The Fifth String

by John Philip Sousa

  XIII

  On leaving the house of the dead man Diotti walked wearily to hishotel. In flaring type at every street corner he saw the announcementfor Thursday evening, March thirty-first, of Angelo Diotti's lastappearance: "To-night I play for the last time," he murmured in a voicefilled with deepest regret.

  The feeling of exultation so common to artists who finally reach thegoal of their ambition was wanting in Diotti this morning. He could notrid himself of the memory of Sanders' tragic death. The figure of theold man clutching the violin and staring with glassy eyes into thedying fire would not away.

  When he reached the hotel he tried to rest, but his excited brainbanished every thought of slumber. Restlessly he moved about the room,and finally dressing, he left the hotel for his daily call on Mildred.It was after five o'clock when he arrived. She received him coldly andwithout any mark of affection.

  She had heard of Mr. Sanders' death; her father had sent word. "Itshocked me greatly," she said; "but perhaps the old man is happier in aworld far from strife and care. When we realize all the misery there isin this world we often wonder why we should care to live." Her tone wasdespondent, her face was drawn and blanched, and her eyes gave evidenceof weeping.

  Diotti divined that something beyond sympathy for old Sanders' suddendeath racked her soul. He went toward her and lovingly taking herhands, bent low and pressed his lips to them; they were cold as marble.

  "Darling," he said; "something has made you unhappy. What is it?"

  "Tell me, Angelo, and truly; is your violin like other violins?"

  This unexpected question came so suddenly he could not control hisagitation.

  "Why do you ask?" he said.

  "You must answer me directly!"

  "No, Mildred; my violin is different from any other I have ever seen,"this hesitatingly and with great effort at composure.

  "In what way is it different?" she almost demanded.

  "It is peculiarly constructed; it has an extra string. But why thissudden interest in the violin? Let us talk of you, of me, of both, ofour future," said he with enforced cheerfulness.

  "No, we will talk of the violin. Of what use is the extra string?"

  "None whatever," was the quick reply.

  "Then why not cut it off?"

  "No, no, Mildred; you do not understand," he cried; "I can not do that."

  "You can not do it when I ask it?" she exclaimed.

  "Oh Mildred, do not ask me; I can not, can not do it," and the face ofthe affrighted musician told plainer than words of the turmoil ragingin his soul.

  "You made me believe that I was the only one you loved," passionatelyshe cried; "the only one; that your happiness was incomplete withoutme. You led me into the region of light only to make the darknessgreater when I descended to earth again. I ask you to do a simple thingand you refuse; you refuse because another has commanded you."

  "Mildred, Mildred; if you love me do not speak thus!"

  And she, with imagination greater than reasoning power, at once saw aTuscan beauty and Diotti mutually pledging their love with their lives.

  "Go," she said, pointing to the door, "go to the one who owns you, bodyand soul; then say that a foolish woman threw her heart at your feetand that you scorned it!" She sank to the sofa.

  He went toward the door, and in a voice that sounded like the echo ofdespair, protested: "Mildred, I love you; love you a thousand timesmore than I do my life. If I should destroy the string, as you ask,love and hope would leave me forevermore. Death would not be robbed ofits terror!" and with bowed head he went forth into the twilight.

  She ran to the window and watched his retreating figure as he vanished."Uncle Sanders was right; he loves another woman, and that string bindsthem together. He belongs to her!" Long and silently she stood by thewindow, gazing at the shadowing curtain of the coming night. At lasther face softened. "Perhaps he does not love her now, but fears hervengeance. No, no; he is not a coward! I should have approached himdifferently; he is proud, and maybe he resented my imperative manner,"and a thousand reasons why he should or should not have removed thatstring flashed through her mind.

  "I will go early to the concert to-night and see him before he plays.Uncle Sanders said he did not touch that string when he played. Ofcourse he will play on it for me, even if he will not cut it off, andthen if he says he loves me, and only me, I will believe him. I want tobelieve him; I want to believe him," all this in a semi-hysterical wayaddressed to the violinist's portrait on the piano.

  When she entered her carriage an hour later, telling the coachman todrive direct to the stage-door of the Academy, she appeared morefascinating than ever before.

  She was sitting in his dressing-room waiting for him when he arrived.He had aged years in a day. His step was uncertain, his eyes weresunken and his hand trembled. His face brightened as she arose, andMildred met him in the center of the room. He lifted her hand andpressed a kiss upon it.

  "Angelo, dear," she said in repentant tone; "I am sorry I pained youthis afternoon; but I am jealous, so jealous of you."

  "Jealous?" he said smilingly; "there is no need of jealousy in ourlives; we love each other truly and only."

  "That is just what I think, we will never doubt each other again, willwe?"

  "Never!" he said solemnly.

  He had placed his violin case on the table in the room. She went to itand tapped the top playfully; then suddenly said: "I am going to lookat your violin, Angelo," and before he could interfere, she had takenthe silken coverlet off and was examining the instrument closely."Sure enough, it has five strings; the middle one stands higher thanthe rest and is of glossy blackness. Uncle Sanders was right; it is awoman's hair!

  "Why is that string made of hair?" she asked, controlling her emotion.

  "Only a fancy," he said, feigning indifference.

