CHAPTER XVII.
IN THE ROBBER'S CAVE
After kissing his father the young boy looked inquisitively at Ernest.
"Who is that boy, papa?" he asked.
"I have brought him here to stay with you. Shall you like to have his company?"
"Yes, papa. You know it is very lonely while you are away. What is his name?"
The outlaw looked at Ernest significantly. He took the hint and answered, "My name is Ernest Ray."
"How old are you, Ernest?" went on the boy.
"Sixteen."
"I am only ten."
"Are you ready to get up, Frank?" asked his father.
"Yes," answered the young boy briskly. "I got sleepy because I was alone. Where did papa find you, Ernest?"
"Oh, I met him outside, and he took me to ride."
James Fox looked approval of this answer.
"I am glad you came with him. You seem like a nice boy, Ernest."
"So do you, Frank."
By this time Frank had slid from the bed and put his hand in Ernest's.
"Come here," he said, "and I will show you my books."
Led by his small companion, Ernest went up to a bookcase which he had not before observed in the main room. About thirty books stood on the shelves.
"Where did you get your books?" he asked.
"Papa bought them for me in Minneapolis. Were you ever in Minneapolis?"
"No."
"It is a nice place. Sometimes I think I would like to live there instead of here."
"You are not getting tired of home, are you, Frank?" asked his father, half reproach fully.
"No, papa, but it is lonely here sometimes. Am I to live here always?"
"No, Frank. Some time I will send you to school. But you won't see me every day then."
"Then I don't want to go."
The outlaw stooped over and kissed the boy.
"Now, Frank, I have something to do, so you may amuse yourself with Ernest."
"Can you play dominos?" asked Frank.
"Yes; have you a set?"
"Yes."
The boy opened a drawer in a bureau and drew out a box of dominos. He poured them out on the table and they began to play the ordinary game. When they tired of that, Ernest taught him a new one.
After they grew tired of playing, Ernest read aloud to the boy from one of his favorite books.
They were sitting together in the arm-chair, when James Fox, who had left the room, returned. He smiled approvingly at the picture. He was pleased to think that he had found a companion whom his boy liked.
"What have you been doing, Frank?" he asked.
"He has been reading to me, papa. He reads nicely, and I liked it very much."
"I am sorry to interrupt you, but are not you young people hungry?"
"I think I could eat something," answered Ernest.
"Frank, you may bring him into the dining-room."
The drapery was lifted, and they passed into a room as large as the one they were in. On a table in the centre a substantial meal, consisting principally of roast beef, was set forth. An old colored woman–intensely black and slightly deformed–hovered near, evidently the cook.
"Juba," said the outlaw, "this is a new boarder. His name is Ernest,"
"Glad to see you, Massa Ernest," rejoined the old woman, nodding her turban. "Sit down here next to Massa Frank."
It seemed very strange to Ernest to reflect that he was the guest of one of the famous outlaws of whom he had heard so much. He was half inclined to doubt whether it was real. If he had been alone he would have pinched himself to see whether he was awake or dreaming. Here he was, in the bowels of the earth, on intimate terms with an outlaw and his family. How long was he to stay in the cavern? That was a question impossible to answer. Meanwhile he was hungry, and the dinner was well cooked.
In spite of his being a prisoner and the loss of the packet, Ernest was almost ashamed of himself for the appetite which he manifested. But it seemed to give pleasure to Juba, who regarded it as a compliment to her cookery.
"Where is Uncle John, papa?" asked Frank, suddenly.
Ernest remembered that one of the Fox brothers was named John, and he awaited the answer with interest.
James Fox seemed busily thinking, and Frank had to repeat the question.
"Your Uncle John?" repeated the outlaw. "He went away on business."
"What kind of business, papa?"
It was a natural question, but it startled James Fox. He saw that as his son became older it might not be easy to evade embarrassing questions.
"You seem curious, Frank," he answered after a pause. "You wouldn't understand if I were to tell you."
"Will you teach me your business some day, papa?"
It was on the tip of the outlaw's tongue to say, "Heaven forbid!" but he only answered, "Wait till you are older, Frank. Then we will talk about it."
At length they rose from the table.
They went back to the main room, and Ernest read a little more to the young boy. But Frank's eyes grew heavy, and he finally dropped off to sleep.
"Shall I lay him on the bed, Mr. Fox?" asked Ernest.
"No, I will do so."
He took the boy tenderly in his arms.
"If I had known he would fall asleep I would have undressed him," he said.
After placing the boy on the bed he resumed his seat in the arm-chair and began to smoke. Finally, he looked over at Ernest.
"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. "Nothing is impossible."
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 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.
THE OUTLAW AND HIS 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."
John 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 already 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. Do not be alarmed."
"I am not," answered Ernest.
"Why not? You know my reputation."
"Yes, but thus far you have been kind to me."
"True. I like you, for you are kind to my boy, and I see that he enjoys your company. 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 John 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, if possible. 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 any one whom you suspect? If so, it is your duty to tell me."
"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 farm-house, 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.
A DAY IN THE CAVE
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 round," said Ernest. "Suppose we take a little walk."
"I'll go with you. I should be afraid to go alone."
"Does Juba ever go out?"
"Yes; she sometimes goes out to get things."
"Do you know where she goes?"
"No."
"Then you never went with her."
"I went once, but papa does not like to have me go out."
"Let us go about a little."
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," said the boy.
"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. I would not let them hurt you."
"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."
It was 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 was 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 far 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. "Come back. I am afraid."
"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. The garment on which she was engaged seemed to be a dress of rough cloth.
"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, getting interested.
"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. That was a drefful time."
"Why was it dreadful? 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 and take care of 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. Specs I's a hundred."
Ernest smiled.
"No, Juba," he said, "you are not nearly a hundred. You may be sixty."
"All right, massa, you know best."
"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 questions 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, after a good many years, 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. His brother was not with him.