Chapter 3: The Pursuit of Garay

Robert paused a few moments in the hall. Sounds of voices came from the dining room, showing that the supper was still in progress. He thought of going back there to listen to the talk, but he reflected that the time for youth at the table had passed. They were in their secrets now, and he strolled toward the large room that contained the chest of drawers.

A dim light from an unshuttered window shone into the apartment and it was in his mind to wait there for Tayoga, but he stopped suddenly at the door and stared in astonishment. A shadow was moving in the room, thin, impalpable, and noiseless, but it had all the looks of a man. Moreover, it had a height and shape that were familiar, and it reminded him of the spy, Garay.

He was too much surprised to move, and so he merely stared. Garay knelt before the chest of drawers and began to work at it with a small sharp tool that he drew from his coat. Robert saw, too, that his attention was centered on the third drawer from the top. Then he came out of his catalepsy and started forward, but in doing so his foot made a slight noise on the floor.

Garay leaped to his feet, gave Robert one glance, and then disappeared through the open window, with incredible dexterity and speed. Robert stared again. The man was there and then he was not. It could not be Garay, but his ghost, some illusion, a trick of the eye or mind. Then he knew it was no fancy. With extraordinary assurance, the man had come there to rifle the drawer--for what purpose Robert knew not.

He ran to the window but saw nothing save the peaceful night, the waving trees, and the quiet lawn lying beyond. Then he walked to the chest and examined the third drawer, noticing new scratches around the lock. There was not the slightest doubt that Garay had been trying to open it.

He went to the door, resolved to tell Mr. Huysman at once of the attempt upon the chest, but he stopped irresolute. The low sounds of talk still came from the dining room. He was only a boy and his was a most improbable tale. They might think he had been dreaming, though he knew full well that he had seen straight and true. And then Garay was gone, leaving no trace. No, he would not interrupt Mr. Huysman now, but he would talk it over with Tayoga.

He found the Onondaga standing among the trees, gazing with rapt vision at his star.

“Did Tododaho speak to you?” asked Robert.

“He did,” replied Tayoga earnestly.

“What did he say?”

“That the great war will go on, and that you and I and the Great Bear, who is away, will encounter many more perils. The rest is veiled.”

“And while we take our ease, Tayoga, our enemies are at work.”

“What does Dagaeoga mean?”

“I went into the room containing the chest of drawers, the story of which you read, and found there Garay, the spy, trying to open it.”

“Dagaeoga does not dream?”

“Oh, I thought for a moment or two that I did, but it was reality. Garay escaped through the open window, and, on the lock of the third drawer, were scratches that he left where he had been working with a sharp tool. Come, Tayoga, and look at them.”

The two went into the house. Robert lighted a lamp for better light, and Tayoga knelt before the drawer, giving it a long and close examination.

“Garay is a very clever man,” he said at last, “much cleverer, perhaps, then we gave him the credit of being.”

“I think so too,” said Robert.

“As events show, he came into this house to obtain the papers in this drawer, and you and I feel quite certain that those papers concern you. And as you saw him and the slaver together, it indicates that they have some plot against you, what I know not. But the papers here have much to do with it.”

“Do you think I should speak of it to Master Jacobus and Mr. Hardy now?”

“I think not, Dagaeoga. Whatever the mystery about you it is evident that they do not wish to tell you of it yet. So, being what you are, you will not ask them, but wait until such time as they see fit. I think these scratches on the lock were made by the sharp point of a hunting knife. Garay did not succeed in opening it, though it is likely that he would have done so if you had not interrupted him.”

“When he saw me he was gone like a flash. I did not know a man could skip through a window with so much celerity.”

“One has to be skillful at such things to carry on the trade of a spy. That is why he could have opened this lock, large and strong as it is, with the point of his hunting knife had he been allowed time, and that is why he flew through the window like a bird when you came upon him.”

He examined the window and then laughed a little.

“But he did not go without leaving further proof of himself,” he said. “Here on the sill is the faintest trace of blood where he bruised his hand or wrist in his rapid flight.”

“Suppose you try to trail him, Tayoga. I believe you could find out which way he went, even here in Albany. The men will talk in there a long time, and won’t miss us. There’s a fair moon.”

“I will try,” said Tayoga in his precise fashion. “First we will look at the ground under the window.”

They went outside and the Onondaga examined the grass beneath it, the drop being five or six feet.

“As he had to come down hard, he ought to have left traces,” said Robert.

