A Cousin's Conspiracy: or, A Boy's Struggle for an Inheritance

“I’ll let you know who I am,” was the swaggering reply.

Though he was but one man opposed to two he had no fears. The farmer was evidently cowed and terrified, while the Quaker seemed, though large, to be peaceable and harmless.

But in his judgment of Luke the outlaw was very much at fault. When threatening the farmer he had covered him with his revolver, but as he was preparing to leave the buggy he carelessly lowered it. Luke, who was aching to attack him, noticed this.

While Fox, for it was one of the notorious brothers, was standing in careless security, the Quaker sprang upon him like a panther upon his prey. He knocked the revolver from his hand, with one powerful blow felled him to the ground, and placed his foot upon his prostrate form.

Never, perhaps, in a career crowded with exciting adventures had the outlaw been so thoroughly surprised.

“What the mischief does this mean?” he ejaculated, struggling to rise.

“It means that thee has mistaken thy man,” answered Luke coolly.

“Let me go or I’ll kill you!” shrieked the outlaw fiercely.

“If you try to get up I’ll put a bullet through your head,” replied Luke, pointing at him with his own revolver.

In his excitement he had dropped his Quaker speech, and this the outlaw noted.

“Are you a Quaker?” he asked abruptly.

“No more than you are,” answered Luke. “Farmer, bring out the rope.”

Ezekiel Mason from the bottom of the buggy produced a long and stout piece of clothes-line.

“What do you mean to do?” inquired the outlaw uneasily.

“You will see soon enough. No, don’t try to get up, as you value your life. Now tie him, Mason, while I keep him covered with the revolver.”

“We’ve had enough of this,” said the outlaw sullenly. “Let me go and I’ll do you no harm.”

“I don’t mean that you shall, my honest friend.”

“But if you persist in this outrage I swear that you will be a dead man within thirty days.”

“Be careful how you talk or you may be a dead man within thirty minutes,” answered Luke.

While the outlaw was covered by Luke’s revolver Farmer Mason, though his tremulous hands showed that he was nervous, managed to tie him securely. Fox began to understand the sort of man with whom he was dealing and remained silent, but his brain was busy trying to devise some method of escape.

At length the dangerous prisoner was securely tied.

“What shall we do with him?” asked Ezekiel.

“Where’s the nearest prison?”

“At Crampton.”

“How far away?”

“Twelve miles.”

“In what direction?”

“It is four miles beyond Claremont,” answered the farmer.

“Where you live?”

“Yes.”

“Then we will go there first.”

“But how shall we carry – this gentleman?” asked the farmer, who could not get over a feeling of deference for the celebrated outlaw.

“We’ll put him into the back part of the buggy.”

By the united efforts of both the outlaw, like a trussed fowl, was deposited bodily in the rear of the carriage, where he lay in a most uncomfortable position, jolted and shaken whenever the road was rough or uneven.

“You’ll repent this outrage,” he said fiercely.

“Doesn’t thee like it?” asked Luke, relapsing into his Quaker dialect.

“Curse you and your Quaker lingo!” retorted Fox, his black eyes sparkling vindictively.

“It wouldn’t do thee any harm to turn Quaker thyself,” suggested Luke.

“I’ll be bruised to death before the ride is over,” growled the outlaw.

“There is one way of saving you the discomfort of the ride.”

“What is that?”

“I might shoot you through the head. As the reward is the same whether I deliver you alive or dead I have a great mind to do it.”

The outlaw was made still more uncomfortable by these words. He had wholly misunderstood Luke at first, and the revelation of his real character had impressed him not only with respect but fear. He did not know of what this pseudo Quaker might be capable. He longed in some way to get out of his power. Force was impracticable, and he resolved to resort to finesse.

“Look here, my friend,” he began.

“So you regard me as a friend? Thank you, Brother Fox; I won’t forget it.”

“Oh, bother your nonsense! I suppose you are after the thousand dollars offered for my apprehension.”

“You have guessed right the first time. I am not a rich man, and I don’t mind telling you that a thousand dollars will be particularly acceptable just about now.”

“So I suppose. You don’t feel particularly unfriendly to me?”

“Oh, no. I might under different circumstances come to love you like a brother.”

“Or join my band?”