Kitabı oku: «The Automobile Girls Along the Hudson: or, Fighting Fire in Sleepy Hollow», sayfa 8
CHAPTER XV – THE HERMIT
“Do you know,” exclaimed Ruth, “I feel as if I were in an enchanted forest, and these strange people were witches and wizards! The robber might have been a wood-elf, and now here comes the old witch. Perhaps she will turn us into trees and animals.”
“Oh, that is old Jennie, who gathers herbs and sells them at all the drugstores in the towns around here,” replied Stephen, as a strange figure came into view.
The gatherer of herbs and roots was not, however, very witchlike in appearance. She was tall and erect, and walked with long strides like a grenadier. What was most remarkable about her were her wide, staring blue eyes, like patches of sky, that looked far beyond the young people who had grouped themselves at the side of the path almost timidly, waiting for her to come up. She carried with her a staff, and as she walked she poked the bushes and grasses with it as if it had been a long finger feeling for trophies. The other hand grasped the end of an apron made of an old sack, stuffed full of herbs still green, and fragrant from having been bruised as she crushed them into the bag.
“She is blind,” whispered Stephen, “but in a minute she will perceive that some one is near. She has a scent as keen as a hunting dog’s.”
A few yards away from them old Jennie paused and sniffed the air like an animal. Reaching out with her stick she felt around her. Presently the staff pointed in the direction of the boys and girls, and she came toward them as straight as a hunter after his quarry. The girls, a little frightened, started to draw back.
“She won’t hurt you,” whispered Stephen. “Why, Jennie,” he said in a louder voice, “don’t you know your old friend and playmate?”
A smile broke out on Jennie’s handsome face, which, in spite of her age, was as smooth and placid as a child’s.
“It’s Master Stephen!” she cried, in a strange voice that sounded rusty from lack of use. “I be glad to hear you, sir. It’s a long time since we’ve had a frolic in the woods. You don’t hunt birds’ nests in the summer now, or go wading in the streams. I found a wasps’ nest for you, perhaps it was a month, perhaps a year ago, I cannot remember. But I saved it for you. And how is young Master Martin? He was a little fellow to climb so high for the nests.”
“We are both well, Jennie, and you must come over to the hall and see us. We may have something nice for you, there, that will keep you warm when the snow comes.”
“Ah, you’re a good boy, Master Stephen, and I’ll bid ye good day now, and good day to your friends. There be four with you I think,” she added in a lower voice, sniffing the air again. “I’ll be over on my next trip to the village.” Old Jennie moved off as swiftly as she had come, tapping the path with her long stick, her head thrown back as if to see with her nostrils, since her eyes were without sight.
“What a strange old woman!” cried Stephen’s companions in one voice.
“And the strangest thing about her,” replied Stephen, “is that she has no sense of time. She can’t remember whether a thing happened a year ago or month ago, and she thinks Martin and I are still little boys. We haven’t hunted birds’ nests with her for six years. I have not even seen her for two or three years, but she sniffed me out as quickly as if I always used triple extract of tuberose.”
“Where does she live?” asked Bab.
“She lives in a little cabin off in the forest somewhere. Her father and mother were woodcutters. She was born and brought up right here. She doesn’t know anything but herbs and roots, and night and day are the same to her. She knows every square foot of this country, and never gets lost. Martin and I used to go about with her when we were little boys, and she was as faithful a nurse as you could possibly find.”
“No wonder you love these woods, Stephen,” said Bab. “There is so much to do and see in them. I wish we had something better than scrub oak around Kingsbridge.”
“Wait until you see the chief treasure of the woods, Barbara, and you’ll have even more respect for them.”
“Meaning the hermit?” asked Jimmie.
“But he won’t tell anything, will he?” demanded Ruth. “Didn’t you say he was a mystery?”
“The greatest mystery of the countryside,” replied Stephen. “Nobody knows where he came from, nor why he has been living here all these years – it’s about fifty, they say. You see, he is not ignorant, like the other wood people. He is a gentleman. His manners are as fine as uncle’s, and the people who live in the woods all love him. They come to him when they are sick or in trouble.”
“How does he live?” asked Alfred.
“He must have some money hidden away somewhere, for he always has enough to eat, and even to give when others need help. But nobody knows where he keeps it. In a hole in the ground somewhere, I suppose.”
