Within a short half-hour of Duval's dramatic—and tragic—escape from the courthouse, Norton and Audubon were at the head of a dozen well-mounted men, led horses with them, and they left Louisville at a gallop along the post road.
Duval, it was learned, had gained the "Steuben Arms" and had then galloped off with his three horses, one other man with him—a riverman, who was evidently of the gang.
Behind, the town was in a ferment, but Norton galloped along in grim silence. In his party were Ayres, Tarascon, and Colonel Dick Taylor; all had steeds of the best and all were driven by the same flame of rage which burned in Norton's heart.
Yet not the same. Norton knew they must catch Duval before Henderson was reached, in order that the gang might have no warning; but he was thinking more of Kitty Grigg than of the gang itself. Did Duval get away, he would doubtless carry out the attack on the horse-boat, and the gang would then scatter with their loot. At least, such would be the intention, for so far as Norton knew, Duval was ignorant of the plot to trap the gang; nothing had been said of it at the courthouse.
The fourteen men galloped along the post road toward Sullivan's ferry, and there was no sparing of horseflesh that morning. Norton set a terrific pace, and with a thunder of hoofs they swept into the little settlement at the ferry and found Sullivan himself.
"Two men and three horses—which way?"
"Henderson road, twenty minutes since," shouted Sullivan. "What's the matter?"
"Blacknose! Duval is Blacknose!"
With the yell, Norton dug in his moccasined heels and once more they galloped away, leaving the ferryman staring after them in wild surmise. The lawyer had a good start, and his horses were of the best.
With the thought of Kitty Grigg pounding at his heart in time with the thunder of hoofs behind, Norton rode on like a madman. Did Duval escape, the girl would be in his power.
"He shall not escape," vowed Norton inwardly. "Faster!"
And again he urged his mount to fresh efforts, his led horse pounding at his side. Behind, the fourteen were strung out along the uneven blazed trail in frantic pursuit.
They were following a "trace" which struck southwest to avoid the windings of the river, for it was thus that their quarry had gone. The road was not worthy the name, yet was the shortest route to Henderson.
"Hold up, man—hold up!" came the voice of Audubon. "You'll kill our steeds at this rate!"
"When they die, your led horses remain," flung back Norton, and dug in his heels once more. His beast was white with foam already, but held to its steady gallop; all the horses were finely bred, out of the best blue-grass country around Louisville, and could be depended on till the last.
Without slacking the mad gait, Norton drew in his second horse; flinging his leg over the saddle, he changed seats successfully. It was a splendid bit of horsemanship, but his followers could not emulate it.
"Hold up, Norton!" roared Taylor. "Wait for us to change——"
"I'm after Duval," he retorted, and looked around. "Let the rest wait!"
Half the fourteen were already drawing rein, preparing to change their mounts; Audubon alone swung to his spare horse at full gallop, and pounded on with a ringing laugh.
Five minutes later Norton saw a man standing in the road ahead, and drew in slightly. The man was a settler, watching them in staring wonder.
"Anyone passed?" flung out Norton, pulling up.
"Two men—three horses, fifteen minutes since," came the answer. "What's gwine on——?"
"After them!" shouted Norton, and loosened his reins.
Mile after mile wound past. They were in the full wilderness now, the "trace" being nothing but a rudely blazed trail winding amid girdled trees and short stumps. Settlers were scarce and the road was little travelled, but as Norton whipped into a branch and leaned down, he could see hoof-marks in the soil beneath him, and the sight lent him fresh eagerness.
A yell and a crash from behind made him twist about in the saddle. Two of his men had smashed together and gone down in a mad heap; another plunged full into them; the rest leaped clear. It required skill to follow that road at full speed, but Norton never slackened.
Ever at his flank rode Audubon, rifle on saddle, while Ayres and Taylor followed next. Tarascon had fallen behind; looking back after a little, Norton saw the merchant's horse falling, and sent back a wild laugh.
"Sauve qui peut! After them!"
