Munroe Kirk
The Copper Princess: A Story of Lake Superior Mines

CHAPTER XXIII
A BATTLE WITH SMUGGLERS

After supper that same evening the violence of Ralph Darrell's rage had so subsided that his daughter ventured to inquire concerning its cause. When he had informed her, she said:

"Why should you let a little thing like that worry you, papa? Surely you can engage plenty more miners if you want them. I don't see why you should bother with the old mine, though. It don't seem to be worth anything."

"Not worth anything!" cried the old man, standing up in his excitement. "Why, child, it is worth millions! It is one of the richest copper properties in the world, and in one week's time it will be all my own. Rather, it will be yours, since it is for you alone that I have lived in this wilderness all these years, thereby saving it from destruction, and warding off the conspiracy that would reduce you to beggary. For your sake only have I so guarded the secret of its wealth that no living soul suspects it. Even the men who delve in its depths know not the value of the material in which they toil, for I have not told them. Nor have I allowed an assay to be made of its smallest fragment; but I know its worth, its fabulous value, that will make the owner of the Copper Princess one of the richest heiresses in the world."

"Who is the Copper Princess, papa?" asked the girl, who, though bewildered by the old man's extravagant statements, could not help but be interested in them.

"You are, my darling, you are a copper princess; but the name also applies to your mine, and was given to it before you were born. 'Darrell's Folly' is what men, in their ignorance, call it now, but in one week's time it may assume its rightful title, and thereafter the fame of the Copper Princess will spread far and wide."

"But why not let people call the mine by its real name now, papa? What difference will one week make?"

"Because," replied Ralph Darrell, bending towards his daughter, and lowering his voice almost to a whisper, as though fearful of being overheard, "in one week's time – only one week from this very day – the contract will expire, and the heirs of Richard Peveril can make no claim."

"Richard Peveril!" cried the girl, with a sudden recollection; "why, papa, that is the name of the young man who was in the cavern to-day, for he told me so himself. He is the same, you know, who came for your logs."

"I wish, dear, you would go and change your dress. I don't like to have you wear this boy's costume in the evening."

With only a moment of hesitation the girl obeyed him and left the room.

She had no sooner disappeared than the strange expression that he had so successfully banished for a minute returned to the man's face, and, possessing himself of a revolver, he proceeded to load it. As he did so he muttered:

"I must do it for her sake, though she must never know. Richard Peveril shall not be given an opportunity for making his claim. If he is really in the cavern he must not be allowed to escape from it alive."

So saying, the old man left the room, while Mary Darrell, who had been anxiously watching his movements through a crack of the opposite doorway, followed swiftly after him.

In the cavern, at that moment, two groups of men were confronting each other suspiciously, but hesitating as to what attitude they should assume. The expected schooner had reached the coast that evening, and, assured of safety by the single light displayed from the cliffs, had run boldly in to her accustomed anchorage. As the operations of the smugglers were necessarily conducted with great promptness, a portion of her valuable cargo was immediately transferred to a small boat, and four men accompanied it to the usual landing-place on the black ledge. Here the goods were taken out, and two of the men returned to the schooner with the boat while the others remained on shore. These became so impatient at not receiving the usual intimation from above that all was in readiness for hoisting, nor any answer to their repeated signals, that they finally decided to avail themselves of the tackle hanging ready beside them to go up and investigate. The captain of the schooner, who was an Englishman, went first, and the other, who was a French Canadian, followed closely after him.

To their amazement they found the cavern, which they had been told was never entered except by old man Darrell or his son, in possession of two strangers, who appeared equally surprised at seeing them.

"What are you chaps doing 'ere?" demanded the Englishman.

"Oui. By gar! vat you do in zis place?" added his follower.

"I was about to ask that same question," said Peveril. "What are you doing here?"

"Yes, be jabers! That's what we want to know. What be yous doing here?" chimed in Mike Connell.

At that moment a wild-looking, white-headed figure suddenly appeared on the scene, and, with one searching glance at Peveril, who stood fully revealed in the light of Mike Connell's lantern, levelled a pistol full at him. As he did so, a cry of terror rang through the rock-hewn chamber, and a pair of soft arms were flung about the old man from behind. By this his aim was so disconcerted that, though the shot still rang out with startling effect in that confined space, its bullet flew wide of the intended mark, and Peveril stood unharmed.

In another second the schooner's captain had sprung upon the madman and wrenched the pistol from his hand, crying out:

"No, no, Mr. Darrell! There must be no murder connected with this business. It is bad enough, God knows, without having that added!"

"C'est vrai! Certainment! By gar!" shouted the Canadian.

"You bet your sweet life, old man! That sort of thing don't go down in the copper country, and it's mighty lucky for you that the young feller was on hand to kape you from carrying out your murderous intentions," said Mike Connell, sternly.

Peveril, seeing that the man, whom he had already recognized, was rendered harmless by the loss of his pistol, remained coolly silent, waiting for some cue by which his own course of action might be determined.

"I see I have made a mistake, gentlemen," said Ralph Darrell, changing his tactics with all a madman's cunning and readiness. "And I beg Mister – a – "

"Peveril," said the young man – "Richard Peveril is my name, sir."

"Yes, of course; and, as I was saying, I beg Mr. Richard Peveril's pardon for being so hasty; but my daughter here, having informed me of his suspicious presence in the vicinity of this warehouse, I came to protect my property from possible depredation. Finding him in the very place that I was most anxious to guard, I very naturally took him for a burglar, and acted accordingly. I am sorry, of course, if I have made a mistake; but, if I remember rightly, I have already had occasion to accuse Mr. Peveril of trespassing, and to order him from my premises."

"You did, sir, and I refused to go until I had recovered certain property to which I have a claim."

"Do you refuse to go now, when I tell you that the property in question has been removed beyond your reach?"

"I do not."

"Will you promise never to return?"

"I will not."

"Will you go with these men on their schooner?"

"Certainly not, unless compelled by force, for I have no inclination to trust myself with a gang of smugglers."

By this time two more of the schooner's crew, who had reached the ledge with a second boat-load of goods in time to be attracted by the pistol-shot in the cavern, had made their appearance on the scene, and stood wonderingly behind their captain.

To this individual the old man whispered: "I will give you one thousand dollars to capture this spy, who threatens to break up our business. Carry him on board your schooner, and keep him there for one week – one whole week, remember. Five hundred down, and the remainder at the end of the week, if you have him still on board."

"Done!" said the captain, eagerly; and, turning to his men, he muttered a few words to them in a low tone.

Peveril and Connell watched this by-play with considerable anxiety, for they had no idea what action would be best to take. It would be folly to make an attack on so strong a force, especially as they had no direct provocation for so doing. Even should they succeed in driving them from the cavern, they had no clear idea of what would be gained. At the same time they did not relish the idea of waiting quietly while the others carried on their secret consultation.

"The divils mean mischief, Mister Peril," whispered Connell. "Kape your eye on them; and mind, if we get separated in the shindy, I'm not the lad to desert a friend. Look out! Here they come! Take that, you imps of Satan!"

With this final exclamation, the Irishman hurled his lighted lantern full into the faces of the group at that moment rushing towards them. It struck with a crash of glass, and then everything was enveloped in darkness.

The fight was fierce, but short-lived. Peveril found himself striking out wildly, was conscious of delivering several telling blows, and of receiving twice as many in return. Then he was overwhelmed by numbers, and, still fighting stoutly, was borne to the rocky floor.

When all was over and a lantern was brought, it revealed several bloody faces and blackened eyes. Peveril was lying flat on his back, with three men holding him down. Connell had disappeared, and so had Mary Darrell, who was still looked upon by all present, except her father, as being a boy. The old man held the lighted lantern, and the captain of the schooner, swearing savagely, was holding his hands to his face, which had been badly cut by the Irishman's missile.

A cord was brought, the very one that had lowered the lunch-basket, and with it Peveril was trussed like a fowl for roasting. Then he was swung down to the ledge at the base of the cliffs, tossed into a boat, and rowed away. A few minutes later he was handed aboard the schooner, taken below, and chucked into a small, evil-smelling state-room, the door of which was locked behind him.

It was a very unpleasant position to occupy, and yet his thoughts were not dwelling half so much upon it as they were upon the fact that the young person in golf costume who had saved his life that evening had been spoken of as a daughter.

CHAPTER XXIV
CONNELL MAKES GOOD HIS ESCAPE

From the very first Mike Connell had determined not to be captured, if he could possibly help it, wisely concluding that he would stand a better chance of serving his friend in freedom than as a prisoner. He realized that Ralph Darrell's enmity was especially directed towards Peveril, and believed that he, therefore, would be the principal object of attack. At the same time he knew that, no matter how desperately two might fight against six, there was little hope of success in face of such overwhelming odds. So, while he was prepared to throw himself heart and soul into the fray, he was also on the watch for a chance of escape.

The entrance of the Darrell's into the cavern had been so precipitate, and both of them had been so intent upon the object of their coming, that they had forgotten their usual precaution and neglected to close the door giving them admittance.

It was a slab of stone, carefully fitted to its place, swinging easily on iron pivots, and usually fastened by a stout spring. Being left open, it disclosed a patch of blackness a shade darker than the wall on either side, and this caught Connell's eye just as the rush was made.

Believing that here was offered a chance of escape that could be utilized better in darkness than in light, and knowing also that a battle against odds could be more successfully waged under the same conditions, he used his lantern as a weapon of offence, and thereby dashed out its flame at the very beginning of the fracas.

For a moment he entertained a vague hope that he would be able to draw Peveril with him into the place that he had discovered, and that thus they might effect an escape together. Quickly finding this impossible, he sprang to one side, after knocking down one of his enemies, groped along the wall until he found the desired opening, and entered it.

As he did so he came in contact with the slight figure of Mary Darrell, who had here taken refuge at the outbreak of the struggle, and was awaiting its termination in trembling anxiety. Now, thinking the new-comer to be her father, and desirous of saving him from harm, she gave the stone door a push that closed it. Then she said:

"I am so glad to have you safely away from those dreadful men, dear papa! Now you will go back with me to the house, won't you, for I am afraid to go alone?"

"Yes, only hurry!" whispered the Irishman, readily accepting the situation, but not daring to speak aloud for fear of betraying his identity. At the same time the thought, "What a coward the young fellow is, to be sneaking away from an elegant shindy like the one behind us! I've a mind to give him a taste of me fist for luck when we get out of this black hole! No, I will not, though. I'll lave him be, for wasn't it him saved Mr. Peril's life, after all?"

Resting one hand lightly on his guide's shoulder, he followed her closely, and had barely reached the foregoing conclusion when the girl flung open a door, and the two stepped into a lighted room. For a moment their eyes were completely dazzled by its brightness.

Mary was the first to become accustomed to the glare of light, and turned to speak to her supposed father. Upon seeing the face of a perfect stranger she uttered a cry of dismay, and started as though to fly, but the other clutched her arm.

"None of that, young feller!" he said, sternly. "Now that you've brought me so far you'll see me farther and show me the way out of here. You're a fine, bold chap, ain't you?" he added, in a tone of scorn. "Look like you was fitter to be a girl than a lad, any day, and, if it wasn't for the good turn you done me friend back yonder, I'd be tempted to give you a kindergarten lesson in the manly art of self-defence. As it is, I'll let you off this time, provided you'll show me the way out. But you want to get a move on."

Terribly frightened as she was, the girl still found strength to open a door on the opposite side of the room and motion for the man to pass through. As he did so she slammed it behind him and locked it. Then her overwrought feelings gave way, and she sank into a chair, sobbing hysterically.

Furious at finding himself thus tricked, the Irishman's first impulse was to turn and batter down the door, but a couple of heavy kicks delivered against it for this purpose brought forth a loud cry from some lower region.

"Hi! up dar. What you all a-doin'?"

At the same time it flashed into Connell's mind that his recent enemies of the cavern might appear at any moment and open the door in such a way as to cause him to regret that it had not remained closed. Besides, was he not capable of finding his own way out of a house?

"Of course I am," he muttered, "and I'd best be doing it in a hurry, too. So good-bye, young feller, and here's hoping we'll meet again."

Then he made his way down-stairs, opened a door, and found himself in a kitchen, confronted by a resolute old colored woman, who, after one glance at his strange face, let fly at it a ladle of hot water. This assault was immediately followed by such a well-directed shower of plates, pans, and culinary utensils as caused the intruder to utter howls of pain and make a blind dash for an outer door.

Even outside the house his troubles were far from ended, for shouting men were running towards him through the darkness, while at the same time a dog leaped at him.

