Chapter C: Goodfellow (4)

“Never mind,” Will replied confusedly, as he opened the drawer of which Henry had spoken. There were many things in this drawer, arranged in excellent order, Henry thought; but to anyone else, everything seemed to be in appalling _dis_order, as though thrown into it at random. Boxes, strings, cords, fishhooks, slate-pencils, lead-pencils, discarded buttons; a glass ink-bottle that a blue-eyed girl had once given him for prompting her against the rules; a top that a dead brother had spun in days gone by; a diary that began with a grand flourish and ended miserably on the fifth page; and several other things, were stowed away in that drawer. If the reader wishes to know _exactly_ what its contents were, let him look into the sanctum of such a boy as Henry.

Groping among these things, Will found his cousin’s powder-flask, poured a generous charge into the barrel of both pistols, and then rammed in a wad.

“Ready?” asked Henry, as he slipped on the second boot.

“Oh, yes; in a minute;” Will replied, becoming very much confused.

Fumbling in the drawer again, he drew out a box which he supposed held the bullets. Tearing off the lid without stopping to examine what the soft black balls really were, he dropped one into each barrel, and secured it with a wad.

Poor boy! Of course he had made a blunder, and mistaken artificial balls, that Henry had made for his little brothers pog-gun, for leaden bullets! These balls were made of tow, soaked in water, and then rounded into shape. They were excellent for a pop-gun, but rather out of place in a pistol.

Poor knights-errant! They were not armed even so well as Henry imagined. In case of an attack from the demon, all that they could rely on would be their jack-knives.

Unconscious of his mistake, Will observed, with a sigh of relief, “There, they’re loaded! I’m not much used to loading pistols, Henry; but I know better than to put the balls in first!”

“Then why didn’t you say so before?” Henry demanded, as he stepped into the room. “You are too nervous, Will; you ought to take things coolly, as I do. Of course the pistols are all right; but let me see them.”

Taking them up, he said, with an amused smile: “It’s pretty dark here, Will, _but I think I could see the caps, if they were on_!”

“Oh!” was all poor Will could say.

Henry hurried to his drawer, found his box of caps, and speedily remedied Will’s neglect. But he did not see the mistake Will had made about the balls.

Then each boy thrust a pistol into his coat pocket, and looked every inch a redoubtable hero.

“Never mind shutting up the drawer, Will; never mind doing anything;” Henry cried impatiently. “It is nearly a quarter to seven; so let us hurry, and we’ll swoop down on the demon just in the nick of time.”

As they passed out of the house, Henry’s little sister asked where they were going.

“Wait till we come back, Topsy, and we’ll have a whole story-book full of tales to tell you,” said Henry. “We are going to do something wonderful, and perhaps we’ll find something to bring back to you. Topsy, tell your baby brother that if we meet Jack the Giant Killer, we’ll smash his head for him.”

A minute later, the boys were fairly on their way to the cave.

“Henry, there is a question I want to ask you,” said Will, as they strode along. “It will be so late when we get home, and we shall be so tired; why didn’t we start early in the afternoon?”

“Ho! what a question! Why, Will, I’m astonished at you! What would be the fun in going in daylight? Don’t you see, _night_ makes everything solemn and romantic, and spurs a fellow on to be very brave--so brave that he wouldn’t be afraid of the skeleton of a devil-fish. Will, do you ever read novels? stories? legends?”

“Yes.”

“Well, don’t the heroes do all their noble deeds at night? Villains and ruffians prowl around at night, and the heroes know that, and lay their plans to grapple them. Will, when different nations go to war, like two dogs over a bone, if they can only manage to do the fighting at night, they always do. And then what a battle there is.”

He held forth in this strain till he became almost eloquent; but wound up by saying, with great inconsistency, “Besides, it isn’t night at all; it’s only evening.”

To all this Will meekly assented.

“As for being tired,” Henry continued, with intense disgust, “you’re no true boy, Will, if you care a straw for that, when such sport is in view.”

“No, of course not!” Will hastily replied. But he asked himself whether his cousin had any of Marmaduke’s notions.

“Well,” after a pause, “I _did_ have a reason for coming at this particular time. I know a good-natured fellow that comes along this way every evening with a team. I see him coming now; and he’ll give us a ride, as sure as our pistols are loaded. He’ll set us down not far from the cave, and that will be a great help; and, Will, if you are tired, ten to one we’ll get a ride going home!”

Will began to think his cousin was a strangely contrary boy.

Mr. Mortimer’s house stood in the suburbs of the town, which the boys had now left entirely behind. Eagerly they hurried on, but the teamster soon overtook them, and as Henry had said, he offered them a ride. As they rattled on over the dusty road, they felt that this world is very beautiful, after all; and that it is a fine thing to have a teamster for a friend.

When they left him they were within a quarter of a mile of their destination.

It was between two hills that they alighted, the road coming down one, crossing a bridge that spanned a little stream, and then going up another. The land on either side was low,--even marshy in places,--and used principally for pasturage. To the left of the road there were no banks; but to the right, for a long way up the stream, there were high and steep banks, with a wide valley between them. It was in one of these banks that the cave was situated.

