CHAPTER XIV

A BIG SURPRISE

Evidently, Steve was commencing to get on the scent of the explanation of the mystery; but as for Toby and Bandy-legs, they found themselves up against a blank wall, for aught they could see.

Instead of trying to explain, Obed turned to Max, saying meekly:

"You tell them, please, Wax; it's only your due, after solving the puzzle as nearly as you have. I saw you turn back to that book again, and scan my initials in the front. That was why you asked me If Mr. Coombs' first name had been Robert, when it was not. But it's all right, and I'm satisfied I had my peek of fun out of it, let me tell you. Now introduce me to your chums, Max."

"With the greatest of pleasure," laughed the other, as he took hold of Obed, and waving in a ceremonious fashion with the other hand, he continued: "Friends, Toby and Bandy-legs, allow me to present some one to you whom you'll be delighted to know—this is Roland Chase!"

Bandy-legs stood as if riveted to the spot, staring, and holding his very breath through astonishment. Toby Jucklin wanted to express his amazement, and also his ecstatic delight, over the wonderful outcome of their mission; but alack and alas! as so often happened with Toby, while the spirit was willing the flesh was lamentably weak, and he could not make a sound except a sort of spluttering gasp, while his eyes blinked, and his face grew rosy red.

Still laughing, the so-called Grimes' boy proceeded to grip hands with his guests. He acted as though it might be a simon-pure introduction; as it certainly was, in one sense.

"I'm ashamed of the way I bamboozled you fine fellows, and that's the honest truth," he started to say. But on the impulse of the moment I thought of that Obed Grimes name; and once I gave it to you I had to follow up with the lingo. I guess I got balled up more than once, for Max soon discovered that I didn't always speak as a true Grimes should, and that gave him his clue. Yes, I'm the same Roland you started out to find, just to please my dear old aunt, bless her heart. I was planning to surprise them all by appearing in town with my five thousand dollars, after I'd sold the fox cubs, and then claiming my share of uncle's estate. I guess it's all getting plain enough to you now, eh, fellows?

Bandy-legs could speak at last.

"Why, it's as plain as the nose on my face, Obed—I beg pardon, Roland; and I can never forgive myself for being so easily taken in and done for. So you thought to invest your two thousand dollars in starting a silver-black fox farm, did you? Well, it was a daring venture, and I hardly think you would have made the game if you hadn't been lucky enough to meet up with that splendid Mr. Coombs."

"That's a certainty, Bandy-legs," admitted the other, who apparently was not at all given to boasting over his achievements; "yes, I was in great luck to be able to do Mr. Coombs a favor, and win him for a friend. See what he's done for me. But all the same, I invested my money in this business, and according to our partnership agreement, I am to have one-half the proceeds of any sales, so there can be no slip of the law, to beat me out of my inheritance; if only I can get those precious pups to the man who's engaged them."

"And this rascal you called Robert—is he the elder cousin who would profit by your failure to win out?' asked Max, although he already understood that this must be true."

The expressive face of their new friend clouded immediately.

"I'm sorry to say that it's so, Max," he admitted. "Those envelopes of the letters I found in his coat gave it away. The temptation was too great for Robert, who always showed considerable jealousy, because our uncle rather favored me. And so when he learned in some fashion, I'm sure I don't know how, that I was in a fair way of carrying out the provisions of uncle's will, he must have determined to try and spoil my plans."

"Oh! the cur!" snapped the indignant Steve, now seeing the depravity of the miserable plotter in full. "I'm glad that some of you managed to give him a few good licks before he broke away. And I'll regret it to the last day of my life that I didn't get a chance to show him."

"And b-b-believe me!" exclaimed Toby, with a violent effort, "he's going to carry the scratches I g-g-gave him on his f-f-face for a w-w-while. If I'd known that he was Roland's c-c-cousin I'd have dug a h-h-heap d-d-deeper, too!"

"I'm only hoping," Roland, as we must call him after this, since he dropped the Grimes family when he admitted his identity, said, "this will teach him a lesson, and that he'll leave me alone from now on. But Robert is a terribly persistent fellow, and I'm afraid his failure may only spur him on to trying again."

"Never mind, Roland," said Steve, dwelling almost affectionately on the name, now that he knew the one who claimed it, "we're going to stand back of you through thick and thin. If those fox pups don't eventually get to their prospective purchaser, we'll have to know the reason why. Isn't that so, fellows?"

"My sentiments exactly," said Max, promptly.

"Me, too!" exclaimed Toby.

"Ditto here!" added Bandy-legs.

"I want to say this," observed Roland with a suspicious moisture in his fine eyes, "it was the luckiest hour of my life when I ran across this bunch of royal good fellows. Why, only for you I'd as like as not have been ruined; because alone and single-handed I never could have stood out against two clever and unscrupulous schemers. And I'll never forget it as long as I draw breath."

"There'll be some people mighty sorry, though, I bet you," Bandy-legs hastened to add, as he looked roguishly at Roland; "by which I mean those poor Grimeses, who have lost tonight the brightest star in the whole big Grimes constellation. Why, I can just picture how they'll all mourn—Uncle Hiram, Uncle Silas, Uncle Nicodemus, and all those other uncles and aunts, with old Granddaddy Grimes weeping harder than any of the rest over the bereavement; for Obed is no longer in the flesh!"

The comical way in which Bandy-legs said this caused a general laugh; why, even the wondering prisoner on the floor, who, of course, could hardly understand the joke, had to grin at the humorous expression on the boy's face.

"Oh! I guess they'll be able to stand it, if I can," ventured Roland, "Please don't bear me any malice, fellows, for having my little joke. You see I used to be quite a hand for such things; but living all alone up here didn't give me much of an opportunity to try any pranks; and so I was just aching for a turn. It didn't do any harm, and afforded me some fun, so please forget it."

"But, Roland, none of that story you told us about your good friend, Mr. Coombs, was made up, of course?" asked Steve.

"That was every word of it true," came the quick answer. "Oh! he was the finest old gentleman you ever heard about. I grew very fond of him; and when I received word in a letter from his housekeeper that he had died, shortly after his wife went, it broke me all up. I moped around here for a whole week, and came near throwing the entire job up. Then I remembered how he had always put such confidence in everything I attempted; and so I just shut my teeth tighter together, and said I'd go through with it or know the reason why. And I have, for I'm on the point of success; if only that Robert doesn't upset the fat in the fire at the last hour."

"Well, he won't, you can just depend on that," said Bandy-legs, almost fiercely. "Here are four standbys who are booked to gather around, and see that you get the fox pups to market. Next time Robert comes where he isn't wanted, he may get a broken head, or something just as bad; for now we know his ugly game, we're not apt to be over particular how hard we hit."

