The Missouri Outlaws

"Here you are at home," he said; "come, go, do just as you like. At the end of the garden you will find a door opening on the woods. We shall dine at six. Be back by that time, and you will find the table laid here. We can then explain all."

With these words the outlaw left his friend.

As soon as he had returned to his private room, Tom Mitchell, or Maillard, son of the terrible judge of the Reign of Terror, sat down before a table, wrote a few lines, sealed the letter carefully, and then struck a gong.

At once Camotte appeared and took the letter.

"Send this letter to my father by express," he said; "let him kill his horse, but let me have the answer."

"He shall be gone in five minutes."

"And now," continued Tom Mitchell, with a sarcastic smile, "send that fat American in here."

Camotte bowed and retired. Next moment the great American shipowner came in puffing and blowing.

"Sit down, sir," said Tom Mitchell.

The fat man obeyed with a grunt.

"I think it rather hard that a man like me – "

"Pardon me," said the captain, coldly; "allow me to remark, before you go any further, that I have no need of you, and did not send for you. You it is who, in the company of several other gentlemen, have come to me. All of you have, I dare say, serious reasons for taking this extraordinary step. I have in no way solicited the honour. All I can do is to listen to each in his turn. I have seen one and settled with him; if you have anything to say to me, speak."

This speech, pronounced in a clear, bold tone, not unmixed with sarcasm, at once, as if by enchantment, calmed the irritation of the fat man. At all events, it compelled him to dissimulate it. After, therefore, mopping his head and face several times with a pocket handkerchief, and coughing once or twice behind his hand, he spoke —

"I was angry, sir," he said, "and own it freely."

"Be pleased, sir, to come at once to business," continued Tom Mitchell; "another person waits."

"You are, I believe, well acquainted with me?"

"I have known you a long time," remarked Tom.

"Sir, I have a nephew; he is the son of my wife's brother," began the other, "a very near relative."

"Well, sir?"

"This nephew, though a charming youth," cried Stoneweld, "is mad, utterly, hopelessly mad, sir."

"Really, sir," said the captain, "and have you come all this way to tell me this piece of news?"

"Pardon me, sir. When I say that he is mad, I believe I exaggerate. I should rather say that his intense folly has taken the form of monomania. This charming young man, as I have the honour to tell you, is in love, sir."

"A very natural matter at his age."

"But, sir," cried the shipowner, "he is in love with a young person in no way suited to his station."

"Perhaps he does not think so."

"Of course, sir, it is not his opinion. But it is mine. I am a serious man; I feel a great interest in him. Now that his father is dead I am his legal guardian – though he repudiates me. Now, sir, would you believe it," cried the fat man, "I had arranged with his aunt, my wife, the most delicious marriage for him with a young girl – I may as well be frank, a niece of my own?"

"And he wouldn't have her," said Tom.

"No, sir, he actually would not have her. Do you understand such folly on his part?" cried the other.

"Well, it is strange. But what have I to do with it?"

"I will explain if you will allow me."

"I really should feel much obliged," urged Tom.

"After refusing contemptuously this eligible alliance, which united every condition of age and fortune and position, what did the fool do? Excuse me if in my anger I speak thus of a nephew I love. One fine morning, without saying a word to anybody, he left his business to a partner, and started off, sir – what for?"

"Well, how can I say?" asked Tom.

"In pursuit of this wretched girl without family or fortune, whose parents had emigrated to the Indian frontier."

"Oh, oh!" said the captain, who began to feel interested, and who listened with a gloomy frown.

"Yes, sir," said the fat man, too wrapped up in his narrative to notice the other's looks, "so that my nephew must be somewhere here about this neighbourhood, looking after his beauty, neglecting his affairs and fortune Tor a girl he will certainly never marry."

"How do you know, sir?"

"At all events I will do everything in my power to prevent it," cried the irate citizen of Boston.

"How will you set about it?"

"Sir, I have been told that you were the only man in these parts capable of arresting a fugitive."

"You do me too much honour."

"I have a number of unclosed accounts, needless to explain, with his father. Arrest the young man, sir!" cried the Bostonian; "Arrest him and place him safely in my hands, and the sum of one thousand guineas is yours."