The cousins ran across the road, and down into the valley, on their way to the demon’s abode. The teamster watched them as he drove along, and muttered: “So _that’s_ where the rascals are going! Well, let ’em go; I reckon they’ll soon come howling back again, very much the worse for wear, and rather broken in wind!”

_Chapter XVIII._

THE COUSINS SEE MORE THAN THEY BARGAINED FOR.

Will was about to follow the stream, but Henry called out to him, “Don’t go there, Will, for the ground is too soft after the rain. Besides, we must be careful; the demon may be prowling around; and he might see us. Let us follow this steep bank for a little way, and then we shall find a path leading right up to the top of it.”

It was a desert place, far from any habitation--a wilderness within sight of a town. High above them rose an almost perpendicular bank, of _earth_, not _rock_; while directly opposite rose a similar bank, nearly as high. Between these lay the pasture-land. Will and Henry were sensible of the desolation of the place; it fired their enthusiasm, and warmed their blood; and they peered into the shadows as though they imagined a whole band of demons lurked near, ready to spring upon them.

If they should be attacked, as Henry seemed to fear, so far from help, his pistols and pocket-knives would be frail weapons of defence.

They soon reached the path leading upwards, and began to ascend.

“Henry, wouldn’t it be better to go boldly up to the door of the cave, and knock?” Will asked. “Surely, the demon would let us in, and show us around; and if he should, of course, he would let us out again.”

“No, Will; that wouldn’t do at all. The demon never lets any one into his cave; and as I told you, the story runs that whoever he _takes_ in never gets out again. If we should knock at his door he would be on his guard, and I doubt whether we should be able to get in at all. Besides, it wouldn’t be poetical to get in that way. No; we must entice him out, and then rush in like a whirlwind.”

“But how are we to get out again?”

“Now, Will, I don’t mean _you_ when I say it; but that is a coward’s thought. I never troubled myself about that--in fact, I never let such an idea come into my head. If we had wanted to get in that way, we should have stayed down in the valley. By going around on the top of the hill, as we are, we can lay a trap that the demon will certainly fall into. You see, Will, if we want to get fun out of this expedition, we must have a plot. I don’t blame you for being nervous, Will; those trick-playing boys at your place have unsettled your nerves, and unstrung your faculties; but if you stay with me long enough, I’ll string them up till you are ready for anything.”

Will heaved a sigh, blinked painfully, and said, “Thank you!”

Henry resumed: “Yes, Will, I think we can safely leave that question till we get ready to go out. Some way will be found then, never fear. The main point is to get in; it will be easy enough to get out.”

“Let us stop a minute, and look around,” Will said, as they strode warily along on the brow of the hill.

“By all means, Will. Here,” stretching out his arms, and speaking with theatrical vehemence, “here is scenery! This is where the travelling photographers come to astonish themselves!”

A splendid view was obtained from this elevation; the country could be seen for a long distance, and glimpses were caught of three or four towns besides Henry’s.

But the writer seems to forget that he is not a school-girl writing a prize composition in description of some far distant and romantic land of which she, in her younger days, had learned a piece of poetry, difficult and tiresome, but studded with beautiful metaphors that fired her budding genius.

A great many dumb beasts, but no human beings, were in sight.

Henry soon broke the silence by saying, “Come, Will, we must go on.”

They hurried along on the brow of the long hill, conversing in low tones. Still no appearance of the demon. There was a well-beaten path, evidently worn by the demon himself, which they followed. After following this path for a few minutes, Henry suddenly stopped, and said in a hoarse whisper:

“Will, I think we are directly over the cave. Hush! Keep very still, and look out for danger; but be as collected as a desperado. We are two to one; so there is nothing to be afraid of. Now, Will, crouch down, and we’ll lay our plans right over the demon’s head. He can’t hear us, and I want to make everything clear to you. Don’t you see, Will, its a striking idea to plot and scheme over the very cave itself?”

“Yes, it’s just like outlaws,” said Will.

“Well, by going on a little farther, we shall find another path leading down this hill into the valley. We must take that path, so that we can come up to the cave from behind. The demon will never suspect any one of coming from that direction, and he will be trapped nicely. We can get behind the big old tree you see down there, and then fire! You see, Will, we had to come this roundabout way over his cave; it would never do to pass in front of it, and run the risk of being seen.”

Will saw, and admired Henry’s stratagem.

“It makes me think of Robinson Crusoe and his cave,” he whispered, as they rose and went on.

Soon they reached the path leading downwards, which they descended warily, and then found themselves once more in the valley. A few steps ahead was a monstrous old tree, lying flat on the ground, and jutting out towards the opposite bank; while farther along, round an angle, was the entrance into the cave. Any person behind that tree would be effectually hidden from that entrance; and, of course, that entrance would be hidden from him.

Henry’s plan was to fire, and then keep a sharp look-out over the tree till the demon should come out and place some distance between himself and his cave, looking for the cause of the loud noise. He imagined that what with the angle, the surrounding cliffs, and the echoes that would follow, it would be impossible for a person in the cave to tell the exact place from which the report came. When the demon should be at a safe distance from his cave, Henry and Will would dash into it.

Henry thought they would be perfectly safe; for would they not be protected on every side, except from the rear?