All of which must have been very comforting to the boy who had taken such a big load upon his young shoulders, in the effort to show what he was made of. After all, perhaps the eccentric uncle who left such a strange provision in his will knew human nature better than most people do; for he had picked out the very thing calculated to spur a chap like Roland to do his best.

"Well," remarked Max, "since we've cast off the numerous Grimes tribe, and discovered the one we were in search of, and as the hour is getting fearfully late, suppose we postpone further talk until morning. There remain a few hours to be utilized in sleep. Steve, you and Bandy-legs haven't filled out your time as sentries yet; suppose you hold for another hour, and then turn it over to me."

"Just as you say, Max," replied the other. "I meant to propose that anyway, for the alarm broke out in the middle of our watch. Secretly, I'd like Mr. Robert to take his courage in both fists and sneak back this way, bent on further mischief. Do you ask me why! Well, I'd delight to make use of my scatter-gun, and let him have a mess of number ten shot at, say sixty yards. They'd pepper him good and plenty at that distance, without actually endangering his miserable life."

Max, knowing the energetic nature of the speaker, warned him against being too prompt at using his gun.

"Better go slow about that, Steve," he remarked. "Many a fellow has been shot by mistake. Every season dozens fall victims to hunters who see something moving, and blaze away recklessly. It might be one of us, for all you'd know. So don't think of firing without giving our signal."

Steve solemnly promised to remember. He knew the danger of handling firearms in a reckless fashion, and was not likely to offend. So presently, with Bandy-legs in tow, he went forth to resume their interrupted vigil.

Max and Roland sat there by the resurrected fire for a short time exchanging remarks. The prisoner lay on the floor and, as far as they could tell, seemed to have given up all hope of a rescue, for his heavy breathing was that of one whom sleep had overtaken.

Finally, Max pointed toward Toby, who could be seen lying on his back in his bunk, and evidently enjoying a fine time in dreamland.

"We'd do well to imitate his example, Roland," he remarked. "And as a last word I want to tell you again how delighted we all are over finding you; not only that, but discovering that you've been busy all these months. Your aunt is worrying her head off about you. The last words she said were: 'If only you do find, the boy, and he's made a mess of his attempt to win his inheritance, tell him Aunt Sarah has a place in her heart for him, and that if only he'll come back he can be her boy for keeps, because I find that I've grown to love him as my own.'"

Roland appeared to be deeply affected when he heard this, for he winked violently a good many times, and then, smiling, managed to say:

"You don't know how happy you make me when you tell that, Max; for she's a dear old soul, and I certainly do care for her a great deal. But it pleases me also to know I've made good, and that I can hold up my head when I show those trustees what I've done. The Chase family needn't blush just yet on account of Roland, though it ought to for Robert's mean actions."

So they, too, sought their beds, such as these were, and tried to forget all else in sweet sleep.

Max had a peculiar habit. Almost any boy can acquire it through much practice, and sometimes it comes in very handy. He was able to impress it upon his mind that he wanted to awaken at about a certain time. Once in a long while this might fail him; but nine times out of ten he could hit it in a most surprising manner. Many persons have proved this perfectly feasible; and although Max began it as an experiment of the control of mind over matter, it had long since passed that stage, and become a regular habit with him.

Accordingly, in just an hour after Steve and Bandy-legs had gone forth again, Max was out of his bunk, and arousing Toby, who got up rather loth to abandon his good bed and pleasant dreams. Still, he made no complaint, unless his frequent yawns could be counted as such, but trotted at the heels of Max when the other started forth.

The night remained calm. High overhead the gentle breeze still sighed among the pines, and whispered secrets as it passed through the fragrant green needles with their attendant cones.

Max took a single glance aloft at the star-studded heavens, and this told him pretty close on the hour; for in addition to many other ways of the forest nomad and believer in woodcraft, Max had mastered the positions of the planets, so that it was always possible for him to gauge the passage of time when the night granted him a survey of the constellations above.

When he and Bandy-legs had advanced a certain distance Max stopped and imitated the call of a screech-owl, so like the whinny of a horse. It ended up with a peculiar twist, and it was this that would tell any of the other fellows the sound was intended for a signal, and did not proceed from the real bird itself.

An answer quickly came. Then a couple of dim forms hove in sight, being Steve and his fellow vidette, ready to hand over the guns to their successors, and seek the shelter of the cabin for a little rest.

"Listen, Max," said Steve, while this exchange was taking place, "there's something queer out yonder aways; and I want you to try and make out what it can mean."

"How is that?" demanded the other.

"Why, every little while we thought we could hear a distant strange cry like somebody in pain. Of course it might come from a night-bird that we don't happen to be acquainted with; but it's been worrying us a heap. I'm afraid, though, the wind has shifted latterly, because we didn't seem to catch it so well."

Max hardly knew what to think of what Steve had told him; nevertheless, he promised the other he and Toby would listen for all they were worth, and see if they might have any better success in recognizing the strange sounds.

But the minutes drifted along, and at no time were they able to catch anything out of the common; so, finally, they decided that either it must have been a night-bird that had flown away, or else that change in the wind had kept the sounds from coming to their ears.



CHAPTER XV

STEVE'S DREAM COMES TRUE

"Did you hear anything, Max?"

That was the very first thing Steve asked on the following morning, when he poked his head out of his "hole in the wall" like a shrewd old tortoise looking around to learn if the coast were clear.

"We listened from time to time," explained Max, "but were never sure that we heard any strange sound. It seems that you must have been impressed with it considerably, Steve, to have it on your mind so?"

"I was, Max, and I am right now," admitted the other, frankly. "Listen to me, while the rest are busy getting breakfast ready over at the fire,", and his voice sank to a confidential whisper. "I had a dream. It wasn't so queer that it should come to me, after all that's happened. I dreamed that we came on that bad cousin of Roland's, Robert Chase. He'd fallen over a precipice, and was dying there on the rocks. Oh! it was horribly real, Max, and I woke up shivering. He was sorry, too, because he had been so wicked, and was asking Roland to please forgive him. And, Max, I've been wondering whether that dream mightn't have come to me to let us know we might do a good deed if we walked out that way this morning, you and me, saying nothing to the rest of the boys."

Max was struck by the thought that Steve must have had a pretty vivid dream to make him so tender-hearted. At the same time, he felt in accord with the sentiments so aptly expressed by the other.

"Steve, I'll go you there," he hastened to say. "It can do no harm, and may be a fine thing. Are you sure you know the direction fairly well?"

"Yes, because I was sharp enough to make a note of it last night, Max. You see, at the time the wind was coming in a lazy sort of way right out of the west. Later on it swung around to the northwest, which makes it so sharp this morning."

