CHAPTER XIV
Mary Broughton was where Dorothy suspected her to be; and standing wellback among the deeper shadows, she had been straining her eyes to seeall that took place on the rocky platform above the cave.
She marvelled greatly at the lengthy converse Dorothy seemed to beholding with the stranger, after Johnnie Strings disappeared over theside of the rocks in the direction of Riverhead Beach; and she hadstarted out of the wood, half determined to go and meet the youngergirl, when she saw her leaving the peak.
A prudent afterthought led her to draw back again when she saw the twoforms swallowed up in the deeper darkness lying at the base of therocks. Then, hearing steps coming toward her hiding-place, she was onthe point of calling out, when Dorothy's words came to her ears, andshe remained silent, but still wondering what scheme her friend waspursuing, and who was the stranger with whom she seemed to be upon suchexcellent terms.
Then came the impulse that she had better find her way to the BlackHole, and tell the waiting party of what had happened; and acting uponthis, she set out at once.
She had not gone very far when there came to her the sound of trampingfeet; and hastening to get out of the more open part of the wood, shedrew aside amongst the denser growth.
She now heard a low-pitched voice singing a snatch of an old song,trolling it off in a rollicking fashion that bespoke the youth of thesinger,--
"We hunters who follow the chase, the chase, Ride ever with care a race, a race. We care not, we reck not--"
Here the song was silenced by another voice which Mary recognized asthat of Doak, an old fisherman, who growled: "Belay that 'ere pipin',Bait. Hev ye no sense, thet ye risk callin' down the reg'lars on uswith such a roarin'?"
They were now quite near; and slipping out of the bushes, Mary calledout, "Doak, is that you?"
"Who be it?" he demanded quickly, while all the other men came to ahalt.
"It is I--Mary Broughton. Don't stop to question me, but listen towhat I have to tell you."
She told them in the briefest possible way of what had happened. Andin doing this, she deemed it wiser to tell them of Dorothy's disguise,being fearful of what might befall the girl should the men chance tomeet her,--more especially as they would now be on the lookout for thestranger, who was doubtless an ill wisher to their scheme.
Doak chuckled mightily over it all, particularly at Mary's descriptionof Dorothy kicking the lanterns off the rock; and several of the othermen gave hoarse utterance to their admiration.
"Ev'ry natur' be fitted for its own app'inted work," remarked old Doak,dogmatically. "If Mistress Dorothy had not allers been darin', by thenatur' o' things, she'd never a ketched holt o' the right rope so truean' quick as she hev this night,--God bless her!"
Here a younger voice broke in impatiently with, "But, Doak, we oughtn't to stand here chatterin' like this."
"True, true, Tommy Harris," the old man replied good-naturedly. "But,"turning to Mary, "what shall ye do, Mistress Mary? Hed n't ye best letone o' the boys tek ye to the house? Ye see we be goin' down to theshore to Master John an' the rest of 'em, as was 'greed we should assoon as we saw the 'Pearl' show her light."
Mary said she preferred to go with them. But the old man shook hishead, and his companions began to move onward.
"D'ye think 'twould be wise, mistress?" he asked gravely. "Ye see wedon't know jest what sort o' work we may find cut out forus,--'specially if the man ye saw throttlin' Johnnie Strings were aBritish spy, as belike he were, pretty sure." Then he addedimpatiently, "I wonder where in tarnation Johnnie hev gone to, thet hedid n't cut back to tell us?"
"And I am wondering where Dorothy has gone," said Mary, with muchanxiety.
"I rather guess ye need hev no fear for her, mistress," Doak made hasteto reply. "She be wide awake, I'll bet my head, where'er she be."
"But it seems so strange a thing that she should go off in suchfashion," Mary said, by no means satisfied with the old man's confidentwords.
"She went 'cause she wanted to go; an' she wanted to go 'cause she sawwork cut out to do, I warrant ye," declared Doak, with whom the girlhad always been a great favorite, since the days he used to take herand Mary Broughton on fishing excursions in his boat. "But as to ye,mistress--"
"It is this way, Doak," she said, interrupting him: "you see I cannotget into the house until I find Dorothy; for she has the key of theonly door by which I could enter, except I disturbed every one."