From the rear!

When they reached the foot of the hill, they paused and looked warily, even fearfully, up the valley. But it was fast getting dark, and they did not see a man who crouched against the cliff in time to escape observation.

He was the man commonly called the Demon.

The cousins turned and proceeded slowly and circumspectly toward their ambush, fearing every minute that the demon might appear in front of them. As they went they conversed in whispers. The man, or demon, followed so closely behind them that he heard every word; and yet so carefully did he tread that they were not aware of his presence. As will be seen, he gathered the whole plan of attack from their whispered conversation, and took his measures accordingly.

“Now, Will, we must settle the last details of our plot,” Henry said. “You may fire your pistol, Will, but I’ll keep my fire till I see whether we need it or not. I’ll climb the trunk of the tree, when we think it is safe, from your shoulder, and then pull you up. Of course we can jump from the tree to the ground, and then, to run for the cave!”

“But suppose the demon isn’t in his cave?”

“That’s just what we’re afraid of, Will, and we are only taking our chances. He ought to be in at this time of night, eating his supper and tormenting his captives--if he has any. He _must_ be in! I feel that we haven’t come all the way here for nothing; I feel that we are in for a grand adventure! And what will the demon say when he finds two armed boys in his den!”

“Suppose he won’t come out when I fire? He may be too cute to rush out, and leave the door open, and straggle off.”

“Oh, do quit supposing! If he won’t come out, we will shove our way in. If he is a good old man, we must cheer him up, and help him; but if he is a wicked old knave, with captives and treasures, we must set them free, and plunder him for the National Treasury. Here we are at the tree, Will; get out your pistol ready to fire. No, wait! Let me take a look over the log, to see that he isn’t prowling around there.”

After much scrambling, Henry succeeded in climbing upon the tree. Will stood by, fumbling idly with the pistol. The demon, a few steps behind, pressed close against the cliff, and remained unseen.

“I don’t see anything of the demon,” Henry whispered, from the trunk of the tree. “Don’t fire till I slip down, because he might pop out quick, and see me. In a minute or two, I’ll venture up again.”

Before he had finished speaking he was on the ground; and, as bravely as a war-worn general, he said, in a higher key than Will’s proximity made necessary: “FIRE!”

Of course every accomplished story-teller, when he “gets into the thick of it,” must pause deliberately, and give prolix descriptions of people or places about whom or which the general reader cares next to nothing. It is unjust to the impatient, but powerless, reader; but it is the custom. We must plead guilty of this time-honored meanness, and seize the present opportune moment to introduce the demon as he appeared at that time.

He was a tall, powerful man, with light, active movements, worthy of a soldier. His features were regularly formed, and apparently he had once been a fine-looking man. Now, however, he was haggard and stooped from long-continued privations. His eyes had a ferocious glare,--not pleasant to beholders, but supposed to be an attribute of maniacs,--a suspicious look, as though he dreaded some enemy were lurking near, ready to spring upon him. In fact, his entire appearance showed that he was always on his guard. His long and intensely black hair waved about his shoulders in wild profusion; whilst his beard, likewise black, reached far down his breast. His clothing, old and tattered, was in keeping with his general appearance.

All taken together, he looked like a madman; and if Marmaduke could have seen him, he would have been in ecstacy, thinking that at last he had found one of Dickens’ monstrosities.

The “gentle reader” has not been kept in suspense very long, but the narrative may now resume its course.

The demon crept stealthily out of the shadow, and, unperceived by the boys, stole swiftly, but noiselessly, upon them. When Henry said “fire!” Will raised his pistol with a trembling hand, and cocked it, preparatory to firing into the air. But before he could do so, the demon sprang upon him, and the luckless boy found himself encircled by two long and powerful arms--an embrace anything but loving.

With a gasp of intense terror, he turned and saw by whom he was held. To his heated imagination, the demon appeared a monster.

Henry, also, turned around and saw him. With a cry of dismay, he threw up his arms, and struck the pistol, which still dangled in Will’s nerveless hand.

How it happened--whether Will unconsciously pulled the trigger, or whether the blow did it--can never be known; but with a stunning noise the pistol discharged its contents, and then fell to the ground.

To Will’s consternation, Henry staggered; flung his arms out wildly for support; gave a moan of pain or terror; and also fell, heavily. The charge had struck him somewhere--but where?

At this catastrophe, Will forgot that the demon’s arms encircled him, forgot everything but that he had shot his cousin Henry. A boy does not swoon away, or else he would have done so; but he was horror-stricken: the terrible word _murder_ seemed to be hissed into his ears by unseen spirits, and he was unable to move or speak.

The demon, heaving a sigh, lifted him easily off his feet, and bore him away. Will made no resistance, for his brain was in too confused a state to perceive what was going on. His eyes were fixed on the prostrate form of Henry, and the demon strode on with him, following the length of the tree. Soon the end of the fallen tree was reached; and as the demon turned and walked towards his cave, Will caught a last look of Henry, who was still lying flat on the ground.

All this happened in a very short time, of course; for the demon paid no attention to the report of the pistol, but immediately marched off with our doughty hero.