While they were talking they had approached a clearing on the side of a hill. Most of the big trees had been cut away, and only the silver birch, “the white ladies,” as old Adam had christened them, and the dogwood, mingled their shade over the smooth turf. The grass was as thick and well kept as on the major’s lawn, only somewhat browned now for lack of water. All the bushes and undergrowth had been cleared away years before, and the place had a lived-in, homelike look in contrast to the great black forest that seemed to be crouching at its feet like a monster guarding it from the enemy. And indeed, that must have been what the mysterious man had intended when he built his little house at the top of the hill, for five miles of woods intervened between him and the outer world on one side, while on the other, was a high precipice that marked the end of the forest.
The house, a log cabin with a big stone chimney at one end, commanded a view, from the back, of a long stretch of valley. The portico in front was shaded by honeysuckle vines. Here, in an old-fashioned armchair, sat the master smoking a meerschaum pipe.
Stephen approached somewhat diffidently, taking off his cap.
“May we rest here a little, sir?” he asked. “We have walked a long way this morning.”
“You are most welcome,” said the old man in a deep, musical voice that gave the young people a thrill of pleasure. They looked at him curiously. He was tall and erect, with a beak-nose and black eyes that still had some of their youthful fire in them, despite the man’s great age and his snow white hair.
“Come in, and we will bring some chairs out for the young ladies.”
Stephen followed their host into the house while, through the open door, the others caught a glimpse of an enormous open fireplace and walls lined with books. The girls took the proffered chairs and sat down rather stiffly, while the old man reappeared, carrying a bucket and a gourd.
“Perhaps you are thirsty. Will you draw some water from the well?” he asked, turning to Stephen. He stopped abruptly and looked closely at the boy. “Why, it’s little Stephen,” he exclaimed, and with an expression half of pain, half pleasure, he added, “grown to be a man and how like” – But he paused and turned hastily away.
“I am glad to see you, sir,” replied Stephen, politely. He never knew exactly how to address the hermit, and he found not knowing his name somewhat awkward. “May I introduce my friends? Miss Ruth Stuart, Miss Barbara Thurston, Alfred Marsdale and Jimmie Butler.”
The old man bowed to the company as gracefully as if he had been receiving guests in a fine mansion.
“The names are,” he repeated gently, “Miss Ruth Stuart and – did I hear you aright – Miss – ?”
“Barbara Thurston,” finished Stephen.
“Barbara Thurston?” repeated the old man under his breath. “Barbara Thurston! Come here, my child, and let me look at you,” he added, in an agitated voice.
Barbara obediently came forward and stood before the hermit, who had covered his eyes with his hand for a moment, as if he were afraid to see her face.
“Barbara Thurston!” he exclaimed again. “Little Barbara!” And drawing from his pocket a pair of horn spectacles, he put them on and examined her features. He seemed to have forgotten the others. Suddenly he removed the spectacles and looked up in a dazed way.
“On the very day! The very day!” he cried, and waving his arms over his head in a wild appeal to heaven, he turned and rushed down the hillside. In another moment the forest had swallowed him up, while the five young people stood staring after him in amazement.
“Well, of all the rummy old chaps!” exclaimed Alfred.
“Oh, he’s touched of course,” said Stephen, tapping his head. “He must be. You know old Adam said he’s always pretty bad at this time of the year. I suppose it is the anniversary of something. But, Barbara, what do you mean by going and stirring up memories?”
“It wasn’t I; it was my name,” replied Barbara. “Once there was a girl named Barbara, but the rest of the story can never be written, because he won’t tell what it is.”
“Let’s have a peep at the house before we go,” said Jimmie, “and then let’s eat. I’m starving.”
“All right,” said Stephen. “Step right in and have a look for yourselves, but hurry up before the old gentleman comes back.”
The place was certainly comfortable and cosy-looking, in spite of the wooden walls and bare floors. It was spick and span and clean, kept that way by Adam’s wife, Stephen explained. There were a great many books, some of them in foreign languages, two big easy-chairs near the open fireplace, and on an old mahogany table, the only other piece of furniture in the room, a brown earthenware jar filled with honeysuckle. Only one picture hung on the wall, a small miniature suspended from a nail just over the pot of flowers. Ruth examined the picture closely. Besides his books, she thought, this little miniature was perhaps the only link with the outer world that the old man had permitted himself to keep.
“Come here, everybody, quick,” she called, “and look at this miniature. As I live, it’s enough like Bab to be a picture of her, except for the old-fashioned dress and long ringlets.”
They looked at the picture carefully, taking it down from its nail in order to see it in the light.
“My word!” exclaimed Jimmie. “It’s as good a likeness as you could wish to find. It must have been the resemblance that gave the old man the fit, then, and not the name.”
