Democratic Sentinel, Volume 17, Number 17, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 12 May 1893 — In Sheep's Clothing. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

In Sheep's Clothing.

BY Capt. Ormond Steele

CHAPTER XTll—Continued. “I wish Old Graham was dead. But perhaps it is as well that he is here; I can report to him at once, or bleed him again. Confound him, lam not in his power, but he is in mine. Why should I care for him, or be alarmed if he were here this moment! I am master, and master I shall remain while there is a plank afloat, or a rag above it. ” In this way Fox worked off his anger, and with it his confidence in his own wonderful powers. He was emphatically a man of action, but, when excited, his command of words was equal to the energy with which he used them. He put the map Frenauld had given him into his pocket, and then, taking his arm, walked back with him to the fire. They had but just reached there, when a tali form emerged from the darkness, and Uneas, chief of the Montauks, enveloped in a scarlet mantle, that was dripping with moisture, stood before them. “You are true to your word,” said ITncas, shaking Fox’s hand. “You have come, but where is he?” Fox did not need to ask who the “he” referred to was. “See here, Uncas,” he said, motioning the chief to follow him to the boat. As Fox passed the fire he picked up a brand, and, approaching the boat, he drew back the awning and held the light above the unconscious man’s face. “Do you know who that is?" he asked. “Balph Denham!” said the chief. And a wilh light burned in his black eyes. “He is yours,” said Fox. “Now do with him as you promised.” “Can you lift him out of the boat.?" asked Uncas. “I will have that done.” Fox motioned to the sailors, and they lifte 1 the bed out of the boat, and placed it near the fire, Frenauld throwing an oil-cloth over the pale face, to shield it from the rain. “ Come, let us unload, while we are about it, ” said Fox; and with his own hands, he helped to take out the boxes, and placed them under the bed on which Ralpn Denham was lying. With hi 3 customary energy, Fox ■worked, and made others work/tilldhe boat, with Frenauld, and all the sailors, excepting Don, the cabin boy, was making his way to the ship. “ You see,” said Fox to the chief, when the boat was out of sight and hearing, “that I trust myself to you, for I believe the Montauk chief will keep his word.”

“So far, no man has appeared to doubt my word. I have, at times since seeing you, felt that it was not becoming a brave man to do as I am doing; but the Montauks are not prepared for war, as are Ralph Denham, and his men. ” “ You are right. Cunning is often better than courage. You have now in your power the man who has scorned you, and made your life unhappy. Are you going to ask, in such a i ase, if it be right !o put them out of the way? Of course not, though, in accordance with vour promise, you must not put him out of the way till I give the word. ” “But in that way I might be forced to keep him forever,” said the chief. "How so?” “Y'ou are a sailor, here to-day, far away to-morrow, and I may not be able to get to you, nor you to me,” replied Uncas. “Before I leave these waters again I will leave you free to act as you please. But now, while it is yet dark night, might it not be better to remove this man?” said Fox, pointing to the bed. “i am ready for that.” Uncas placed to his lips a peculiarly curved bone, known to old hunters as a “deer call,” and blew a low, plaintive blast, that sounded exactly like the appealing cry of a wounded fawn. In answer, a low whistle came back from the cliffs and the darkness. Uncas repeated the call. Then was heard the fall of rapidly approaching feet, and the quick breathing of men, as if engaged in a life and death race. In another instant Old Somonk and his son, accompanied by two tall Indians, stood in the presence of the chief, and the old man, who seemed to be the leader, said: “Uncas, we are here!”

CHAPTER XVIII. CAPTAIN FOX PERFECTS HIS WORK AND S TAKTB OFF TO FIND COLONEL GRAHAM. “There is a sleeping man here whom you must carry to the place we have prepared for him,” said the Montauk chief, pointing to the bed which looked strangely like an Indian bier. “Ha," grunted Old Somonk, as ha took a place near the head of the bed. “I have helped to carry your father to the last sleeping place of the Montauk chiefs, aud I have heard my father say that on his shoulder rested the head of ihe mighty Wyandauch, when they bore him to the same place." “We care not to hear that now, ” said Uneas, half in tea-, half in anger. “It is the privilege of an old man to speak. Yonder ground is the resting place of the dead chiefs of the Montauks, a sleeping place for live white men." persisted Old Somonk, who now talked with a wonderful fluency, contrasted with his reticence the first night he met Frenauld. “And you are here to obey me, not to give opinions. Then addressing the others, he continued: “The word of the chief has ever been the law of the Montauks. Come, my braves, and raise the burden to your shoulders. ” The men, including Old Somonk, obeyed him. “Stay you here, Captain Fox, till I return.” Uneas waved his hand and was about to pass away, but Fox stopped him by asking: “When will you return?” “Before the sun rises,” replied the chief. “And it will be safe for me to remain here?” “As safe as the child over whom a fond mother watches.” “Very well; I shall wait.” Without a torch to light the way, Uncas led the braves through the darkness. By this time the wind and rain had died out, leaving the night air cool an*d bracing. The stillness was thatof death. Even the footsteps of the Indians and their regular breathing had a spectral sound. After walking about an hour, with the long, straight stride that characterizes the Indian,,Uneas called to his followers to stop, and again blew a low blast on the deer call. In instant a light flashed up, and an