The reader, unlike him, is aware that the pistol, though heavily loaded with powder, instead of a leaden bullet held a ball made of tow.

Will grew calmer, but offered no resistance to his captor.

The entrance of the cave was now disclosed. Before them an almost perpendicular cliff rose several feet towards the sky, twisting into strange shapes to the south, and on the north jutting out irregularly some distance westward, thus forming the angle spoken of before. Exactly in the centre there was an opening in which a strong and heavy door was hung. Two or three grated openings, which served for windows, were to be seen high above the door, and several feet apart.

The _outside_ of the cave was somewhat formidable, as no doubt the demon wished it to be. What was the _inside_ like?

Will did not care to know. Suddenly he put forth all his strength, and struggled manfully and furiously to break away from the demon. But the latter, without a word, folded his arms more tightly round him, and held him fast in a grip that put an end to all the poor boy’s hopes of escape.

Advancing with the would-be knight-errant, the demon arrived at the door of his cave; and manipulating some complicated contrivance which took the place of a lock, the secret of which was known only to himself, the door opened and captor and captive passed in.

So, this was the way in which Will was to gain admittance into the stronghold! A great improvement on Henry’s little plan!

A spacious apartment was disclosed, the floor bare, but the roof and sides covered with planks, to prevent the earth from crumbling in. It was very dark inside, as during the day but little light came in through the openings mentioned, during the night, none. A fire was struggling to burn in the middle of this dismal hole, but its feeble light only added to the gloom. Round the walls on benches and rude tables all sorts of things were lying; blankets, old clothes (_our_ “recluse” had more than one suit), trays, bowls, some other kitchen utensils, even eatables, being grouped together in confusion, with a view to convenience rather than neatness. In fact, the demon seemed to take no pride, no interest, in the affairs of the household. In one corner a big pile of firewood proved that the occupant could make himself quite comfortable. In spite of all his misery, Will distinctly heard the cackling of hens and chickens, evidently the brood of which Henry had spoken, in another apartment.

The cave was now stifling from a horrible smoke arising from the smouldering fire. When the demon was present he blew away the smoke by means of a huge fan suspended from the ceiling; but it accumulated in his absence.

Although there were several bye-rooms, each one of which served its own purpose, this was the principal one--the one in which the demon lived.

Of course Will had no time to see what we have dimly outlined, for the demon hurriedly crossed this room and opened a door leading into another, much like it, excepting in its furniture. Here there were no rude benches or tables. A comfortable and even handsome bedstead stood against the wall, with a few sheets and quilts, and one old buffalo-robe, upon it. There was an attempt made at covering, or carpeting, the floor; and in one corner there was a crazy stove, or oven, clumsily built of refuse bricks. Above this stove there was a chimney, which managed to dispose of most of the smoke when a fire was lighted--that is, it took it into another and larger room.

This was the bedroom, in which the demon slept as peacefully as a knight in his moated castle.

Having thus, “by slow degrees, by fits and starts,” cooped Will up in the Demon’s Cave, description may rest awhile and the narrative may be resumed.

The demon laid our hero gently on the bed, and then, for the first time, he spoke to him. “Poor boy!” he said, in a not unpleasant tone. “Perhaps you did not wish to do me any harm, but I shall keep you here till--”

He stopped abruptly.

There was nothing threatening in this, yet Will trembled. His thoughts were doubtless of Henry.

The demon turned and left the room, fastening the door behind him. Then he left the cave, taking the precaution of fastening the outside door, also.

“There was another one,” he murmured; “I must see to him.”

Swiftly he retraced his steps round the tree, and arrived at the scene of conflict not more than five minutes after he had borne Will away. But Henry was nowhere to be found! He had vanished, leaving nothing, not even a drop of blood, behind him!

“Was there another?” the demon asked himself, dubiously. “What is it? Have I dreamed, or is this some new device of the enemy?”

Seeing the pistol which Will had discharged, he picked it up and returned to the cave, not making the slightest effort to look for the missing knight-errant.

Will remained inactive as long as the demon was near, but as soon as he heard him go out, he leaped off the bed and made a desperate attempt to open the door. He put forth all his strength--but in vain: the door was rock.

Then he groped about the room, to see if he could find some other means of escape. Again in vain--no outlet presented itself.

“I am a prisoner!” he groaned. “And what a terrible prison! But, oh! poor Henry! Was he dead? Have I killed him? Oh, this is too much!”

Then he recollected that his cousin had insisted that there were captives hidden away in the cave, and in a voice that--we grieve to say it, but truth is inexorable--quavered with fear, he shouted: “Is anyone hidden here?--Speak! Any captives here?”

His own voice mocked him, and he started back in terror.

Evidently, no captives there.

But Will was not comforted. Hobgoblins crawled over the floor, and ground their teeth under the bed--demons crowded round him and jabbered ominously--human skeletons rattled their dry bones horribly, and pointed their fingers jeeringly at him--his murdered cousin came to him, and looked him full in the face with a sad, reproachful smile.

Will could endure it no longer. With a cry of horror and agony he flung himself on the bed, and buried his face in the old buffalo-robe.

At that moment the Demon of the Cave returned and entered his dwelling.

This is a convenient, suitable, and orthodox place for the chapter to close; so let it close.

