Cassie was taken aback by Gus’s reply. “I think,” he said, “there may be somebody else hiding nearby.”
Philip narrowed his eyes. “What makes you think so?”
“I seen somebody,” Gus said. “A man. Only caught a few glimpses of him, but he walked by my cave more’n once, at twilight every time. I made up my mind to follow him one time. I was real careful, waited to poke my head out till he was far enough away that he couldn’t see me. Strangest thing, though—one minute I seen him, and the next, he just disappeared. Like he melted into the creek bank.”
Cassie’s pulse quickened. A man, lurking around the caves?
“What did he look like?” Cassie stammered. “Was he … dressed like a soldier?” She couldn’t bring herself to put into words the frightening image of the deserter.
“No,” Gus said. “Looked like he was from around here.”
“What do you mean?” Philip asked. “How could you tell that?”
“Easy,” Gus said. “He was dressed just like you—britches and homespun shirt.” He nodded toward Philip, and Cassie automatically glanced at her brother, who was, indeed, wearing britches and a homespun shirt. “Only difference,” Gus went on, “was his britches had a big red patch in the seat.”
Cassie sucked in a big breath. Britches, patched in the seat. Like the ones that had disappeared from their clothesline.
With her voice shaking, Cassie reminded Philip of the missing britches.
“So?” Philip shrugged. “Lots of folks have patches on their britches.”
“Not red patches,” Cassie said, frustrated at his indifference. “And not in the seat.”
The tension inside her was building. Suddenly everything that hadn’t made sense before added up in Cassie’s mind. The things that had gone missing, the fragment of cloth, the unexplained noises, the funny feelings she had had—they all pointed to one person and one person alone, and it wasn’t Gus.
“It’s him—don’t you see?” Cassie went on. “The deserter. Somehow he found our farm, and all this time he’s been sneaking around, hiding, waiting to … to …” She stopped, her throat suddenly as tight as a gorged tick, then finally choked out the words. “I tell you, he’s crazy enough to kill us all.”
She swiped at the tears running down her cheeks—how could she cry in front of Gus?—and forced herself to calm down. “I don’t know for sure I’m right, but it makes me worry, with Mama and them home alone, defenseless.”
“I don’t know, Cassie,” said Philip. “Don’t you think you might be jumping to conclusions? How could the deserter have found those caves? Nobody’s ever found ’em that didn’t already know about ’em.”
“Philip!” Cassie was exasperated. “Who cares how he done it? Maybe he followed my tracks down to the creek and stumbled onto one of the other caves. I don’t rightly know. But I do know I won’t rest easy till we scour them other caves and find out for sure if somebody—him or somebody else—been camping in one of ’em.”
“I don’t think—” Philip started.
Then Gus cut him off. “Listen to her, will you? I don’t know who this deserter is, but if he’s as cussed a feller as Cassie says, I don’t think you oughta take a chance, not if he’s liable to hurt your family.”
Gus sticking up for her? For a moment Cassie was startled. But there he was, in all his Yankee-ness, backing her up. “What would it hurt,” he was saying, “to check out the caves … just to see if anything’s there?”
For a long time Philip didn’t answer. Cassie figured he was trying to come up with an argument—like usual—but then he sighed, and she knew he was going to give in. “Reckon it might be a good idea after all,” he said. “But we’ll need more light. We’ll wait till just before dawn.”
CHAPTER 11
THE CAVES
There were a number of caves up and down the creek, all right in the same vicinity, all near the place Gus thought he had seen the man disappear. Cassie and the boys decided to search first the ones that would be easiest for them to locate in the early morning twilight—two dugouts hidden among the switch cane about a quarter of a mile downstream. They also figured these caves would be the most likely ones for a stranger to find. But the first dugout they checked was empty, and the second one had caved in—recently, it appeared.
Philip, staring at the mud slide inside the dugout, turned to Cassie and said, “Reckon you were lucky you weren’t in this cave the other day, huh?”
“Yeah. Lucky,” Cassie answered absently, for another thought had just occurred to her. Gus had mentioned the man “melting into the creek bank.” Suddenly she had a good idea which cave the deserter had likely found.
