Chapter XXI: The Net Closed

KIT sped swiftly and silently as a mousing-owl under the shadow of the great maple-trees, where the soft, short grass returned no sound to her tread. It was not till she reached a spot out of sight of house and barn that she stopped to put on her shoes, without which she dared not try to ascend the stony path. It was soon done; and she took her way up the hill, stopping more than once to look round, and strain her eyes through the darkness. She could not resist the conviction that some one or something was following her, stopping when she stopped, and moving when she moved. Her blood chilled at the thought. Could it be Gale, who had seen her, after all? Or was it—what?

Kit had heard plenty of wild stories, and had abundance of superstitious fears. She had heard from her Indian friends, of creatures which roamed at night to entrap unwary travellers, first scaring them out of their senses, and then tearing them to pieces. She had heard, too, from the school-children, about the great snake, which at least once in the year crossed the town of Oldham from Indian Hill to the Big Swamp, and back again,—who should say on what errand? She had heard, too, of panthers (or "painters," as the children called them),—wild animals, but endued with more than animal cunning and malice; and like every old New England town, Oldham had plenty of legends of goblin and ghost, witch and what not.

"But they can't hurt me unless He lets them, and I don't believe He will," said Kit sturdily to herself, after a longer pause than usual, during which she was sure she had heard the breaking of a dry twig under some one's foot. "I don't believe Gale saw me, and I'm sure nobody about here would hurt me."

So saying, she hastened on more rapidly, as if to atone for her delay. But it seemed an age to her before she reached the turn by her favorite ledge, and saw the stone house not far away, and a dim light burning in Madam Van Zandt's window. The next room was Amity's, she knew. But how to rouse them? She stood a second to consider, and then took up a handful of gravel, and threw it against the window.

Waked by the noise, Amity started up. But before she could strike a light, the sound came again, and a soft voice called, "Miss Bogardus!"

She sprang to the window, and, opening it, saw a little dark figure below.

"O Miss Bogardus, hurry and let me in!" said Kit in a tone of entreaty, for her courage was fast giving way. "Oh, do hurry! I am sure I hear them."

"What is it, Amity?" asked Ida sleepily from the next room.

"It is Kit, and she wants to come in," answered Amity.

And again came the agonized entreaty, "O Miss Bogardus, do hurry!"

It seemed an age to Kit, though it was not more than a few minutes, before she was admitted to the side hall, where were assembled Mrs. Van Zandt, Amity, and Ida, and another tall young lady whom Kit did not know.

"Fasten the door, quick!" were Kit's first words. "Fasten all the doors and windows."

"Yes, yes, we will fasten them," said Amity soothingly. "My dear child, what is the matter?"

"Fasten the doors; never mind me. Oh, do be quick! They will be here."

"Who will be here?" asked Ida.

"The robbers. Uncle Phin sent me to tell you. They are coming to rob the house to-night. Don't ask me any more questions, but hurry and fasten up every thing. They will be here: I heard some one coming up the hill: Oh, do hurry! They will kill you."

Ida, never very courageous, looked at Amity in dismay. The tall young lady, whom Kit did not know, stepped into her room, and brought out a neat little case, which she began to unlock.

"There will be two words to that," said she coolly.

"How many are there?"

"Only two that I know of, but there may be more. Uncle Phin sent me to tell you. Oh, why 'don't' you hurry and fasten up every thing?" said Kit, clasping her hands in an agony of impatience, as the girls looked at each other.

"My dear child, I don't understand you," said Mrs. Van Zandt soothingly. "I almost think you must have been dreaming."

Kit stood up, and strove to speak calmly.

But before she could answer, Percy broke in,—

"Excuse me, Mrs. Van Zandt, but I think we are the dreamers. If the child's story is true, we have not a moment to lose. If it is false, we shall only have lost our labor. Don't stand staring, girls, but collect the valuables, and carry them to some safe place.—Aggy, get together Mrs. Van Zandt's jewels and laces. Amity, you and Ida take the spoons and silver. Is there any money in the house?"

"Only a few dollars."

"So much the better. Come, girls, be quick."

"Wouldn't it be better to dress, and run down to Miss Claxton's?" suggested Amity.

"And so run right into the arms of these men, as likely as not," said Ida. "Besides, aunt Barbara could not do it. No, Amity, Percy is right. Don't waste a moment.—What are you going to do, Percy?"

"Stand here and keep guard for the present," answered Percy, examining the charges of her revolver, and changing a doubtful-looking cartridge.

"But you won't shoot anybody?" said Mrs. Van Zandt.

"Not if I can help it. Dear Mrs. Van Zandt, do let Aggy take you up-stairs."

"How cool you are!" said Ida, pausing a moment, with her lap full of spoons. "I wish I were like you. I am horribly frightened."