Twenty miles on their way, and still ten men rode with Norton as he topped a crest and swung down toward a dipping bowl of bottom-land, strewn with canebrakes. Even as he glimpsed the danger, Audubon shouted:
"'Ware, Norton! They've fired the canes!"
A low drift of smoke was rising from the road below where it struck through a patch of canes. Norton saw it, but sent his horse onward in grim resolve. The fire was newly started; five minutes later and they must have gone around through the swamps.
His staring-eyed horse never faltered beneath his hand, but went driving at the smoke-veil. The led beast tried to tug free and all but tore the Louisianian from his saddle, but he dragged savagely on the reins and all went well. One horrible choking moment, and they were through; on the rising ground beyond, he drew up and again changed saddles.
Ayres and Audubon followed, then Colonel Taylor, whose spare beast had broken away. Four more came through, but as a puff of wind lifted the smoke Norton could see the rest vainly trying to drive their maddened steeds at the fire. He laughed a little.
"After them! Duval can't last at this pace!"
Ten minutes later Taylor's horse foundered and the old border fighter fell behind, swearing volubly. Now there were but six men after Norton, and a little later they perceived how desperate was Duval's plight when they came upon a dying horse in the road, still saddled.
"After them!" shouted Norton again.
Duval and his companion had but three horses at the start, and had killed one of those; with luck, the chase would now be short. Norton's steeds were both white with foam, trembling as they pounded onward, but there was good distance in them yet, and his changes kept them fairly freshened.
Still the miles thundered behind them, and now there were but five men at his heels, for one had gone down. Audubon shouted out as they dipped down toward another canebrake.
"Five miles more and we get fresh horses! There's a tavern where they keep changes——"
His words were drowned in a scream from one of the men close behind. Up from the canebrake a hundred yards ahead drifted a little fleck of white; in the road lay a struggling horse.
"Run to earth!" yelled Norton, never looking back at the man who dragged in his stirrup, shot through the heart. "On them!"
He knew his mistake the next moment, however. Duval was not run to earth yet; it was his companion whose horse had gone down, and who had thus tempted fate. Norton went into the canes with a wild leap; he plunged on the riverman before the latter could reload.
The riverman, a tall bearded scoundrel, flashed up a pistol at Norton and the bullet flew through his hair. The Louisianian rode him down; the horse stumbled at the impact, and Norton went over the brute's head into the muck. Rising, he heard a rifle bang out and caught his steed's bridle over the relaxing body of the riverman. Ayres lowered his rifle, white-faced.
"No hurt," cried Norton. "After him!"
Remounting, he caught his other horse and pounded on, his sole thought a savage desire to get at Duval. Besides Audubon and Ayres, but two others were left; one of these was mired a mile farther on, and they swept away from him before he could change beasts.
Good though the horses were, they were staggering terribly. The Louisianian was wild with impotent rage; he knew well that Duval would secure a fresh mount at the tavern ahead, and would get the best. With a frenzy of curses he drove on his steed, let his spare horse drop behind, saw Ayres pull up with a cry of despair, and thundered on over the last mile, hoping against hope.
And all in vain. The tavern was a low building set in a clearing, barns and tobacco sheds behind, and just beyond was a clump of settlers' cabins. As they came in sight of the place, still a half-mile distant, Norton had plain sight of a figure riding from the tavern at full gallop. With a groan he turned a drawn face to Audubon.
"How far to Henderson?"
"Fifty miles—we have come half-way, and the day is dying."
With a start, Norton perceived that the afternoon was indeed well forward. While the reeling horses galloped on, he turned to the bird-lover and directed him to secure fresh beasts.
"We'll get food and eat it later"—and he nodded toward the remaining man, a Scotch farmer from above Louisville. The latter grunted, and so they swept up to the squalid tavern.
Its proprietor, an open-mouthed, staring person, met their quick demands with a slow shake of the head, watching them slip to the ground. Before he could reply to them, Norton had shoved him aside with an impatient oath and strode on into the tavern, the Scotch farmer at his heels.