_Chapter XIX._

WITHIN AND WITHOUT THE DEMON’S CAVE.

What had become of Henry?

The ball had struck him in a tender place; and not seriously hurt, but very much frightened, he fell headlong with a groan of--fear!

While the demon was carrying off Will he lay still and made use of his wits.

He reflected logically as follows: “Whatever Will loaded my pistols with, it certainly wasn’t a genuine bullet! So it would be useless for me to fire this pistol at the demon--useless--wicked--and against the laws!”

Gentle reader, mark that; read it carefully two or three times; muse on it; and remember that you yourself were once a boy--or, if not, your father was.

“Oh, how my side smarts! There’ll be a blister, surely!” Henry groaned. “Well, the best way to help Will will be to lie here perfectly still till the demon gets entirely out of sight, and then hop up and scramble away. Where shall I go? To the road? I must look for help somewhere, or Will may be killed! It won’t do to yell for help here, for no one except the demon could hear me. Yes, I must keep still a little while!”

As soon as the demon was well out of sight, Henry arose. But he found himself more bruised than he had thought.

“Now, to save Will--and myself,” he muttered. “What a capital idea,” he chuckled, as a happy thought struck him. “They think I’m dead, very likely, and so the demon won’t be on the watch for me! Of course; and if I can’t get help, I’ll swoop down on him and do the rescuing myself.”

As fast as he could he went back to the path, thinking to climb the hill and hurry to the road. A lingering fear that the demon might return and look for him lent speed to his feet, and he walked with long swift steps. In his generous heart he resolved to liberate Will at all hazards; and if he could devise no other means of doing so, he would return and “beard the lion in his den.”

When he reached the foot of the hill he chanced to look back, and saw a man standing by the tree. It was the demon, looking for him. To his intense relief, the man turned and went slowly back towards the cave.

“I am safe now,” he thought. “He won’t come to look for me again. But does he think I am dead, or carried off? Well, at any rate he will see me before long!”

Eagerly he turned to climb the hill, thinking meanwhile:--“Poor Will! No telling what that cruel demon may do with him! Oh, dear! we are both in a very bad scrape! O my pistols!--I must hurry!”

What with scrambling up hills and rushing down them, Henry’s limbs were already becoming stiff, and he found it hard work to climb. He succeeded, after making great and desperate struggles, in getting nearly to the top of the hill; when he took a false step, slipped, was thrown off his feet, and--in spite of all his efforts to save himself--slid headlong down to the very bottom. An avalanche of stones and dirt thundered down in his train.

A little mound of earth brought him to a standstill, and a cry of pain escaped his lips.

In spite of the pain he suffered, his first words were characteristic of him. “Well,” he said, grimly, “I’ve blotted out the demons path up that hill! His nice little path is now in ruins in this valley!”

But, with a groan of agony, he ejaculated: “Oh! my foot is broken all to pieces! Oh! O--o--h!”

For a little time it was difficult for him to keep from screaming with the pain.

As soon as he felt a little better, he took off his boot and stocking, and carefully examined the injured foot, muttering meanwhile between his groans: “Oh, I hope the demon didn’t hear that noise! How the stones rattled and thundered! If he heard, he will come rushing out to attack me, and I am not able to help myself a bit! Oh, what a catastrophe this is!”

Poor Henry! That time-honored accident, which, in romance, befalls all heroes of the chase, had befallen him. “He had sprained his ankle!”

Only, in this instance, no lovely huntress was to find him, and have him tenderly conveyed to her dwelling. No sporting companions were with him, hastily to construct a litter, and smuggle him into the castle of some incarcerated maiden, whom, making light of his suffering, he would release from her “turret prison;” and then, drawing the wicked jailer--her scheming, hunch-backed uncle--out of his concealment, he would fall upon him, and slay him, without mercy.

No; no love-marriage was fated to result from that adventure; Henry was to lie there all alone; and suffer.

It was sad, but our hero bore it patiently and philosophically. He believed that he should not be molested by the demon, and that was some consolation. But Will? Alas! All hope of rescuing him, so far as Henry was concerned, was at an end. That grieved him more than anything else.

Slowly the time wore away. As the demon did not come out again, Henry thought that the noise made by the falling stones had not been heard in the cave. He was full of anxious and remorseful thoughts for himself as well as for his cousin; and, much as he revolved the affair in his mind, he could hit upon no feasible plan of deliverance.

“If I had only told our folk where we were going,” he reflected, “they would hunt for us when they find us missing. But now they will be uneasy, and not know where on earth we are! No; they won’t have the slightest clue to track us! Oh, dear! What is going to become of us? How is this spree to end? What about my ankle? What on earth! Well, now are we to stay here all night? Will in the cave, and I here? ‘So near, and yet so far!’ My stars! I’ve read that in stories, but I never guessed what it meant! ‘So near, and yet so far!’ The man that wrote those words knew more than I ever shall, anyway! Oh! What will the demon do to poor Will?”

Henry could reason logically, and now, as well as his aching ankle would permit, he reviewed the whole scheme of visiting the Demon’s Cave. In the light he now had it seemed very foolish, whichever way he looked at it.