"So am I," answered Percy. "But if you had lived two years and a half in Arizona, you would know that the more scared you are, the cooler you need to be."

In a very few minutes, every thing of value was stored in a strong closet built for such purposes, and not easy to find unless the searcher knew where to look. And the ladies betook themselves to the front bedroom over the door, and awaited their unwelcome visitors. They had not long to wait. In less than half an hour, stealthy steps were heard, and the handle of the door was carefully tried.

To Ida's terror, Percy opened the window and called, "Who is there?"

"Let us in," was the response.

"Not till I know who you are."

"Look here, young woman, just you let us in peaceably, and we won't hurt you: if we have to let ourselves in, perhaps we shall. We mean to have what is worth having in this house, and you can't help yourself."

"That's Gale," whispered Kit. "He'll kill you all, as likely as not, if he gets in. He doesn't care what he does."

"He won't get in," answered Percy. Then speaking to the men outside, "We have fire-arms, and know how to use them. The first man who enters this house is a dead man."

"Do come away, Percy: he will shoot you," urged Ida.

"No, he won't. But I have said my say, so I'll shut the window."

"Hark! What are they doing now?"

"Sawing out the panel of the door," answered Percy. "Don't you hear them? I must unfasten this door so as to meet them before they can get up the stairs. Did you lock all the doors below, Amity?"

Amity held up the keys.

"Good! Then they can't do any thing 'but' come up-stairs. What are they stopping for, I wonder? Hark! What is that?"

There was a little silence, then the sound of a scuffle. And a shot was heard, followed by a heavy groan. Percy ventured to open the window and look out. She saw two figures stretched on the ground, surrounded by two or three more.

"What is it?" she called.

"All right, ma'am," answered a cheery, manly voice from below. "We got here just in the nick of time. Please open the door: there's no danger now."

"Who are you?" persisted Percy.

But before she could receive an answer, two more figures appeared upon the scene, and a voice she well knew called out, "Halloo! What does this mean?"

"What are you going to do, Perry?" asked Mrs. Van Zandt as Percy sprang to the door and unlocked it.

"Don't be in a hurry, Percy," chimed in Ida. "It may be all a plot to get in."

"A plot, you goose! Do you think I don't know Abram's voice?" Percy ran down the stairs.

And Amity advanced to the head of them in time to see her unlock and unchain the front-door, and throw herself upon a tall, stalwart figure, with a cry that had something decidedly shaky in its sound.

"There, there, my girl, don't go into hysterics. What's the matter?"

"No wonder the lady is scared," said a voice from behind, as a stout man in a blue uniform entered the hall: "it was enough to scare any one. But the danger is all over now, only we must get this wounded man under cover. There is a heavy thunder-gust coming up. If the lady will tell me where to find a small mattress, it will be easier for him."

"In the little blue room, Aggy," said Mrs. Van Zandt.

"With your leave, I'll help her, ma'am," said the stout man, stepping up the staircase with two strides, as it seemed. "Ah, yes, this is it. Careful now, men; mind the other fellow.—Perhaps you and your friend will bear a hand, sir."

In another minute or two, a desperately wounded man was laid on the wide sofa in the hall, and Kit had thrown herself on her knees beside him with a cry of anguish.

"Uncle Phin, O uncle Phin! Speak to Kitty."

"Kitty," said Phin, opening his eyes. "Is Kit safe? Then it's all right." He sank back with a sigh, and closed his eyes.

"Oh, do some one go for the doctor!" cried Kit, wringing her hands. "Don't let him die. O uncle Phin!"

"Hush, my child. I am a doctor, and I will see to him," said the second new-comer, advancing to the sofa. "Ladies, please step out of the way. Policeman, I shall need your help. Take the child away, Ida.—Yes, my dear, you shall see him again directly."

"And now what is all this about?" asked Abram van Alstyne, depositing his wife on the sofa. "Frank and I walked over from the railroad, and the first we knew found ourselves in the midst of a battle."

Ida told the story as far as she knew it. "As for the rest, you must ask our champions themselves," she concluded. "They may have come out of a cloud, for aught I know. I am sorry poor Mallory was the one to be shot, for it was he who sent us warning."

"So much the better for him," remarked the tall policeman. "But it was none of us who shot him: it was that fellow Gale, or Burchard—he has a dozen names or more. We have been watching for him for a week. His wife put us on his track at last. We came up just as they started out, and followed them every step of the way.—But what brought you up here, sis?"

"Uncle Phin sent me," sobbed Kit. "He told me to come up and tell the ladies. Oh, do you think he will die?"

"I don't know, child. He is badly hurt, I am afraid, but we shall hear what the doctor says. Here he comes now.—Well, doctor?"