As he spoke, the worthy shipowner pulled out an enormous pocketbook from his coat and opened it.

"Excuse me, sir," said the captain, "do not let us be in quite such a hurry. You have not quite finished."

"How so?" cried the American.

"You have forgotten," said the captain with simple frankness, "to tell me the name of your foolish nephew."

"George Clinton, sir, a very fine lad, though I say it."

"I know him," retorted the captain, coldly.

"You know him!" exclaimed the shipowner, "Then the affair is settled. You will have him arrested."

"Perhaps," said Tom Mitchell; "I will reflect on the affair, which is not so easy as you may suppose."

"To you, the chief of the outlaws?"

"George Clinton is not alone. He has many and powerful friends on the frontier."

"But I have plenty of money."

"I tell you, I will reflect. You will now return to the fort under escort. In two days you shall have my answer."

"But allow me to pay you a deposit," cried the other.

"Keep your money for the present," said Tom, and striking a gong, Camotte appeared as if by magic.

"But – " blustered the rich merchant.

"Not another word, sir. Wait patiently for my reply. I am your most obedient servant."

And led away by Camotte, the rich shipowner of Boston went out spluttering and perspiring as before.

"Now," said the captain to himself, with a sarcastic smile, "let us see what the other fellow is made of."

He went to the door, and, entering the cavern, bowed to the Frenchman, who was still walking up and down.

"Will you be good enough to come this way, Monsieur Hebrard," he said, with an engaging smile.

The Frenchman looked at him with astonishment, but on a repetition of the invitation went in.

The captain chuckled to himself at this evidence of the other's utter surprise and bewilderment.

It was as if he had scored one.

CHAPTER XVII.

A DIPLOMATIC CONVERSATION BETWEEN TWO RASCALS

The two men looked at one another for some minutes in silence, just as two clever duelists might have done before venturing on the attack. But though each tried to read the other, their faces were like marble.

At a mute invitation from the outlaw, the stranger took a seat, and at once commenced the conversation.

"Sir," he said, "it is a matter of surprise, that you, a perfect stranger, should address me by a name – "

"Which is or has once been yours, monsieur," answered the outlaw chief, with freezing politeness.

"That is quite possible. I do not deny it. When one travels in foreign parts on important business, incognito – "

"Is adopted, I am aware, which only deceives fools and dupes," said the outlaw, speaking slowly.

"What do you mean, sir?" cried the other.

"I recollect a certain Count de Mas d'Azyr, an excellent gentleman of Languedoc, who had this mania."

The stranger shivered all over, and a lightning flash darted from beneath his dark and heavy eyebrows.

"Well," continued the outlaw, with imperturbable sang-froid, "his noble manners so thoroughly denounced him, despite the plebeian names he chose to assume, that he was compelled at the end of a few minutes to give up this absurd acting."

"Really, sir," cried the stranger, "I do not see the meaning or relevance of your allusions."

"I permit myself no allusions," said the outlaw, with the utmost suavity. "Very far from it. What matters it to me, I ask, whether you call yourself Hebrard, Count de Mas d'Azyr, Philippe de Salnam, Jean Lerou, or take any other alias?"

"Sir!" cried the other.

"Allow me, I pray, to conclude. In you I only recognise a person who is very warmly recommended to me, who has need of my services, and at whose disposition I therefore place myself at once – ready to serve him if possible," he continued; "at all events we can talk, and I should be glad to know in what way I can be of use."

"Sir," said the stranger, smiling, "you are agreeable and witty. I find that people make mistakes in their idea of you."

"I am obliged by your high consideration," continued the outlaw; "still this does not explain to me – "

"Who I am," cried the other, with feigned candour; "well, sir, considering you have mentioned so many names – "

"You allow, then, that I was right."

"Certainly; you were quite right," answered the other, quickly; "I therefore sincerely beg your pardon."

"It is not at all necessary."

"There is, however, one thing that I must confess puzzles me very much," continued the envoy.

"May I, without offence, ask what that is?"

"No offence. I should certainly be only too glad to have an explanation with you on the subject."

"If it depends upon me," the other said.