  "Though you would not remove it at my wish this afternoon, Angelo; Iknow you will not refuse to play on it for me now."

  He raised his hands in supplication. "Mildred! Mildred! Stop! do notask it!"

  "You refuse after I have come repentant, and confessing my doubts andfears? Uncle Sanders said you would not play upon it for me; he told meit was wrapped with a woman's hair, the hair of the woman you love."

  "I swear to you, Mildred, that I love but you!"

  "Love me? Bah! And another woman's tresses sacred to you? Anotherwoman's pledge sacred to you? I asked you to remove the string; yourefused. I ask you now to play upon it; you refuse," and she paced theroom like a caged tigress.

  "I will watch to-night when you play," she flashed. "If you do not usethat string we part forever."

  He stood before her and attempted to take her hand; she repulsed himsavagely.

  Sadly then he asked: "And if I do play upon it?"

  "I am yours forever--yours through life--through eternity," she criedpassionately.

  The call-boy announced Diotti's turn; the violinist led Mildred to aseat at the entrance of the stage. His appearance was the signal forprolonged and enthusiastic greeting from the enormous audience present.He clearly was the idol of the metropolis.

  The lights were lowered, a single calcium playing with its soft andsilvery rays upon his face and shoulders. The expectant audiencescarcely breathed as he began his theme. It was pity--pity molded intoa concord of beautiful sounds, and when he began the second movement itwas but a continuation of the first; his fingers sought but one string,that of pity. Again he played, and once more pity stole from the violin.

  When he left the stage Mildred rushed So him. "You did not touch thatstring; you refuse my wish?" and the sounds of mighty applause withoutdrowned his pleading voice.

  "I told you if you refused me I was lost to you forever! Do youunderstand?"

  Diotti returned slowly to the center of the stage and remainedmotionless until the audience subsided. Facing Mildred, whose color washeightened by the intensity of her emotion, he began softly to play.His fingers sought the string of Death. The audience listened w
ithbreathless interest. The composition was weirdly and strangelyfascinating.

  The player told with wondrous power of despair,--of hope, of faith;sunshine crept into the hearts of all as he pictured the promise of aneternal day; higher and higher, softer and softer grew the theme untilit echoed as if it were afar in the realms of light and floating o'erthe waves of a golden sea.

  Suddenly the audience was startled by the snapping of a string; theviolin and bow dropped from the nerveless hands of the player. He fellhelpless to the stage.

  Mildred rushed to him, crying, "Angelo, Angelo, what is it? What hashappened?" Bending over him she gently raised his head and showeredunrestrained kisses upon his lips, oblivious of all save her lover.

  "Speak! Speak!" she implored.

  A faint smile illumined his face; he gazed with ineffable tendernessinto her weeping eyes, then slowly closed his own as if in slumber.

  The Conspirators

  Arriving opposite the Franklin house, Tom Foley took position in anear-by alley, where he could keep close watch on the front gate. Afterhours of nervous waiting, little Lillian Franklin came out, and Tom'sheart gave a jump. She was alone, and began to roll a hoop, which herfriend Sandy had given her that morning. Down the street she tripped,all smiles and happiness.

  Tom watched her until she had turned a corner, then he rushed up thealley to intercept her. When he emerged into the street, he saw herresting on a rustic bench, and hastened to join her. As he came up, hewas greeted with:

  "Why, Tom, I thought you went fishing with Gil, and papa, and Sandy,and the rest."

  "No, Lily. I felt so bad 'bout my dad being arrested yest'day Icouldn't git up no courage to go," answered the boy with simulatedcontrition. "What d'yer say? let's s'prise Gil, and go down to thelandin' an' meet him when he comes in from fishin'," suggested Foley,knowing the intense love she had for her brother.

  "That'll be lovely, won't it? And Gil will be so glad if I come."

  Lillian whipped the hoop rapidly, and Tom kept pace with her.

  "Gil will be surprised, sure enough, when he sees me coming, won't he?"

  "Yes, he'll be s'prised, you bet!" said the boy, taking a firmer holdof her hand.

  The night was fast approaching and Foley was leading the child throughunfrequented alleys and streets.

  "But maybe Gil won't come back this way, and it's getting awful dark."

  "Oh, he'll come back this way, all right."

  They were now on the shore of the river, dark and desolate in itswinter dress. The restless splash of the water sent icy sprays over thechild, and, clinging still closer to her treacherous companion, shestopped him for a second and begged him to return.

  "Don't be afear'd, nuthin's goin' ter happen to yer," he said, jerkingher savagely, and almost breaking into a run at the same time.

  "Oh, Tom, please let's go back," supplicated the child.

  They were now at the old wharf. He gave a low whistle, and, withoutwaiting for an answer, pulled the helpless child through the entrance.Then, groping his way over the slimy stones and through the oozing mud,he dragged the affrighted little one after him, to the mouth of thecave, and called:

  "Dad, I'm here."

  "Come right in," answered a voice.

  "I've got her, an' I got her easy as dirt," said the son, pushing theterrified child into the cave, and then roughly into the arms of hisfather.

  "Don't yell, yer brat!" said the older, clasping his hand over mouth,and drawing her brutally toward him. "Shut up, or I'll kill yer."