Throttling the animal and flinging him off after a vigorous struggle, Connell had next to knock down a man who was attacking him on the opposite side, receive a blow from a broom-handle wielded by Aunty Nimmo, dodge several other assailants, and finally to run for his life.

When the poor fellow at length found himself alone and safe from present pursuit, he sat breathlessly on a log, over which he had just pitched headlong, and began to consider his situation.

"You may talk about your dynamite and gunpowder," he said, "but being blown up with aither of them isn't a patch to what I've gone through this night. What with being wracked on a rock in the sea, fighting smugglers, nagurs, and Polanders – to say nothing of dogs and other wild animals – beat and battered, torn and scalded, tripped up and lost in the wilderness, and all in the middle of a cruel blackness, is an experience that any man might be grateful to be done with. If I have a whole bone left inside of me skin, or a rag to me back, it's more than I'm hoping. Now what'll I do next?

"Will I go back to the house? Indade I will not. Will I make another try for the cave? Not so long as I have me right mind. Will I go back to Red Jacket? – and meet them as would ax me what had I done with Mister Peril? Not on your life. Where is Mister Peril at this blessed minute, anyhow? At sea on board the smuggler, or I miss me guess. How will I get to him? By taking a boat, of course. Where will I find one? At Laughing Fish Cove, to be sure. That's the very place, bedad! and the sooner I'm getting there the better."

The tug Broncho had reached Laughing Fish about an hour before Mike Connell arrived at this decision. She had come in search of the party of log-wreckers that she had brought to that place more than a week earlier, and now those on board were greatly troubled at not finding a trace of the missing men save their deserted camp. Nor could they obtain any information concerning them from the fisher folk of the cove.

On board the tug was Major Arkell, who had been led by curiosity to take the trip. He was curious to know what had become of the young man whom he had sent into that region to pick up wrecked logs, and he was also curious to ascertain what had become of a large number of those same logs that still remained unaccounted for. At the same time he would like to investigate certain reports that had reached him of the reopening of some old mine-workings in that neighborhood. He had hoped that his researches might not take him beyond Laughing Fish, where he anticipated finding Richard Peveril prepared to answer all his questions. Failing to discover the young man, or any trace of him, the problems that he had set out to solve became more interesting than before, and he ordered Captain Spillins to start at daybreak on a cruise still farther up the coast.

Early on the following morning, therefore, everything was in readiness on board the tug, and its crew were getting up the anchor when their attention was arrested by the shouts and gesticulations of a man on the beach.

"Send a boat in and see what he wants," said the manager; and ten minutes later Mike Connell was on board, telling his story to a highly interested group of listeners.

Within an hour after receiving her new passenger, the Broncho, under full head of steam, was several miles to the northward of Laughing Fish, and well out to sea, in hot pursuit of a small schooner. The latter was slipping easily along before the fresh morning breeze that had recently set in after a night of calm. The water rippled merrily past her flashing sides, and she was making some six miles an hour. At the same time the Broncho, pouring forth great clouds of soft-coal smoke and heaping the smooth water into double white-crested billows as she rushed through it, was doing two miles to her one, and would soon overtake her.

"Whatever can that bloomin' teakettle want of us?" growled the captain of the schooner as he blinked with half-closed eyes at his pursuer. "She ain't no revenue boat, as I can see. Tom, h'ist our ensign as a hint for 'em to keep away."

The sailor obeyed, and a minute later ran the crimson flag of Great Britain to the main peak, where it streamed out bravely in the freshening breeze.

"Got a flag aboard this boat, Captain Spillins?" asked Major Arkell as he watched the schooner from the Broncho's pilot-house.

"Yes, sir, two of 'em."

"Good. We'll see that fellow and go him one better. Set 'em both."

In consequence of this order the Stars and Stripes were quickly snapping defiantly from both the forward and after jack-staffs of the on-rushing tug.

"Sheer off, blast you, or you'll run us down!" bellowed the captain of the schooner as the tug ranged close abreast.

"Is that your man?" asked the manager, of Mike Connell.

"He is. Sure I'd know him from a thousand by me own frescos on his purty face."

"Have you a man named Richard Peveril aboard your craft?" demanded Captain Spillins.

"None of your d – d business."

"Run him down!" ordered Major Arkell, sternly, and the words had hardly left his mouth before the two vessels came together with a crash.