"It depends absolutely on you. I always thought I had a good memory. I believe myself to be a very good physiognomist, but really I have no recollection of you."

The outlaw burst into a roar of laughter.

"Which only proves," he added, when he recovered himself, "that I am much more clever at incognito than you."

"Which means – "

"That not only have we met, monsieur, but that we have carried on a long connection," said Tom.

"Many years ago?"

"Not at all, sir. I speak of very recent times, though I will allow that our acquaintance commenced long ago."

"You astonish me," said the Frenchman.

"The matter is very easily explained. We have found ourselves connected at different times, under four different names: I have told you yours, I will now tell mine. Do you remember Louis Querehard? Do you recollect François Magnaud, Paul Sambrun, and Pedro Lopez?"

"Perfectly," cried the other.

"Well, sir, those four individuals you now see present under the name of Tom Mitchell, your very humble servant; though," he added, with exquisite politeness, yet with a tint of irony, "I have several others available on occasion."

"Well, sir," cried the stranger, "you have indeed taken me in. I was a fool not to recognise you."

"Sir!" cried the outlaw.

"Let us call things by their names. It is by far the best plan. I am indeed not to be forgiven for being taken in like any novice. I deserve to be dismissed from the service of the Government which employs me, and which believes me to be worthy of credit, as possessing a certain amount of wit and diplomatic ability. Well, it is useless to discuss the matter any longer. Give me your hand, sir," he cried; "you are my master. We bear no malice."

"I only wanted to prove – " said the outlaw.

"That I was a fool – and I must say you have done so to my entire satisfaction," he added, in a tone of complete good humour. "But however unpleasant the shock is to my self-love, I am delighted at what has happened."

"How so?" asked the outlaw, in the same tone.

"Because the ice is broken between us, and we can come to an understanding; the more readily," he added, "that the matters I have to speak of are the same as before."

"If that be so," said the outlaw, "we can easily come to terms."

"Is it not so? Now here is the affair in two words. The revolution is over in France. Beneath the hand of the mighty man of genius whose talent and patriotism have raised him to power, Government has recovered its strength, society begins to breathe, the nation is once more rising to its proper position amidst the people; New France has entire faith in the man whose every step has hitherto been marked by victory, which has definitively declared on his side."

"I presume," said the outlaw, quietly, "that you are speaking of the General Bonaparte."

"Of no other. This great, this extraordinary man has, with his mighty hand, put down the Jacobins and the mob, driving them back to their original nothingness. He has chained forever the awful hydra of revolution. You have, then, heard of him?"

"Most certainly," said the son of Maillard, coldly.

"I am glad to hear it. This great man, who is as mighty a politician as he is a successful general, has followed, while slightly modifying it, the line traced by the national convention of execrable memory with regard to the Spanish colonies."

"Sir," said the son of the regicide, "you are hard upon fallen men, upon vanquished enemies, who, if they were guilty of faults – of crimes if you will – did very great and glorious things, giving the first signal for social regeneration over the world."

"It is useless, sir," said the envoy, "to discuss that matter. My convictions are very strong."

"Well, sir, if that be so," replied the outlaw, "let us return to the General Bonaparte, and pray explain to me his new plans with regard to the Spanish possessions in America."

"They are no new plans," observed the envoy; "only the old ones modified to a certain extent."

"Modified in what way?"

"There are two capital points. In the first place he wishes a cordial and frank alliance with the President of the United States, who cordially approves the policy of the French Government, which will, in the end, be to the advantage of America. Then he has given extensive powers to numerous sure and accredited agents, who, though, are not openly known because of the temporary Franco-Spanish alliance. Large sums of money have been provided by means of which to overthrow that species of Chinese wall with which Spain has surrounded its frontiers, which none ever cross and return."

"Sir," said the outlaw, with a smile, "I have crossed them many a time and oft, and yet here I am."

"It is precisely because of that fact that I am here."

"Ah! Ah!" said the outlaw, with a laugh; "After all, despite your denials, you had seen through my incognito."

"Well, it is useless to deny it. I have long known you to be a man of heart and action. I also know that by means of your vast connections no one can more readily help us to revolutionise the colonies. Besides, you are a Frenchman."