"Good for you, Steve," the other told him. "Then we'll head direct into the west, and cover the ground for, say a mile, coming back over another route. We can call out now and then, so if any one heard us they might answer. But you'd better hurry and get your duds on, because, unless I'm mistaken, Bandy-legs is meaning to sing out that breakfast's ready. And you know the last to the feast is penalized when the supply runs short."

"No danger of that happening when Bandy-legs has anything to do with the cooking," chuckled Steve, confidently; which remark proved how well those four chums knew one another's weak points.

Of course at breakfast most of the conversation had to do with Roland and his valiant attempt to "make good." He told his new friends many things that interested them exceedingly, and which were connected with his struggle. Their questions also brought them quite a fund of information concerning the habits of foxes, and how those who aim to raise the valuable animals for the great London fur market, go about the business.

"As for me," said Bandy-legs, who had been doing considerable thinking while all this talk went on, "I mean to try and hunt up a few of those bouncer frogs Roland here says inhabit his marsh. Of course I know that at this time of year they're deep down in the mud, and meaning to lie there till spring thaws 'em out; but it may be I can scare up just a mess. I'm awfully fond of frogs' legs, you may remember, boys."

They all wished him luck. Steve advised him to borrow a spade from the owner of the woods cabin, for he might have to dig deep. Bandy-legs, however, only grinned and showed no signs of a change of mind; for once he set his heart on a thing and he was apt to keep everlastingly at it until the realization, that it was quite hopeless, would compel him to throw up the sponge, which Bandy-legs always did with a bad grace.

So breakfast was finally finished, and the boys separated. True to his promise the would-be frog hunter set out valiantly on his errand, urged by his love for a dainty dish. Toby had agreed to assist Roland look after his fox brood, for there were many things he did not yet understand concerning their care, and which he earnestly wished to know.

This arrangement quite suited Steve and Max, for it left them free to saunter forth. They announced their intention of taking a little look around. Steve, of course, picked up his gun before starting, saying:

"You never know when you may want a shooting iron up in the woods. There might be an old wildcat prowling around these diggings, which would take a dislike to the shape of my face, so he'd attack us. And I'm homely enough as it is right now, without inviting a cat to make the map of Ireland over my phiz."

He and Max showed no signs of being in any unusual hurry as they left the cabin. They started directly toward the west; and once out of sight of those left behind, Steve quickened his pace a bit; at least he "chirked up" and began to show more animation.

"A mile, you said, Max, didn't you!" he asked.

"Why, yes, that ought to fully cover the distance," came the reply. "I shouldn't think you could have caught any ordinary sound even as far as that. Still, when the night is calm, it is wonderful how far even a groan will carry. The atmosphere seems to be in a peculiar condition at such times, and acts as a splendid medium for conveying sounds."

They looked to the right and to the left as they advanced. Nothing escaped the eyes of those two chums, accustomed to the "Great Outdoors" as they were, and having long ago graduated in a knowledge of woodcraft.

Some little time passed thus. They had so far seen and heard nothing calculated to impress them, though Steve was just as sure the sounds he caught on the preceding night must have been a human voice crying out in anguish. Doubtless that vivid dream was also making quite an impression on the mind of the boy; for Max found him unusually docile and thoughtful.

They had now gone considerably over half a mile. Max felt that if any discovery was going to be made, it must come very soon. He raised his voice occasionally, and gave a half shout; after which both of them would stand still and strain their hearing in hopes of catching some answering hail.

Squirrels barked at the intruders of their nut domain; blue jays screamed harshly as they flitted from limb to limb among adjacent trees; crows sent forth many noisy caws from atop of some neighboring pine, watching those moving figures suspiciously the while; and once a deer suddenly leaped across the trail, with a flip of its short tail, to speedily vanish amidst the colored foliage of some bushes.

This last event caused Steve to give a real yell, he was so startled. Hardly had he done this than he gripped the sleeve of his comrade.

"Did you hear that. Max? Was it an echo to my whoop; or did somebody really call out in a weak voice! Anyway, it seemed to come from right over there," and he pointed confidently as he spoke.

Max himself was of the same opinion, for he felt almost certain that a human voice had tried to attract their attention, though possibly the person giving utterance to the cry was so weak that he could not make much effort.

They changed their course a little, and headed directly toward the region whence Steve had pointed so positively. When Max held the other up presently and called again, all doubt was removed.

"Here, this way! I'm in pretty bad shape, I guess. Don't leave me, please, whoever you are. I'll pay you a hundred dollars to get me out of this scrape!"

Evidently, the speaker, whom Max decided must be Robert Chase, and no other, supposed the persons approaching, and whose voices he had heard, must be woods guides who might consider themselves fortunate indeed to earn such a royal sum so easily.

Two minutes afterwards and the boys found him. He must have fallen into the hole while hurrying through the forest, after breaking away from the grip of the boys at the cabin. He had been severely cut by a sharp flint-like rock, and lost considerable blood, which weakened him so that, as he afterwards confessed to them, he must have swooned away, and lain there for hours unaware of his perilous condition.

The two boys soon managed to get the young man up on level ground. As often happened, it was Max who conceived the easiest way of doing this. To lift a dead weight of a hundred and fifty pounds is no light task, and so he started to break away one side of the pit, thus raising the bottom of the interior until they were able to simply carry Robert out of the hole.

Steve was loud in his expressions of admiration.

"Whoever else would have thought up such a clever piece of business, Max, but you?" he went on to say, as they rested after their effort. "Why, if it'd been me in charge now, I reckon I'd have gone to all sorts of trouble rigging up some sort of block-and-tackle, so as to hoist him up; but you just knock down a part of the wall, and there you are, as neat as wax. Wherever did you learn that trick, I want to know, Max?"

"You'll laugh if I tell you," chuckled the other. "One day in reading about how some musty old professors are digging out all sorts of weighty treasures belonging to bygone days over in. Egypt, I chanced to learn how a certain Arab contracted to excavate a big stone weighing ever so many tons, and which the learned savant could not see how they were ever going to get out of the deep hole. Well, that Arab just kept filling up the hole, and lifting the stone inch by inch. When he finished there was no hole, but the great rock stood on level ground. And that, Steve, they say is old-time mechanical engineering, which has never been beaten in these modern days. The Pyramids were built in that simple way. Human lives and labor counted for little in those old times."

"All I can say is, Max, it takes you to apply whatever you read to working out your own problems. But however are we going to get this man back to the cabin! Must we build a litter and carry him?"

