Sitting on a big tobacco hogshead and watching the Indiana shore, with Audubon standing gloomily at his side, Norton felt his bandaged head tenderly and considered what was to be done.
"I saved the canoe from going under," said Audubon, "then rescued the rifles. I could give you no help until I saw your head come up. By the way, this was in the canoe."
He held out a powder-horn—mottled, with a streak of red running through it. Norton stared down at it, then with a grim laugh reached into the coat which hung in the sun with his other clothes, and drew out the stopper Boone had found on the Beargrass Creek road that morning. The plug slipped deftly into place; the horn matched perfectly.
"Well, so much for an assassin," he said grimly. "Now that you've had your initial taste of the work our foemen do, have you lost taste for the enterprise?"
"Not unless the enterprise has lost taste for me," laughed Audubon, with a glance around. The crew of the flatboat were safe out of hearing. "I told our friends here that we had set fire to the canes ourselves, by accident——"
"Good. Am I badly hurt? Where are we?"
"You should have care; the bullet scraped along your skull, and you have a knife-gash in the side. We have just passed Buck Creek, and the rocky cliff for which we were making lies about three miles downstream. Best let Red Hugh pass, go to the Blue River settlement, and wait there until you are recovered."
Norton made no other reply than to reach for his half-dried clothes. The other looked at him, his fine face wrinkled into a frown of anxiety.
"It's rank madness, Norton!" he said quietly. "You're scarce able to walk, and are like to suffer——"
"I am going to find Red Hugh, if I die the next hour."
Norton finished drawing on the fine-beaded moccasins, slipped the red-streaked horn over his shoulder by its thong, and looked at his comrade. He felt shaky indeed, but so clearly did his whole manner evince the iron determination within him, that Audubon shook his head resignedly and turned to his own garments.
"The canoe is towing astern," he said simply.
Norton reached for his buckskin shirt, and staggered under a swirl of pain and weakness. Instantly the other was at his side, with a rush of protestation against trying to leave the hospitable flatboat.
"I am going to find Red Hugh," said Norton doggedly, and resumed his dressing as his head cleared.
They were slipping down the stream fast. Already the high cliff mentioned by Boone as a landmark was in sight, far ahead, and Audubon departed to find the captain. The latter readily assented to take the flatboat in close to the Kentucky shore, and sent his crew to the sweeps. The boat was going through to St. Louis, and her captain carried some freight for Audubon, so that the latter met with prompt obedience.
Meanwhile, Norton sat in the sun and wiped the wet rifles mechanically. Every trace of the storm had vanished and the morning was coming up splendid in summer warmth. Norton knew they were in a grave situation, however, and said as much when his comrade rejoined him.
The man whose canoe they now held had undoubtedly been one of the Blacknose gang, and Norton strongly believed he had been one of a cordon of spies stretched at intervals along the river. Were this the case, the conflagration would be noticed, the man's body might be found, and the gang would waste no more warnings. Norton's one hope lay in getting ashore unobserved, pre-supposing the river to be watched; if the flatboat ran in close to the wooded Kentucky shore, he and Audubon might land unobserved by anyone who watched from a distance. The river seemed deserted, save for the distantly smoking canebrake far behind. Whether there were any Blacknose spies aboard the flatboat could not be told.
So, with fresh ammunition and weapons and with rifles well-oiled, Norton and Audubon stood in the bow as the ungainly flatboat swept into an eddy and approached the well-wooded bank. On the opposite shore, the rocky cliff with its cabin below was still a trifle down-stream; above them rose a bluff, a solid mass of virgin timber that stretched through to Tennessee with cabins scattered in its depths. Save at Henderson and Louisville, the Kentucky shore was poorly settled as yet, Shawnee raids from the Wabash having discouraged too ambitious families.
The boat swept in to the bank, almost underneath a huge cottonwood, and with a hasty farewell to the river-captain, the two men leaped ashore and lost no time in reaching the summit of the bluff.