“So he did, Dagaeoga. I find several imprints, and there also are two or three drops of blood, showing that he scratched his hand considerably when he went through the window. Here go the traces, leading north. Garay, of course, knows this immediate locality well, as he observed it closely when he made his attempt upon you before. It is lucky that it rained yesterday, leaving the ground soft. We may be able to follow him quite a distance.”

“If anybody can follow him, you can.”

“It is friendship that makes Dagaeoga speak so. The trail continues in its original course, though I think that sooner or later it will turn toward the river.”

“Meaning that Garay will meet the slaver somewhere and that the natural place of the latter is on the water.”

“Dagaeoga reasons well. That, I think, is just what Garay will do. It is likely, too, that he will curve about the town. If he went upon a hard street we would lose him since he would leave no trail there, but he will keep away because he does not wish to be seen. Ah, he now turns from the houses and into the fields! We shall be able to follow him. The moon is our friend. It is pouring down rays enough to disclose his trail if trail he leaves.”

They were soon beyond the houses and climbed three fences dividing the fields. At the third, Tayoga said:

“Garay paused here and rested. There is a drop of blood on the top rail. He probably sat there and looked back to see if he was followed. Ah, here is a splinter on a lower rail freshly broken!”

“What do you make of it, Tayoga?”

“The spy was angry, angry that his effort, made at such great risk, should have failed through the mere chance of your coming into the room at that particular time. He was angry, too, that he had bruised his hand so badly that it bled, and continued to bleed. So, his disappointment made him grind his heel against the rail and break the splinter.”

“I’m glad he felt that way. A man in his trade ought to suffer many disappointments.”

“When he had satisfied himself that no pursuit was in sight, he jumped to the ground. Here are deep imprints made by his descending weight, and now he becomes less careful. Albany is behind us, and he thinks all danger of pursuit has passed. I see a little brook ahead, and it is safe to say that he will kneel at it and drink.”

“And also to bathe his wounded hand.”

“Even so, Dagaeoga. Lo, it is as we said! Here are the imprints of his knees, showing that he refreshed himself with water after his hurried flight. The ground on the other side of the brook is soft and we shall be able to find his imprints there, even if it were pitch dark. Now I think they will turn very soon toward the river.”

“Yes, they’re curving. Here they go, Tayoga.”

The trail led across a field, over a hill, and then through a little wood, where Tayoga was compelled to go slowly, hunting about like a hound, trying to trace a scent. But wherever he lost it he finally picked it up again, and, when they emerged from the trees, they saw the river not far ahead.

“Our trail will end at the stream,” said Tayoga confidently.

As he had predicted, the imprints led directly to the river, and there ended their pursuit also. The Hudson flowed on in silence. There was nothing on its bosom.

“The slaver in a boat was waiting for him here,” said Tayoga. “I think we can soon find proof of it.”

A brief examination of the bank showed traces where the prow had rested.

“It was probably a boat with oars for two,” he said. “The slaver sat in it most of the time, but he grew impatient at last and leaving the boat walked up the bank a little distance. Here go his steps, showing very plainly in the soft earth in the moonlight, and here come those of Garay to meet him. They stood at the top of the bank under this oak, and the spy told how he had failed. Doubtless, the slaver was much disappointed, but he did not venture to upbraid Garay, because the spy is as necessary to him as he is to the spy. After they talked it over they walked down the bank together--see their trails going side by side--entered the boat and rowed away. I wish the water would leave a trail, too, that we might follow them, but it does not.”

“Do you think they’ll dare go back to Albany?”

“The slaver will. What proof of any kind about anything have we? Down! Dagaeoga, down!”

Fitting the action to the word, the Onondaga seized Robert by the shoulders suddenly and dragged him to the earth, falling with him. As he did so a bullet whistled where Robert’s head had been and a little puff of smoke rose from a clump of bushes on the opposite shore.

“They’re there in their boat among the bushes that grow on the water’s edge!” exclaimed Tayoga. “I ought to have thought of it, but I did see a movement among the bushes in time! I cannot see their faces or the boat, either, but I know it is Garay and the slaver.”

“I have no weapon,” said Robert. “It did not occur to me that I would need one.”

“I have a pistol in my tunic. I always carry one when I am in the white man’s country. It is wise.”

“Under the circumstances, I think we’d better slip away and leave the spy and the slaver to enjoy the river as they please, for tonight at least.”

He was about to rise, but Tayoga pulled him down a second time, and a report heavier than the first came from the far shore. Another bullet passed over their heads and struck with a sough in the trunk of a big tree beyond them.