"It is a desperate case," said Dr. Van Alstyne. "He may last till morning, or even a little longer if kept perfectly quiet, but it would be instant death to move him. He knows his condition, and is very anxious to see Mrs. Van Zandt and his daughter."

"Potter, you might go down for the woman," said the tall policeman. "Get out the horse, and bring her up."

"Well, my poor man, this is very sad," said Mrs. Van Zandt, seating herself beside the wounded man. "Dr. Van Alstyne says you wish to speak to me."

"You are Mrs. Barbara Van Zandt, who adopted Martha Kathleen Joyce?" said Phin.

"Yes, my friend."

"She was my wife," said Phin, speaking slowly but quite clearly. "She was my cousin's widow,—David Selkirk's widow. He died, and left her and her child to my care; for I was pretty steady then, and was helping him in his business. Afterward, I married her. There was quite a good deal of money coming to her and the child, but I fooled it away gambling and horse-trotting. Gale got most of it. Then my wife went crazy; and I was afraid a fuss would be made about the money, so I passed off Kit as an adopted child. Her mother never knew her till just at last. Then she made me promise to put the child into your hands, and I meant to do it, but I kept putting it off: I hated to part with her. And there was the money."

"I should not have troubled you about that," said Mrs. Van Zandt. "O my poor little Kathleen! To think of her dying so near me!"

"There was more about it than that," said Phin. He paused a little, and then added, "The farm is Kit's by rights. Grandfather left it to David. I found the first will at Mr. Green's in Oldbury, and proved it. Afterward, I found the second in grandfather's desk. It is there now. Symantha don't know any thing about it. You'll be kind to Symantha, won't you?" said Phin, turning his eyes wistfully on the old lady. "She is a good girl, and she was good to Matey."

"Indeed I will!" answered Mrs. Van Zandt. "As kind as if she were my own daughter. Oh, if you had only come to me at once!"

"Well, I meant to," said Phin feebly, "but, you see, I kept putting it off. I felt so ashamed. David left them ten thousand dollars, and I just fooled it away. I've been a fool all my life, but I was good to my wife, wasn't I, Kit?"

"Yes, indeed!" sobbed Kit. "Always."

"He must not say another word if he is to live to see his daughter," said Dr. Van Alstyne in a low tone. "He is sinking fast."

"Just one thing more," said Phin. "I want to see Gale."

The prisoner was brought forward strongly guarded. He gazed at the dying man without a sign of emotion in his hard, cruel face.

"Gale, do you think I sold you?"

"I know it," answered Gale.

"You are mistaken," said Phin eagerly. "I did send Kit up to warn the ladies, but I never betrayed you, did I, Cap?"

"No," answered the policeman, "you had nothing to do with it. Some one else put us on the track at last."

"Who?" asked Gale, changing color for the first time.

"Never mind, my man: you'll hear all about it in time."

"Not—not Sally?" Then, as it seemed reading an assent in the man's face, he set his teeth hard.

"Phin, I'm sorry," said he, suddenly turning to the dying man. "You've saved my life, and I've taken yours, but I was mistaken. I'm sorry, that's all I can say.—There, take me out of this."

Phin was silent for a little, and seemed to fall into a doze, from which he waked with a start.

"Where am I? Oh, I know. It's most over, I guess. Kit, can't you sing that hymn you sung for aunt Martha? Seems to me I should like to hear it."

Kit tried hard to sing, —

"Jesus, lover of my soul,—"

but the effort was too great. Ida took it up; the two gentlemen joined her, and they sang it all through.

Phin listened quietly.

"My mother used to sing that," said he. "She believed in Him. She taught me to say my prayers, too, but I can't remember them now, it is so long ago. Kit, what was that verse you said at the Bible class that night I went with you? Say it for me."

"'The blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth us from all sin,'" repeated Kit. "O uncle Phin, do believe in Him! He will save you, I am sure He will.—Won't He?" she asked, appealing to Mrs. Van Zandt.

"Yes, indeed He will, if you look to Him," answered the old lady. "It is never too late to turn to Him in this world.—O Frank! Pray with him."

All knelt, while in a few plain, earnest words, Frank Van Alstyne commended the dying man to the Fountain of all mercy.

Phin evidently followed, and understood the words.

"Thank you," said he faintly. "I guess ma was right, after all. I am a poor wretch, but He can save me if He is what you say.—There, don't cry, Kit. Be a good girl, and mind Mrs. Van Zandt.—Lord, have mercy on me!"

These were his last words. He lay in a sort of slumber, starting now and then, till Symantha came in. He evidently knew her, for he pressed her hand, and tried to put it into Mrs. Van Zandt's. The old lady understood the movement, and bent over him.

"Have no fear, Mr. Mallory: your daughter shall have every care and help."

Phin smiled, sighed once, and all was over.