“It was a humbug,” he acknowledged to himself; “but after all it is just what all heroes do, and I don’t see why we should not have managed it better.”

His sprained ankle pained him intensely; he began to feel the effects of his involuntary ride down hill; the place where the “bullet” struck him smarted and itched in a manner to make him writhe. In a word, he was miserable in both body and mind.

He reverted to the scene of conflict! “What could have been wrong with that pistol?” he asked himself angrily. “_Something_ struck me--but _what_? Certainly, not a bullet. My father says that a big dose of powder will drive almost anything hard and solid into the flesh. Now, this struck me, and hurt me; but it didn’t punch a hole through my vest. Well, if I could only unload this other pistol, I should know to a certainty.--What became of the pistol Will fired? If he carried it off with him, he may suddenly scare the demon out of his wits!--Now, I wonder whether Will loaded my pistols wrong on purpose!--Well, this _is_ rum old sport, sitting here like a dying gladiator, and not able to turn over for fear of howling with pain! No; I can’t budge from this spot!--Botheration! I won’t take Will to see any more curiosities!--Surely, the demon won’t hurt him!”

Thus the boy continued, speaking disjointed sentences just as the spirit moved him.

As no help came to him, he, the irrepressible, began to despond. It seemed to him that Death only would come to his release. Suddenly, he thought of the glass ink bottle hidden behind “Robinson Crusoe” in his drawer. He dwelt on it for the space of three minutes, and then, between a sigh and a groan, he said: “I wish I knew whether _she_ would care if I should die here--alone, and in pain! Would _she_ be sorry, or would she go to school as light-hearted as ever, and let some other boy sharpen her pencil? I wonder whether she would borrow Johnny Jones’ history! Oh! how I despise that boy! I wish I could see him leave the country! I wish now that I had given her my history out and out; _that_ would keep my memory green in her eyes.”

Now, as Henry seldom or never soared higher than comparison,--to make our meaning clearer, as he was not in the habit of apostrophizing his treasured glass ink-bottle as an animated being of the feminine gender,--we must conclude that the veil is lifted from a romance in his life.

Do not laugh at him, reader; his woes were actual. In fact, we venture to assert that every member of the sterner sex, from the age of sixteen or seventeen till he is happily married, if he has any _feeling_, any _heart_, any _soul_, suffers more or less acutely from jealousy of a rival, real or imaginary.

After a time the moon came out, and dimly lighted up the valley. Henry was not afraid of goblins; and in sheer desperation he resolved to wait doggedly till something should happen.

Notwithstanding all his woes, he began to feel hungry. Then he recollected that he had set out with a knapsack of sandwiches slung over his shoulder.

“It will amuse me, and turn my wandering thoughts into a different channel,” he muttered, as he felt for the knapsack.

Alas! In sliding down hill his knapsack had been torn into ribbons, so that the carefully prepared sandwiches were strewn along the hillside.

His thoughts were “turned into a different channel;” but he was not very much “amused.”

In this way, the time passed with Henry. He could not, or would not, make an effort to move from the heap of earth which had arrested his downward course.

Having thus disposed of him, how did it fare with Will?

When the demon re-entered the cave, he, according to his custom, fastened the door. Next he kindled a good fire on the smouldering coals of the old one; and then, having stepped up to the room where Will was a prisoner, he unlocked and opened the door and told him to come out. Will did so with alacrity.

The demon said no more, but pointed out a seat, and quietly prepared to get supper. He took a fat bird out of his pouch, and roasted it carefully over the fire. Then he fixed part of a chicken, a delicious fish, and sundry other eatables, each on a separate stick, where the fire would cook them. To Will’s astonishment, he suddenly appeared with a few slices of bread, which he put on a toaster and toasted while the other things were being cooked. Now, who ever read about a hermit that toasted bread?

By the way, the demon, like the writer in inditing these few chapters, had several “irons in the fire” at once.

When everything was ready, he set a table with the food thus prepared, and took a pan of skim-milk from a crazy cupboard built in the wall.

“Sit down and eat,” he said to Will; “I’ll speak with you afterwards.”

Will was in no humor to care about eating, and as it was yet early in the evening he was not hungry; but not liking to refuse the strange man’s hospitality, he sat down to the table and “ate like an emigrant,” as Henry would have phrased it. He afterwards told his friends that the “victuals were very good.”

After supper the demon cleared off the table and put everything in the room in far better order than it was when the hero was taken into it.

Up to this time scarcely a word had been spoken between them. Will was filled with dread that he had killed, or at least severely hurt, his cousin. He, of course, did not know that Henry was in full possession of his senses as he lay on the ground, nor that he was doing this only to disarm the demon. The wildest fears flashed through his brain; his sufferings were more intense than Stephen’s had been on the island. He blamed himself; he blamed Henry; he blamed the pistols; he blamed the demon. Yet he felt himself utterly unable to escape. And he was troubled on his own account. What did the demon intend to do with him? Why did he detain him there? These questions perplexed the boy; and not knowing what else to do, he tried hard to think it all a dream. But no; it could not be a dream, for in a dream there is never any smoke to make one sneeze. Then Henry’s wild tales about the demon’s cannibalism and cruelty recurred to him. Certainly, the demon’s look was forbidding--almost ferocious; but Will did not think him capable of torturing any one. He had too much good sense to think that the man would do him any harm; but still he feared him, and felt ill at ease in his presence.

