Democratic Sentinel, Volume 17, Number 13, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 14 April 1893 — In Sheep's Clothing [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

In Sheep's Clothing

BY Caplormond Steele

CHAPTER XlV—Continued. Alter this long and apparently satisfactory conversation between Captain Fox and his lieutenant, they went on deck, where they found the rudder in good working order, and the men lounging about the hot decks, while the officers smoked, and wondered among themselves what this conduct on the part of “the skipper” meant. The men and officers of the Wanderer had so much confidence in the foresight and daring of their leader, that they but seldom talked among themselves as to the nature of any move that Fox did not explain in advance. So far, he had done by them exactly as he had promised, and they had every reason to believe that their good luck, and the captain’s good management, would continue for manya’day to come. There was not a man on the ship, from Don, the cabin boy, to tho captain, with the one exception of Balph Denham, now incapable of reasoning, that ever thought that the Wanderer was bound for New York when she left Sag Harbor. The men did not know where they were going, nor did they particularly care, so that they were on the move with some object to gain, or, in lieu of that, of danger in view. With the exception of Frenauld, the officers were nearly as coarse and brutal-looking as the men, but they ' fully appreciated the value of good conduct on shore, and of silence, or reticence, when those qualities were found necessary, to hide the defects of their early training. Three times, during the afternoon, Fox and Frenauld visited the little gem of a cabin in which Ralph Denham lay, still unconscious. Once they administered to him a small glass of wine, with a few drops of the green, sweet, soporific drug in it, and one drop of a colorless fluid which Frenauld declared was sufficient to destroy the will-power of a giant for four-and-twenty hours. A few hours after dark the captain’s gig wa3 lowered, and into it got Frenauld and three men, all carrying their arms and considerable bundles. The rowers and the officer in command followed, the hooks were slipped out, and. at a low command from the officer in the stern sheets, the oars dropped into place, caught the water like one blade, and the gig sped away for the cliffs, beneath which a lire had been burning for some time. Frenauld and his men landed near the fire, where they found an old Indian, sent there by Uncas, awaiting them.

The gig returned at once to the ship, anchor was weighed, and the Wanderer stood out to sea, but she did not sail in the direction of the port of New York. Frenauld did not at all relish the mission on which he was sent, but he came in obedience to an order that he could not disobey if he woul<j. When delivered, this order met his warm approval, for he had great faith in his captain, whose unapproachably brilliant talents as a villain won his esteem, and at times excited his envy. But when Frenauld, eltting by the shore, saw through the darkness, like a vanishing star, the ship’s lights dropping down the horizon’s rim, his spirits also fell. Bidding the sailors spread their blankets and go to sleep, Frenauld lit a cigar, and handing the old Indian another, he invited him to draw up to the fire. The Indian oould not speak very good English; but as he succeeded in making himself clearly understood, we shall not attempt to reproduce his dialect, or rather his broken speech. Lighting his cigar, the Indian, who said his name was “Old Somonk,” squattei on his haunches, and' across the little fire, whose flickering flames threw unequal lights on their faces, they stared at each other. “Uncas sent you here,” said Frenauld, more for the sake of talking than with any hope of getting desirable information.

“Ugh, Uncas,” replied Old Somonk, and he seemed to blow the words with a jet of smoke from his puckered lips §1 the direction of the young officer. “Uncas is a great chlof.” “Ugh; Uncas big sachem,” grunted Old Somonk. “Got a wife?” “No; no wife.” "Why doesn’t a fine-looking man like Uncas get a wife?” • “Don’t know; mebbe don’t want one.” “Ah, like enough. Strange that that hadn’t struck me as a possible reason before,” said Frenauld, taking an unusually long pull at his cigar, and coming to the conclusion that Old Somonk was not as much of a fool after all. “When is Uncas to come here?” asked Frenauld, looking up at the black sky as he asked the question, as If it were quite possible for the answer to come from that quarter. “One sun more, to-morrow." “Whatare we to do in the meantime?" Old Somonk slightly elevated his shoulders, but his face gave not the slightest sign of interest as he grunted: “Don’; know/’ • “That is very consoling. Of course you know the country hereabouts very well?” “Born here," was the reply, with a preliminary grunt. “Looks as if he might have been born before there was any such place as this," said Frenauld, sotto voce; then aloud, “you are going to remain with us until Uncas comes. ” “I? no, no,” said Old Somonk, with decided emphasis. “The old Harry! then how long will you stay?” “When young Somonk, my son, be come, then I go home to squaw." “And so this old mummy, with a skin like a pump tongue, has got a wife and a son. The squaws imitate their white sisters in having strange tastes," muttered Frenauld; then aloud, “and your son will remain with us until Uncas comes?” “Don’t know.” “For a man of your years your information is about as limited as* that of any one I ever met ” “You give my son paper you get from chief big canoe; my son, young Somonk, he take paper to Uncas. Paper talk. Uncas he come. Then make ready for him —Balph Den’m.” “I see a glimmer of truth has flashed upon your mist enveloped understanding. ” Old Somonk did not understand this, but he clearly comprehended when Frenauld added: “Uncas does not like Balph Denham.” *“Oh. no—no.”