It was a harder task than it looked, however, and a good twenty minutes had passed when at length the two panting men gained the crest of the bluff and paused to rest. Norton knew he was in bad shape and conjectured that malaria had touched him, for the uncleared lands along the Ohio were notorious in this respect. With all his stubborn will set upon reaching Red Hugh, he tightened his lips and said nothing to Audubon of his reeling senses and disordered vision.
The flatboat was already far on her way to Henderson, once more hugging the Indiana shore. Norton motioned Audubon to lead the way, and in five minutes they struck upon a faint trail which ran along the crest of the bluffs.
"Well, the Indians had their uses after all," sighed Audubon, as they came upon it. "Whew! That was a stiff climb, Norton! Now where is this blazed tree of yours?"
Norton collected himself into coherency.
"Directly opposite that cliff on the Indiana shore—a big cottonwood, blazed north and south. We head straight south from it to reach Red Hugh's cabin."
"Well, we're not opposite that cliff yet. Come along!"
The trail ascended the bluff-crest toward a knoll which topped it. Norton caught himself staggering more than once; his wounds throbbed and ached, and his brain seemed on fire. None the less, he knew he was in no mortal danger, and was filled with a grim satisfaction over the events of that morning.
"There's no telling how many rivermen that fellow has murdered," he thought to himself, "and he tried his bloody work once too often. So that's one snake out of our path! If the current only swept his body away, our friend Blacknose will be in a pretty wonder as to what became of him."
The trail was steeper now, and he clambered up painfully after Audubon. At last, fearing lest his senses slip away altogether, he sank down on a huge root.
"Do you look for the tree," he said as the other turned. "I must rest a moment."
With an anxious glance at his white face, Audubon nodded and broke into the trees, for they were already on the knoll. Norton leaned back, faint and giddy, and as his eyes fell on the trail he noted idly that it was hard rocky soil, indented with the unmistakable marks of horseshoes. In his present state of mind this conveyed nothing to him; a settler might have passed along by the trail, or any wandering pedlar might have made the tracks.
He leaned back and closed his eyes, utterly relaxing himself and grateful for the brief rest. He seemed to ache all over, and for almost the first time in His life his whole body seemed wearied and fatigued. A strange lassitude had come over him.
"Norton!"
At the excited whisper he opened his eyes and sat up, to see Audubon peering through the bushes, finger on lip. The other beckoned hastily.
"Come in here! Be cautious."
Already refreshed by his rest, Norton crept into the bushes. Audubon's excited eagerness put him on the alert at once, and he stole after the other with all the silent care of an Indian. Reaching a densely overgrown covert, Audubon paused and held up a hand, listening. From above there came a low trilling bird-song, but Norton could make out nothing else.
"What is it, man? What did you find?"
"Listen!" whispered Audubon softly. "Isn't it like a goldfinch singing under its breath? The same little trills, the same sustained sweet notes in between—but it's a vireo, Norton! Would you guess it?"
Norton stared, but his friend was in deadly earnest. He heard the hidden bird change its song suddenly, and Audubon gripped his arm hard.
"There—that's the real vireo song, with the pulse-like, clear-cut notes! Did you ever hear such a thing before? That bird was giving a real goldfinch trill, man——"
"Where's the cottonwood?" broke in Norton drily. The other looked at him, his face blank on a sudden.
"Why—why—I clear forgot——"
Norton laughed, but Audubon suddenly gripped his arm harder. The bird above had broken off in mid-song, for no apparent reason. From somewhere outside the covert came the rattle of a stone, followed by a horse's snort.
"Keep quiet," breathed Norton, looking into the deep eyes of his friend. "Someone's on the trail."
Audubon nodded, and the two men stood tense and motionless, every nerve on edge. With startling abruptness there came a deep curse from the trail.
"Damn it, pull up! I ain't no Injun!"