  Foley now called Hildey, who was, asleep in the corner, and said, "Cul,we've got to git out er this place jest as quick as possible. It's toonear the city, an' if we're tracked here we'll stand no more chancethan a snowball on Beelzebub's gridiron."

  "What's yer lay, Dennis?" questioned Hildey.

  "Move up the river," was the reply. "I knows jest the place where wewouldn't be found in a thousand years."

  "When d'yer want to start?" asked Tom.

  In ten minutes the abductors, with the stolen child, were slowlywinding their way along the deserted beach.

  It was now very dark. No stars were shining, and it had become bitterlycold. Suddenly voices were heard, and the abductors stopped to listen.They were in a ravine near the magazine landing, not more than fiftyfeet from the spot where the Lillian was launched. Foley, Tom, andHildey crouched low, and drew the little girl closer.

  The steady dip of oars was heard up stream, and the voices grewplainer. Out of the mingled sounds was heard, "I agrees with Sandy,he's the dirtiest coward as ever went unhung."

  Lillian started, for she recognized the voice of the Jedge, who withColonel Franklin, Sandy, Dink, Leander and Gilbert, were returning froma sail up the river.

  Foley became frightened, and bending over, hissed into the child's ear:

  "Remember what I tol' yer: if yer utter a sound, I'll kill yer."

  The sailing party meantime had reached the landing and stepped ashore.Sandy and the other three boys lowered the sail, rolled and carried itinto the boat-house. The whole party then, marching three abreast,with steady step, went up the graveled walk of the old magazine road,singing in unison:

  "Hep--Hep-- Shoot that ni**er if he don't keep step. Hep--Hep-- Shoot that ni**er if he don't keep step."

  While its cadence was continued by Colonel Franklin and the Jedge, thefour boys, in marching rhythm, sang out cheerily into the crisp coldnight:

  "When other lips and other hearts, Their tales of love shall tell, In accents whose excess imparts The power they feel so well. There may, perhaps, in such a scene, Some recollection be, Of days that have as happy been, And you'll remember me."

  The three scoundrels listened, as the voices rose and fell on the air.The child, with the fear of death before her, and in the clutches ofher horrible captor, gave one convulsive sob and sank swooning at hisfeet.

  Foley picked her up and, walking quickly, placed her in the very boather father and friends had left but a moment before. He wrapped her ina ragged coat, loosened the hasp of the door on the boat-house, andtook out the oars.

  Quickly the captors pushed the craft into deep water, and with muffledstroke moved through the inky waves, a somber specter sneaking alongthe banks of the sleeping marches.

  When they neared the upper bridge, Foley ran the boat ashore andabandoned it. Picking up the exhausted and benumbed child, he led histwo companions along the causeway and over the road leading to thebridge.

  The wind came out of the north, howling through the leafless boughs ofthe mighty monarchs of the forest. The last flickering light of thetown was left far behind, and darkness, like a great shroud, envelopedriver, valley and woods.

  In due time Colonel Franklin and his party reached home, hungry aftertheir fine sail on the river, and all in high spirits.

  "Jedge, you and the boys sit right down, and we'll have supper in ajiffy."

  The guests thoroughly enjoyed the evening meal. The repast was aboutconcluded when Edith, who had just returned from the parsonage, camein, and called cheerily:

  "Hurry up, Lily, it's time to go to the festival. They're going tolight up thet tree at half-past eight, and it's nearly that now."

  "Why, chil', Lily ain't here. She's wif yo' folks," exclaimed Delia.

  "With us? She hasn't been with us at all," responded Edith.

  "It's likely she's at one of the neighbors," ventured the Colonel.

  "I'll fin' her, Muster Franklin, an' I'se gwine to scol' her good an'hard fo' worryin' her ol' mammy. At this she put a shawl over her headand shoulderst and started in search of the absent one.

  "Suppose I go too," suggested Gilbert, rising.

  "I don't think that's necessary," interposed the Colonel.

  "It'll only take me a minute," assured the son, as he began to put onhis overcoat.

  "Go if you like then," consented the Colonel.

  "An' if yer don't mind, Miss Deed," volunteered Sandy, "I'll go up tochurch with yer, an' then c
ome back an' fetch Lily and Gil."

  "That's a good idea," answered Edith, "bring her right over to thechurch, and I'll be waiting for you there."

  "I guess I'll go up to my house an' look. Mebbe Lily is playin' withZorah, an' if she is, I'll come right back an' tell yer," put in Dink.

  Edith, Delia and the three boys departed, leaving the Colonel and theJedge alone, smoking their pipes and discussing the sensational eventsof the week, in which Dennis Foley was the central figure.

  The conversation was stopped by the appearance of Delia and Gilbert,who declared that not one of the neighbors had seen Lillian thatafternoon.

  "It seems almost incredible that she could be lost," said the father,"she must be somewhere about here. Perhaps she went to the church, andfell asleep in one of the pews."

  The searching party set out once more, this time accompanied by theColonel himself, and by the Jedge. At the church they heard from Sandyand Dink that no trace of the child had been found, so the fatherrequested the minister to inquire of the congregation if the missingone had been seen anywhere. There was no response from those present,and the family and friends began to show grave concern.