‘Why?” “Wy? ’cause he love wite squaw; daughter medicine man Hedges. “Tersely and clearly stated. Of course all the Indians like their chief?" “Oh, yes.” “Do whatever he says?” “Oh, yes, mebbe." “Some doubt about that, eh? Well. Mr. Old Somonk, one more question; can we sleep here without waton; is it sate?” “Safe?” “I so asked.” ‘lt is safe all time in land of Montauk for friend of Montauk. ” “From whioh I am to infer that It would be anything but safe for the foes of the Montauks to Intrude here. Well, I am a warm friend of the Montauks. ” “Oh, yes,” from Old Somonk. with something like sarcasm in the tones, though his sphinx-like face looked as impassive a 3 ever. Satisfied that it was safe to lie down, and confident that*he could not continue the conversation with Old Somonk, with any chance of getting information or learning that in which he was interested, Frenauld spread a blanket on the ground, and went to sleep. He did not wake up till daylight, and the first object that met his eyes was Old Somonk seated in the same place and in the same position, the only change noticeable about him being that he was now smoking a corn-cob pipe instead of a cigar. With that aptitude which distinguishes alike the trained soldier and seaman, the three sailors from the Wanderer set about getting breakfast for themselves and the Lieutenant.. Old Somonk, with a degree of curiosity that is not generally thought to distinguish his race, watched these operations till the meal was ready, when, without being invited, he came over and began helping himself, in the coolest possible way. At first this caused the Lieutenant and his men much merriment, but wholly indifferent to their laughter Old Somonk paid the strictest possible attention to the business on hand. And as he threatened to devour all the cooked food, if the others did not hurry up, all pitched in in self-defense, and ate with a speed that emulated but oould not equal that of the Indian. During the day Fernauld and his men made an examination of the coast, in which work they were facilitated by the use of a canoe, which Old Somonk drew out from a cavern, made in the rocks by the long-continued action of wind and waves. Fernauld carefully took note of the bearings of this cave, which had a small entrance that could easily be closed up, while the inside space was ample to hold all the wealth of silver, gold, and precious stones that had ever been floated on the sea. Back from the beach there were scattering groves set, as if by the hand of a landscape gardener who studied the ways of nature, and undulating lawns or meadows in which pastured the herds of the Montauks.

In the afternoon they followed the example of Old Somonk, and lay down in the shade, where, the sea breeze lanning their faces, they soon sank to sleep. They would have slept on into the night had they not been aroused by the talking of two men. One was Old Somonk and the olher his son. Before Fernauld could say a word, Old Somonk said, pointing to the Indan youth, with whom he had been talking: ■■ “Ifhis is my son, young Somonk. He comes from Uncas; you talk.” And, having uttered these words with astonishing rapidity, he turned to the west and ian with a speed that was wonderful for him, and would have been remarkable even in his son. “Your venerable sire,” said Frenauld, looking after theflying Montauk, “is the most eccentric gentleman, white or red, that it has ever been my privilege to encounter.” With much dignity the young Indian cut him short by saying: “I have come from my chief, Uncas of the Montauks." “Ah, so I supposed, and ” “Have you a message, a paper for me?” broke in Somonk. “I have; but are you not manifesting undue haste?” For reply Somonk extended his hand, and kept it so until Frenauld had deposited therein the expected paper. Then, to the unutterable amazement of the sailors, Somonk closed his hand on the paper and darted off with a speed that promised soon to place him far In advance of his fugitive father. “Well, may Satan fly away with me, if they are not the most extraordinary sire and scion that ever crossed my course! I wonder if the old woman has the same restlessness on foot and placidity—sitting down?” The sailors answered this with a loud laugh, and at once began preparations for supper. Though affecting great lightness of manner, Frenauld was not at all satisfied with the situation. “What if the Montauk chief did not keep his part of the contract? What, if the Wanderer were lost, or sank, or by any other chance did not return, was to become of Frenauld and his three companions? He thought these questions over and over, even while he was eating his supper, and he had not reached a satisfactory answer, when he heard the snaoping of a dry twig near by, and looking up, he saw before him the towering form of the Montauk chief.

The appearance of Uncas, though not unexpected, was so sudden as to startle Frenauld and set his heert to beating faster. After the usual salutations had passed, the chief accepted Frenauid’s invitation to join him at supper, and while they were eating, he said: “I would have seen you before, but that I met the old white chief, Col. Graham.” “What, hasn’t he gone back to New York?” asked the astonished Frenauld. “No; he has been sick.” u And where is he now?” “He is in my lodge?” “ Y’our lodge?” in my house with his black servant. ’ “In the name of all that is not sacred, how did he come to get there?” “He wanted change, expressed a wish to know more about the Montauks, and I, as their chief, became his guide," said Uncas, with much dignity. “But his presence will ruin our plans.” “ I cannot see how that will be. ” “Simply this, that Col. Graham supposes that Balph Denham is now at the bottom of the sea, as he deserves to be, were it not that Capt Fm, who is your great, true friend, and knows how much you dislike your rival, wanted to leave him in your hands for a certain time, when, according to the agreement, you would be free to do as you pleased with him,” said Frenauld. “I know all that,” replied the chief, “and you can have but little faith in my wisdom if you think I told Col. Graham anything of my plans, nor have I told any one else, excepting young Somonk and his father. ” “Ah, that was the very sublimity of

prudence,” said Frenauld, smiling and rubbing his hands, then asking in a pleased way: “Have you thought of the place where you are to keep Denham?" “I have.” “Do you objeot to telling?" ‘No; it is in a cavern down there by the shore, a plaoe of whioh nearly all our people have a great dread.” As this spot had been appropriated in Frenauld’s mina for another purpose, he asked, hurriedly: “Couldn’t you get another place away from the water —it is dangerous to have a sailor near the water, if you are at all anxious to keep him.” I could; there is even a better hiding plaoe in the hills, but even Ido not tare to go there in the dark.” “What is it like?” asked Frenauld. “It is the burial place of our ohiefs, replied Uncas. |TO BE CONTINUED. J