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

“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.

CHAPTER XX

ERNEST EXPLORES THE CAVE

James Fox had very little to say during the evening. He was evidently preoccupied and anxious and paid scant attention to the boys.

Frank knew so little of his father’s business or occupation that he could conceive of no cause for worriment. When his advances met with little response he asked: “Have you got a headache, papa?”

“No – yes, child. My head troubles me some. Be as quiet as you can.”

“Will it disturb you if I play checkers with Ernest, papa?”

“No, I should like to have you amuse yourself,” answered the outlaw.

He directed the boys to go to bed early. They slept together and he threw himself on the lounge without taking off his clothes.

Ernest slept well. When he woke up at eight o’clock he saw that Frank was still sleeping, but his host was already up.

Juba came into the room.

“Get up, children,” she said. “Breakfast is ready.”

“Where is papa?” asked Frank.

“He took breakfast an hour ago, honey.”

“What made him get up so early?”

“’Portant business called him away.”

“Where’s Uncle John?”

“He hasn’t been home.”

“Has he got ’portant business too?”

“’Specs he has, honey.”

“It doesn’t seem nice to take breakfast without papa,” said the little boy.

“You may consider me your papa, Frank,” observed Ernest.

“But you’re not big enough to be a papa.”

When breakfast was over there was the long day before them to be filled up in some way.

“Don’t you ever wish to go out of the cave, Frank?” asked Ernest.

“Where?” asked the little boy.

“Into the bright sunshine, out on the green grass and under the trees.”

“Yes, I think I should like it,” answered Frank thoughtfully. “But papa does not want me to go. I don’t know why. Do many little boys live in caves like me?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Can they walk about in the sunshine and play?”

“I always did.”

“Do you like it better than living here?”

“Yes.”

“Then what made you come here?”

This was an embarrassing question and Ernest felt that he must answer carefully.

“Your papa wanted me to make you a visit,” he replied after a pause.

“And I am glad you came. It isn’t so lonely for me. Before I had only Juba.”

“Wouldn’t she play with you?” asked Ernest with a smile.

“Juba is too old to play. I hope you will stay with me a good while.”

Ernest could not echo this wish, so he answered evasively:

“I can’t tell yet how long I shall stay. But the time will come when you will leave the cave and live like other little boys in a house.”

“Did papa tell you that?”

“He told me that he should send you to school before long.”

“What is a school like?” asked the little boy anxiously.

“There will be a good many boys, some older, some younger than yourself. You will study lessons together and play together.”

“I think that will be nice.”

“Yes, I am sure you will enjoy it.”

“Did you ever go to school?”

“Oh, yes; I went to school for some years.”

“Perhaps you will go to school with me?”

“I can’t tell,” answered Ernest vaguely. “Perhaps Juba will go to school with you.”

Frank laughed.

“She would look funny going to school,” he said.

“What’s dat you sayin’ ’bout Juba, Massa Ernest?” asked the old woman.

“I told Frank you might go to school with him.”

“Maybe I’d go and take care of him, honey.”

“But you wouldn’t want to study?”

“I wouldn’t study nohow. I’s a poor, ignorant nigger.”

“Don’t you think you could learn to read?”

“No, I couldn’t. It takes white folks to read.”

“No; Juba, when I went to school there was a colored boy in my class, and he was one of the smartest scholars we had.”

“And was he a nigger?” asked Juba.

“We didn’t call him that, but he was a colored boy. If he could learn to read I am sure you could.”

“It’s no use, chile. I’m too old now.”

Much as he liked Frank, it was irksome to Ernest to remain all day in the cave.

They got through the forenoon somehow, taking dinner at twelve o’clock.

About two o’clock Frank complained of being sleepy.

“You won’t mind if I go to sleep for an hour, Ernest?” he said.

“Oh, no,” answered Ernest. “I can read.”

Since his exploration of the day before Ernest had been longing to visit once more the same portion of the cave. But he wanted to go alone. He had a hope that through the aperture in the roof he might effect his escape. It would not do to have Frank with him, as this would interfere with his plan. Now the longed-for opportunity was almost at hand.

