“It’s a fine grain, gal, and I think twill carry lead further than common.
I am getting old, and can’t follow up the game with the step I used to could.”
Miss Temple waved her hand for silence, and preceded Louisa and the keeper from the apartment.
The man turned the key once, and observed that he would return and secure his prisoners, when he had lighted the ladies to the street.
Accordingly they parted at the door of the building, when the jailer retired to his dungeons, and the ladies walked, with throbbing hearts, toward the corner.
“Now the Leather-Stocking refuses the money,” whispered Louisa, “it can all be given to Mr. Edwards, and that added to—”
“Listen!” said Elizabeth;
“I hear the rustling of the hay; they are escaping at this moment.
Oh! they will be detected instantly!”
By this time they were at the corner, where Edwards and Natty were in the act of drawing the almost helpless body of Benjamin through the aperture.
The oxen had started back from their hay, and were standing with their heads down the street, leaving room for the party to act in.
“Throw the hay into the cart,” said Edwards, “or they will suspect how it has been done.
Quick, that they may not see it.”
Natty had just returned from executing this order, when the light of the keeper’s candle shone through the hole, and instantly his voice was heard in the jail exclaiming for his prisoners.
“What is to be done now?” said Edwards; “this drunken fellow will cause our detection, and we have not a moment to spare.”
“Who’s drunk, ye lubber?” muttered the steward.
“A break-jail! a break-jail!” shouted five or six voices from within.
“We must leave him,” said Edwards.
“‘Twouldn’t be kind, lad,” returned Natty; “he took half the disgrace of the stocks on himself to-day, and the creatur’ has feeling.”
At this moment two or three men were heard issuing from the door of the “Bold Dragoon,” and among them the voice of Billy Kirby.
“There’s no moon yet,” cried the wood-chopper; “but it’s a clear night.
Come, who’s for home?
Hark! what a rumpus they’re kicking up in the jail—here’s go and see what it’s about.”
“We shall be lost,” said Edwards, “if we don’t drop this man.”
At that instant Elizabeth moved close to him, and said rapidly, in a low voice:
“Lay him in the cart, and start the oxen; no one will look there.”
“There’s a woman’s quickness in the thought,” said the youth.
The proposition was no sooner made than executed.
The steward was seated on the hay, and enjoined to hold his peace and apply the goad that was placed in his hand, while the oxen were urged on. So soon as this arrangement was completed, Edwards and the hunter stole along the houses for a short distance, when they disappeared through an opening that led into the rear of the buildings.
The oxen were in brisk motion, and presently the cries of pursuit were heard in the street.
The ladies quickened their pace, with a wish to escape the crowd of constables and idlers that were approaching, some execrating, and some laughing at the exploit of the prisoners.
In the confusion, the voice of Kirby was plainly distinguishable above all the others, shouting and swearing that he would have the fugitives, threatening to bring back Natty in one pocket, and Benjamin in the other.
“Spread yourselves, men,” he cried, as he passed the ladies, his heavy feet sounding along the street like the tread of a dozen; “spread yourselves; to the mountains; they’ll be in the mountains in a quarter of an hour, and then look out for a long rifle.”
His cries were echoed from twenty mouths, for not only the jail but the taverns had sent forth their numbers, some earnest in the pursuit, and others joining it as in sport.
As Elizabeth turned in at her father’s gate she saw the wood-chopper stop at the cart, when she gave Benjamin up for lost.
While they were hurrying up the walk, two figures, stealing cautiously but quickly under the shades of the trees, met the eyes of the ladies, and in a moment Edwards and the hunter crossed their path.
“Miss Temple, I may never see you again,” exclaimed the youth; “let me thank you for all your kindness; you do not, cannot know my motives.”
“Fly! fly!” cried Elizabeth; “the village is alarmed.
Do not be found conversing with me at such a moment, and in these grounds.”
“Nay, I must speak, though detection were certain.”
“Your retreat to the bridge is already cut off; before you can gain the wood your pursuers will be there.
If—”
“If what?” cried the youth.
“Your advice has saved me once already; I will follow it to death.”
“The street is now silent and vacant,” said Elizabeth, after a pause; “cross it, and you will find my father’s boat in the lake.
It would be easy to land from it where you please in the hills.”
“But Judge Temple might complain of the trespass.”
“His daughter shall be accountable, sir.”
The youth uttered something in a low voice, that was heard only by Elizabeth, and turned to execute what she had suggested.
As they were separating, Natty approached the females, and said: