CHAPTER XXIII.THE MISER'S TREASUREAs he stood in the cave on Blackbird Island, Jack thought he must be dreaming--the smoke and shining gold and silver all dancing before his eyes.Mechanically he moved forward and grasped hold of the pistol in Mosey's hand. The Irishman was so astonished that he relinquished the weapon without an effort."Stand right where you are!" commanded Jack, and he pointed the pistol so that it was nearly in range of both men."Cornered!" cried Corrigan, as he looked toward the cave entrance, now blocked by Farmer Farrell and his hired man, "and at the last minute, too."Meanwhile, Mont had gone down on his knees, and was bending over the prostrate form of Max Pooler, who was bleeding profusely from the wound in his shoulder.Picking up one of the heavy cloth bags that had contained a part of the scattered coin, the young man clapped it hastily over the bleeding spot, tying it in position with his handkerchief--an action which checked the flow considerably."My gold! My precious gold and silver," shrieked Pooler, never deigning to notice the effect of Mosey's hasty shot. "Put it back; put it back in the bags! Oh, don't let them take it! It's mine! All mine!" he whined."Never mind," put in Jack. "Don't worry. What's yours shall remain yours. Guess we have them safe, eh, Mr. Farrell?" he continued."Looks so," replied the sturdy farmer. "Anyway, I reckon I can keep 'em from going through this door--the pesky critters!" and, with his gun ready for use, the farmer stationed himself in the middle of the passageway, with Deb, Meg and the hired man behind him."What's the cause of this row?" asked Jack, hardly knowing how to proceed, the whole affair having happened so unexpectedly.He looked at Corrigan and then at Mosey, but both of these discomfited individuals remained silent."They were trying to rob me of my gold and silver," cried Pooler, "But they sha'n't do it!" he added, vehemently. "It's mine, all mine."With his restless eyes rolling wildly, the miser--for Max Pooler was naught else--reached out his uninjured arm, and clutching the pieces of money within reach, stowed them away in his bosom."Better keep quiet," suggested Mont, placing his hand on the bandaged shoulder. "Your wound may be more serious than you think."Max Pooler started."Do you--you think so?" he asked in a hoarse whisper."Not being a doctor, I can't say anything certain. It depends on what direction the bullet took.""Can I do anything?" put in Deb at this juncture. She had pushed her way past the farmer, and now stood by the young man's side."I guess not, Deb," Mont replied. "We haven't much at hand in the shape of hospital supplies," he added, soberly."Suppose we try to get him up to the house," suggested Farmer Farrell, without removing his eyes from the two who had caused all the mischief."I won't leave my gold and silver!" howled the miser. "Leave me here. Never mind my arm; it will soon get well. Only take those two men away."Max Pooler struggled to his feet. The movement caused him intense pain, and he uttered a sharp groan."We can't do as he wishes," said Jack to Mont. "He might die, and we would never forgive ourselves.""I know it," replied the other. "But it will be a hard matter to separate him from his money. Besides what shall we do with Mosey and Corrigan?""That's a sticker. If we had a rope I 'd bind them tighter than they ever bound me.""There's a rope in that chest," put in the miser, who overheard the last remark. "Tie 'em up--don't let 'em get away.""It's sorry ye'll be for sayin' that," exclaimed Mosey. "Oi'll tell--hic--all----"Corrigan caught him by the arm."Shut up!" he whispered in his ear. "Can't you see Max is excited? Let him cool down. You will be getting us into a heap of trouble presently."The rope in the chest was long and heavy, and Jack picked it up with considerable satisfaction."You first, Mosey," he said, "and none of your fooling, mind.""That's all roight, Jack, me b'y. Oi'll not run a shtep. Never--hic--moind the rope," returned the Irishman in his oiliest tones."I won't trust you, Mosey," returned the young machinist firmly; and, assisted by Mont, he tied the man's hands behind him, and his feet in such a manner that he could barely take a walking step."Now your turn," said Jack to Corrigan."What are you going to tie me for?" asked that individual in pretended surprise. "I didn't shoot him.""Perhaps not, but you were perfectly willing to have him shot. Come, quick. I'm not going to argue all night."Corrigan saw that Jack's patience was exhausted, and that the young machinist was not to be trifled with. He submitted without another word."Well, what's to do now," asked Farmer Farrell, when the job was finished."Suppose we row them over to the mainland and march them to Corney," suggested Jack. "It's half-past eight now. We can reach there by ten.""I'll get my wagon, and we can drive over," returned the farmer. "But what of this man here? We can't leave him.""Carry him up to the cottage," put in Meg, who had thus far been a silent spectator of what was passing. "There's medicine there, lots of it. It came from----"Max Pooler glared at the girl."Shut up, will you?" he snarled. "How many times have I got to tell you to make you mind?""You can say what you please," replied the girl boldly, "and I will, too. I've left the island for good, and don't care what you do."The miser turned pale with rage."What!" he cried, harshly. "Leave me! Why, you good for nothin'----"In his anger he raised his wounded arm as if to strike. Jack sprang forward to defend the young girl.But his caution was unnecessary, for at the same instant Max Pooler gave a sharp gasp of pain, and wavering backward and forward for a second, fell heavily to the floor.Deb and Meg both gave a shriek, Jack and Mont turned the wounded man over on his back."Is he--he dead?" asked Deb. She was white, and trembled all over."No, only exhausted," replied Mont, after applying his ear to the miser's breast. "His passions hold him completely under control.""Then he is to be more pitied than blamed," said the girl, sympathetically.The wound had again commenced to bleed. Mont adjusted the bandage that had become displaced, but this seemed to do little good."I will run to the cottage, and get anything you want," put in Meg, gazing with softened features at the unconscious form."All right," replied Mont, and he named several things which he thought might be used to advantage. "And don't forget plenty of linen, and some cotton if you have it," he added.The young girl started off at once, and soon disappeared in the darkness.Meanwhile the two prisoners were growing restless."Guess me and the man can march the pesky critters down to the boat," said Farmer Farrell, who was weary of watching the pair. "That is, if you don't mind going through the woods with us," he continued to Jack."Certainly, I'll go," answered the young machinist. "Will you stay here, Deb?""Yes, I may be needed," replied the girl. "We'll have to dress the shoulder when Meg returns."A moment later the party started off, Mosey and Corrigan in the center, with the hired man behind.Hardly had they left ere Max Pooler returned to his senses, and sitting up, suddenly looked around."Gone?" he ejaculated. "Did they leave my money? Did they leave me my shining gold and silver?""Yes, it's all there, so don't worry," replied Mont gently. "You must keep quiet; it is bad for your shoulder when you move."Max Pooler lay back, and eyed the young man suspiciously."You talk as if you meant well," he said, "but no one can be trusted nowadays. Who are you?""Oh, never mind that," replied the young man, "just keep quiet.""But I want to know your name," persisted the wounded man."My name is Monterey Gray."The miser leaped to his feet, his teeth clenched, and his eyes rolling frightfully."It's a lie!" he shrieked. "Monterey Gray is dead!--died years ago! He died on the yacht! I saw him. Oh, you can't fool me! His ghost is in the falls, but he is dead; and his gold and silver--oh, you can't fool me! This ain't his; it's mine, all mine!"CHAPTER XXIV.A GLIMPSE OF THE PASTThe miser's wild and unexpected revelation was certainly a most astonishing thing to Mont Gray. As we know, he had surmised that this strange man knew much of the history of the past, and he had already decided to put several questions to Max Pooler on the first available opportunity. But such a statement as he had just heard took away his breath, and he stared at the prostrate man, scarcely able to move.Deb, too, was astonished, but, woman-like, paid more attention to the effect upon the young man than to what was said."Oh, Mont, isn't it awful?" she exclaimed, catching him by the arm. "What makes you so pale? What is that man talking about?""I can't say, exactly," he replied, in an oddly unnatural voice. "My father's death is a mystery to me. This man can unravel it, I suppose, if he will," he added, as he knelt down, and turned Pooler once more on his back.The face of the wounded man had lost all color, and his heart seemed to have stopped beating."If we only had some water it might help him," said Mont. "Although I can't make anything out of a case like this.""There's a brook just outside," returned Deb. "Wonder if there is a cup anywhere around?"In one corner he found a can, such as is used in preserving vegetables. It was empty, and, taking it outside, she washed it thoroughly, and returned with it full of pure, cold water, with which they bathed the wounded man's head."He is suffering more from the excitement than from the pistol shot," observed the young man, as he worked away."I suppose being surprised by those two men was the start of it," replied Deb.The miser was rapidly regaining his color, and his forehead felt like fire. Soaking the handkerchief in the can, the girl bound it over his temples.Presently Pooler grew restless. He did not open his eyes, but moved his body from side to side uneasily."He is coming to," whispered Mont. "Perhaps you had better go outside. He may become violent.""Never mind if he does," replied the girl; "I think I ought to stay, and I won't care so long as you are here," and then, as Mont gave her a grateful smile, Deb suddenly blushed and turned away her face."My gold and silver! It's mine, all mine!" muttered Pooler to himself. "Monterey Gray is dead, and it belongs to me, all, all, all!" He gnashed his teeth. "Oh, why did I go on that accursed yacht--evil is always sure to follow! My gold and silver! All mine!"A long silence followed, broken only by the irregular breathing of the exhausted man."He has passed into a stupor," said Mont. "How long it will last I cannot tell."Presently Meg returned, carrying a number of bottles and bandages."Brought all I could carry," she declared. "Hope there's what you want there."Deb looked over the list and fixed up a dose which Mont poured down the wounded man's throat.Meanwhile, Meg picked up the scattered coins and tied them up in the various bags that lay upon the table. How much there was they could form no estimate, but it would certainly run up to thousands of dollars.Evidently, Max Pooler had not dreamed of being surprised while counting over his hoarded wealth, and the demands of Mosey and Corrigan, who probably had some hold upon the miser, had led to an immediate quarrel.While Meg was still at work, Jack returned, somewhat flushed from hurrying."We don't know what to do with those two men," he said, after taking a look at Pooler, who still rested quietly. "That hired man is afraid of his own shadow, and Mr. Farrell hardly thinks he can manage them alone.""Suppose you go with them," suggested Mont. "I can get along here alone, and when you come back you can bring a doctor."The young man's idea was thought by all to be a good one."But what will you do?" asked the young machinist of his sister."I'll do whatever you say, Jack," was Deb's reply."I'll stay here, if it's best," put in Meg. "I ain't afraid of anything on this island.""Perhaps you had better remain, too, Deb," said Jack. "I'll be back with the doctor just as soon as I can.""Wonder if we can't get this man up to the cottage," put in Mont. "He'd be much better off in his own bed than here.""We can, but carrying may make his wound worse," returned the young machinist."It isn't that which worries him the most. It's his money and his conscience," declared the young man, as he eyed Pooler meditatively."Then come; we'll lock hands and make an armchair for him to ride in."Not without considerable difficulty they raised the man between them. He now uttered no sound, and his weight was that of a dead body.Meg led the way, carrying the lantern which she had taken from the cave. Deb brought up the rear, her overskirt weighted down by as many of the bags of the coin as she could carry, which Jack advised should be taken along.It was a long and tedious walk, for the greater part in the dark. They rested twice, and both Mont and Jack gave a sigh of relief when they deposited their burden upon a temporary bed in the front room of the cottage."There, now you'll have to get along the best you can," said the young machinist. "I suppose Mr. Farrell is wondering what keeps me so long. Good night all;" and off he went toward the shore.Meg brought some extra blankets from the other beds, and Mont prepared a resting place for the unconscious man, placing the wounded shoulder in as comfortable a position as possible."You had both better try to secure a little sleep," he said to the two girls. "I can get along alone. If I need help I will call you."After some discussion both Deb and Meg retired to what had for many years been the latter's resting place, a small chamber at one end of the garret.Mont kept a constant eye upon his strange patient, frequently rearranging the pillow, and watching that the bandage did not slip from the shoulder.There was an anxious look in the young man's face as he moved about, and it soon vented itself in a brief soliloquy."This man knows all about the past," he whispered to himself. "He knew my father, and he knows uncle Felix, I must help him to recover and, there----" he rubbed his hand over his forehead; "If I only knew the truth!"He noticed that the brow of the miser gradually grew hotter, and that the man's restlessness increased every moment."I don't know of anything else I can do," said Mont to himself. "I hope Jack will hurry back with the doctor."It was not long before Max Pooler was tossing from side to side."My gold and silver," murmured the feverish miser. "My shining gold and silver! You shan't take it away! It's mine. Ask Felix Gray if it ain't."Mont started."What did you say?" he asked bending low over the tossing form."Water, water!" moaned Pooler, paying no attention to the question. "Give me a drink of water, I'm burning up!"Mont took up the pitcher which Meg had filled at the spring, and held it to his lips. The miser took one sip, and then pushed it from him."Ha! ha! you can't fool me!" he screamed. "You're in the water--the same old face! Haven't I looked at it many a time from the deck of the Kitty? But you're dead, yes dead, and you can't tell anything!" and he fell back on the bed with a groan."You must keep quiet," said Mont, who, to tell the truth, was highly excited himself; "you are wounded in the shoulder, and will fare badly if you don't take things easy."But Pooler either could or would not pay any attention to Mont's advice. He kept muttering to himself--at one moment apparently in his right mind and at the next talking at random."Who did you say you were?" he asked during a lucid interval.The young man did not reply. He knew that under the circumstances to do so would only excite the man."Oh, I know--Monterey Gray. But you're not. Monterey Gray is dead," and the miser chuckled."You are thinking of my father," said Mont finally.Max Pooler glared at him."'Tain't so!" he cried, and then, after a pause: "Who was that other young man?""My friend, Jack Willington.""Willington!" gasped Pooler, rising up. "Both of them; and they have come to take away the money! But Monterey Gray and Martin Willington are both dead, and the gold and silver is mine! Didn't I tell you so before? It is all mine!"CHAPTER XXV.CHASING ANDY MOSEYJack's thoughts were busy as he hurried toward the shore, where he expected to meet farmer Farrell and the two prisoners."Pooler acts mighty queer to say the least," he told himself. "I can't make it out at all, excepting that I think we are on the edge of some discovery of importance."It was dark under the trees, and he had to pick his way along as best he could. Once he lost the path and came close to running into a small brook flowing halfway across the island.Never for a moment did he imagine that either of the two prisoners could get away from the farmer and his hired man.But in this he was mistaken.Corrigan was too tightly bound to help himself, but not so Andy Mosey. The Irishman had been so near complete intoxication that it had not been deemed necessary to make his bonds extra strong.But finding himself a close prisoner had sobered Mosey a good deal and long before the shore was gained he made up his mind to escape if he possibly could.With a cunning that he had heretofore failed to exhibit he began to act as if he was more intoxicated than usual."Look out, or you'll go down!" was the warning of the farmer. "And if you do go down you can pick yourself up, for I shan't help you, excepting with a kick.""Oi know me way," was Mosey's unsteady reply. "Oi'm comin'. Don't ye worry about me."Just as the vicinity of the shore was gained Mosey slipped the bonds from first one hand and then the other, taking care that not even his brother-in-law should see him, for he was now thinking of saving himself only."Come, don't drag," came from farmer Farrell. "I am not going to stay here all night.""Sure, an' Oi sthepped in a hole, the ould b'y take the luck!" spluttered Mosey. "Oi'm comin' jhust as fast as Oi can!"The farmer moved on and so did Corrigan and the hired man. Farmer Farrell had cautioned the hired man to keep an eye on Mosey, but the job was not at all to the fellow's taste and he was thinking of nothing but to get back home, where he had left a comfortable bed in the barn.At last Mosey thought he saw his opportunity and dropped further behind than ever, acting as if he had lamed his foot. Then of a sudden he darted behind some trees and crashed away through some bushes."Hi! stop!" roared farmer Farrell. "Stop, or I'll fire on you!"To this Andy Mosey made no reply, but increased his speed, so that he was soon quite a distance from the island shore. The farmer gazed around in dismay, first at Corrigan and then at his hired man."Go after him, you dunce!" he cried to the hired man. "I must watch this rascal. Didn't I tell you to keep an eye on the other fellow?""And I did, sir," was the weak answer. "He ran off before I knew it.""Well, after him, I say! Don't stand there like a block of wood!""He--he may take it into his head to shoot me," faltered the hired man."He hasn't any pistol, we disarmed him," returned the farmer, frantically. "Are you going after him or not?""I'll go, sir," said the hired man, and hurried off as far as the bushes into which Mosey had first disappeared. But by that time the Irishman was a good hundred yards away, and running as rapidly as his limbs would carry him.In the bushes the hired man came to a halt. He pretended to look around, but he did not venture a step further."Do you see him?" called out farmer Farrell."No, sir.""Why don't you follow him up?""I don't know where he