  Another effort at finding her was immediately made. The police sergeantwas notified, and he sent out a general alarm.

  All night long, and all the next day the hunt was continued. Wells wereexplored, basements, cellars and out-of-the-way places were ransacked,lumber yards and coal yards were gone through most carefully. In fact,not a foot of the town was left unsearched, but all to no avail, andthe once happy home of the Franklins was steeped in sorrow and despair.

  The morning after Lillian's disappearance, Mrs. Foley inquired of theboys in the neighborhood if they had seen anything of her son Tom, who,she declared, had been gone since the previous morning.

  From Sandy she learned that Tom had taken dinner at Gilbert's the daybefore, but that when the party had started for the river he haddropped out, claiming he was too down-hearted to join in the pleasure.

  "That's the way he acted at home," said the widow, "and it seemed to meit was almost unnacheral for him to talk against his father, as he did.However, I'm not bothered about him, for he comes and goes just as hepleases, and when he gets good and ready he'll turn up, like a badpenny. I've stopped worryin' about him years an' years ago."

  "If I see Tom," volunteered the boy, "I'll tell him yer want him,"--andhe hurried away.

  The next morning Sandy left home earlier than usual, and on his ownaccount began a search for Lillian. A new theory had taken possessionof him, and he started at once for the river. At the magazine gate hechatted with the sentry about the mysterious disappearance, and passedon. When he reached the shore half a mile beyond, he was surprised tofind that the padlock on the door of the shed had been pried off, andthat his boat was missing.

  Opening the door he saw that his oars and blankets were gone, and hebegan to feel that his theory might lead him to important discoveries.For fully five minutes he stood motionless, and gazed into the river,buried deep in his own thoughts. Then he soliloquized: "I wonder ifLily's been stolen? S'pose, while we've been searchin' fer her high an'low, Foley an' the galoot what whacked me jest took the little girl an'carried her off in my boat? That 'ere story 'bout Dennis Foley buyin' aticket for Philadelphy struck me as fishy when I fust heerd it, an' nowI don't believe it a t'all. They couldn't git through the magazine gate'thout the guards seein' them, an' whoever took my boat either came upthe shore or down the shore. 'Tain't likely they came from up shore,'cause they could 'a' found a hundred boats 'tween here an' the upperbridge."

  Turning around, Sandy started down the beach toward the cemetery. Hewas studying carefully the ground beyond the point of high tide, and ina few moments reached the ravine where, two nights before, the threeabductors had stopped, upon hearing Colonel Franklin and his sailingparty approach.

  "Well, I'll be durned," he exclaimed, for in the sand before his veryeyes was the impress of four pairs of shoes. Two were evidently thoseof men, one small enough to be that of a boy, and one so tiny as toconvince him it was that of a child.

  "This is the way they come," he continued, "and there wuz three of 'emin the gang besides the little one, an' I'm sure er that."

  He followed the footprints until he reached the old wharf. Peeringthrough the rotten timbers, he said:

  "That's a rum ol' hole. I don't believe Satan hisself would go inthere, but I'm goin', an' see what I kin see."

  Sandy had no difficulty in entering the cave, which he found strewnwith whisky bottles, pieces of bread and newly-picked bones, evidenceenough that some one had been there but a short time before.Penetrating deeper in his search, he made a find of the utmostimportance. Lying at one side, and near a bed of rags, was an envelopaddressed to Dennis Foley, and, on a peg which had been driven into thewall, was hanging an old hat, which he had often seen on Hildey's head.

  Elated at the results of his quest, he began to retrace his steps, andin eager haste he left the cave. Picking his way along the slimy stonesunder the wharf, he soon neared the outlet and there was startled bythe most significant of all his discoveries. Right before him lay theidentical hoop which he had given the lost child only Christmas Day,and which bore the inscription, "From Sandy Coggles to LillianFranklin."

  Every suspicion now was confirmed, and he was sure he knew theculprits. Taking the hoop, he returned to his boathouse with allpossible speed, and leaping into his skiff, paddled up the river, hiseyes scanning the marsh lines on either bank of the channel. Arrivingat the bridge, he learned by inquiry from the tender stationed therethat he had not seen the Lillian coming up stream within the past threedays.

  "But," explained the bridge-tender, "I'm only on from six to six duringdaylight, and of course if anything comes through at night I wouldn'tknow about it. I'm pretty sure, though, there's been nothing up thisway for a month of Sundays, 'cept Buck Wesley, who creeped up 'bout twohours ago, following a gang of ducks that uses right over there aboveMayhew's Meadows. And the way Buck's been shooting for the last hour,he must be having a time and no mistake."

  "Well, so long," called Sandy. "I guess I'll go up the river a littlefurther and have a look." And once more he took up his paddles. As hecame abreast of the Meadows he saw Buck Wesley coming out of the creekin his gunning skiff.

  "Is that you, Sandy?" shouted the gunner.

  "That's me," was the boy's answer.

  "Come over here, I want to talk to you," requested Buck.

  When Sandy got alongside the hunter's boat, he asked:

  "Well, Buck, what's the trouble?"