He had had no particular desire to come on this wild-goose-chase, because he wished to keep out of mischief during his stay at his aunt’s. He was not so mercurial, whimsical, and romantic, as his cousin, and he had consented to go as much to please him as for any other reason.

“I think I shall have to get pa to shut me up, if I ever find my way back home,” he mused, in his despair. “No matter what I do, something always comes to grief. I thought surely it would be safe to fly a little balloon, when Henry had always done it. But no; it must come down, and set a building on fire! How is it that everything goes wrong with me? Am I a blockhead, or a fool? Oh dear! I get into worse scrapes every time; but _this_ is the worst yet--_this_ beats them all! If Henry and I survive this, I suppose we shall stumble into something that will finish us entirely! Now, I knew it was wrong to start with loaded pistols, and I didn’t want to do it. Then, _why_ did I? I deserve all this misery for my foolishness. But poor Henry! It seems to me now that he _must_ be alive. Oh! If I could only know!”

Then he began to wonder how it was that the demon had come upon them so suddenly. “He was there all at once,” Will said to himself, as he glanced furtively at the “recluse.” “Did he come from the cave, or the valley, or the bank, or a hollow in the tree, or the clouds? All I know is, he wasn’t anywhere near, till suddenly he had me in his arms! And Henry was as much surprised to see him as I was! Well, the man must be a wizard--or else a witch, or a humbug! If I could only get away!”

It has been shown that Henry reflected that no one would know where to look for them. The same appalling thought occurred to Will. But, like an inspiration, it came to him that the teamster who had given them a ride eyed them narrowly as they went up the valley.

“Now, if that teamster will only do us as good a turn as the sailor did when we paddled away in the punt,” he said to himself, “we may be saved yet!”

Boy-like, the hero pinned his faith on the teamster, and felt considerably happier. In fact, five minutes more, and he had settled it in his own mind that, sooner or later, they would be saved through him.

Some writers, with fiendish ingenuity, seem to set themselves deliberately to work to unstring the nerves of their weak-headed readers, so that they shall plunge headlong into unfortunate speculations, and be ruined.

But the writer of this history is actuated by no such motives. He, good soul, uses no guile with his readers, wishes to deprive no one of needful sleep, and would shrink with horror from tampering with any one’s business or intellect.

When the writer was a boy, he read a strong and exciting romance, written by a master-hand. There were no idle dissertations in it; every chapter, every paragraph, every sentence, every line, rang with meaning; and it was so forcibly written that it would captivate a stronger mind than his. He [your humble servant, “the writer,”] was not content with one perusal, but read it again, and then lent it to three other boys, who read it with equal avidity. When returned, he might have been tempted to read it for the third time; but, alas! those boys, in their eagerness to read, had apparently neglected to wash their hands; and had turned over the leaves so hurriedly that it was in a state of dilapidation.

The writer has nothing to say against that romance. He learned many things from it, and unhesitatingly pronounces it the best he ever read. It is still green in his memory--in fact, he looks back on it to-day with feelings of respect and admiration. But it distracted his thoughts from his lessons, and muddled his wits to such an extent that he fears sometimes they are muddled yet.

Behold the result. A reaction set in, and all preposterous romances, that one excepted, have become to him an abomination.

Hence outbursts like the one above.

_Chapter XX._

A GLORIOUS TRIUMPH.

We have strayed so far from our subject that the reader may be at a loss to take our original meaning. If so, when the boys are saved let him refer to Will’s soliloquy and what immediately follows, and light will burst upon him.

Will drew nearer the fire, and looked at the demon with wondering eyes, as every fifteen minutes or so he swung the huge fan suspended from the ceiling. This fan effectually cleared the apartment of smoke, but what became of the smoke was to Will an appalling mystery.

As time passed, and no relief came, Will’s uneasiness returned. His anxiety about Henry became intolerable; he could endure it no longer. Better even to anger the demon than sit in silence and suffer torments. When he went out, surely he must have seen Henry.

This hero was one of those extremely patient people who, lest they should incommode somebody else, will endure untold agony, when a simple question might set all their doubts and fears at rest.

“Sir,” he ventured to ask, “do you think he was badly hurt? Or--or--didn’t you go to look for him?”

The demon, who had been sitting beside the fire for the last half hour, with his head resting on his hands and his elbows supported by his knees, started violently. He had evidently been so deeply absorbed in thought that he had forgotten another was present.

“Ha!” he cried excitedly. “Ha! What is this?” (Madmen always say “ha!” generally twice.) Then, recovering himself, he added, “Yes, yes; I’m going to speak to you presently. What did you say just now?”

Will repeated his question.

“Ho! There _was_ another with you, then!” he exclaimed. “I was afraid that I had been mistaken again. I am deceived so often that I don’t know when to believe even myself. Then there was another. But he had gone when I went out to see. Who was he?”