The miniature showed the face of a young girl, somewhat older than Barbara, but certainly very like her in features and expression. She had the same laughing mouth and frank, brown eyes, the same chestnut hair curling in crisp ringlets around the forehead, but caught up loosely in the back in a net and tied with a velvet snood. She wore a bodice of rose-colored taffeta cut low in the neck, and fastened coquettishly among the curls was a pink flower.
“Who is it, Barbara?” asked Stephen. “Have you any idea?”
“I can’t imagine,” replied Bab. “Perhaps it’s just a coincidence. I am not an uncommon type and may have lots of doubles. There are many people in this world who have brown eyes and brown hair. You meet them at every turn.”
“Yes,” said Ruth, “but all of them haven’t regular features and little crisp curls, and just that particular expression. However, we must go. We shouldn’t like the hermit to come back and find us prying into his affairs. And that is why he is here, evidently – to hide from pryers.”
“Yes,” agreed Stephen, “I really do think we had better be going. I know a pretty little dell where we can eat lunch if Jimmie can restrain his appetite until we get there.”
“Well, cut along, then,” ordered Jimmie, “and let us hasten to the banquet hall.”
Closing the door carefully behind them the young folks hurried toward the woodcutters’ road.
CHAPTER XVI – A SURPRISE
When the last sandwich had been eaten, and the last crumb of cake disposed of, the picnic party leaned lazily against the moss-covered trunk of a fallen tree to discuss the events of the morning.
José was the subject of the talk. All were inclined to believe, now, that they had been deceived by the strong resemblance between the young Spaniard and the mischievous person who had mystified them in the woods that morning. It seemed impossible that José was a thief, or that he could have been guilty of such trifling trickery as the individual in the robber’s clothes. José, quiet and reserved though he was, had become a favorite with the young people.
“It is strange,” said Ruth. “He must have the nameless charm, because there is not one of us who does not like him. As for me, I feel sorry for him. And why, I’d like to know?”
“It’s his mournful black eye, my dear young lady,” replied Jimmie.
“Whatever it is,” said Stephen, decisively, “we must not make any accusations without knowing, for certain, that we are right. It is rather an uncomfortable situation, I think, considering he is uncle’s guest.”
“It is, indeed,” replied Alfred, “and I vote that we say not a word to anyone until we find out where José spent the morning.”
“Agreed by all,” cried Jimmie. “Am I right, girls?”
The two girls assented, and the matter was settled.
“I think we had better be moving on toward home, now,” said Stephen, “if we want to escape a scolding from Miss Stuart.”
“All right, general,” replied Jimmie. “The bivouac is at an end. Rise, soldiers, and follow your leader.” He cocked his hat, turned up his coat collar and struck a Napoleon pose.
There was a stifled laugh, from behind a clump of alder bushes – a coarse laugh that made the boys look up quickly and uneasily.
“What was that?” asked Ruth, frightened.
Without waiting for a reply, Alfred divided the bushes with his cane disclosing three pairs of eyes gazing impudently at them. Three figures untangled themselves from the bushes and rose stiffly, as if they had been lying concealed there for a long time. The girls gave a stifled cry of alarm, for each recognized the giant tramp, who had attacked them near the churchyard of Sleepy Hollow; and his companions were probably the same, although the girls had not seen them at that time. The leader of the three roughs did not recognize them, however. He had been too much intoxicated to remember their faces; but he was sober, now, and in an uglier mood than when he had been in his cups.
“So ho!” he cried. “We have here five rich, young persons – rich with the money they have no right to – stolen money – stolen from me and mine. While we beg and tramp, and dress in rags, you throw away the money we have earned for you. Well, we won’t have it. Will we, pals? We’ll get back some of the money that belongs to us by rights. You’ll hand out what you’ve got in your pockets, and, if it ain’t enough, we’ll keep you into the bargain until your fathers they pays for your release. D’ye see? Ho! Ho!” He roared out a terrible laugh until the woods resounded.
The three boys had lined up in front of the two girls and Stephen had called to them reassuringly over his shoulder:
“Start on, girls. You know the path. Follow it the way we came. If you meet Adam, ask him to go with you, or even old Jennie. Don’t be frightened. It’ll be all right, but we’ve got to fight.”
Barbara and Ruth, both very calm and pale, were standing silently, waiting for orders.
“Do you think we could help by staying, Bab?” asked Ruth.
“I don’t know, dear,” replied Bab. “Wait, and let me think a moment.” She closed her eyes and her moving lips repeated the little prayer: “Heaven, make me calm in the face of danger,” but in that moment the fight had begun. The two girls stood fascinated, rooted to the spot.