  "No trouble, Sandy, but when I come up the river this mornin'--I ain'tbeen up for three weeks, it's been such pore weather for ducks--I seena bunch of widgeon go down right over here, an' as I skims up by thecollard patch t'other side of the bridge, I noticed a boat lyin' in themud, and when I gits near to her, I knows by the cut of her jib thatshe's yer Lillian."

  "My Lillian? Wher'd yer say yer seen her?" asked Sandy excitedly.

  "Why, by the collard patch, not fifty yards from the Causeway. Shelooked like she'd drifted on the marsh. I calc'lated when I got throughshootin' that I'd pick her up an' take her down to yer landin'. Theoars wuz in, an' I guess she must 'a' strayed from the shore, throughsomebody fergettin' to tie her up."

  "I'm much 'bliged, Buck," thanked Sandy, "but yer needn't bother. I'llbring her down, an' the next galoot that takes her an' lets her gitaway from him, is goin' to hear from me."

  Sandy retraced the course he had come, and after turning on the otherside of the bridge, had no trouble in finding his boat. She was lyingon a sand-bar, but he soon succeeded in floating her and bringing herashore.

  Safely securing the skiff and the boat, he began another search alongthe beach, and almost immediately was rewarded by finding a knot ofblue ribbon, such as he had often seen Lillian wear in her hair.Farther along, he discovered tracks in the sand. These he followed,Indian fashion, up the embankment, lost trace of them for a moment onthe
hardened surface of the carriage way, but speedily picked them upagain in the soft soil that ran downward on the other side.

  Then, it was easy to pursue them along a pathway that led to a graveledbeach where a dozen or more skiffs had been drawn up and tied to stakesfor the winter. From here on, all further traces were obliterated.

  Thoroughly familiar with all the river craft belonging there, even tothe individual ownership, Sandy noticed at once that one of the boatswas missing, and that its painter had only recently been cut.

  "Why, it's Willie Bagner's boat they've got," he said to himself as herecognized which boat was missing, "an' I'll bet my life the scalawagsare hidin' somewhere up the river."

  Hurrying back, he rowed to the landing and started in haste for hishome, with a plan of rescue fully developed in his mind. He sought outLeander, Dink and Gilbert, and asked them to call at his house withoutdelay.

  While Sandy's investigation had convinced him that Lillian was stolen,Colonel Franklin had been made to realize the same terrible fact inanother and more brutal way. When he reached his office on the sameafternoon, he found on his desk a letter that read as follows:

  dere sur--if U meen bizness i can put U on to whar your dorter is butits goin to kost U sum muney if U evr want to see her agin theres abig gang got her hid where U woodnt find hur in a 100 yerze but if Uwill plank down 10000 dolers sheze yourze if U dont you'll nevr seehur no moar if sheze wurth thet much to U U can git her by not blabinto nobudy that yer got this leter an plankin down the rino taint nouse fer U to try an git the police on our trax fer one uv the gang isalwayz with the kid an we have sworn to kill her if enny of us isjugged if U meen bizness an will leeve a noat under the big stone infront of the ded tree by oyster shell landin up the river we will gitit an rite U where to meet us to bring the muney and git the childmember we dont stand fer no trechery an if U squeel we ll no it and well take it out on the kid mums the word if yer want ter see the kidagain c o d and fare deelin is our moto a word to the wize is sufishent

  yourze trooley a frend

  The Colonel was completely unnerved by the horrible knowledge that hislittle daughter was in the hands of desperate criminals. Without delayhe wrote a note offering to pay the money demanded, agreeing to deliverit at any spot they might name, and vowing to share his secret with noone.

  Sealing the missive, he placed it carefully in his pocket, and droveout along the river turnpike to a point about a quarter of a mile fromthe place designated by the anonymous writer. Tying his horse to atree, he walked through the woods, and hid the note under the stonementioned in the letter. It was after nightfall when he reached home,where he was met with the heartrending and oft-repeated question,

  "Have you heard anything from Lily?"

  Fearing to betray himself, even to his family, and thus perhapsendanger the life of his child, he was compelled to answer, "No, not athing." With a heavy heart, he passed into his study. Supper wasannounced shortly afterward, and as the family gathered about thetable, the father noticed that his son was not present.

  "Where is Gilbert?" he inquired nervously.

  "Sandy was here and asked Gilbert to come over and spend the night withhim," answered Mrs. Franklin. "I hadn't the heart to refuse him, for Idon't believe any one has worked harder to find our lost darling thanSandy, and he seems to be the only one that can give Gilbert anyconsolation."

  "I think it's better that the boys stop searching," said the father."They might get themselves into trouble; it's too dangerous."

  "I don't believe you could stop those boys from hunting for Lillian, ifthey had to go into the very jaws of death," interposed the grandmother.

  "Oh, well," spoke the father; "they must not wear themselves out, andto-morrow, I will tell Gilbert and Sandy to leave the investigation tothe police."

  "They'll never do it," objected the grandmother, "they love Lillian toomuch. You mark my words."

  At this very moment, Sandy, Leander, Gilbert and Dink were together, inSandy's little garret room. Sandy closed the door carefully, locked it,and called his companions about him in the middle of the room.

  "Boys," he whispered, "afore I sez anythin', I wants yer to gimme yerword, honor bright, an' cross yer heart three times, that yer won'tspout a syllable of what I tells yer to a soul."

