The rest of the evening was spent on the gra.s.sy knoll at one side of the enclosure, where Nathan and G.o.dfrey related their adventures at Wyoming to an interested audience, and Barnabas and the sergeant discussed old times between whiffs of their pipes. At intervals Noah Waxpenny could be heard groaning dismally, or tramping up and down the narrow limits of his cell.

At ten o'clock Sergeant Murdock went his round, posting one sentry inside the stockade gate and another at the rear of the fort, where a small window opened from the guard-room. A third was put on duty in the middle room of the block-house, with instructions to watch the prisoner's door.

From the left of this middle room opened the big room where the privates slept, and on the right were the guard-room and the officers' quarters.

To the latter's apartment, which contained a number of straw pallets spread on the floor, the sergeant led his guests. "All fixed, are you?"

he said. "Good night, then, comrades." He blew out the candle, turned over, and was soon snoring loudly.

A little later the slow and regular breathing of G.o.dfrey and Barnabas told that they, too, were slumbering. Nathan envied them, for try as he would he could not induce the least symptom of drowsiness. For a long time he lay with wide-open eyes and active brain, thinking of the promised interview in the morning and listening to the occasional footsteps from the adjoining guard-room, where Noah Waxpenny seemed also to be possessed by the demon of wakefulness.

When the lad finally did fall asleep from sheer weariness his rest was disturbed by hideous dreams. From one of these he suddenly awoke, relieved to find himself safe in the fort instead of battling with blood-thirsty savages out on the river.

As he listened to the regular breathing of his companions he fancied he heard a low groan from outside, and almost immediately a rustling noise at the open door of the room fell on his ear. Closer and closer came the soft and stealthy sound, and the next instant, to the lad's unspeakable horror, the dark figure of a man kneeling on all fours rose at his very side, and a hand was pa.s.sed gently over his body.

Nathan's heart almost stopped beating, but by a tremendous effort he choked back the cry that was on his lips. For, at that moment, his eyes being partially accustomed to the gloom, he saw that the man held a glittering knife between his teeth; and he realized that at the first shout for help the blade would be plunged into his breast.

He was terribly frightened, but by exerting all his will power he succeeded in doing what was best under the circ.u.mstances. He feigned sleep, and lay perfectly motionless. Not a muscle quivered, though cold sweat started on his face and hands. All he could think about was that glittering knife. It did not occur to him to wonder who the man was, or what he wanted.

The unknown intruder was deceived by the ruse. With both hands he lightly and deliberately pressed every part of the lad's clothing from his throat to his feet. Twice he went over him, and then a whispered curse testified to his disappointment at not finding what he wanted.

Next, he took the knife from between his teeth with one hand, and as he lifted it high to strike, he turned a little toward a window in the side wall, dimly revealing a scarred and wrinkled face with but one eye.

Nathan uttered a shrill cry, and grabbed the descending wrist with both hands. A desperate jerk lifted him upright, and he heard the knife clatter to the floor. He held tight for a second or two, and then a blow on the face broke his grip and hurled him back.

He sprang quickly to his feet, crying out in chorus with his companions, who were now awake and stumbling blindly over the floor. He saw a dark figure, followed by another, rush into the yard. Then the men at the other end of the block-house woke up with noisy clamor, and amid all the din, a musket-shot rang loud and clear.

"What's wrong?" demanded Sergeant Murdock. "Speak, somebody!"

"Simon Gla.s.s was here," cried Nathan. "He tried to kill me. He just ran out! Don't let him get away!"

The name of the Tory ruffian was familiar to all, and the angry and excited men swarmed from both sides into the middle-room. A private appeared on the scene with a lighted lantern, and by the yellow glare the door of the guard-room was discovered to be wide open.

"The spy has escaped," roared the sergeant. "This is Gla.s.s's doing! I wish I'd hung the man last night!"

"Gla.s.s didn't come here for that," declared Barnabas. "Waxpenny must have opened the door an' run fur it when he heard the row in yonder; an'

where's the sentry?"

Just then a clamor rose from several of the men who had hastened outside. Led by Sergeant Murdock, the rest of the party ran into the yard, and at one side of the door they found the prostrate body of the sentry who had been posted in the middle-room. The man was breathing faintly, and his swollen and purple face showed that he had been nearly strangled to death by a pair of muscular hands.

With shouts of vengeance the crowd scattered in different directions, but a cry from Barnabas brought them together again at the partly-open gate of the stockade. Here lay the second sentry stone dead, with a long knife buried in his ribs.