"If ye did thet, Mistress Mary, the father would find out all 'bout theprankin', eh?" And he chuckled knowingly.
"And so 't is best," she went on, paying no attention to him, "that Igo along with you until we can see Master John; and he will know whatto do."
"Very well, Mistress Mary," Doak said; "come 'long o' me, an' 't willgo hard with any man as seeks to molest ye,--though, from what JohnnieStrings told me o' what ye did to the spyin' Britisher this mornin'--"
Here he stopped short, both in speech and walking,--for they had beenhurrying to overtake the others, now well in advance--and slapping histhigh, exclaimed: "I hev it, I hev it! What a blind old fool I be, notto hev thought o' thet afore! 'T were sure to be the same devil, orsome one he sent, thet ye saw fightin' with Johnnie Strings."
"Do you think so?" asked Mary, surprised that the thought had notoccurred to her before. "Whatever should make him come back there atthis hour of the night?"
"Spyin', mistress, spyin', as 't is the only business he an' hissoldiers be sent down to do hereabouts. Who can say how many of 'em belyin' 'round this minute, to jump on us?"
Mary glanced about apprehensively, and moved a little closer to thesturdy fisherman's side.
They were now out of the woods, and could discern vaguely in the openfield before them the dark forms grouped near the shore, awaiting somesignal or sign that might bespeak the expected boats.
Mary and Doak joined the others, and they all stood in silence,watching the black water, now streaked with a narrow bar of sullen redfrom the eastern sky, where, out of a wild-looking cloud-bank, the moonwas just lifting a full, clear disk.
"Can ye see aught?" muttered one stalwart fellow to his nearestneighbor,--the two standing near Mary and old Doak.
"Not I," was the low reply. "Mayhap they won't come at all now, sinceseein' the lanterns go out."
"Whate'er be ye thinkin' on?" chimed in Doak. "Cap'n Brattle hevbrought the stuff down, fast 'nough; an' he won't be for carryin' itover to Salem, under the Gov'nor's nose. 'T is to be brought here; an'here, an' nowhere else, hev they got to land it. They'll only be moreon the lookout now--thet's all. They know us to be here, an' all theyhev to do be to get to us. An' get to us they will, 'though the meadowbe grass-grown with redcoats, an' the King hisself 'mongst 'em."
"D--n the King and all his redcoats!" came hoarsely from another man;and then the talk was stopped by a faint sound from the water.
Doak commanded the men to keep perfectly silent, for only the keenestalertness could catch what the wind now brought to them. It was thefaintest imaginable noise of working oars; and it sent a shudder, likea great sigh, through the waiting group.
Mary Broughton felt her pulses thrill as the sound became moredistinct; and she glanced nervously about, and back of her,--at thedark woods on the one hand, the frowning rock-piles on the other, andat the sweep of clear meadows in the rear.
"Draw aside, Mistress Mary, do ye now, please," Doak urged, laying hishand upon her arm. "Get over there close by the rocks. For if so bethere comes any surprise from the Britishers, 'twill surely be from theback of us, here; an' in such case ye'll be safe an' clear from 'em, orfrom flyin' bullets, if ye get behind the rocks."
She felt the wisdom of this advice, and silently complied, while hewent forward to the men, now drawn down close to the water's edge.
The next moment he sent a likely-to-be-understood signal out over thewater. It was the curlew's cry, which he imitated perfectly; and whileit rang out softly, it was clear and penetrating.
There was a second of silence, save for the wind, and the rippling ofthe waves upon the shingle; then came a like cry from out the darkness,and seeming nearer than had the sound of the oars.
"Now, then, lads, face 'bout, an' watch afore ye!" Doak commanded, hisvoice now strong with excitement; and pushing through them until hereached the very edge of the water, he sent back another call,--loud,clear, and fearless in its sound.