  All were agreed, and the boy began:

  "Now, it's this 'ere way. My boat wuz stolen an' left, right below theupper bridge, an' I foun' footprints an' this 'ere piece of ribbon,which Gil knows b'longed to his sister, for she wore it round her hair.Willie Bagner's skiff's bin stolen, an' I believe the party that tookit hez got little Lily, because I foun' the hoop I give her, an' thisenvellup in the same place, an' it seems to me the galoot whose name'son it is hid somewhere up the river, an' I'm goin' after him if I hasto go alone."

  "But you won't go alone, while I'm alive," insisted Leander, intenselyexcited.

  "An' I'm goin', too, even if I never come back," added Dink, taking itfor granted that he was needed.

  "And you must take me," said Gilbert imploringly.

  The four boys grasped one another's hands, and Sandy declared in asolemn tone:

  "We'll stick together to the bitter end."

  "What's your plan?" asked Leander, with great interest.

  "Without breathin' a word to a soul, to-night about nine o'clock wewants to leave the boat-house, you an' Dink in one skiff, an' me an'Gil in t'other, an' sneak up the river, an' try so nobody won't see us.When we gits to the upper bridge, paddle in as close to the Causeway onthe right, as we kin, huggin' the marsh all the way. Jest before we gitto Beaver Dam, there's a deep gut that runs 'longside of it fer ahundred yards or more. Foller me in there, Leander, an' stay hid till Isez move. Don't speak a word, from the time we push off till I sez so.Beaver Dam is the lonesomest creek in the world, an' mebbe Gil's littlesister is kept in one of them ol' shacks what muskrat hunters live in,in the spring an' summer. If them galoots is in there, they're mightyapt ter come out late at night, when they don't expec' nobody's roun'.Of course, nacherelly they have some plan about gettin' paid fer littleLily, an' they ain't a-goin' to stay in hidin' without tryin' to findout the lay er the land, an' jest how hot the police is on their trail.My idee is to go an' lay in ambush fer 'em all night. If they don'tcome out, we'll explore in the mornin', an' if we don't find 'em hidin'roun' Beaver Dam, then we'll lay low all day, an' push up the riverto-morrow night. But somehow, I think that's the place they would pickout to hide in. 'Tain't one person out er a million that would know howto git through Beaver Dam without gittin' lost, an' I'm a recollectin'I took Tom Foley through there onct an' that's why I'm goin' thereto-night. I knows it so well, I could go through with my eyes shet.

  "Each of us wants his pistol loaded fer keeps, a knife, an' about threeyards er rope he can tie round his waist. Let's have a bite o' supperright here in my house, an' then we'll start fer the river, but eachfeller goin' alone, an' in a different way. Now, remember, no talkin'to nobody, an' let's all say honor bright, an' cross our hearts threetimes ag'in."

  Sandy was the first to arrive at the boat-house. Securing the paddles,he put them into the skiffs and watched for his companions. He had notlong to wait. Gilbert came in a few moments, then Leander, and shortlyafterward, Dink. Not a word was spoken. Sandy motioned Gilbert to sitin the center seat of the Dolly, while he took his accustomed place atthe stern. Noiselessly they pushed into the stream, followed by Leanderand Dink.

  The tide was going out, and had, perhaps, two hours to ebb. The boyshugged the channel bank on the right, passed under the bridgeunnoticed, and kept on their silent and anxious way, mile after mile.Finally, Sandy steered into a creek and glided softly against the mudbank, holding his skiff firmly by driving a paddle into the soft soil.Leander and Dink followed suit. That they might be screened from anyone coming out of Beaver Dam, which was separated by a narrow strip ofmarsh-land, they lay flat on the bottom of their boats.

  The night was not especially dark, for the moon was looking
through amist of hazy clouds. It was bitingly cold, and though the boys becamenumb from the many minutes of inactivity, not one of them moved. Forfully an hour they had remained motionless, when faintly over the waterwas heard the splash, splash, splash, of paddles, far away.

  The searching party were all alert in an instant, and with raisedheads, peered cautiously over the top of the marsh line in thedirection of the sounds. Hardly a minute had passed, when out of theshadows that hid the entrance to Beaver Dam, there came slowly a skiffinto the clear water. It approached to within fifteen feet of thehidden boys, when they recognized a voice, distinctly saying:

  "I hope that guy Franklin's ben up to the landin' an' left the notewhere I tol' him to, an' don't try no shenanigan."

  "He ain't goin' to try no flapdoodles with us," was the quick answer.

  "Well, if he knows when he's well off," the first voice resumed, "he'llcome round with the rhino mighty quick, an' give us no more trouble."

  "I kin see us livin' like gent'men, a'ready."

  "Gent'men born an'--" the other began, but the last of his sentence waslost as the boat turned up the river, and the cadence of the paddlesdied in the distance.

  Sandy waited until the rascals had disappeared around the bend, thenshoving his skiff quickly alongside Leander's, he whispered into thelatter's ear:

  "Me an' Gil is goin' in to Beaver Dam. Yer knows them two fellers, an'so do I. One of 'em is the feller what whacked me, an' the t'other isthat bum Hildey. If they gits here afore I come back, you an' Dink'llhave to do somethin' desp'ret."