"If Simon Gla.s.s don't die for this may I never shoulder a musket again!"

roared the infuriated sergeant. "It was a sharp trick he played. He must have come here a bit ago, persuaded the sentry to admit him, and then stabbed the poor fellow to the heart. Next he enticed the other sentry to the yard, and settled him, too. And after the lad here discovered him in the room both he and the spy darted out the gate."

"But where's the third sentry?" cried Barnabas, "an' who fired that shot--Hark! some one's calling now!"

Indeed, the shouting had been going on at intervals since the first alarm, but owing to the noise and excitement the man had not been able to make himself heard. The sounds came from the rear of the block-house, and thither the whole party ran in haste, to find Private Mickley prancing up and down on one of the lookout platforms.

"Where've you been?" he yelled, hoa.r.s.ely. "Why didn't you come sooner?

I've been keeping watch on the ruffian, but now he's gone--escaped in that big canoe."

"Escaped!" cried Barnabas. "Why didn't you stop him?"

"Man, explain yourself," roared the sergeant. "Quick! find your tongue!"

"Ain't I telling you?" sputtered the angry soldier. "Give me a chance.

When I heard the first yell I run round to the front just as a little man dashed out the door. He was making for the gate, but when he seen me he changed his mind and cut for the rear. I fired at him and missed, and just then out pops the spy. Before I could lift my empty gun he was past me and out the gate. So I let him go, and went for the other. I got round here in time to see him scramble over the stockade. I reckon he didn't know the drop that was below him, for when I looked over the platform he was lying stunned in the bushes down yonder. I kept watching him and singing out for help, and all at once up he gets, staggers like a drunken man to the canoe, and goes a-paddling down stream with all his might. I'm thinking his one leg was broke."

"How long ago was this," thundered the sergeant.

"Not two minutes, sir."

"Then he ain't far off," cried Barnabas. "Have you another boat handy?"

"There's a little canoe in the creek above the bluff, with two paddles in it," replied Sergeant Murdock.

That quickly Barnabas was off, calling to the lads to follow him. Nathan and G.o.dfrey were at his heels as he scaled the stockade at the upper end and plunged down the sloping bank to the creek. They found the canoe at once and jumped in, and a moment later the light craft had swung from the creek's mouth to the river. The lads were paddling, and Barnabas crouched amidships just in front of them.

"Murdock, we're goin' to get the a.s.sa.s.sin," he shouted.

"Good luck to you!" the sergeant called back. "I wish I was as sure of overhauling the spy."

The canoe was quickly past the fort, gliding like a duck on the swift current, and now the other craft was dimly sighted about a hundred yards down stream.

"I knew he couldn't be far," muttered Barnabas. "Paddle hard, lads. He can't do much with that heavy boat. This is going to be the last of Simon Gla.s.s, or else the last of me."

"We have no weapons," exclaimed Nathan.

"Neither has he, lad, or he would a-fired at the sentry who tried to stop him."

"I hope he won't take the sh.o.r.e when he sees we're after him," said G.o.dfrey.

"He's too badly hurt to do that," replied Barnabas. "No; we're goin' to get him. I feel it in my bones. He'll pay with his life for venturin'

this far after them papers. When he lay in ambush that night he must have heard us speak of stopping at the forts, an' I reckon he tramped all this distance alone."

During part of the above conversation a bend of the river had concealed the fugitive from view, and now, as the pursuers swung around, the two canoes were seen to be less than forty yards apart. Gla.s.s was close to sh.o.r.e, struggling desperately to drive his heavy and unwieldy craft, while with scarcely any effort Nathan and G.o.dfrey urged their lighter boat forward.

The distance rapidly decreased to twenty yards--fifteen--ten. Now the ruffian's scarred face could be seen by the moonlight that was breaking through the clouds, as he looked back at quick intervals. And shortly ahead of him was the line of noisy rapids, white with dashing foam and spray, black with outcropping bowlders and ledges.

"We'll hardly ketch him this side the falls," muttered Barnabas. "It ain't an easy pa.s.sage. Watch sharp for the rocks, an' don't--"

Just then Simon Gla.s.s dropped his paddle and twisted himself around in the stern. "I won't be taken alive!" he yelled, "and I'll kill one of you first." With that he drew a big pistol, leveled it at Barnabas, and fired.

CHAPTER XV

IN WHICH THE MYSTERY IS VERY NEARLY EXPLAINED