Robert seemed to be suffering from something more than physical anguish. A tortured mind can stab even more keenly than painful bodily wounds. Lying there and facing possible death, Robert Chase had evidently seen a great light. He beckoned to the boys to bend over him, and then in a weak voice went on to say:

"I don't know just how badly I'm hurt, young fellows, but I do know that I'm done with this miserable business. I've got just what I deserve, and it may be the best thing that ever happened to me. During the time I lay here and had my senses, I've made up my mind to ask my cousin Roland to forgive me, and let me make amends for the evil I've tried to do. I know now that it doesn't pay in the long run, for I've come near losing all my self-respect. Yes, get me to the camp, if you can. I want to face the music, and have it over with. Something seems to tell me that the boy isn't the one to hold a grudge against a chap who's been punished already for doing an evil deed."

That sort of talk pleased Max immensely. He saw that Robert Chase must have been having a terrible conflict between his better nature and the insatiate craving for wealth; and now that a wise Providence had stepped in to nip all his plots in the bud, why things began to look very bright all around.

It was found that with one of the boys on either side, Robert could manage to walk fairly well, although they often had to stop and let him rest.

It took them a full two hours to get back to the cabin, where their arrival created considerable excitement. At the moment, Roland was out somewhere attending to his pets, and so the injured man was made as comfortable as possible by Toby and Bandy-legs, the latter of whom had just come in carrying a pretty fair mess of frogs' legs all dressed for the frying-pan.

Then when Roland came along, to be told what had happened, and how his cousin was anxious to see him alone, he looked actually pleased at the queer turn affairs had taken. He went in and was with Robert for quite a long time. They must have had a good heart-to-heart talk, for when Roland appeared again, he was smiling broadly, and hastened to say:

"We've not only patched up a truce, boys, but made an enduring covenant. After this there's not going to be any war in the Chase family; and now that Robert has humbled himself to confess his wrong-doing, I believe we're going to be the best of friends. I've promised him, without his asking it, that I'll never tell a single soul about what happened up here. You must agree to the same thing, for my sake. I feel sure you'll all like Robert, when you get to know him."

"Who can tell," muttered Toby, as if to himself; "in time we might even g-g-get familiar with him. Stranger things than that have happened. I only hope he won't hold a g-g-grudge against me when he sees the mark of all my f-f-fingernails down his face."

"Just now, Toby, he isn't in a mood to bear anybody a grudge," Roland went on to say; "for he believes he didn't get half that he merited. But after all it's come out a thousand per cent better than I ever dreamed it would. And when I start off with my pair of grown cubs I needn't be afraid of any one waylaying me on the road."

"All the same," observed Steve, raising his heavy eyebrows suggestively, "we'll see to it that you have plenty of company on the way. Since the object of our trip up here into the heart of the Adirondacks has been fulfilled, I rather reckon we'll be wanting to go along with you, to see the fox pups handed over, and that lovely check received. Afterwards we can all start for Carson, where you and your good old aunt may have a family reunion all to yourselves; unless you see fit to invite Uncle Sephus, Uncle Nicodemus, Uncle Job, or some of those old worthies to join with you, so as to make things hum."

They all laughed at Steve's humorous remark.

"B-b-but what's to be d-d-done with this p-p-pretty thing?" demanded Toby, pointing as he spoke to their prisoner, who was sitting outside the door, having one of his ankles held fast with a trailing rope, so that he could not run away, even if tempted to do so; which, considering his helpless condition, with both hands tied behind his back, he was hardly in the humor to do.



CHAPTER XVI

THE FUR FARMER'S TRIUMPH—CONCLUSION

While all this talk was going on, the man had of course listened. What he had just heard Roland say about forgiving his scheming cousin must have encouraged the fellow more or less; for surely if they meant to let the chief conspirator go scot-free, it would hardly be fitting to take it out on the poor hired tool.

"I hope you include me in that general amnesty order, young fellows," he now hastened to say, with a wishful look on his face. "Since the fat is in the fire I'm ready to tell anything you want of me. Course my name isn't Jake Storms; though it isn't necessary for me to inform you what it might be, because that doesn't concern anybody around here. I needed money pretty badly, and the gent tempted me beyond my limit, so I agreed to help him steal the fox cubs. I was to have all they'd fetch when sold, and so I came along. But if you just cut these cords, and tell me to clear out, I'll vamose the ranch instanter."

Max nodded his head in the affirmative.

"You might as well make an early start," he remarked, drily. "Since things have turned out the way they have, we couldn't make any use of you. But before you go, understand one thing, my friend."

"What might that be, young fellow?" asked the other, though looking very much pleased at hearing he would be set free.

"Don't get it into your head that it's going to be an easy snap to come back here and rob this fox farm. You'd be a fool to try it for many reasons. In the first place, silver blacks are so few in number that any one selling a cub or a pelt can be tracked, and made to prove ownership. There's also an association forming that will insure these costly animals, and chase a thief across the continent until they eventually get him; just as the bankers' association does. Understand that?"

"Oh! don't bother about me," the man hastened to tell them. "I'm through with this sort of risky game. I can make a living at something that brings in easier returns; only set me free and I'll never come back here again, never, on your life."

"There'll be a guard here while we're gone," continued Max, sternly, "a man who can hit a silver quarter with his rifle as far as he can see it through the telescopic globe sight. It wouldn't be safe for prowlers to show up here. Besides, they could never find the foxes, hidden deep down in their burrows, during the night time. Steve, set him free, please."

The boys felt that they could afford to be magnanimous, since things had taken such a glorious turn in their favor. So they not only gave the so-called Jake Storms his liberty but filled his pockets with such food as would serve him until he came to a town. Roland was seen talking with him just before he left, and Max felt sure the boy must have thrust some money into the man's hand, for the fellow acted as though greatly confused, and shook his head while walking hastily away, as though the kindness of those boys quite overwhelmed, him.

Roland continued his work of making his cousin thoroughly ashamed of his recent mean actions. He waited on the injured man as though Robert had always been one of his best friends. If ever a fellow "heaped coals of fire on the head of his enemy," Roland Chase certainly did during the three days they continued to linger at the lodge under the pines.

Meanwhile, the signal had been set for Jerry Stocks to come over, and when he arrived, he turned out to be very much the kind of a man the boys expected to see, a homely specimen of a woodsman, honest as the day was long, and "filled to the brim," as Steve aptly expressed it, with an accurate knowledge of all such things as may prove of value to one who roams the wilderness.

He was to be left in charge during the absence of the young fur farmer. Roland had long ago won the sincere admiration of the rugged woodsman, who stood ready to do anything to show his regard. Besides, he would be well paid for all his trouble, and his family might even come over to visit him occasionally.

During the balance of their stay under the sheltering roof of the wonderful little lodge under the whispering pines, the boys made use of every hour in order to enjoy their limited holiday. Since success had crowned their efforts to find the missing one, they were in constant high spirits. It always produces a feeling of exultation to know that the goal has been attained for which a start was made; and the four chums were only human.