Will was thunder-struck. Could he rely on this strange man? If Henry had gone, he could not have been killed. But where could he be? Had he forsaken him, his cousin? No; he could not believe that Henry, so noble, brave, and true, could be guilty of such treachery. Then had he been found by some one, and taken away? If so, why did he not return with a band of men to save his cousin? In truth, Will was mystified. If he had known that the poor boy was near him, lying helpless on the ground, exposed to the cold night air, and moaning with pain, he would have thought their case a desperate one indeed.

At length he collected himself sufficiently to answer the demon’s question by giving his cousin’s name.

“And who are you?” asked the madman.

“William Lawrence.”

“Why did you two come here?” the demon asked abruptly.

This was an unexpected question; Will was not prepared to answer it. “To see the cave,” he said at last.

“Did you two come alone, or is some one else lurking near?”

“No, sir; we came entirely alone.”

“That is well. You did not come to do me any harm?”

Will thought he could safely say “no” to that.

After a pause the demon said slowly, as though he had settled it in his own mind: “You are a good little boy. I like you; you must stay with me; I want a fine little fellow like you to be with me all the time.”

Will was struck dumb with consternation. He could not appreciate the compliment thus paid him.

“No, sir,” he said imploringly, “I cannot stay here at all. You must let me out, and I must find my cousin and go home.”

“No, I cannot let you go! You shall live with me for the rest of my life. Sit down!” he cried, as Will started to his feet.

Then he darted to the door, and placed his back against it.

“But what would my parents say to that? They would never let me stay here,” Will protested.

Luckless boy! In his distress he knew not what to do or say.

“_Parents?_ Have you _parents_?” the demon inquired.

“Certainly I have,” said Will, with great dignity.

“Then, why did they allow a little boy, you are only a boy, to come here at this time of night?”

Will could say nothing in his defence. He hung his head in confusion.

“Well, I shall keep you here till morning, at least. If I should let you go now, how do I know what you two might plot against me? No! Here you are; here you stay!”

Will was only a boy, and he did not consider that a strong man is seldom or never afraid of the machinations of school-boys, so he said earnestly: “If you let me out immediately, I promise that we will go: home as fast as possible.”

The demon continuing inexorable, the boy said desperately, “Sir, we have friends who will certainly come for us, if you do not let me out.”

“Say no more,” replied the demon, “for I cannot let you go. Listen: People take it into their heads sometimes to molest me, _but I always come out all right_! _I teach them a lesson that they remember!_ Your punishment will be to remain till I choose to set you free.”

The horrible stories told by Henry again flashed through the prisoner’s mind, but he was not terrified. Looking intently at the demon, he fancied that instead of wickedness he saw playfulness in his eye.

“He is only trying to frighten me,” was Will’s thought.

The demon had moved back to the fire after making his last remark, and presently Will, seeing no other means of escape, sprang to his feet and rushed headlong towards the door. He had barely reached it when the demon was upon him. Once more two long and sinewy arms encircled the helpless boy, and he was borne struggling back to the fire.

“Treacherous boy!” cried the demon. “I’ll settle your fate in the morning; now you will have to be locked up in your room.”

Without another word he carried Will into the bedroom already described, and laid him upon the bed.

“Get in between the quilts, and you will be comfortable,” he said, as he turned to go.

Again the door was fastened, and again our blundering hero found himself a close prisoner in the demon’s bedroom.

His thoughts were far from being pleasant. “If I had had the cleverness of any other boy, I should not be here now,” he muttered. “By my own silly questions and answers I only made matters worse. Henry, Charley, George, or even Marmaduke, could have outwitted him easily; Steve would have made _him_ a prisoner, ten to one, and escaped at his leisure. Oh! this is horrible! I _must_ get away!”

He jumped lightly off the bed, and knelt before the door. By good fortune, he found a crack through which he could observe every movement made by the demon.

“Well, this is a good beginning!” he said, hopefully, “I shall watch till he goes to bed, and then try again.”

But the demon, with provoking composure, sat and dozed before his fire.

Time passed exceedingly slowly to poor Will. He thought it must be near the middle of the night, while it was not yet ten o’clock.

At length the madman arose and opened a concealed door in the wall. Then he lighted a candle, passed in, and shut the door softly behind him.

Will, like all boys, had a touch of the romantic, and he was delighted to see Henry’s suspicions verified. His spirits rose, and he chuckled joyously: “Well, it’s a regular robbers’ den, after all. Concealed doors and everything to match. If Henry is only alive, and I can get away, it won’t be so bad, after all! And now that he’s gone I guess I can manage it, after all!”

He waited a few minutes, and then began to fumble at his door. While in the outer room with the demon, he had taken notice of the way in which this door was fastened, and seen that it was by means of a heavy bolt on the outside. He had also observed that in the door, above the bolt, there seemed to be an opening, covered with a shingle that slid back and forth on the inside.

Feeling carefully for this shingle, he found it, took out a pin which held it fast, and shoved it back.

“The demon ain’t so careful as he wants to be!” Will said sagely. “Surely, here is a loophole of escape! I wish I could ease my feelings by heaping up big and meaning words, as Henry or George would do.”

He waited a few moments in some uneasiness, fearing that the demon might have heard him tampering with the lock; but as all remained quiet he put his hand through the opening, and shoved back the bolt.