There followed a chuckle in another voice—one that sent Norton's hand to his rifle.
"Winded, Abel? Well, there's no haste. What did that boat put in for?"
"How'n tarnation do I know?" growled the first. "Wa'n't none o' our boys on her."
"So much the better for her, then," laughed the second. "It's odd we didn't meet Tobin, Abel!"
A grunt replied. Norton glanced at his friend, his brown eyes aflame.
"Duval," he murmured under his breath. "Who's the other? Abel Grigg?"
Audubon nodded quickly, and his face was set in eager surmise.
"Is Tobin the man we—we met this morning, Norton?"
Norton pursed up his lips in a silent whistle, staring. Was the thing possible after all? He had vaguely suspected it before, yet it seemed incredible. He replied to the question with a mute shake of the head, as Duval's voice continued. It seemed that Duval and Grigg were pausing for breath on the trail opposite the covert.
"Listen here, Abel: this thing has to be finished up sharp, or that fool is apt to blunder on something that'll bring the Regulators down on us." Duval's voice was earnest, cold, menacing. "He got away from the boys at Louisville, and unless Tobin has met him and is attending to him, you'll have to do the work. I'll be busy in court at Henderson for a week to come."
"I'll 'tend to him," growled Grigg. "How 'bout layin' fer that cargo comin' down nex' month in Cap. Brookfield's hoss-boat? We could ship a couple o' the boys on her an' do the business by them islands at the Wabash."
"Not so bad," returned Duval. "Lay it to a bunch of Shawnees, eh?"
"Sure. That feller Tecumsey and his brother, the Prophet, is raisin' hell all through the tribes, Duval, an' they's goin' to be a blow-up mighty sudden on the border. Now looky here. If you're a-goin' on to Henderson, I'll leave ye here an' go to meet the boys, so I want to settle this business of ourn. How much you goin' to turn over fer the gal, eh?"
"I've told you before, Abel, that I'll give you five hundred cash and what stuff we've got in the cache. Take it or leave it."
"Well, that 'baccy in the cache will fetch about two hundred at Saint Looey, eh? Then we got that flax out o' the last boat, an' them ten kegs o' 'lasses—all right. You see to makin' out the papers an' I'll sign 'em. The gal won't consent, mebbe, but I'll swear she ain't of age. You got to have a preacher weddin', though."
"Of course, you fool!" And there was an exasperated note in Duval's voice. "Haven't I said I wanted to marry her? But you've got to clear out, understand—go to New Orleans or Saint Louis, I don't care which, and stay."
"I'll do that, all right. Well, see ye at Henderson."
"Take care of that spy, mind!" called Duval. Only silence ensued. Then came a faint thud of hoofs, and again silence.
Norton and Audubon stared at each other. The former had forgotten his illness in his high excitement, for now he knew beyond a doubt that fate had given over his enemy into his hand.
"By thunder!" he ejaculated slowly. "Audubon, we've got the whole game on the table before us! The mysterious Blacknose is Abel Grigg, and Duval is in league with him—is probably the brains of the organization. The black-hearted scoundrel! When we tell what we've just heard now——"
"Who'll believe us?" broke in Audubon gravely, and shook his head. "It won't do, Norton! Duval is too prominent a man to be smashed without clear evidence. Besides, we wouldn't break up the gang by nabbing him and Grigg alone. Depend upon it, we could do little against that clever villain without more evidence than those words. But what a blackguard he is—to be robbing his own townsmen!"
"And that girl—Grigg's daughter!" broke in Norton, a flame of rage sweeping through him. "Did you hear them? He's buying the girl, Audubon—buying her! Damn it, man, did you ever see that girl?"
Audubon gazed at him, astonished at the outburst.
"Yes," he replied slowly, "I've seen her once or twice in the store. Do you think that's really what they meant? Why, it can't be possible, Norton!"
