't see," replied Tom, looking about for the detachment of soldiers of which Little Peter had spoken. "Ted? Ted who?"

"Ted Wilson, if you please," said that worthy, suddenly rising from beneath the straw with which the wagon-box was apparently filled. "I'm the Ted what Little Peter means. Yes, sir, I'm on the lookout for those fellows that go around hangin' Sallies. She's my wife, ye know."

Startled as Tom was by the unexpected appearance of the mighty Ted, he nevertheless was compelled to laugh, as the huge man stood before him striving to shake himself free from the bits of straw which covered his face, and shaking his fist at imaginary Fentons, who went about engaged in the detestable occupation of "hanging Sallies."

"We saw General Lee yesterday, but he had so much trouble of his own that he couldn't listen much to ours," explained Little Peter, "but he managed to give us a sergeant and two men. The sergeant here is driving, and the men are with Ted under the straw."

Tom's first thought was to inquire concerning the trouble of General Lee, which Little Peter referred to, but Ted interrupted his question by declaring, "Yes, sir, I've got two companions in my misery, cooped up here under the straw. I don't see why they don't let us sit up straight like men; but no, they must cover us all over with straw, and then put two or three barrels in the wagon-box too. 'Tisn't my way o' doin'

things, for I'd take Jesh and go straight down to the pines and hang Fenton on the first tree I found. That's the way I'd do it. But I suppose I'll have to obey orders."

"That's what you will," said the sergeant, who had been manifesting signs of impatience for several minutes. "We mustn't stand here in the road talking all day. Lie down, Ted, and we'll cover you up again."

Reluctantly the huge man consented, and was soon hidden from sight by the straw which was thrown over him. The barrels were again arranged to present the appearance of an ordinary load, and then the sergeant, picking up the reins which were lying loose in his hands, spoke to the horses and started down the road.

Little Peter turned and watched Tom, who had remained by the roadside, gazing eagerly after the departing wagon, and when at last he could see him no longer, once more gave all his thought to the dangerous expedition on which he had started with his companions.

Benzeor's horses were in much better condition than those of his neighbors, for reasons that are apparent now to all our readers, and they maintained so steady a pace that by noontime the party had entered within the borders of the pines.

The road here became rough and heavy, and the progress, as a consequence, was correspondingly slow. The tall stately trees, the whisperings of the wind, the silence of the great forest, and above all, the knowledge that they had entered upon the most dangerous portion of their journey, made all the men in the wagon anxious and watchful. Not a word was spoken now, even Ted having ceased to complain of his narrow quarters, and having no remarks to make concerning the outlaws, whose disposition led them to go about the country attacking defenseless men and "hanging Sallies."

Every tree might conceal an enemy, and at any moment the discharge of a gun might indicate that their presence had been discovered. The habitations of men had been left behind them soon after they had entered the sombre forests, and the few rude little shanties near the border, occupied by negroes and people whose reputation in Old Monmouth was not of the best, had all been pa.s.sed. The vegetation was scanty, and long barren stretches of sand could be seen on every side. The sunlight only penetrated the gloom in places, and its presence served to increase the dark and sombre appearance of the unbroken forest.

Little Peter maintained a careful watch upon one side as they advanced, and the sergeant watched the other, but they seldom spoke now, and then only in whispers. The full sense of the danger of entering a region, known to be used by the pine robbers as their headquarters, was appreciated as it had not been when they started. They had no means of knowing how many men Fenton might have with him, and hard as the outlaws were against the defenseless people of Old Monmouth, doubtless they would display the honor which it is said thieves maintain toward one another, and if others should be within hailing distance when Fenton was attacked they would all quickly rally to his a.s.sistance.

And the resistance which Fenton himself would be likely to make was not forgotten. The vision of him, as he suddenly appeared to Little Peter on that lonely road to the old mill a few days previous to this time, came up before the lad now. His big and burly frame, his bared and powerful arms, the brutal and merciless expression upon his evil face, were all seen again, and the lad shuddered as he recalled his experiences with him.

"What's wrong?" whispered the sergeant quickly. "See anything?"

"Not yet."

Little Peter had not been in the region since the breaking out of the war, although before that time he and Tom had made frequent visits there. Still, he recognized the locality, and knew the place to which Barzilla had reported that Fenton had gone. It was a rude log house, built of the pine-trees, and could not be more than two miles in advance of them.