They certainly had a great time of it, visiting all sorts of strange nooks under the guidance of either Roland or Jerry. Max found a number of opportunities to add to his interesting collection of flashlight pictures. He made a specialty of the fox farm, and with the assistance of the young owner, managed to snap off the timid occupants of the enclosures in the act of feeding, as well as under various other equally instructive conditions; all of which would give a pretty good idea of how progressive fur farmers manage their outfit.

The wounded man grew better, so that when it was time for them to leave, he could take his part in the procession; though the others declined to let him burden himself with any of the duffle, since he was still weak.

Max had been studying Robert, and reached the conclusion that the young man was heartily ashamed of his miserable plotting. He hoped it would be a good lesson calculated to serve Robert the rest of his life; and if this turned out to be so, then that stumble of his, unfortunate as it may have seemed to him at the time, was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

The two marketable fox pups were placed securely in the cage that had been secured for this very purpose by Roland when last in the city. It weighed very little, and could be easily transported like an ordinary pack on the back. Roland himself meant to carry it, but of course the others insisted on "spelling" him from time to time.

Really, when the fateful morning hour came, and they turned back to give a last fond look at the little lodge under the green pines, Max and his three chums were conscious of a strange feeling of keen regret around the region of their hearts; which proved how the woods home of Roland had grown upon them.

"I certainly do hope those pictures will turn out to be daisies, Max." Steve was heard to say, most earnestly; "because I'll take a heap of satisfaction in recalling many of the pleasant things that have happened to us up here, where the breeze is always telling tales to the pinetops; and it's nice to be able to see what your mind is centered on."

"But look here," said Roland, delighted to hear Steve talk in that strain; "you mustn't think that even if I do succeed to that jolly little fortune left by my real uncle, and not one of the Grimeses, that I'm meaning to drop this fox farm business. By now it's got a deep hold on me, and I'm more bent than ever on making it a big success. Yes, and I'm also counting on you fellows paying me another visit some other time, the sooner the better."

They assured him it would please them beyond measure to contemplate spending part of their next summer vacation with him, when they could investigate still further the many delightful mysteries of the Adirondack wilderness.

So the lovely nook was lost sight of, and for some little time a silence seemed to fall upon all the members of the group, as they continued to trudge along the trail that eventually would fetch them to a road, and after that to a village.

Of course our story nears its end, now that we have seen Max and his chums accomplish the object of their search. They meant to continue along in the company of Roland, and see that the pair of beautiful glossy silver black fox pups were safely delivered to the purchaser, who intended to start a fur farm of his own in some other part of the country, possibly away up in the Canadian Northwest, and had taken a great fancy for the particular strain of animal Roland was propagating.

In due time they arrived at the city where this rich gentleman lived. He had, it appeared, seen and admired the fox pups while fishing in the neighborhood of the fur farm, and made a contract with Roland for the delivery of the pair at a certain time, binding the bargain with a cash payment.

It all turned out as planned, and when the boy received the balance of the stipulated amount in a handsome check he felt that he had a right to feel proud of his accomplishment.

Robert had long before then took his leave, and in doing so he squeezed the hand of his younger cousin, and assuring Roland that he meant to see more of him in the future. So far as Max could observe, the man appeared to have turned over a new leaf, and from that time forward was likely to show what was really in him besides his former desire to loaf and spend money.

And so in the fullness of time, the five boys turned up in Carson, where a certain good woman whom Roland claimed as his aunt was wonderfully well pleased to find his arms about her wrinkled neck, and his boyish kiss pressed upon her cheek. She assured Roland the first thing, that there was no need of his worrying about the future, because she had determined to make him her heir, regardless of whether he ever came into the money left under such exacting conditions by his deceased uncle.

Naturally, Roland was proud to tell his aunt that while he appreciated her fresh interest in his career, and would be only too glad to respond to her affection, at the same time she must know he had not made a failure, and that even now he was about to call upon the trustees of the will, to show them he had faithfully carried out all the provisions upon the fulfillment of which his legacy depended.

It all came out as planned; indeed, those same old trustees of the estate, living in another town, had the greatest surprise of their lives when that troop of boys called upon them, and the whole story was told; for of course Max and the other trio eagerly snapped at Roland's warm invitation to accompany him on this momentous occasion, so as to witness his crowning triumph, and add their testimony, if needed, as witnesses to the successful outcome of his plans.

Roland had taken pains to gather all necessary documents showing how he invested the greater part of his two thousand dollars, and how he was to draw half the proceeds on any sales. He also had the contract for the delivery of the first of the silver black fox pups, and after could, in addition, show the fat check covering that particular sale.

Everything had been looked after to a fraction. The old men found it difficult to believe what at first to their minds seemed so like a fairy story: but in the end they had to admit that Roland Chase had fully complied with every one of the conditions imposed on him in the strange will of his uncle; and as the time limit had not yet expired, he was fully entitled to his legacy, which in due time was paid over to him.

After that, Roland again departed for the wonderful "farm," where the most valuable crop ever heard of was being grown successfully. The other lads heard from him frequently during the winter months, and there was no discouraging report forthcoming. He now had Jerry with him constantly as his assistant, the guide having built a cabin near the farm, where he installed his family. It was nicer for Roland, too, since there were several children; and he could spend many an evening sociably, having taken up a phonograph with him, together with a fine supply of all sorts of records suitable for amusing a mixed company.

Max often allowed his thoughts to bridge the many miles that separated Carson from that lodge in the wilderness; and it required no magician's wand to enable him to see in his mind's eye the delightful surroundings that made the strange fur farm a possible El Dorado, where Fortune was liable to knock on the door and demand entrance.

It is with more or less regret that the writer finds he has reached the point where he must say goodbye; and he only does so with the understanding that just as soon as further stirring events worth narrating come to pass, it will be his pleasure, as well as duty, to place them between the covers of another book in this series.

THE END



THE OBLONG BOX.

* * * * *

Some years ago, I engaged passage from Charleston, S.C., to the city of New York, in the fine packet-ship Independence, Captain Hardy. We were to sail on the fifteenth of the month (June), weather permitting; and, on the fourteenth, I went on board to arrange some matters in my stateroom.

I found that we were to have a great many passengers, including a more than usual number of ladies. On the list were several of my acquaintances; and among other names, I was rejoiced to see that of Mr. Cornelius Wyatt, a young artist, for whom I entertained feelings of warm friendship. He had been with me a fellow-student at C——University, where we were very much together. He had the ordinary temperament of genius, and was a compound of misanthropy, sensibility, and enthusiasm. To these qualities he united the warmest and truest heart which ever beat in a human bosom.