In the kitchens out behind the main building they found negro slaves at work, and amid frightened screams Norton seized what food was in sight. Flinging down a dollar in payment, Norton led the way back.
Negroes were already leading out half a dozen horses from a near-by pasture while Audubon pacified the tavern-keeper with a gold-piece. In five minutes the saddles were transferred, and the three set out at a breakneck gallop on their new mounts, eating as they rode.
The difference in horses was instantly apparent to Norton. Although he urged the beasts relentlessly, when darkness fell they had caught no further glimpse of Duvai. Even his desperate frenzy was forced to give way before the gathering shadows.
"Hold up or you'll be brained," cried Audubon as a bough nearly took Norton out of the saddle. "This is rank madness, man!"
The Louisianian refused to listen, but pressed on. Five minutes later his horse went down in a mud-hole, its leg broken, while he himself received a nasty fall against a stump.
Sobered by the pain and the shaking-up, he shot the poor beast and mounted his spare steed, riding on at a slower pace and in gloomy silence For an hour the three proceeded more slowly, until a glimmering against the horizon announced the rising moon.
"Duval is in the same boat," observed Audubon. "We can be sure that he'll keep the trail, for it's his only hope."
Norton did not reply. Duval must keep to the "trace" indeed; unless he passed Henderson ahead of them he was lost. His only hope lay in meeting his own gang or else in getting down the river ahead of his pursuers by means of a boat or canoe.
When the moon came up at length, Norton renewed the chase at a gallop, and the freshened horses responded nobly to his urgings. It was sheer madness to go sweeping through the dark woods at that pace, but Norton was far past caring.
"Kitty Grigg! Kitty Grigg!"
The name pounded through his heart with the pound of the hoofs on the dew-wet turf. He was just changing saddles at midnight, when the Scotchman drew up alongside, spent.
"Take my fresh horse, Mr Norton. This beastie o' mine is done, and I'll be done, too, in anither hour."
Norton nodded, and with a word to Audubon, rode on. Out of all the fourteen who had thundered out of Louisville, he and his friend alone were left. To judge from his own stiffened and wearied body, Audubon must be made of iron to stand the pace.
With three led horses, they did not spare the brutes while the moonlight lasted, one of the mounts foundering an hour later. At last the moon died into the darkness preceding dawn, and with only the horses they rode left to them, they drew up for a brief rest.
"We must be hard on Henderson," said Norton shortly, lighting his pipe, for he would not sleep.
"Ten miles from there, I think," responded Audubon "There's a fork in the trail somewhere ahead. One trace goes to Henderson; the other proceeds to the river near Diamond Island, I believe."
With the first gleam of grey in the sky, they were up and off; and now as the daylight increased, Norton again urged the poor steeds to the utmost.
An hour after dawn Audubon halted him with a shout, and just beyond them he perceived that the trail bent around to the north, a fainter trail continuing from it to the left and west. He pulled up and dismounted stiffly.
"By gad! Audubon, which trail for Henderson?"
"The northern."
"Then we've got him! He's gone on to strike the river, and here are the marks where the Regulators turned off to Henderson yesterday!"
Norton leaped into his saddle and his jaded steed again took up the road. The other horse was spent, however. A mile farther on, and Norton turned at a cry to see Audubon go down.
"I'm done!" shouted Audubon, scrambling to his feet. "On, Norton! Good luck!"
For a bare instant the Louisianian hesitated, then dug in his heels and sent his sobbing beast ahead, his face grim. Everything now depended on him alone.
It was Sunday morning, he knew, and he wondered if there were any church-bells in Henderson. His horse was staggering now, and he had to watch closely lest he be sent headlong into the trees.
The Regulators had arrived at Henderson yesterday, according to the trail. No doubt they had passed through town or avoided it, going on along the river-bank to Diamond Island, where there was a large plantation. Then, with the miles slipping behind, Norton caught a gleam of water ahead and greeted it with a hoarse shout. The Ohio!