He took a volume from the bookshelf and sitting down beside the bed began to read. But his mind was not on the book, though at another time he would have enjoyed it. He watched Frank and in less than fifteen minutes saw that he was fast asleep.

Then he left the room, Juba being occupied in the kitchen. He secured his hat, as he would need it in case he effected his escape.

As he passed through that apartment in the cave where there were trunks and boxes it occurred to him to open one of them. He was rather surprised that it should be unlocked.

It was filled with a miscellaneous assortment of articles, but on top to his surprise and joy he recognized the envelope containing the bonds that had been taken from him.

If he left the cave he would want these, and therefore he had no hesitation in taking them. He put them in the inside pocket of his vest and kept on his way.

In a short time he reached the spot lighted by the aperture in the roof.

The opening was large enough for him to get through, but the difficulty was that it was fifteen feet above the floor of the cave. Ernest was something of a gymnast, but it was out of his power to reach the opening through which he could obtain deliverance.

He looked about to see if there were any articles he could pile upon one another to attain the aperture. But the cave was quite empty of articles of any description, nor could he find any that he could move in the portions which he had already traversed.

It was aggravating to be so near freedom and yet unable to obtain it. Just above him, he could see the blue sky and the cheerful sunshine, while he was a prisoner in a dark cavern.

Was there no way of reaching the opening? he asked himself.

If he had to give up hope he would feel obliged to return the envelope to the box from which he had taken it. Were its loss discovered he would of course be searched and kept in stricter seclusion than before.

In the room used by the outlaw as a sitting-room he might be able to find what he needed. But he could not remove anything without being detected, and should he return there he would possibly find Frank awake, which would spoil all.

It looked as if he would have to give up the chance that had come to him. In thoughtful mood he walked slowly back. All at once an idea struck him. In the room where the trunks and boxes were stored he had seen a long rope. Could he do anything with it?

Looking up at the aperture he noticed a jagged projection on one side.

“If I could attach the rope to that,” he reflected, “I could draw myself up hand over hand till I reached the top, and then it would go hard if I didn’t get out.”

With new hope in his heart he retraced his steps rapidly till he reached the storeroom.

He knew just where to look for the rope. He examined it carefully and found it very stout and strong.

He took it back with him. Then making a loop at one end he stood under the opening and threw it up as he would a lasso. He had to try a dozen times before he contrived to circle the projection with the loop.

Then pulling it taut he began to climb hand over hand as he had many a time done in sport. Now his deliverance depended upon it.

Slowly, foot by foot, he approached the opening, not knowing whether if he reached it he would be able to draw himself through the hole.

CHAPTER XXI

OUT OF THE FRYING-PAN

Arrived at the opening, Ernest found that there was a trap-door, which through carelessness had been left open. It was, however, a serious problem to draw himself up so as to profit by what he had already done.

Twice he failed and nearly lost his grip on the rope. Then he caught hold of the projection from which the rope depended, and by a supreme effort he succeeded, helping himself by means of the trap-door in emerging from his subterranean prison.

Stretching himself he took a deep breath and realized joyfully not only that he was free, but that he had recovered the valuable bonds of which he had been placed in charge.

He began to look around him and tried to conjecture in what direction he must go to reach Lee’s Falls. He was quite at a loss, as he had been carried into the cave blindfolded. But help seemed to be at hand. He saw at a little distance, rapidly approaching him, a man of middle height whom he concluded to be a resident of some place in the vicinity.

“Can you tell me in what direction I must go to reach Lee’s Falls?” he asked.

The stranger paused and examined him.

“So you want to go to Lee’s Falls?” he said.

“Yes, sir.”

“Where do you come from?”

“From Emmonsville.”

“Direct?”

“No.”

“I saw you just now coming out of some opening in the earth.”

This alarmed Ernest. He felt that he might be called upon to explain where he had been.