old woman appeared bearing a torch; it was the wife of Old Somonk. “Is all ready?” asked the chief, speaking in the Montauk tongue. “The tomb of the mighty Wyandauch is open and a light bums therein. Come with me.” By the light of her torch it could be seen that she faced a hill, the summit of which was lost in the darkness, while directly in front was an open space like a small cave or vault, within which burned a dim light Into this the four men with their burden marched, and they placed the bed on which Captain Denham lay on a long slab, the stone that covered the earthly remains of Wyandauch, the memorable chief of the Montauks. “Take you charge of him,’’said Uncas, addressing the old woman, “and your son and husband will remain on guard outside. ” “How long has the white youth been sleeping?” asked Somonk’s wife, as she held the shell lamp above Ralph’s face. “That matters not; he will soon awake n “Then what shall I do?" “Give him food if he wants it” “But he will ask where he is?” “If so, tell him he is the prisoner of Uncas, chief of the Montauks.” The chief strode out of the vault and, followed by the two Indians, who had helped Old Somonk and his son to carry Ralph Denham, hurried in the direction of the principal village of the Montauks.

They traveled with surprising rapidity for men on foot, and after an hour and a half they saw a glow in advance, that told them they were nearing the objective point They were yet a quarter of a mi’e or more awjy from the lights, when a voice directly in front called out: “Whar goes Uncas, de chief of de Montauks, sieh anight?” “Is that you, Dinah?” asked the startled Indian. “’Tls Dinah, en no one else,” croaked the old hag. “En I wants for to ax whar hez been dis night uv storms de chief of de Montauks?” “It matters not,” said Uncas; “go you to your cabin, and go to bed. ” “Wy should I go to my cabin wen dar’s evil a prowlin’ roun’ in de darkness? Wy should’dis ole ’oman go to bed wen de sun’s nigh to risin?” “Go to bed to sleep,” growled the chief, about to move on. “Dar’ll be sleepin’ ’nuff in de bed whar deze ole bones’ll soon be laid. Your fader en his fader hev gone to dat sleep, en de cuss of de Great Sperrit, ez dey loved, will fall on him ez placesde livin’ nigh onto ’em " “Hist, you hag!” interrupted the chief; “what do you know about iny acts?” “Look up above yer head, Uncas, Chief of the Montauks, en tell me what yeh sees dar.” Between his eyes and the distant light, the chief saw the shriveled arm of the old negress pointing to the sky, and involuntarily his eyes followed the direction. “I only see night and darkness,” said Uncas. “Night and darkness, yas, but beyond de dark cloud de stars am shinin’. Your eyes is young, en can’t see ’em; my eyes is old, but sees ’em blazin’ like de suns, en dey sez: ‘Dinah, Dinah, darter uv de African King Molloka, de chief Uncas brings disgrace on de great name Wyandauch, en from this night on, es he do not make change, hez ind is sot, en de glory of de Montauks shall go down into de darkness now ’bove yer head.’ ”