The horses were toiling now as they dragged the heavy wagon through the deep sand. Fish-hawks had their nests in the tops of the lofty trees, and occasionally Peter obtained a glimpse of the great birds as they sailed in the air far above him. A brown rabbit now and then came forth from his burrow, and after eying the intruders a moment, would go bounding away into the thickets, or else dart swiftly back into his underground home. The note of a wood-thrush now and again broke in upon the stillness with its clear, sweet whistle, and the watchful men would glance quickly about them, almost thinking that the sound was the call of the pine robbers to one another.

Little Peter's fear and the pain he was suffering from his recent encounter with Fenton made his face pale, and as the sergeant again turned to him and marked his appearance, he said, "'T was too bad, my lad, that you had to come."

"I knew the way. I had to come and show you."

"Yes, yes. I know it, but it's hard, for all that."

"We're almost there now. The place can't be more than a quarter of a mile farther on."

The sergeant did not reply, but turned quickly at the words, and peered keenly into the forest before him. No one could be seen, and the tall trees guarded well their secret. The toiling horses were pulling steadily on their load, and they, at least, felt no alarm; but Little Peter and his companion were anxious now, and were keeping their eyes steadily fixed upon the road before them.

"There! That's the place!" whispered the lad excitedly, as he obtained a glimpse of a little clearing not far in advance of them.

The sergeant did not reply, but he tightened his grasp upon the reins, and glanced down at the gun which he had placed within easy reach.

Little Peter's excitement had become intense, and he was peering eagerly ahead of him, while his breathing was quick and hard. They would soon know what the result of the expedition was to be.

The heavy wagon came out into the clearing, and drew near to the one small house, which was standing within it. The house was of logs, and corresponded exactly to the description which Barzilla had given of it.

As yet, no human being had been seen, and the sergeant was just about to declare that the place was not inhabited when the door was suddenly opened and a man stepped forth to view. Evidently he had heard the sounds of the approaching wagon, and had come out to investigate.

He was a tall, broad-shouldered, powerful-appearing man. He was clad in a pair of rough trousers and high boots, which looked as if they might have belonged to some Hessian dragoon at one time, and the red flannel s.h.i.+rt which partially covered his chest could not entirely conceal the great bunches of muscle there. In one hand he grasped a pistol, and the expression upon his face might well have caused a man with a much stouter heart than Little Peter had to tremble.

The sergeant glanced inquiringly at the lad by his side, and Little Peter nodded his head in reply to the unspoken question. The man was Fenton himself,--the one who had robbed the widows and the fatherless, had made the midnight attacks upon the defenseless people of Old Monmouth, had hanged trembling women from the limbs of trees, and tortured his helpless victims into revealing the places where their scanty savings had been concealed. He had been the leader of bands as desperate and wicked as himself, and the suffering and woe which the good people of the surrounding region had experienced at his hands can never be told. And now the man himself stood waiting for the wagon, in which were Little Peter, himself a victim of the pine robbers' cruelty, and his companions, to approach.

"Hold on!" called Fenton. "You're movin' too fast. What ye doin' here?"

The sergeant stopped his horses, and as Fenton approached and stood near the wheel, he said, "We've come down here to look for a man we want to find."

"I reckon I'll do as well as any other. Look at me! Ye're not goin' any farther, ye might as well understand that now as any time. Got a bottle with ye?"

The sergeant drew forth a bottle of brandy and handed it to the outlaw.

Fenton took it, and raised one foot upon the hub of the wheel. As he lifted the bottle to his lips, his eyes fell upon Little Peter, who had been endeavoring to conceal himself behind his companion.

Instantly recognizing the lad, he shouted, "You here? You? I thought I left ye dead up by the mill the other day! You rascal! One whipping wasn't enough, was it? I'll give ye what ye deserve now!"

Fenton reached back with one hand to grasp the pistol he had thrust into his pocket when he had taken the bottle. Quickly the sergeant kicked the foot of Ted Wilson under the straw, and instantly the men arose, and before Fenton could act, had brought their guns to their shoulders and the reports rang out together.

The pine robber pitched heavily forward, and lay dead upon the sand. Oh, it was horrible, awful! A sensation of sickness, of faintness, swept over Little Peter as he looked down upon the face of the dead outlaw.

"What's that? What's that?" said Ted quickly.

It was the sound of a gun not far away. It might be the answer of other bands of pine robbers to the volley which had just been fired; and hurriedly throwing the body of Fenton into the wagon, the sergeant turned his horses about and started swiftly back up the road.

CHAPTER x.x.xII

CONCLUSION