"I am of no country," replied the other.

"What, then, do you call yourself?"

"An outlaw," answered the chief, "and king of this island," drily; "an outlaw, and nothing more."

"Well, be it so, sir. Still you are exactly the man I want. I have need, for the execution of my plans, for the carrying out of my projects, of a man who is bound by no locality, by no social consideration. In fact, an outlaw."

The other bowed ironically.

"Now are you disposed to be the man?"

"First," said Tom Mitchell, "let me know what you want of me. I will then give a decisive answer."

"Well, then," replied the envoy, "let us put diplomacy on one side, and speak frankly and openly."

The outlaw leaned back and assumed something like the attitude of a tiger about to spring.

"Sir," he said, with a most singular smile, "I was about to make the very same proposition."

"Very good," replied Monsieur Hebrard; "that shows that we are beginning to understand one another."

The captain bowed, without speaking.

"The Spanish colonies," continued M. Hebrard, "are already beginning to feel the germs of revolutionary fermentation. Some devoted and enterprising men, yourself among others, have gone into the cities and towns of Mexico."

"All this I know; a truce to flattery."

"They have seen the zealous patriots, who are, however, but ill prepared as yet for the revolution we ardently desire."

"Ill prepared indeed," cried Tom Mitchell.

"But overtopping all others is a man who has immense influence with the Indian races. You know him."

"Ah, ah!" exclaimed Tom; "You mean Dolores, the priest."

"I mean no other. He is the only man upon whom we can count. We must enter into serious relations with him."

"For what purpose?" asked the outlaw.

"In order that when the hour comes he may be ready to raise the standard of revolt," cried the other, "and ready to draw the population after him against Spanish despotism."

"Very good, sir. But it is a long way to Dolores, where lives the curé Hidalgo. The road is one of the most dangerous I know. I doubt if any agent, however clever, can reach him. Will you allow me to give you sincere advice?"

"Speak; I am deeply interested."

"My own opinion is that it would be much better to despatch a light vessel, schooner or brig, into the Gulf of Mexico. This vessel could cruise along the coast, and, when opportunity offered, land a confidential agent."

"You are quite right, sir," said the envoy, "I must say this means has been tried with success."

"Well, what then?"

"The secret was betrayed by a traitor; in consequence, the Spanish authorities are always on their guard."

"Hence you conclude – "

"That on reflection, and having experience as a guide, the difficult road you describe is the best."

"Hum!" said the outlaw, and relapsed into silence.

The real meaning, the interesting point, of this conversation, so long, had not been touched upon. The captain knew it well, and kept himself in reserve. M. Hebrard was for some time afraid to enter upon a frank and true explanation.

There was a deep silence; at last the captain determined to fire the train, if he were blown up.

"Then you think I must go by land," he said.

"There is no choice," responded Hebrard.

"The conditions?" remarked Tom.

"One hundred thousand francs, not in notes, but in golden ounces, stamped with the effigy of the King of Spain."

"That is tolerable, for a beginning."

"Then there will be as much more for the negotiations, or, as I see you hesitate, at first one hundred and fifty thousand."

"Why at first?" asked Tom.

"Because your mission will be divided into two distinct parts," replied the envoy, quietly.

"Let us thoroughly understand the first," continued the outlaw; "we will talk of the second presently."

"Another hundred thousand on your return with despatches," continued the diplomatist, warmly.

"Hum!" said Tom; "That makes – "

"Three hundred and fifty thousand francs (£14,000) for only the first part of your mission," said Hebrard.

"It is very liberal. Now for the second mission," said Tom Mitchell, watching the diplomatist with his wary eye.

He knew that the real thing was coming now; he was satisfied of this from the other's uneasy manner.

"Hum!" said M. Hebrard, as if speaking to himself; "Three hundred and fifty thousand francs is a pretty sum."

"Well, for the first part of the mission which you have explained to me I don't say no. It is," he added, "a tough job, that I know. Still, nothing risk, nothing have. Now for the second part."

The diplomatist assumed an air of genial frankness that made the outlaw shudder. He was at once on his guard.