The old woman spoke tragically, and the chief—himself the child of superstition —shuddered, but it was only for a moment. He had gone out of the beaten paths of his fathers, he had measured, so well as passion would permit, the depths into which he was sinking. If ever, and he did sometimes question his own course, he gave thought to the unprincely acts he contemplated and was then performing, the beautiful face of Lea Hedges would flash like a blazing meteor across the sky of his darkened brain, and spur him with fury to continue the tool of this adventurer, but as he thought the avenger of his own imagined wrongs. “Leave me now," he said, striding ahead; “leave me, but do not imagine that the hospitality extended to you for twenty years by our people, gives you the privilege to insult their chief. Go to your cabin, and hold your peaco, or go from the land of the Montauks.” “£n es I don't go to my cabin, en es I don’t hold my "peace, wat den?” shrieked Dinah, still keeping in the chief’s advance. “Then I wiil find a means to drive you away,” said Uneas, raising his hand, as if he would strike her, but the next instant letting it fall heavily, as if in shame, by his side. Dark as it was, her quick eye caught the gesture, and it seemed to madden her. “Once,” she shouted, “de chiefs of de Montauks scorned to raise dar hans ’ga'nst any but warriors armed foh battle. But den dar hearts was strong and brave. Ole women and helpless men dey keered foh. Dey wasn’t cowards and murd’rers. Oh, I know it all! You can’t hide it from me, onless yeh kill me. But kill me, en den see if yer red of me; see es de sperrit of ole Dinah stays in de groun’ en dis wo’n body. See den, Uneas of de Montauks, es I don’t stay eber and»eber by yer side. En wen all is still in de camp, en you lie down on de dee’ skin in de wigwam, es my hans don’t keep yer eyes from shettin’. En den louder’n de tunder ez rolled oyer dese hills dis night, ye’ll hear me shoutin’, dough no one else kin, even yer wife lyin' by yer side, es ye ever gets one, ‘Wake, wake, Uneas of de Montauks, murd’rers cannot sleep in peace on dis yer airth.’ ” The chief, now thoroughly alarmed, as were the men following close behind him, was about to address the old woman in a kinder way, for, like all his tribe, he stood in awe of her, but she had suddely vanished. He stopped and called her name, and, as he listened for a reply, the ominous hooting of an owl came back from a distant grove. “Hah, let us goon. She is a devil,” said the chief. The men grunted, to indicate that they had heard him, but made no other reply. They were not sure that Uneas was right and the old priestess wrong. Though very old in years and worn in body, the old negress possessed a vitality that, for endurance, would have tested the superb chief now striding on in silence. This was one reason why the Montauks held her in awe; and then she never complained of ache, or showed sign of sickness, which was eminently proper, seeing that she claimed to have the power to cured, or relieve all human ills. At the close of her weird denunciation of the chief, she sprang lightly to one side, as the hare does when the hounds are close behind, and there, hidden by the darkness, she remained till the Indians had passed. Dinah chuckled to herself at the success of her stratagem, and, rising, quickly, she followed the three men with a step lighter than their own, and at a pace that kept them at one distance between her eyM'and the light

. <■ \ She watched Uncas, till he entered -the house to which Colonel Graham and' his servant had been recently changed. It was a iog structure with open chinks, very favorable for one outside to listen. The chief went up to the couch on which Colonel Graham was ra etched. Such men find sleep a difficult matter. The Colonel was on the point of shouting for his servant, who was sleeping in a little hut &u;oining, when, by the light of a shell lamp, burning on a bench near by, he saw Uncas approaching. “Well, worthy chief,” said Graham, rising on his elbow, “do you also find it hard to sleep?" “One should not sleep when there is great work to do,” replied Uncas, as he sat on the bench, and took the shell lamp in-h.s hand. “That is most true; but you look as it you had been out in the storm,” “And so I have." “I did not know that the Montauks loved the storm. You would make a good sailor. ” "Many of the Montauks and ou» neighbors, the Shlnicooks, are sailorsi but I should not like it. Yet 1 was up to-nicht at the beacon hill looking for ships.” “Looking for ships?” repeated the Colonel, sitting bolt upright In bed, and rubbing his eyes. “Looking lor the Wanderer,” said Ui> cas, gazing at his guest out of his halfclosed eyes, without seeming to do so. “But what interest can you have in the Wanderer?”

“I know her captain, and want to see him again.” “Y'ou may never see him again.” “I shall see him to-morrow.” “What!” exclaimed Graham, startled and doubting. “The Wanderer is at anchor inside the point.” “Who told you that?" “I saw her with my own eyes.” “But how could you tell it in the darkness, that the ship was the Wanderer?” “I couldn’t, if the ofFicei*, I mean Fox, had not come ashore." “And you saw Fox to-night?” said the increifulods Graham. “I d:d, and spoke with him.” “And where is he n jw?” “On the beach, waiting for my return. ” “And you told him I was here?” “I did.” “What d'd he siy?” “He said that he was going through our lands to Sag Harbor in the morning, and that he would see you on the way,” replied the chief, now as cool as the other was agitated. “And did he show any surprise on learning that I was here?” “I cannot say. Fox looks as if he was always surprised and determined never to be surprised again. Like the animal from which he takes his name, he is always looking about him, and ready to attack or run." “He is a brave man, and so never runs." “ r lhe brave sometimes show their bravery by running; the man that never runs is a fool. But 1 must leave you if you would sleep to-night; in another hour it will be day.” [TO BE CONTINUED.]