CHAPTER XII.

NED TO THE RESCUE.

A week had elapsed from the date of Skatta's disappearance, and every effort to find some trace of her had failed. Dolly was in despair, and both Uncle Harry and Aunt Anna had given up all hope of ever seeing her again, although keeping up a show of hopefulness for Dolly's sake.

It was on the afternoon of the seventh day, and Ned was sitting in the barn door, thoughtfully whittling.

"I don't see," Uncle Harry had remarked that day at the dinner-table--"I don't see how the fellow ever got off with her without anybody seeing him."

_Had_ he got away with her? was the question Ned was now asking himself. Was it not possible that both he and Skatta were hidden somewhere not far away? Certainly it would not be a difficult thing to do, to keep himself and Skatta in hiding till such time as the search for her should be over. So Ned whittled and revolved these questions in his mind.

"That's it, I'll bet!" he shouted out at last, bringing his hand down upon his knee with a resounding slap that made old Bill jump. The next minute he was on his feet, and thrusting his jack-knife into his trousers-pocket, he struck a bee-line across the old muster-field for the Little Madam's cottage. He came out into the winding lane just before reaching it.

What an atmosphere of peace seemed to brood over the little domain, lying so securely within its encircling pastures! The sun lay warm within the narrow yard. Close by the door-stone blossomed a pale-yellow chrysanthemum; but the crimson leaves of the woodbine had fallen, save one at the summit of the chimney, that fluttered in the warm south wind like the "one red leaf" in "Christabel"--

"_The last of its clan, That dances as often as dance it can, Hanging so light and hanging so high On the topmost twig that looks up at the sky._"

Ned peeped in at a window. Some one had evidently been there since the room had been put in order under Thankful's careful supervision. A fire had been kindled on the hearth, and the ashes and brands had encroached upon the white scoured floor. A litter of straw in one corner showed where some one had slept. Ned tried the door: it was unfastened and he went in. Some of the boards of the floor had been lifted, and one was still out of place. Ned recalled the gossip about the Little Madam's hidden treasure. But there was no sign of fire among the ashes on the hearth, and the bricks were cold. Evidently no one was making use of the cottage then.

He went out and stood a few moments on the door-stone. He took out his knife and stooped to cut off the yellow chrysanthemum blossoms.

"She will like them," he was thinking, remembering the Little Madam's love of flowers. But he drew back his knife. "No, I'll look for them," was his determination. "I'll wait till I come back." And then, with a deliberation and slowness that contrasted oddly with the headlong haste of his passage from the tavern to the cottage, he climbed over the fence into the pasture and made for the woods.

Following him, you would have noticed how he avoided every bit of open ground and kept close to the woods, choosing those of pine and hemlock rather than of the deciduous trees that, now the leaves had fallen, afforded less shelter from observation. He chose, too, the woods where the underbrush was thick; and as he went on, he examined cautiously and carefully every thicket, explored every hollow, stopping frequently to listen.

With these woods on Hemlock Island he was familiar. He had tracked them through and through many times when in pursuit of stray cattle or sheep. He had set traps in them, too. But that day he barely noticed the scolding squirrels that leaped from branch to branch over his head, nor the rabbits that scurried across his path. Even the flight of a bevy of partridges failed to stir the hunter's heart in his bosom. He was in quest of quite another sort of game.

After about an hour of this cautious progress he came to the opening where the coal-pits were. He recalled the day Dolly rode down there so gayly on Skatta, with Gaston by her side. He paused and reconnoitred before venturing out into the open space. The cabins were still there, but the pits had been coaled long since and the coal carted off. Nothing remained to tell of that busy scene but the big black circles in the turf, which was still green as in spring with the late mild rains and the wash from the coal-pit bottoms.

The grass showed no sign of recent foot-falls, so Ned ventured forth and peeped into each solitary, empty cabin. There was the straw and the old quilts, the pieces of battered tin-ware and stumps of pipes, just as they had been left when the last load of coal was carted off. How still it was! Not a leaf stirred, not a solitary bird rustled among the branches. The utter silence of the place was oppressive; earth and sky seemed to listen.

Presently the cry of a flock of geese was heard. They were flying low, and wearily seeking a place to rest. As they neared Wintuxet Lake, a shot cut clear and sharp through the air and two fell swiftly, while the V-shaped line broke in disorder.

"Sportsmen," thought Ned. "_He_ wouldn't dare to be firing guns."

As he turned away with a feeling of keen disappointment from the empty cabins, he thought of another place, still more secluded, where it was possible that Skatta and the thief might be hidden. This possible hiding-place was a good mile farther on, and away from home. The sun had already sunk low in the west, for these were the year's shortest days.

But Ned pushed resolutely on, for somehow, with every fresh disappointment he felt more and more certain that he was on the right track. He made his way through the thick underbrush and over the swampy tracts cautiously, as before. He crossed a tremulous piece of turf, about half an acre in extent, known as "the tilting ground." It bent under even his light weight at every step, and tradition said that under that springing turf was a bottomless pit of liquid mud, and that any one by chance breaking through would go on sinking till he came out, say, at Hong-Kong, China, or some other place at the antipodes.