His beast coughed, straddled out, and sagged down. Norton slipped to the ground, rifle in hand, and with stiffened, stumbling feet ran forward, pouring a fresh priming in the pan as he ran. Where were the Regulators? Where was Duval? Where was Red Hugh? Had the wilderness trail swallowed them all?
Gasping and sobbing for breath, he followed the faint track to the water's edge, broke out from the last trees, and found himself on the river's brink. Then he uttered a groan of dismay and sank down, panting. Far down the stream, with a single man paddling furiously, was a canoe; as he looked, it swept around the lower end of the island and vanished.
Duval had escaped.
Slowly Norton pulled himself together. Twenty feet away was a horse, gasping out its life beside the river; Duval must have known where a canoe lay cached. From where he was, Norton had an excellent view of Diamond Island and the river.
He was a mile below the ferry and the upper end of the island, which was diamond-shaped. Henderson lay twelve miles up-river. The island, partly timbered and partly under cultivation, was four miles in length, and the stream in front of Norton was a quarter of a mile in width.
Suddenly, staggering a little, he sprang to his feet. Up the river he had made out a shape impossible to mistake; Brookfield's horse-boat was floating down the swift current, keeping close to the Kentucky shore, and it was a scant half-mile above—he had come just in the nick of time, then!
Norton remembered that the boat was to have started from Henderson that morning, and also that Red Hugh had promised to meet it near the head of Diamond Island. Was he aboard, then, with the Regulators?
Norton watched the ungainly craft as it came down. He saw sweeps put out and knew that he had been observed, for the craft slowly forged in toward him. Brookfield was standing in the bow, and beside him was a tall figure which Norton recognized with a thrill of wild relief. Red Hugh had kept his word!
Slowly the craft neared the bank, and Norton waded out through the shallows to meet her. At length he came near enough to grip the hand of Red Hugh and so clambered up over the rail as the crew pushed the boat out again. For a moment he sat helpless, weak and unstrung, looking around. He saw the six men of the crew, but there was no sign of the Regulators.
"All is well?" he asked hoarsely as Brookfield strode over and helped him to his feet. "Have the Regulators come aboard?"
"All is well—but what mean you about the Regulators?" queried the other, in seeming surprise.
"Eh?" Norton stared at him, tottering at the knees and clutching at Red Hugh for support. "Are you crazed? They were to have met you at the island——"
"Your pardon, sir, but I have Mr Ayres's writing otherwise"—and Brookfield hastily produced a folded paper. Norton took it, still a-stare, trying to pull himself together and meet the situation.
"By gad, sir, one of us must be mad, then!" he broke out, and turned on Red Hugh. "What's all this, Hugh? Where did you get aboard?"
"A mile up-stream, by the ferry."
"For God's sake, sir," broke in the captain, terrible fear on his countenance, "read that note which Ayres sent me at Henderson!"
"He sent you none," cried Norton wildly, and opened the paper. He saw the same writing which he had seen in the note taken from the carrier-pigeon—the writing of Charles Duval, though the note was signed by another name.
Captain Brookfield.
Sir:—The plans are changed. The Regulators will not come aboard your boat but will follow after in a skiff. Do you proceed and leave all to me.
ELISHA AYRES.
Norton looked up, and all things were in a haze before his eyes. Dimly he realized that there had been awful treachery somewhere; dimly he remembered how he had warned Tarascon against the slaves. He tried to speak, but only a hoarse murmur came from his lips.
Duval had tricked them—tricked them! He had known their plot all along and had set a counterplot with devilish ingenuity; this note must have been waiting at Henderson for a day or two——
With a terrible effort to warn Brookfield, Norton screamed out something and fell in a heap as his knees gave way. The strain and the shock had mastered him, and he lay senseless on the deck while the others stared, ignorant of what had chanced, and the horse-boat swept on down-stream.