None the less, Norton knew that the thing was true. He drew a deep breath as the full realization of his triumph broke over his mind. By a stroke of sheer luck he had solved the mystery of Blacknose—but was it luck? Had not one thing led to another in marvellous sequence—the cane-brake, the fire, the flatboat, the landing, and finally the vireo singing the song of a goldfinch? Surely, there was more than luck in all this!
A new burst of rage came into his heart at thought of Kitty Grigg, however. So this evil-hoary old backwoodsman who was not her father was planning to sell her to Duval! Norton inwardly vowed that such a sale should never be consummated. He remembered the girl as he had last seen her by the cabin, glorious in her unstained beauty and her fine clear poise—and groaned. With a sudden movement he reached inside his shirt and took out the little gold eagle still pinned to it.
"Audubon," he cried earnestly, "I swear by this emblem, which stands for the things I hold dearest—my country, and my father's memory—that before Duval carries through his purpose regarding Kitty Grigg, I'll do to him as I did to his servant this morning! So help me!"
The bird-lover gazed at him searchingly.
"Then—you know the girl?"
"Know her? Yes!" exclaimed Norton hotly. "I know her, and she's no daughter of Abel Grigg! Who her real family was will not be hard to find out if I can get in touch with some of the officers of the Cincinnati—but now for work. Audubon, you heard what those devils said about a horse-boat belonging to a Captain Brookfield. Do you know anything of such a craft?"
The other nodded, frowning.
"Yes. Brookfield is an odd genius who has invented a way of driving his forty-ton boat by horse-power against the river-current. He is at Louisville now, taking contracts for his next trip down the river, and sails next month."
"Well, see here!" Norton felt the fever gripping him again, but had already glimpsed a plan of action. "You get back to Louisville, see Elisha Ayres, and tell him about it. Ayres will communicate with me at Blue River."
"And you——!" queried the astonished Audubon.
"I'll trail that devil of a Grigg," said Norton hastily. "He said he was going to meet 'the boys', and if I can find their cache we'll nab the whole gang! By thunder, Audubon, we've the whole thing in our hands now!"
"But—wait!" cried Audubon hastily, as Norton turned toward the trail. "First, get this man Red Hugh! If he's a hunter, as Boone said, then you and he together will have no trouble picking up Grigg's trail, and you may need another rifle badly."
For a moment Norton considered this, while the fever swirled through him. He was sorely tempted to plunge off on the trail of Abel Grigg, but knew that there was sound advice in Audubon's words.
"All right," he said shortly. "Come—we'll find Red Hugh first."
His excitement overbore his illness for the moment, and returning to the trail he led the way to the very crest of the knoll. Duval and Grigg had been swallowed up in the forest, but staring them in the face was a giant cottonwood, blazed north and south. Pointing to it silently, Norton wheeled and headed away from the river into the trees.
How far they went through that wilderness he never knew, for after ten minutes he was fighting desperately against the pain and sickness which came over him. Worse than all, he was growing terribly weak; once he caught himself reeling, and only by a great effort did he keep on. Audubon had a small compass, by which they held directly south as Boone had commanded.
Then, almost without warning, Norton felt his knees giving way. He was very clear-headed, but he seemed to have lost the power of motion. With a single low groan he caught at a tree, missed it, and plunged down. Audubon was over him on the instant, raising him against the tree, dread anxiety in face and voice.
"It's just—weakness," gasped Norton. "A touch of fever, I think. Get Red Hugh—put him on the trail of Grigg. I'll be all right with a bit of rest. Hurry, man!"
Audubon looked about, biting his lips. Before he could reply, however, a bush to one side of them waved slightly, the sunlight glinted on a rifle-barrel, and a voice rang out in harsh command:
"Hands up, you skunk! Drop that rifle—quick!"
Helpless, the naturalist obeyed. Norton tried to reach his rifle, but could not move, and with another groan of despair fell back, waiting grimly for what might come.