  "All right," said Leander, clutching his pistol, "you can trust me."

  Sandy rounded the point that divided the two creeks, and in a shorttime had paddled past the trees and vines that hung over and partlycovered the entrance to Beaver Dam. The boat was managed withconsummate skill, now left, now right, through the sinuous waterway,and the two boys had gone fully half a mile, when, without warning,they were rudely jolted as the skiff grated harshly on a bar.Ordinarily, such an incident would have been without effect upon them,but now their nerves were so highly strung, that the noise of the boatrubbing against the gravel seemed as loud as the report of a cannon.

  Using all possible force, Sandy and Gilbert succeeded in shoving theircraft back into the water. Then they pressed forward into the shadow ofan embankment on the left, and not a moment too soon did they reachGover, for the door of a hut was thrown open, and the voice of TomFoley was heard, asking:

  "Is that you, dad?"

  An instant later Foley was seen standing in the dim light of thedoorway, shading his eyes and peering into the darkness.

  "I say, dad, is that you?" came again. "I'll be doggoned if I didn'tthink I heerd somebody comin'. I guess 'tain't nuthin',"--lookinganxiously to the right and left. "I cert'nly does git scared out er myboots aroun' here, though, when I'm left alone. I'm goin' to wake upthe brat an' make her keep me comp'ny,"--and the door closed with abang.

  He had hardly gone inside when the piteous cry of a child was heard,"Please don't beat me, Tom."

  "I ain't beatin' yer; go ahead, dance fer me."

  Sandy and Gilbert were fairly crazed, and in their anger rushed uptoward the hut.

  Again came the cry, "Please don't hit me, Tom."

  "Dance, I say,"--and the sharp swish of a whip was heard.

  It took but a second for Sandy to bound into the room. Surprised andterrified, Foley made a dart for the door, but was met by Gilbert, who,pistol in hand, held him stock still. In desperation Foley reached fora club and ran back of the frightened child in the hope that she mightserve as guard against his assailant. Like a flash, Sandy followed, andknocked the cowardly brute senseless with the barrel of his pistol.

  Gilbert ran to his sister, and, taking her up, showered loving kissesupon her. With her arms clasped about his neck and her head nestlingon his shoulder, she cried:

  "Oh, Gil, I'm so glad you've come. I've been waiting all this time foryou. I knew Sandy would come, because he ain't afraid of robbers, oranybody else, even if he had his hands tied behind him. I've beenpraying for you every minute, and here you are." Again Gilbert pressedhis sister to his heart, and kissed her.

  Young Foley was still lying unconscious, as the result of the blow hehad received, and Sandy was clutching him tightly by the throat.

  "Take yer sister, little codger," said Sandy, "wrap her up, git in theskiff, an' I'll be with yer as soon as I tie this chuckle-headed idiotfast and tight."

  Gilbert left the hut with Lillian, while the other boy remained longenough to loosen the rope around his waist, and bind the young ruffiansecurely. Then he placed him in a corner of the room. Locking the doorbehind him, Sandy joined Gilbert in the skiff, and together theypaddled furiously out of the creek into the river.

  The moon was up in all her splendor, and objects on the water wereplainly visible for some distance. Lillian was seated in the bow,facing the two boys at the paddles. Leander and Dink fell in the wakeof Sandy's skiff, about ten yards in the rear.

  As the party reached the middle of the channel, a skiff came into viewfrom the bend, a short way above, and steered directly toward them.With a cry, Lillian stood up:

  "Oh, Gil, here come those two bad men that took me away."

  The boys turned, and they, too, recognized Dennis Foley and Hildey asthe occupants of the approaching boat.

  "Lie flat, little one," whispered Sandy, "an' don't move till I tellsyer."

  The child obeyed, but already Foley and his partner had espied her, andit was evident they were using all their efforts to catch up. Leandernow called:

  "It's the same gang, Sandy, that came out of the creek. What shall wedo?"

  "Paddle fer all ye're worth," was shouted back.

  "Hold up, or we'll shoot," yelled Dennis Foley.

  With that a pistol-shot was heard coming from the direction of thepursuers, but the bullet went wide of its mark, and the boys sped on.

  "Don't waste yer load unless yer have to," cautioned Sandy, "'cause yerwon't have time to put in 'nother, an' I don't want er draw their fire,fer fear they might hit Lily."

  The race had become one of life and death. The boys strained to theutmost their strong young muscles, and, with paddles bent almostdouble, drove their little craft like the wind before them. Down pastTurtle Creek they flew; Licking Banks were soon left behind, andshortly, they were alongside the Sycamores. Dink looked back over hisshoulder, and whispered:

  "We ain't gained on 'em a bit, an' they seem to be goin' strong."

  When the Meadows were reached, Dink said again:

  "They're comin' like everythin'."

  "Don't weaken," urged Leander; "as long as we're between them andSandy's skiff, they'll have to kill us before they can get to Lillian."

  The moon was casting its light on the waters like a great silvery path,and the splashing of the paddles was the only sound that awakened theechoes. Again came the sharp report of a pistol, and Dink dodged, as ifby instinct. He wheeled in his seat and shot point-blank at Foley, butthe ball imbedded itself in the side of the skiff behind and did nofurther damage.