“Philip,” Cassie said, “you recollect that cave under the big rock? You know, the rock that sticks out from the bank right over the creek?”
“Yeah?”
Breathlessly, Cassie told him what she was thinking. “That’s got to be the one our feller’s hiding in. I know it.”
Cassie was surprised at how quickly Philip agreed with her. “That rock’s only a little farther downstream, ain’t it?”
Cassie nodded. “Next to the sweet gum tree with the coon grapes all over it.”
“Lead on, girl,” Philip said.
Cassie was off at a trot. Soon she spotted the sweet gum, right on the edge of the creek; it was unmistakable. All up and down its huge trunk and into its branches crawled thick, green grapevines. Beneath the tree, protruding from the bank and jutting out over the creek, was a large, jagged stone covered with moss and lichens.
Cassie stopped. Though she wasn’t winded, her heart was pounding. Beckoning to the boys, she hunkered down behind a hedge of mock orange shrubs. “There it is,” she whispered. “Over across the creek.”
The boys crouched behind her. “I don’t see no cave,” said Gus.
“You can’t see it unless you’re in the creek, peering straight up at it,” Philip said. “And ain’t nobody going to do that, unless they know what they’re looking for.”
Gus let out a low, soft whistle. “I can’t believe these caves. You could hide in ’em forever and no one would ever suspect a thing.”
A shiver went through Cassie. No one would ever suspect a thing. From this cave the deserter could come and go as he pleased. He could do whatever mischief suited him—he could tease and torment Cassie from a distance, sneak into her house, take what he wanted, even Jacob’s silver mug—and laugh to himself at his cleverness. He could strike at her and her family whenever he wanted and return to safety here. No wonder Myron’s search party had never found the rascal. Who would suspect that a stranger would ever find this cave on his own?
Now Cassie’s fear was growing into panic. She fought the urge to run, to put as much distance between her and that crazy deserter as she possibly could. No! she told herself. The deserter had done too much already, from invading her secret thicket to invading her home. He had to be stopped before he did anything worse; Cassie didn’t want to think about what.
Cassie pushed down her panic and forced resolve into her voice. “Reckon that’s what the deserter’s been counting on—no one suspecting nothing. And it’s up to us to show him different. Likely he’s snoozing just as snug as a thieving fox in his den.” She hoped she sounded braver than she felt.
“Well, then,” said Philip, “what say we go down there and flush the old fox out?”
Cassie chewed on her lip. She did not want to go down to that cave, but she would rather die than admit it to Philip or Gus. She drew a deep breath. If she must go, it had better be now—quickly—before she lost her nerve. Without a word, she slipped out from the cover of the bushes and started down the bank.
“Dad blame it!” she heard Philip cussing behind her. “Will you wait for us?”
Cassie paused, just for a second or two. If she waited too long, she knew she could never make herself go on.
Then Philip caught hold of her sleeve, and Cassie thought he was going to pull her back, insist on going fi
rst. But all he did was shove the musket into her hands. “You know the way best, Cass, but take the gun. You know how to use it. We’ll be right behind you.”
Cassie accepted the musket. Even if she had thought of something to say, she probably couldn’t have said it—her mouth was like cotton. Cautiously she picked her way down the bank, strewn with rocks and overgrown with weeds, briers, and cattails. Here and there, wildflowers—dogtooth violets, bellwort, wood anemones—nodded above the brush.
Cassie could feel the boys behind her, but she kept her eyes trained on the opposite bank where she knew the cave was. She watched and listened for any sign of movement, any indication that the deserter was hiding inside. The only thing she saw was a kingfisher flitting out of a hole in the bank and skimming across the water. All she heard was the ripple of the creek and the twittering of the birds in the trees.
Now that she was down the bank, Cassie could see the cave, a great black hole yawning underneath the rock. She stopped, every breath coming hard. Her muscles felt tight and uncooperative. She didn’t think she could move if she wanted to—which she didn’t.
Then Philip nudged her. “What you waiting on?”