"The Spaniards, as I have said," observed M. Hebrard, jauntily, "are forever on the watch. No one, no matter what his position, is safe on the frontiers. To go in or out is simply impossible."

"Diable!" cried Tom; "What you say is not calculated to give me much confidence or hope."

"Excuse me, monsieur," said Hebrard, "we are playing a frank and open game, I do not desire in any way to conceal the dangers that may await you. I am only speaking in a general kind of way, certain that whatever obstacles occur you will be right."

All this was verbiage; M. Hebrard was evidently only trying some method of putting his real thoughts into words.

The outlaw, who expected what was coming, smiled.

"Unfortunately," said the diplomatist, who did not know what to say, "the real danger is not on the other side."

The outlaw started up.

"You may well be surprised; the danger is here."

"What do you mean?" cried the outlaw.

"I will explain myself, if you will allow me. Of course," said M. Hebrard, "the Spaniards are no more fools than we are."

"I was always of that opinion."

"They have started a countermine!"

"A countermine!" cried Tom. "What do you mean?"

"You will soon see. Knowing something of our designs, they have covered the American frontiers with spies."

"It is certainly very clever," said the outlaw.

"Very clever," said the diplomatist, in a husky voice; "but then, clever as they are, we know all about it, every detail."

"You do not mean to say so?" cried Tom Mitchell.

"Yes. And more than that, we know the chief of the whole gang of spies," added Hebrard. "And much more than that, we know all his secrets, cunning as he is."

"That is something," said Tom; "but now what you want is to catch him."

"Yes," said Hebrard, "that is the very thing; you yourself must see the necessity of catching him before you start."

"I should think so; it is as plain as running water; but," added Tom Mitchell, "it is not very easy to snap up such a rascal in the desert, which simply is as full of such rogues and vagabonds as an anthill is full of ants."

"Don't be uneasy on that point," cried Hebrard; "I shall easily put you on his track."

"All right. Then all we have to do is to catch him?"

"Exactly so," said the other, with a sigh.

"And you will pay for this capture?"

"Very heavily, my excellent friend."

"Oh! Oh! Then you are very anxious to secure him?"

"Yes," continued the other, gloomily; "dead or alive; it matters not. I should say, for information's sake, dead rather than alive."

"I like plain speaking. He is very much in your way?"

"Very much more than I can explain."

"And how much will you pay for this mission?"

"Alive, twenty-five thousand; dead, fifty thousand francs."

"It appears to me you prefer him dead. But never mind, give me the information. His name and address."

"He is a Frenchman, who has taken the name of Oliver. In appearance he is a hunter, a trapper, anything that comes uppermost. For greater safety he has connected himself with an Indian tribe, and is to be found about the Missouri."

"It is a very long way from the Mexican frontiers," observed the outlaw, in a coldly sarcastic voice.

"True. But the fellow is cunning; his safety requires him to be extremely cautious. Do you accept?"

"I accept on one condition," replied the other. "It is fully understood that he is to be dead, mind."

"No matter, so that we have him."

"Well, then, we are agreed on four hundred thousand francs (£16,000)? I shall want half down."

"I have the money in gold in my valises. I will pay it to you this evening," replied the envoy.

"And now that this is settled, you are in no hurry?"

"None whatever."

"Well, I know pretty well where to find the man you are in search of. I must say that, without suspecting the odious part he has been playing, I have on the several occasions we have met him felt the greatest repulsion."

"This is extraordinary."

"Well, you see, on the desert everybody knows everybody. But as I wish to make no mistake, to commit no error in so grave and important a matter, I should like you to be present at his arrest. Besides, it would be more regular."

"Hum!" cried the other, with a look of considerable annoyance; "The idea of further voyage in the desert – "

"Is not pleasant, I know," interrupted Tom; "but that is not necessary. You shall remain quietly here."

"Then I consent. When do you expect to catch him?"

"In less than a week, unless I am very unfortunate."

"Then I can wholly depend on you?" cried Hebrard.

"I swear to you on my honour that it will not be my fault if at the end of the time you are not face to face."

"I thank you in advance," said the envoy.

"There is nothing to be grateful for," replied the outlaw, with an odd expression and smile.