I observed that his name was carded upon three staterooms; and, upon again referring to the list of passengers, I found that he had engaged passage for himself, wife, and two sisters—his own. The staterooms were sufficiently roomy, and each had two berths, one above the other. These berths, to be sure, were so exceedingly narrow as to be insufficient for more than one person; still, I could not comprehend why there were three staterooms for these four persons. I was, just at this epoch, in one of those moody frames of mind which make a man abnormally inquisitive about trifles: and I confess, with shame, that I busied myself in a variety of ill-bred and preposterous conjectures about this matter of the supernumerary stateroom. It was no business of mine, to be sure; but with none the less pertinacity did I occupy myself in attempts to resolve the enigma. At last! I had not arrived at it before. "It is a servant, of course," I said; "what a fool I am, not sooner to have thought of so obvious a solution!" And then I again repaired to the list—but here I saw distinctly that no servant was to come with the party; although, in fact, it had been the original design to bring one—for the words "and servant" had been first written and then overscored. "Oh, extra baggage to be sure," I now said to myself—"something he wishes not to be put in the hold—something to be kept under his own eye—ah, I have it—a painting or so—and this is what he has been bargaining about with Ficolino, the Italian Jew." This idea satisfied me, and I dismissed my curiosity for the nonce.

Wyatt's two sisters I knew very well, and most amiable and clever girls they were. His wife he had newly married, and I had never yet seen her. He had often talked about her in my presence, however, and in his usual style of enthusiasm. He described her as of surpassing beauty, wit, and accomplishment. I was, therefore, quite anxious to make her acquaintance.

On the day in which I visited the ship (the fourteenth), Wyatt and a party were also to visit it—so the captain informed me—and I waited on board an hour longer than I had designed, in hope of being presented to the bride; but then an apology came. "Mr. W. was a little indisposed, and would decline coming on board until to-morrow, at the hour of sailing."

The morrow having arrived, I was going from my hotel to the wharf, when Captain Hardy met me and said that "owing circumstances" (a stupid but convenient phrase), "he rather thought the Independence would not sail for a day or two, and that when all was ready, he would send up and let me know." This I thought strange, for there was a stiff southerly breeze; but as "the circumstances" were not forthcoming, although I pumped for them with much perseverance, I had nothing to do but to return home and digest my impatience at leisure.

I did not receive the expected message from the captain for nearly a week. It came at length, however, and I immediately went on board. The ship was crowded with passengers, and everything was in the bustle attendant upon making sail. Wyatt's party arrived in about ten minutes after myself. There were the two sisters, the bride, and the artist—the latter in one of his customary fits of moody misanthropy. I was too well used to these, however, to pay them any special attention. He did not even introduce me to his wife, this courtesy devolving, per force, upon his sister Marian, a very sweet and intelligent girl, who, in a few hurried words, made us acquainted.

Mrs. Wyatt had been closely veiled; and when she raised her veil, in acknowledging my bow, I confess that I was very profoundly astonished. I should have been much more so, however, had not long experience advised me not to trust, with too implicit a reliance, the enthusiastic descriptions of my friend, the artist, when indulging in comments upon the loveliness of woman. When beauty was the theme, I well knew with what facility he soared into the regions of the purely ideal.

The truth is, I could not help regarding Mrs. Wyatt as a decidedly plain-looking woman. If not positively ugly, she was not, I think, very far from it. She was dressed, however, in exquisite taste—and then I had no doubt that she had captivated my friend's heart by the more enduring graces of the intellect and soul. She said very few words, and passed at once into her stateroom with Mr. W.

My old inquisitiveness now returned. There was no servant—that was a settled point. I looked, therefore, for the extra baggage. After some delay, a cart arrived at the wharf, with an oblong pine box, which was everything that seemed to be expected. Immediately upon its arrival we made sail, and in a short time were safely over the bar and standing out to sea.

The box in question was, as I say, oblong. It was about six feet in length by two and a half in breadth; I observed it attentively, and like to be precise. Now this shape was peculiar; and no sooner had I seen it, than I took credit to myself for the accuracy of my guessing. I had reached the conclusion, it will be remembered, that the extra baggage of my friend, the artist, would prove to be pictures, or at least a picture; for I knew he had been for several weeks in conference with Nicolino; and now here was a box which, from its shape, could possibly contain nothing in the world but a copy of Leonardo's "Last Supper;" and a copy of this very "Last Supper," done by Rubini the younger at Florence, I had known, for some time, to be in the possession of Nicolino. This point, therefore. I considered as sufficiently settled. I chuckled excessively when I thought of my acumen. It was the first time I ever known Wyatt to keep from me any of his artistical secrets; but here he evidently intended to steal a march upon me, and smuggle a fine picture to New York, under my very nose; expecting me to know nothing of the matter. I resolved to quiz him well, now and hereafter.

One thing, however, annoyed me not a little. The box did not go into the extra stateroom. It was deposited in Wyatt's own; and there, too, it remained, occupying nearly the whole of the floor—no doubt to the exceeding discomfort of the artist and his wife;—this the more especially as the tar or paint with which it was lettered in sprawling capitals, emitted a strong, disagreeable, and, to my fancy, a peculiarly disgusting odor. On the lid were painted the words—"Mrs. Adelaide Curtis, Albany, New York. Charge of Cornelius Wyatt, Esq. This side up. To be handled with care."

Now, I was aware that Mrs. Adelaide Curtis, of Albany, was the artist's wife's mother; but then I looked upon the whole address as a mystification, intended especially for myself. I made up my mind, of course, that the box and contents would never get farther north than the studio of my misanthropic friend, in Chambers Street, New York.

For the first three or four days we had fine weather, although the wind was dead ahead; having chopped round to the northward, immediately upon our losing sight of the coast. The passengers were, consequently, in high spirits, and disposed to be social. I must except, however, Wyatt and his sisters, who behaved stiffly, and, I could not help thinking, uncourteously to the rest of the party. Wyatt's conduct I did not so much regard. He was gloomy, even beyond his usual habit—in fact he was morose—but in him I was prepared for eccentricity. For the sisters, however, I could make no excuse. They secluded themselves in their staterooms during the greater part of the passage, and absolutely refused, although I repeatedly urged them, to hold communication with any person on board.