Yes, what was she waiting on? For the deserter to poke his head out of the cave and say “Here I am. Come and get me”? What was she so scared of, after all? She wasn’t alone and helpless like before. She had the musket. And Philip—she knew she could depend on him, and she realized suddenly that she knew she could depend on Gus, too.
Bracing herself for anything, Cassie crossed the creek, treading from stone to stone. The boys were a few steps behind her. On the other side, beneath the cave, the ground was rocky. A person could come and go, Cassie thought, without leaving tracks or any sign of his passing.
Cassie approached the mouth of the cave, then paused, listening for any sound from within. Behind her, rocks crunched—the boys’ footsteps—but from the darkness of the cave, there was only stillness. Cassie squatted and peered inside. She had forgotten how big this cave was. The mouth was narrow, but the cave widened farther back. She could probably stand upright inside, though the boys, she expected, would have to stoop.
The weak early-morning light penetrated only a yard or two beyond the cave’s opening, then was swallowed up by gloom. Still, right on the edge of the darkness, Cassie thought she saw something, something white and glistening on the floor of the cave. She squinted, trying to make it out. Maybe it was only stones …
She beckoned with her finger to the boys and pointed inside. “What you think that is?” she whispered. “Shining like that?”
Gus shook his head.
“I don’t know, neither,” Philip whispered back, “but I don’t think there’s nobody in there. Let’s take a look.”
“Yeah, let’s,” said Gus. His voice was eager.
Cassie swallowed hard. Since neither of the boys was moving, she figured they expected her to go first. For a fleeting second, she wished for the old, pushy Philip who wanted her to do nothing but take his orders. Then, trying her best to ignore the queasy feeling in her stomach, Cassie dropped to her hands and knees and crawled through the opening. Philip came behind her, then Gus.
The instant she was inside the cave, Cassie felt her skin prickle from the drop in temperature. She rose to a kneeling position, rubbed her arms to warm them, and waited for her eyes to adjust to the dim light. Then she gasped, for she could tell now what it was that she had seen glistening on the floor.
Eggshells.
CHAPTER 12
TRACKING DOWN A SCOUNDREL
Goose bumps—not from the cold this time—broke out all over Cassie. Were these shells from Maybelle’s eggs? There was one way to tell. Cassie scooped up a few shells and brought them close to her face to examine them. It was just too hard to see in this light … “Are the shells speckled?”
Philip’s voice startled Cassie. She had been so intent, she hadn’t noticed him and Gus beside her. “Can’t tell for sure,” she said. “It’s too dark in here. But I think so.”
“Hey!” Gus had ventured a little farther into the cave. “Looks like there’s been a fire back here. And somebody done had himself a chicken dinner.”
Gus emerged from the darkness holding chicken bones and a handful of white chicken feathers. “Reckon there ain’t no more question ’bout what happened to your hen.”
Cassie felt something tighten inside her. “Reckon,” she said, “there ain’t no more question neither ’bout who’s been camping in this cave.”
“I don’t know,” said Philip. “I’ll allow someone’s been camping here, and it appears he stole Maybelle and had her for dinner. I don’t see how that proves it was the deserter that done it.”
Cassie knew what the proof was—the button from the thicket that matched the one dangling by Maybelle’s empty nest. As she explained, the walls of the cave seemed to catch Cassie’s words and throw them back at her, dark and grim. When she finished, the boys were silent. Cassie listened to the noises outside the cave: the gurgle of the creek, a squirrel scolding, the tapping of a woodpecker on a tree.
Finally Philip spoke. “How is it you didn’t tell us ’bout the buttons to start with?”
Cassie’s temper shot up. Is that all Philip could do? Point fingers and criticize? She opened her mouth for an angry retort, then clamped it shut. What was the use of fighting like cocks over every little thing?
She sighed. “I don’t know, Philip. Reckon I forgot.”
“How could you forget such a—”
“What does it matter?” Gus broke in. “She done told us now. And I think it all makes sense. Don’t you?”