“That was from a rifle. The other was from a pistol,” said Tayoga. “It is the slaver, of course, who has the rifle, and they mean to make it very warm for us. Perhaps an unexpected chance gives them hope to do here what they expected to achieve later on.”

“Meaning a final disposition of me?”

“That was in my mind, Dagaeoga. I think it is you at whom they will shoot and you would better creep away. Lie almost flat and edge along until you come to the trees, which are about twenty yards behind us. There, you will be safe.”

“And leave you alone, Tayoga! What have I ever done to make you think I’d do such a thing?”

“It is not Tayoga whom they want. It is Dagaeoga. I cannot go without taking a shot at them, or else my pistol would burn me inside my tunic. Be wise as I am, Dagaeoga. Always carry a pistol when you are in the white man’s towns. Life is reasonably safe only in the red man’s forest.”

“It looks as if you were right, Tayoga, but remember that I stay here with you as long as you stay.”

“Then keep close to the earth. Roll back a bit and you will be sheltered better by that little rise.”

Robert obeyed, and it was well that he did so, as the heavy rifle cracked a second time, and a plowing bullet caused fine particles of the earth to fly over him. Tayoga leveled his pistol at the flash and smoke but did not pull the trigger.

“Why didn’t you fire, Tayoga?” asked Robert.

“I could not see well enough. They and their boat are still hidden by the bushes in which they remain because from there they can command the bank where we lie.”

“Then it looks as if each side held the other. If they come out of the bushes you use your pistol on ‘em, and if we retreat farther they use their rifle on us. You’ll notice, Tayoga, that we’re in a little dip, and if we go out of it on our far side in retreat we’ll make a target of ourselves. If they leave the bushes on their far side to climb their own bank they come into view. It’s checkmate for both.”

“It is so, Dagaeoga. It is a difficult position for you, but not for me. We of the red races learn to have patience because we are not in such a hurry to consume time as you white people are.”

“That is true, but it is not a moment for a discussion of the relative merits of white and red.”

“We are likely to have plenty of leisure for it since I think we are doomed to a long wait.”

“I think you’re happy over it, Tayoga. Your voice has a pleased ring.”

“I’m not unhappy. I see a chance to gratify a curiosity that I have long had. I wish to see whether the white race, even in great danger, where it is most needed, has as much patience as the red. Ah, Dagaeoga, you were incautious! Do not raise your head again. You, at least, do not have as much patience as the occasion requires.”

The third bullet had passed so near Robert that cold shivers raced over his body and he resolved not to raise his head again a single inch, no matter what the temptation is.

“Remember that it is you whom they want,” said Tayoga in his precise, book English. “Having the rifle they can afford to try shots at longer ranges, but with the pistol, I must wait until I can see them clearly. Well, Dagaeoga, it is a fine evening, not too cold, we need fresh air after a big supper, and perhaps one could not find a pleasanter place in which to pass the night.”

“You mean that we may lie here until day?”

“Dagaeoga speaks as if that would be remarkable. My father waited once three days and three nights beside a run to obtain a deer. He neither ate nor drank during that time, but he went home with the deer. If he could wait so long for something to eat, cannot we wait as long when our lives are at stake?”

“According to the laws of proportion, we should be willing to stay here a week, at least. Can you see anything moving in the bushes over there, Tayoga?”

“Not a thing. They too are patient men, the slaver and the spy, and having missed several times with the rifle they will bide a while, hoping that we will expose ourselves.”

The Onondaga settled himself comfortably against the earth, his pistol lying on the little rise in front of him, over which his eyes watched the clump of bushes into which the boat had gone. If the slaver and the spy made any attempt to slip forth, whether on the water or up the bank, he would certainly see them, and he would not withhold the pressure of his finger on the trigger.

The full moon still shone down, clothing the world in a beautiful silver light. The stars in myriads danced in a sky of soft, velvety blue. The river flowed in an illuminated, molten mass. A light wind hummed a pleasant song among the brown leaves. Robert had a curious feeling of rest and safety. He was quite sure that neither the slaver nor the spy could hit him while he lay in the dip, and no movement of theirs would escape the observation of Tayoga, the incomparable sentinel. He relaxed, and, for a few moments, his faculties seemed to fall into a dreamy state.

“If I should go to sleep, Tayoga,” he said, “wake me up when you need me.”

“You will not go to sleep.”

“How do you know? I feel a lot like it.”

“It is because the worry you felt a little while ago has passed. You believe that in this duel of patience, we shall conquer.”

“I know that we’ll conquer, Tayoga, because you are here.”

“Dagaeoga’s flattery is not subtle.”

“It’s not flattery. It’s my real belief.”