Stephen, who was a trained boxer, had tackled the leader and had managed to give him several straight blows, at the same time dodging the badly-aimed blows from the big fist of his opponent. Alfred had purposely chosen the next largest tramp, leaving a small, wiry man for Jimmie to grapple with. Alfred, also, had been carefully trained in the arts of boxing and wrestling; but his opponent was no mean match for him, and the two presently were rolling over and over on the ground, their faces covered with dust and blood. Poor Jimmie was not a fighter. All his life he had shunned gymnasiums, preferring to thrum the piano or the guitar, or invent models for airships. However, the boy was no coward and he went at his enemy with a will that was lacking in force only because he himself lacked the muscle to give it. But the wiry fellow who had been his portion was evidently the best-trained fighter of the three tramps, and it was only a few moments before Jimmie was bleeding from the nose and one eye was blacked. It looked as if Alfred, too, were getting the worst of it, while Stephen and his tramp were still raining blows upon each other, jumping about in a circle. Bab longed to help Jimmie, but she saw, and Ruth agreed, that they would do more harm than good.
The two girls decided to run for help, even if they had to run all the way to Ten Eyck Hall, especially as, in the midst of the scrimmage, Stephen had called out to them to hurry up.
Making the best speed they could through the brambles and ferns, they had gone not more than a few rods when, pausing in their flight, they found themselves face to face with blind Jennie.
“What is happening?” demanded the old woman in a terrified whisper. “I hear the sound of blows. I smell blood.”
“There is a fight, Jennie,” replied Bab, almost sobbing in her excitement. “We must get help quickly from somewhere. Are the Gypsies far from here?”
“Yes,” answered Jennie. “Not so near as the hall. But wait! Come with me,” and her face was illumined by the expression of one who is about to reveal a well-kept secret.
“But, Jennie, is it help you are bringing us?” asked Ruth, demurring a little.
“You may trust old Jennie,” exclaimed the blind woman. “Be ye not the friends of young Master Stephen?”
The two girls followed without a word.
Almost in sight of the fighters, she paused by the stump of a hollow tree which, when rolled away by her strong arm, disclosed a sort of trapdoor underneath. Lifting the door, crudely constructed with strips of wood, the bark still on, the girls saw a small underground chamber dug out like a cellar. The walls were shored up with split trees which also did duty as cross beams. There was a rough, hand-made ladder at the opening, and at one side a shelf on which was neatly folded – could they believe their eyes – the suit of green velveteen. Old Jennie, who seemed to be peering down into the cavity with her sightless blue eyes, shook Bab’s arm impatiently.
“Get the firearms,” she whispered. “They be on the shelf. I felt them there last time.”
Sure enough, lying in the shadow at the far end of the shelf the girls made out two pistols gleaming ominously in the dark. Without a word, Bab bounded down the ladder, and seizing the pistols was up again almost as quickly.
“Ruth,” she said, “have you forgotten our rifle practice in the Berkshires?”
“No,” replied her friend. “All you have to do is to cock it and pull the trigger, isn’t it?”
“That’s right,” answered Bab. “Take this one and come on. They are both loaded, I see. Don’t fire unless I tell you, and be careful where you aim. You had better point up so as not to hit anybody. Jennie, wait for us over here. I believe you have saved us all.”
So saying, Bab ran, followed by Ruth, to the scene of the battle. And it was indeed a battle! Jimmie was lying insensible on the ground, while his opponent had joined in the fight against Stephen, who was rapidly losing strength. Alfred and his tramp were still rolling over and over, locked in each other’s arms.
A few feet away from the fighters Bab fired her pistol in the air. The explosion stopped the fight. So intent had the combatants been that they had forgotten time and place. At the report of the pistol they came to themselves almost with a jump. Everybody, except poor, unconscious Jimmie, paused breathless, perspiration pouring from their faces. Alfred had got the better of his opponent and his hands gripped the man’s throat. Bab, followed by Ruth, dashed up, and both girls pointed their pistols at the two tramps who were engaging Stephen.
“Shall we shoot them, Stephen?” asked Bab as calmly as if nothing had happened.
“Throw up your hands,” cried Stephen to the tramps; which they proceeded to do in prompt order. “Now, give me your pistol, Ruth; give yours to Alfred, Bab.”
In the meantime, Alfred had risen, hardly recognizable in a coating of dust and blood, ordering his man to lie quiet or be killed.