To Cassie’s surprise, Philip nodded. “Yeah. Sounds like the old cuss is still around.” He paused. “We got to find him before he decides he’s tired of playing around and takes a notion to hurt somebody.”
“Just how we going to find him?” Gus asked.
“I don’t know,” Philip said. “Ain’t got that part figured out.”
“Well, let’s do our figuring outside,” Cassie said, suddenly cold all over. She wanted to get out of this dark, dank place where the deserter had been, only days or hours ago, feasting on their hen and plotting what he would do next to Cassie and her family.
Philip led the way out of the cave and back across the creek to the cover of the mock orange bushes, where they could talk. Here, with the sun growing stronger and the smell of honeysuckle in the air, Cassie felt warmer … but only on the outside. Inside, a cold knot of dread had formed. She knew she would soon have to face the deserter, and the prospect scared her to death.
Cassie and the boys agreed that the best way to catch the deserter was to wait for him to return to one of the places they had known him to be—this cave, the thicket, or the Willis farm.
“It’s lucky there’s three of us,” Philip said. “One to cover each spot.”
Cassie glanced uncertainly at Gus. “But he—”
“You still don’t trust me?” Gus sounded exasperated.
“No,” Cassie said, “’tain’t that. I just wasn’t sure you’d want to help us. After the way we treated you. Accusing you of stealing. Not believing you. All that.” She stared straight at Philip, hoping he knew what her “all that” really meant. “We should’ve been more decent to you, Gus. ’Tain’t your fault you’re a Yankee.”
Philip stared hard back at Cassie—he understood what she was saying—then he turned to Gus. “You don’t have to help us, Gus, but we’d be obliged if you would. We need you real bad.”
“Why, sure I’ll help you,” said Gus. “You was going to help me, weren’t you?”
Cassie glanced at Philip. Gus had trusted them. How could she and Philip have been so false? He was bothered, too; she could see it in his face. “We will help you get home,” she said, “after all this is over. Ain’t that right, Philip?”
Philip answered without a moment’s hesitation. “You can count on it.”
Gus smiled. “I’m obliged. But first we got to t
ake care of this deserter feller, don’t we?” His tone turned serious. “I’ll stay here and watch the cave, if you want. But what do I do if he comes back?”
“Reckon you can’t do much more than watch him,” Philip said. “And follow him if he goes anywhere.”
“Keep him in sight,” Cassie said. “But don’t do nothing more. He’d as soon kill you as look at you.”
“Take my knife, just in case,” Philip said. He slipped his hunting knife from its sheath and handed it to Gus. “I’ll send Cassie to the thicket with the musket, and I’ll go back to the farm to check on Mama, then to Myron’s for help. We’ll be back to get you before nightfall. I promise.”
Cassie’s dander flew up. Who said it was going to be Philip who would check on Mama? Cassie didn’t intend for Philip to send her anywhere. If she went to the thicket, she’d go of her own accord. When was Philip going to learn he couldn’t boss her anymore?
Cassie glared at Philip. “One of us is going back to the farm—it ain’t been decided yet who. But we will be back to get you, Gus, either way.”
Philip was glaring back at Cassie, but she pretended not to notice. “Take care of yourself,” she said to Gus. She realized she meant it.
Cassie and Philip left Gus hiding in the sweet gum tree, well concealed by the grapevines.
Then they headed back through the piney woods. Not a trace of yesterday’s clouds remained in the sky. The sun was shining brightly now through the delicate green haze of new leaves. A pair of bright orange angle-wing butterflies fluttered past on a breeze. It was all in stark contrast to the way Cassie felt: too angry with Philip to talk to him, but wishing she could, wishing she could do something to relieve the heaviness of her own anxiety. She couldn’t help wondering if the deserter had passed this way just before them, underneath these very trees, on his way to the thicket or to the Willis farm.
Cassie glanced suspiciously around, as if the trees themselves were purposely keeping secrets from her. A big dead hickory tree caught her eye. On one of its limbs sat two huge turkey buzzards. At the very moment Cassie looked at them, the buzzards lifted off the limb, opened their wings, and climbed into the air.
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