Mrs. Wyatt herself was far more agreeable. That is to say, she was chatty; and to be chatty is no slight recommendation at sea. She became excessively intimate with most of the ladies; and, to my profound astonishment, evinced no equivocal disposition to coquet with the men. She amused us all very much. I say "amused"—and scarcely know how to explain myself. The truth is, I soon found that Mrs. W. was far oftener laughed at than with. The gentlemen said little about her; but the ladies, in a little while, pronounced her a "good-hearted thing, rather indifferent-looking, totally uneducated, and decidedly vulgar." The great wonder was, how Wyatt had been entrapped into such a match. Wealth was the general solution—but this I knew to be no solution at all; for Wyatt had told me that she neither brought him a dollar nor had any expectations from any source whatever. "He had married," he said, "for love, and for love only; and his bride was far more than worthy of his love." When I thought of these expressions, on the part of my friend, I confess that I felt indescribably puzzled. Could it be possible that he was taking leave of his senses? What else could I think? He, so refined, so intellectual, so fastidious, with so exquisite a perception of the faulty, and so keen an appreciation of the beautiful! To be sure, the lady seemed especially fond of him—particularly so in his absence—when, she made herself ridiculous by frequent quotations of what had been said by her "beloved husband, Mr. Wyatt." The word "husband" seemed forever—to use one of her own delicate expressions—forever "on the tip of her tongue." In the meantime, it was observed by all on board, that he avoided her in the most pointed manner, and, for the most part, shut himself up alone in his state-room, where, in fact, he might have been said to live altogether, leaving his wife at full liberty to amuse herself as she thought best, in the public society of the main cabin.

My conclusion, from what I saw and heard, was, that the artist, by some unaccountable freak of fate, or perhaps in some fit of enthusiastic and fanciful passion, had been induced to unite himself with a person altogether beneath him, and that the natural result, entire and speedy disgust, had ensued. I pitied him from the bottom of my heart—but could not, for that reason, quite forgive his incommunicativeness in the matter of the "Last Supper." For this I resolved to have my revenge.

One day he came upon deck, and, taking his arm as had been my wont, I sauntered with him backward and forward. His gloom, however (which I considered quite natural under the circumstances), seemed entirely unabated. He said little, and that moodily, and with evident effort. I ventured a jest or two, and he made a sickening attempt at a smile. Poor fellow! as I thought of his wife, I wondered that he could have heart to put on even the semblance of mirth. At last I ventured a home-thrust. I determined to commence a series of covert insinuations, or innuendoes, about the oblong box—just to let him perceive, gradually that I was not altogether the butt, or victim, of his little bit of pleasant mystification. My first observation was by way of opening a masked battery. I said something about the "peculiar shape of that box;" and, as I spoke the words, I smiled knowingly, winked, and touched him gently with my fore-finger in the ribs.

The manner in which Wyatt received this harmless pleasantry convinced me, at once, that he was mad. At first he stared at me as if he found it impossible to comprehend the witticism of my remark; but as its point seemed slowly to make its way into his brain, his eyes, in the same proportion, seemed protruding from their sockets. Then he grew very red—then hideously pale—then, as if highly amused with what I had insinuated, he began a loud and boisterous laugh, which, to my astonishment, he kept up, with gradually increasing vigor, for ten minutes or more. In conclusion he fell flat and heavily upon the deck. When I ran to uplift him, to all appearance he was dead.

I called assistance, and, with much difficulty, we brought him to himself. Upon reviving he spoke incoherently for some time. At length we bled him and put him to bed. The next morning he was quite recovered, so far as regarded his mere bodily health. Of his mind I say nothing, of course. I avoided him during the rest of the passage, by advice of the captain, who seemed to coincide with me altogether in my views of his insanity, but cautioned me to say nothing on this head to any person on board.

Several circumstances occurred immediately after this fit of Wyatt's which contributed to heighten the curiosity with which I was already possessed. Among other things, this: I had been nervous—drank too much strong green tea, and slept ill at night—in fact, for two nights I could not be properly said to sleep at all. Now, my stateroom opened into the main cabin, or dining-room, as did those of all the single men on board. Wyatt's three rooms were in the after-cabin, which was separated from the main one by a slight sliding door, never locked even at night. As we were almost constantly on a wind, and the breeze was not a little stiff, the ship heeled to leeward very considerably; and whenever her starboard side was to leeward, the sliding door between the cabins slid open, and so remained, nobody taking the trouble to get up and shut it. But my berth was in such a position, that when my own stateroom door was open, as well as the sliding door in question (and my own door was always open on account of the heat), I could see into the after-cabin quite distinctly, and just at that portion of it, too, where were situated the staterooms of Mr. Wyatt. Well, during two nights (not consecutive) while I lay awake, I clearly saw Mrs. W., about eleven o'clock each night, steal cautiously from the stateroom of Mr. W., and enter the extra room, where she remained until daybreak, when she was called by her husband and went back. That they were virtually separated was clear. They had separate apartments—no doubt in contemplation of a more permanent divorce; and here, after all, I thought, was the mystery of the extra stateroom.

There was another circumstance, too, which interested me much. During the two wakeful nights in question, and immediately after the disappearance of Mrs. Wyatt into the extra stateroom, I was attracted by certain singular, cautious, subdued noises in that of her husband. After listening to them for some time, with thoughtful attention, I at length succeeded perfectly in translating their import. They were sounds occasioned by the artist in prying open the oblong box, by means of a chisel and mallet—the latter being muffled, or deadened, by some soft woollen or cotton substance in which its head was enveloped.

In this manner I fancied I could distinguish the precise moment when he fairly disengaged the lid—also, that I could determine when he removed it altogether, and when he deposited it upon the lower berth in his room; this latter point I knew, for example, by certain slight taps which the lid made in striking against the wooden edges of the berth, as he endeavored to lay it down very gently—there being no room for it on the floor. After this there was a dead stillness, and I heard nothing more, upon either occasion, until nearly daybreak; unless, perhaps, I may mention a low sobbing, or murmuring sound, so very much suppressed as to be nearly inaudible—if, indeed, the whole of this latter noise were not rather produced by my own imagination. I say it seemed to resemble sobbing or sighing—but, of course, it could not have been either. I rather think it was a ringing in my own ears. Mr. Wyatt, no doubt, according to custom, was merely giving the rein to one of his hobbies—indulging in one of his fits of artistic enthusiasm. He had opened his oblong box, in order to feast his eyes on the pictorial treasure within. There was nothing in this, however, to make him sob. I repeat therefore, that it must have been simply a freak of my own fancy, distempered by good Captain Hardy's green tea. Just before dawn, on each of the two nights of which I speak, I distinctly heard Mr. Wyatt replace the lid upon the oblong box, and force the nails into their old places, by means of the muffled mallet. Having done this, he issued from his stateroom, fully dressed, and proceeded to call Mrs. W. from hers.

We had been at sea seven days, and were now off Cape Hatteras, when there came a tremendously heavy blow from the southwest. We were, in a measure, prepared for it, however, as the weather had been holding out threats for some time. Everything was made snug, alow and aloft; and as the wind steadily freshened, we lay to, at length, under spanker and foretopsail, both double-reefed.