  "That's tit for tat," said Dink, "but it wuz a mighty close call ferme. When the bullet whizzed past my ear I thought I was plugged, sure."

  There were now not more than fifteen yards between the boys and theirpursuers. Turning about, Leander saw Hildey raise his pistol and takecareful aim at him. Quick as thought, the boy fired first, and Hildeyuttered a sharp cry of pain, as his right arm fell helpless, and hispistol dropped into the water.

  "Curse the luck!" muttered Foley. "Don't give up, pard; we'll ketch'em afore they git much further."

  Though Hildey's right arm was useless, he plied the paddle with hisleft, and the men continued to gain. As the boys passed through underthe bridge, Leander's boat was abreast of Sandy, who whispered:

  "I'll take the swash on the right that goes through the big marsh andcomes out at the Devil's Elbow. You hug the channel bank, an' mebbewe'll fool 'em."

&nb
sp; Sandy knew that, after the river left the bridge, it went almostsoutherly for half a mile, then made an abrupt turn at right angles,pursued its way westward for another quarter of a mile, and then metthe swash channel, which cut diagonally through the big marsh. At thisjunction of the two streams a whirlpool called the Devil's Elbow hadbeen formed, a treacherous spot for small craft, and requiring rareskill to pass in safety.

  When Sandy told Leander to take the main channel, it was with adesperate hope that Foley and Hildey would be in doubt, for the moment,which skiff to follow as they came out under the bridge. Withinhimself, he reasoned that this hesitation, on their part, would consumesufficient time to permit the boys to gain a lead and reach in safetythe landing, two miles below.

  "The chances are jest even-Stephen," he said to Gilbert, "though itseparates us from Leander, till we reach the Devil's Elbow."

  But alas! Sandy's reasoning failed him for once this time.

  As Foley and Hildey came through under the bridge, the former cried:

  "Steer to the right channel an' foller that boat; that's the one thekid's in."

  "They're after us, darn 'em," said Sandy, "but we're gittin' aheadbully. Keep it up, Gil, an' we'll come out all right, see if we don't."

  Dripping with perspiration, and with hands burned and blistered, Sandyand Gilbert were forging ahead and gaining on their pursuers, strainingevery nerve to increase their lead. As they rounded a bend in thechannel, Hildey shouted:

  "There's yer chance to plug 'em, pard. Shoot!"

  Foley obeyed, and the boys' skiff, which was a metallic one, was boredthrough by the pistol ball. The water poured through the hole, andSandy shouted to Gilbert:

  "Drop yer paddle; take yer hat an' put it over the leak, tight as yerkin; bale with the other hand, or we'll sink in a minit. Lily, sit up,so yer won't get wet; but don't show yer head," and with a courage bornof despair, Sandy renewed his efforts.

  Foley was gaining rapidly, and it seemed that only a miracle couldprevent the boy's capture before they reached the Devil's Elbow.

  Three minutes passed with only the sound of the lightning-like dip ofthe paddles. Another short bend in the channel, and a hundred yardsahead was the confluence of the two currents, which were ever at war.

  "Keep on bailing, Gil," cried Sandy, "an' when we git past the Elbow,if they're too close to us, I'm goin' to use my pistol on 'em, but Idon't want ter shoot till I can make the shot tell fer all it's worth.Steady, Lily; hold tight, Gil; don't move, I'll git yer through withoutswampin', 'cause I knows every current in the Elbow."

  Through the mad swirl of waters the boy held his boat, and steered herinto the quiet tide beyond.

  Leander and Dink were just turning the bend of the main channel aneighth of a mile away, and the skiff containing Foley and Hildey hadreached the outer current of the eddy.

  "Now you've got 'em," yelled Hildey, as Sandy's skiff veered to theleft, not twenty yards from the other.

  "Not if I knows it," cried Sandy as he shot square at Foley, the ballgoing through the sleeve of his coat, but leaving him unharmed.

  "Curse yer fer a fool!" came from Foley, dropping his paddle andstanding up in the skiff, which now had nothing to guide it butHildey's exhausted arm. The skiff was rocking violently. Foleyattempted to balance himself as he raised his pistol to shoot. In aflash the frail craft was caught in the conflicting currents, itcareened and capsized, and the two men were battling for life in thewhirlpool.

  Sandy was so intent on escape that he had gone some distance downstream before realizing he was no longer pursued. Suddenly an agonizingcry was borne on the midnight air:

  "Help! Help! I'm drownin'!"

  The boy rested on his paddle, and scanned the river in the direction ofthe voice.

  "Don't let's let 'em drown like rats in a hole," said Sandy, and hestarted his boat back toward the bend.

  "Gil, gimme yer pistol. They may be tryin' to play some trick on us,an' if they are, we'll be ready for 'em."

  The precaution was unnecessary, for when they came near, they saw theupturned skiff circling around in the eddy, its paddles bobbing withthe waves, and the hats of Foley and Hildey slowly drifting toward thebank.

  Leander and Dink, meanwhile, had come up, and with the other two boysremained for fully half an hour waiting for some sign of the tworobbers, but in vain; for far beneath the surface of the water in themaddening current, the ill-spent lives of Foley and Hildey were ended.They were dead in the cruel embrace of the Devil's Elbow.