But Ned did not mind the springing turf; he had never really believed the fabulous story, though he had told it to Dolly, and they had speculated together over the probable fate of any human being who might happen to break through. He had promised to show it to her some day.

Just as the sun had dropped below the horizon, sending up a flight of golden arrows to the zenith by way of a farewell to the eastern world, Ned reached his destination. This was also an old coaling ground, though it had been years since any pits had been coaled there. The only time Ned remembered ever being at this exact place was about a year previous, when he went through this tract of woods with his father, in search of a pine fit for a ship's mast. At that time the coal-cabins were in a ruinous state; but on this day, as Ned parted the branches of a young pine and peeped out into the open space, his eye fell upon two comfortable cabins. The fallen slabs had been picked up and carefully nailed in place--there were the brown stripes in the turf where they had lain--and each cabin was thatched with branches of hemlock and white pine.

"Treed at last!" ejaculated Ned, under his breath, and this was all the outward expression of joy he allowed himself, though he could have danced a jig in sheer delight. He drew quietly back into the depths of the young pine, and reflected.

The situation was indeed a serious one. It was already sunset, as I have said, and were he to go home at once and carry the news of his discovery, the probability was that his father would think it unwise to attempt Skatta's rescue and the arrest of the thief before morning--and what might not happen between that time and morning? Before sunrise they might both be far away. No! such risk as that was not to be thought of for a moment. He, acting alone, could not secure both, of course; but if he could only get Skatta, take her that night to her young mistress safe and sound--ah! he could see Dolly's shining eyes even through the gathering mists of the twilight as he thought of it. _That_ was worth running a little risk for.

But how was he to do it? How was he, a mere boy, to carry her off with safety both to her and himself, from this daring, reckless man? He must plan with wisdom, and act with discretion and promptness. There must be the least possible risk of detection in the act. For Ned felt, and rightly too, that the fellow would not hesitate to fire at him, to kill him even, as he had done Gaston, if he thought the so doing were necessary to his own safety. Ned had accepted, as we see, without any reservation, Dolly's theory as to _who_ the thief was--viz., the murderer of Gaston.

While he was casting about in his mind for a plan of rescue, a man stepped out into the opening from the woods on the opposite side. Ned recognized him at once. It was the man with the evil eye, whom they saw that day by the blazing pit, the man whom Dolly said had killed Gaston, one of the meeting-house thieves. He held a gun in one hand, and from the other hung a couple of dead geese. His was the shot, after all, that Ned had heard. He entered one of the cabins, and presently smoke was seen coming out of the hole in the top.

"He's getting supper," reflected Ned. "Wish I had some! Going to roast one of those geese, I'll bet!" and Ned's mouth fairly watered at the thought. "Oh, dear! how hungry I am! Wish I'd thought to take a couple o' dough-nuts."

Ned's conjecture was right. The man _was_ going to have goose for supper; for, leaving his fire to get well under way, he came out and proceeded to pick and clean one of the geese. A cloud of downy feathers hid him from view as he worked.

"What'd Thankful say to such a waste o' feathers," commented Ned, as he watched the man with an interest that made him almost forget his own perilous situation. "Oh, what a fool! He don't know anything! he's no sportsman!" as he saw the way in which he mangled the plump, fat bird.

The process of dressing, or _undressing_--for why should we call the pulling off of all a bird's feathers "dressing it?"--was soon ended, and the man again vanished into the cabin. As he disappeared, Ned felt as though he would risk almost anything just for one peep, in order to see how he would cook the goose. "I should hang it before the fire with a string fastened to the top of the cabin," he decided in his own mind; for Ned was a born sportsman, and fertile in invention, as indeed most bright boys are, for that matter.

Presently the man, having arranged his goose to his satisfaction, came out and crossed over to the other cabin. A moment or two passed, and he reappeared, leading Skatta--for it _was_ Skatta, though so covered with dust, so frowzy, with wisps of dry grass clinging to coat and mane and tail, as to look little like the sleek, glossy creature her mistress was wont to groom daily with such loving care.

She had apparently been well fed, however, for she pranced about gayly and seemed in the best of spirits, though she shied suggestively when the man raised his hand or came very near her.

"The brute's been abusing her," thought Ned, and his blood boiled at the thought.

The man led her to a spring at the edge of the woods, not far from the spot where Ned lay in a tangle of ferns, laurel, and white pine. At first she refused to drink, and held her head high, seemingly searching the woods with her soft, spirited eyes. The man swore at her and kicked her, and then she began to plunge and rear, but she subdued herself quickly, as though knowing it was of no use to rebel. Then she bowed her head and drank long and deeply, and as they were returning from the spring, again her soft, spirited eyes seemed to question the shadowy woods. Was she conscious that a friend was hidden there? Possibly.

She was led back to the cabin, and then Ned waited and waited while the man ate his dinner and smoked his pipe. He could catch glimpses of him through the chinks in the cabin as he moved about in the firelight, and a delicious and tantalizing odor of broiling goose was wafted upon the night air to the nostrils of the hungry boy.