In this trim, we rode safely enough for forty-eight hours—the ship proving herself an excellent sea boat, in many respects, and shipping no water of any consequence. At the end of this period, however, the gale had freshened into a hurricane, and our after-sail split into ribbons, bringing us so much in the trough of the water that we shipped several prodigious seas, one immediately after the other. By this accident we lost three men overboard with the caboose, and nearly the whole of the larboard bulwarks. Scarcely had we recovered our senses, before the foretopsail went into shreds when we got up a storm stay-sail, and with this did pretty well for some hours, the ship heading the sea much more steadily than before.

The gale still held on, however, and we saw no signs of its abating. The rigging was found to be ill-fitted, and greatly strained; and on the third day of the blow, about five in the afternoon, our mizzen-mast, in a heavy lurch to windward, went by the board. For an hour or more, we tried in vain to get rid of it, on account of the prodigious rolling of the ship, and, before we had succeeded, the carpenter came aft and announced four feet water in the hold. To add to our dilemma, we found the pumps choked and nearly useless.

All was now confusion and despair—but an effort was made to lighten the ship by throwing overboard as much of her cargo as could be reached, and by cutting away the two masts that remained. This we at last accomplished—but we were still unable to do anything at the pumps; and, in the meantime, the leak gained on us very fast.

At sundown, the gale had sensibly diminished, in and, as the sea went down with it, we still entertained faint hopes of saving ourselves in the boats. At eight P.M. the clouds broke away to windward, and we had the advantage of a full moon—a piece of good fortune which served wonderfully to cheer our drooping spirits.

After incredible labor we succeeded, at length, in getting the long-boat over the side without material accident, and into this we crowded the whole of the crew and most of the passengers. This party made off immediately, and, after undergoing much suffering, finally arrived, in safety, at Ocracoke Inlet, on the third day after the wreck.

Fourteen passengers, with the Captain, remained on board, resolving to trust their fortunes to the jolly-boat at the stern. "We lowered it without difficulty, although it was only by a miracle that we prevented it from swamping as it touched the water. It contained, when afloat, the captain and his wife, Mr. Wyatt and party, a Mexican officer, wife, four children, and myself, with a negro valet."

We had no room, of course, for anything except a few positively necessary instruments, some provision, and the clothes upon our backs. No one had thought of even attempting to save anything more. What must have been the astonishment of all then, when, having proceeded a few fathoms from the ship, Mr. Wyatt stood up in the stern-sheets, and coolly demanded of Captain Hardy that the boat should be put back for the purpose of taking in his oblong box!

"Sit down, Mr. Wyatt," replied the Captain, somewhat sternly, "you will capsize us if you do not sit quite still. Our gunwale is almost in the water now."

"The box!" vociferated Mr. Wyatt, still standing—"the box, I say! Captain Hardy, you cannot, you will not refuse me. Its weight will be but a trifle—it is nothing—mere nothing. By the mother who bore you—for the love of Heaven—by your hope of salvation, I implore you to put back for the box!"

The Captain, for a moment, seemed touched by the earnest appeal of the artist, but he regained his stern composure, and merely said:

"Mr. Wyatt you are mad. I cannot listen to you. Sitdown, I say, or you will swamp the boat. Stay—hold him—seize him! he is about to spring overboard! There—I knew it—he is over!"

As the Captain said this, Mr. Wyatt, in fact, sprang from the boat, and, as we were yet in the lee of the wreck, succeeded, by almost superhuman exertion, in getting hold of a rope which hung from the fore-chains. In another moment he was on board, and rushing frantically down into the cabin.

In the meantime, we had been swept astern of the ship, and being quite out of her lee, were at the mercy of the tremendous sea which was still running. We made a determined effort to put back, but our little boat was like a feather in the breath of the tempest. We saw at a glance that the doom of the unfortunate artist was sealed.

As our distance from the wreck rapidly increased, the madman (for as such only could we regard him) was seen to emerge from the companion-way, up which, by dint of a strength that appeared gigantic, he dragged, bodily, the oblong box. While we gazed in the extremity of astonishment, he passed, rapidly, several turns of a three-inch rope, first around the box and then around his body. In another instant both body and box ware in the sea—disappearing suddenly, at once and forever.

We lingered awhile sadly upon our oars, with our eyes riveted upon the spot. At length we pulled away. The silence remained unbroken for an hour. Finally, I hazarded a remark.

"Did you observe, Captain, how suddenly they sank? Was not that an exceedingly singular thing? I confess that I entertained some feeble hope of his final deliverance, when I saw him lash himself to the box, and commit himself to the sea."

"They sank as a matter of course," replied the Captain, "and that like a shot. They will soon rise again, however—but not till the salt melts."

"The salt!" I ejaculated.

"Hush!" said the Captain, pointing to the wife and sisters of the deceased. "We must talk of these things at some more appropriate time."

* * * * *

We suffered much, and made a narrow escape; but fortune befriended us, as well as our mates in the long boat. We landed, in fine, more dead than alive, after four days of intense distress, upon the beach opposite Roanoke Island. We remained there a week, were not ill-treated by the wreckers, and at length obtained a passage to New York.

About a month after the loss of the Independence, I happened to meet Captain Hardy in Broadway. Our conversation turned, naturally, upon the disaster, and especially upon the sad fate of poor Wyatt. I thus learned the following particulars.

The artist had engaged passage for himself, wife, two sisters, and a servant. His wife was, indeed, as she had been represented, a most lovely and most accomplished woman. On the morning of the fourteenth of June (the day in which I first visited the ship), the lady suddenly sickened and died. The young husband was frantic with grief—but circumstances imperatively forbade the deferring his voyage to New York. It was necessary to take to her mother the corpse of his adored wife, and on the other hand, the universal prejudice which would prevent his doing so openly, was well known. Nine-tenths of the passengers would have abandoned the ship rather than take passage with the dead body.

In this dilemma, Captain Hardy arranged that the corpse, being first partially embalmed, and packed, with a large quantity of salt, in a box of suitable dimensions, should be conveyed on board as merchandise. Nothing was to be said of the lady's decease; and, as it was well understood that Mr. Wyatt had engaged passage for his wife, it became necessary that some person should personate her during the voyage. This the deceased's lady's maid was easily prevailed on to do. The extra state-room, originally engaged for this girl during her mistress' life, was now merely retained. In this state-room the pseudo-wife slept, of course, every night. In the daytime she performed, to the best of her ability, the part of her mistress—whose person, it had been carefully ascertained, was unknown to any of the passengers on board.

My own mistakes arose, naturally enough, through too careless, too inquisitive, and too impulsive a temperament. But of late, it is a rare thing that I sleep soundly at night. There is a countenance which haunts me, turn as I will. There is an hysterical laugh which will forever ring within my ears.

THE END