The other men, with faces turned inland, stood with listening ears andkeen eyes, each gripping his gun, ready to repel the onslaught of anylurking enemy that might be awaiting a favorable moment to swoop downupon them.
Following close upon Doak's second call there came the unmistakablesound of rapidly working oars. Then a sizable lump of dark shadowshowed, speeding toward the beach, and soon defining its shape intothat of a large rowboat.
Crouched closely against the rocks, and listening with checkedbreathing, Mary Broughton almost cried aloud as a step startled her.Then looking intently at the form drawing near, she recognized it, andsaid quickly, with a deep sigh of relief, "Oh, Dorothy!"
"Yes, Mary--is that you?" The speaker came closer and asked eagerly,"Are those our own men down there on the shore, and was it the boatthey were signalling with the curlew's cry?"
"Yes, and the boat is nigh in. But whatever have you been up to, Dot,and who was the man you went off with, and where is he now?"
To this fusillade of questions Dorothy only replied with a laugh. Thenshe asked in turn, "Where is Johnnie Strings?"
"No one knows," Mary answered. "'T is old Doak down there with themen." And she added with a little impatience, "But why don't you tellme, Dot--what has become of that man?"
Dorothy laughed once more. "I have been locking him away, out ofmischief; and now he's as safe as if he had stopped where he belonged,instead of coming to prowl about here at this hour of the night. Itwas the Britisher, Mary,--the same one who gave us such a turn thismorning. He mistook me for my own brother, and I improved the chanceto lead him away by the nose."
"But how?" Mary asked in astonishment. "What do you mean by all this,and what have you done with him?"
"I made him think that I could show him somewhat of importance to hiscause; and so I lured him up into father's new cattle-shed, in theten-acre lot, and I bolted him in there safely enough, unless he shouldmanage to break the bar that holds the door. I could not lock it, forTrent has the key; but I should think the bar was strong enough to holdthe door--at least until the arms be safely landed and stowed away."
"Then he was all alone?" Mary inquired, still too full of anxiety tomake any present comment upon Dot's exploit.
"Yes, all alone."
"What did he say to you?"
"Say!" Dorothy exclaimed with a little laugh. "Oh, he said a good manythings. He spoke most glibly of Mistress Dorothy Devereux; and he toldme that if I'd say my name was the same as hers, he'd go away, and notinspect more closely the goings on he had overseen, and which headmitted were not to his liking."
"Dot!" And Mary's tone was distinctly reproachful.
"Well," almost defiantly, "he did say all that, and more too."
"But," asked Mary, "did he not find you out--that you were a girlmasquerading in boy's apparel?"
"Not he," with another laugh. "And I trust he never will, after thehoydenish manner of speech I thought it best to use in keeping up mycharacter. He took me for a young brother of Mistress DorothyDevereux, I tell you."
"Yes," Mary said musingly, as if to herself, "and I pray no harm maycome of it."
"Harm!" Dorothy exclaimed, quick in her own justification. "What harmcan come of it? I take it as a most lucky thing that I was able to gethim out of the way. Had I not done so, then you might have hadsomething to say about harm."
"He would have been taken prisoner by our men, had he stayed abouthere," Mary asserted confidently, "and would have been shot, had hemade any disturbance. And that would have been just what he deserved."Her usually gentle voice sounded unnaturally hard.
"Oh, Mary," her friend cried, regardless of who might be withinhearing, "how can you speak so harshly--and he such a handsome younggallant?"
"What is it to us, whether he be handsome or ill-favored?" was Mary'ssharp retort. "What interest have you in him?"
"I should be sorry if he were hurt." And Dorothy's tone was almosttender by comparison with that of her companion.
"Shame on you, Dot!" Mary said in a low voice, but quite fiercely."How can you talk so, and he a hateful Britisher?"
But before Dorothy could reply, the sound of a boat's keel grating onthe sand turned their thoughts to different matters.
"They are in!" exclaimed Dot, exultantly. "And safe!"
"Aye--safe so far," Mary murmured. She was still uncomfortable, andsuspicious of some danger lurking in the darkness about them.
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