Ned had drawn up his plan; it was a simple one, viz., to wait till the man was sound asleep, and then make off with Skatta. It was tedious waiting, and he sometimes felt cramped, but he dared not move lest a rustle among the bushes--for the night was breathlessly still--might betray him. Once or twice he came near falling asleep, but he pinched himself awake.

The man occasionally came to the door and looked out, leaning up against the side of the cabin, and smoking in a contemplative manner. At such times Ned hoped he wasn't thinking about leaving that night; if he did, what was he (Ned) to do? To see Skatta carried off from right under his nose, as it were, he felt would be more than he could endure.

At last, however, after what seemed an interminable time, the fire in the cabin died down and all was still. Ned waited a good while even after that, curbing his impatience with the thought that if he should make a movement one moment too soon all would be lost. The time seemed to lengthen into a week, as he said afterwards, and how he did wish he knew exactly what time it was! And what were they thinking at home when he failed to appear at supper-time? Well, he guessed he should surprise 'em when he did come.

At length he ventured out from his covert into the opening. It was a clear, starlight night; the moon had not yet risen. Ned looked up. How thoroughly comfortable and comforting was the sight of those familiar constellations, the "Little Dipper," the "Big Dipper," and Orion's dazzling belt! He had to pass close by the cabin wherein the man lay asleep. He stopped an instant and listened. He heard his heavy breathing, but even while he listened he turned restlessly in his sleep and groaned.

Ned slipped, silently and swiftly as a ghost glides, over the space which separated the two cabins and entered Skatta's.

"Skatta!" he whispered, warningly. He was in mortal terror lest she should whinny when she recognized him. Not she! She had not yet lain down, and she turned her head as he came up to her, and rubbed her nose over his head, his shoulders, anywhere where she could reach him.

He groped for her saddle and bridle. He could ride Skatta bare-back, with only her halter to guide her, if necessary, but he had no mind to do that. He would take her back to Dolly "all saddled and bridled" as she first came, if he took her at all.

Skatta stepped carefully to his leading, slipped her head promptly into the bridle, and would doubtless have assisted with right good-will in buckling the saddle-girths if she could, for well she knew that the hour of her deliverance had come.

He then led her out, and mounted at once, to be ready for any emergency. He walked her slowly over the open space towards a wood's road which led into the country road, slowly and silently as possible, and it was only just as they reached that road that the thief, awaking, saw his prey escaping. He sent a pistol-shot after them, but it was too late.

"Now, Skatta," said Ned, "as fast as you please!" and the little creature, fresh from her week's rest, and turned towards home, literally flew over the ground. Part of the way, the last part, they took to the fields, the tireless Skatta leaping fences and ditches at full speed, doing herself, in her small way, as much credit as did Browning's famous Roland himself when he brought the good news from Ghent to Aix.

The moon was rising over the eastern pines as they passed the Little Madam's cottage, and as they dashed by, Ned gave a sort of a view-halloo as a vent to his so long pent-up feelings, and the man-in-the-moon seemed to beam upon him with more than his usual benignity. He did not stop for the yellow chrysanthemum blossoms. Oh no! _they_ could wait. Seen in the white moonlight, they clustered like stars around the big flat door-stone.

A brief time and they had crossed the old muster-field, leaped the meeting-house fence, and were in the tavern door-yard, Skatta panting and with reeking sides, but whinnying most joyously as she caught sight of the waiting group there. For the whole family force was out--Aunt Anna and Uncle Harry, Cousin Kitty and the Little Madam, together with Thankful and Betty and 'Zekle and Skipper Joe, who had arrived that day--all shouting out a welcome and filled with wonder.

And there, too, was Dolly, flying up from her station by the guide-post, where she had been listening to the sound of the coming hoofs, which she had at once recognized as Skatta's, and upon whose neck she instantly fell in a mingled transport of tears and laughter. And just then the meeting-house clock struck nine.

There had been much anxiety at the tavern when supper-time failed to bring Ned. He had done such a thing once or twice in his life as to go off in company with other boys, fishing or trapping, without saying anything about it. And this time, perhaps, he had gone down to the lake for a shot at the geese and ducks, which were now on their passage south. So said Uncle Harry, and so they all tried to think; and they engaged in their usual evening occupations, or pretended to do so.

But Dolly had not been content to sit down and wait. Every few minutes she made a raid out into the road, and looked up and down for the missing Ned; and at last she was rewarded by the sound of Skatta's swift-coming hoofs, and her joyous shout had brought out the whole family, as we have seen.

Skatta, after being duly patted and petted, was led off by 'Zekle, accompanied by Dolly--not to her old stall in the cow-barn, but to a more secure place in the stable; and Ned was taken in to supper, which Thankful, always practical, had kept hot and comfortable for him on the kitchen hearth.

He refused to open his mouth, however, about the rescue of Skatta, until Dolly, having seen her rubbed down, fed, and bedded, came in, and then he told them all about it.

And the next morning he and Dolly, once more in happy companionship on old Bill and Skatta, rode down and gathered the pale yellow chrysanthemums for the Little Madam.