“Suppose we herd them together, Stephen,” he suggested, “and drive them up to the hall like the cattle they are?”
“Just what I was thinking,” replied Stephen, “only what about Jimmie?”
“The girls will see to him,” answered Alfred.
“No, no,” retorted Stephen. “We can’t leave the girls here alone with him in that condition, not after this. There may be more tramps lurking around, for all we know.”
Just then an exclamation from Ruth, who was kneeling beside the prostrate Jimmie, caused the two boys to turn their heads involuntarily, and in that moment, the two men who were standing with their arms up at the point of Stephen’s pistol, ran for the underbrush, Stephen shot and missed his aim. He shot again and hit the small fellow in the leg, having aimed low; not wishing to kill even in self-defense. But the tramps had plunged into the woods, and were out of sight in an instant.
“Better not go after them, Stephen,” called Alfred. “We’ve got one here and we may catch the others later. I wish we had a rope to tie this fellow’s hands with.”
“Try this,” suggested Ruth, and she calmly tore the muslin ruffle off her petticoat and handed the strip to Alfred, who bound the man’s hands behind his back and ordered him to sit still until he was wanted.
Meanwhile, the two girls had turned their attention to Jimmie, who showed no signs of returning consciousness, but lay battered and bleeding, a sad sight in comparison to the joyous Jimmie of half an hour before. Blind Jennie had come from her hiding place behind a tree, and was kneeling beside the wounded boy. Feeling the abrasions on his face with her sensitive fingers, she shuddered.
“He should have water,” she whispered. “There is a brook not far from here. I will show you,” and she turned her sightless eyes in the direction of Stephen, who was guarding the remaining tramp.
“Ruth, you and Alfred take our three hats and go with Jennie for the water. Alfred, take the pistol with you in case of another attack. Bab, you stay and look after Jimmie, please.”
Ruth and Alfred followed after old Jennie, while Bab, kneeling beside Jimmie, began chafing his wrists. Not a sound broke the stillness. Stephen, on a log, had his pistol cocked and pointed straight at the tramp who was huddled in a heap on the ground, gazing sullenly into the barrel of the pistol. Bab had not looked around for some time, so intent was she on her efforts to bring some life back into poor Jimmie. But feeling a sudden, unaccountable loneliness, she called:
“Stephen, aren’t you curious to know where we found the pistols?”
There was no answer, and, looking over her shoulder, Bab was horrified to see Stephen lying prone on the ground in a dead faint, the pistol still grasped tightly in his hand, while the tramp had evidently lost no time in joining his pals.
Leaving Jimmie, Bab rushed to Stephen. First releasing the pistol from his hand, she laid it on a stump. Then she began rubbing his wrists and temples.
“Poor old Stephen!” she murmured. “You were hurt all the time and never said a word.”
Slowly he opened his eyes and looked at Bab in a sort of shamefaced way.
“I suppose the tramp got away?” he asked.
“Who cares,” replied his friend, “if you aren’t hurt?”
“Oh, I’m not,” he answered. “I was only winded. That big fellow gave me a blow, just as you shot the pistol off, that nearly did for me. But I thought I could keep up until the others came back. I knew I couldn’t go for the water. How did you get the pistols?”
By the time Bab had finished her story the others had come up with the water.
“It’s just as well the tramp has gone,” said Alfred, when he had heard what had happened. “I don’t believe we could have managed him and Jimmie, too.”
They bathed Jimmie’s face and wrists with the cold spring water, and it was a battered and disconsolate young man who finally opened his one good eye on the company.
“I think,” said Stephen, “we had better put these pistols back where they were. If they are gone, the robber will take alarm and we’ll never catch him. I don’t think we’ll be attacked by those tramps any more to-day. They’ll never imagine we have left the pistols.”
The others agreed, and the pistols were left on the shelf by Bab, who remembered exactly where they had been when she found them. All the others, even Jimmie, peered curiously down into the underground room.
“I don’t think it’s been very long dug,” observed Alfred. “There is so much fresh earth around the door. The fellow carted most of it away, I suppose, and put leaves and sticks over what was left. But there is plenty of evidence of fresh earth, just the same.”
“So there is,” replied Stephen. “Jennie, you did a good day’s work when you found that hole in the ground. You may have saved our lives, for all we can tell.”
But the old woman only muttered, as she punched the leaves with her staff. The somewhat dilapidated picnic party resumed its homeward journey, Jimmie supported by his two friends and stopping often to rest, while the two girls followed, keeping a sharp lookout on both sides. Old Jennie brought up the rear.