went to.""He went up the shore. Quick, follow him, or I'll discharge you to-morrow morning."Thus threatened the hired man started up the shore and then moved in the direction of the cottage, having a notion that Mosey might move in that direction, although he might have known better. A minute later he heard footsteps and came to a halt with his heart in his throat."If he attacks me I'm a goner!" he groaned, and then saw that it was Jack and not Mosey who was approaching."O, sir, he's got away!" he cried, with a feeling of relief when he recognized the young machinist."Got away? Who?" questioned Jack, quickly."The rascal named Mosey.""When?""Just a few minutes ago, sir--when we were almost to the boat.""What of Corrigan?""Mr. Farrell is watching him.""But Mosey was bound?""I know it, sir. But he got away anyhow, and ran like a deer up the shore.""Then he can't be far off," exclaimed Jack. "Were you after him?""Yes, sir.""But if he went up the shore----""I was a-thinking he might turn toward the cottage.""No, he didn't come this way.""Then he must have gone that way.""We must catch him," cried Jack, earnestly. "He has done too many wrong deeds to be allowed to escape in this fashion. Come on, follow me."The young inventor pushed forward and the hired man came after him, but at what he considered a safe distance in the rear. Soon Jack was running up the shore at a point where there was a wide open field, which Pooler had once used for growing wheat.As the young machinist came out on the edge of the field he saw a dark form just leaving the open space at the opposite side. The form was that of Mosey."Stop, Mosey!" he cried, loudly. "Stop, it will be best for you!"The cry from Jack alarmed Andy Mosey more than ever, and he tried to run with increased speed. But his first burst had been almost too much for him, and he was panting loudly for breath."Sure an' Oi can't make it afther all," he panted. "Bad cess to Jack Willington fer followin' me! Oi wisht Oi had me pistol. Oi'd soon be afther sthopin' his game!"But Mosey had nothing more than a sharp stone, which he had picked up in the field, and at present he saw no way of using this, for Jack was too far off.Feeling that he could not run much further, he looked around for some place where he might hide. A gnarled tree with low-spreading branches was not far away and to this he went and began to climb the trunk with all possible speed. Soon he was some distance from the ground and then he stretched himself on a limb and remained quiet.Crossing the field at his best speed, Jack darted in among the trees and peered around sharply. Of course he could see nothing of Mosey, and he moved on for a distance of a hundred feet or more. Then he came back and stood directly under the tree in which the Irishman was hiding. In the meantime the farmer's hired man came to a halt in the middle of the field, ready to run at the first sign of danger."Mosey!" called Jack. "Mosey, you might as well give yourself up. You are bound to be caught sooner or later."He listened, but no reply came back. Then Jack walked around the tree.Now had the Irishman kept quiet he might have escaped the young inventor, but his success at getting away made him extra bold, and not knowing that the farm hand was near he resolved to do Jack a great injury. Bringing the sharp stone from his pocket, he took careful aim at Jack's head and let drive with all the force he could command.Had the stone landed as intended the young inventor might have been killed, but as it was, on the instant that Mosey threw the missile Jack took a step forward, thinking to go on another hunt for the Irishman. Consequently the stone merely grazed his shoulder, doing hardly any damage.Much startled, Jack leaped forward and then turned around. He did not know exactly where Mosey was, but resolved to put on a bold front."So that is where you are!" he cried. "Do you want me to put a bullet through you?""Bad luck to yez!" growled Mosey, much crestfallen. "No, don't shoot me, Jack, me b'y. It--it was all a mistake. I thought ye was the farmer, upon me wurrud.""Do you surrender?""Yis, yis!" Andy Mosey had a wholesome fear of being shot, and he could not see whether Jack had a pistol or not."How many more rocks have you up there?""Nary a wan, Jack, Oi only had the wan, upon me honor.""Then jump down here, and hold your hands over your head. If you try to play me another trick I'll shoot you sure."With a groan Andy Mosey descended to the ground, and then held his hands over his head."Now turn around and march the way you came. And don't you dare to look back," continued the young inventor."But, Jack, me dear b'y----""I am not your dear boy, Mosey, and I won't stop to parley with you.""But, Jack, I didn't----""Stop it I say, and march. Or do you want to be in the fix Pooler is in?""No, no! I'll march, Jack; don't shoot!" And without further ado Andy Mosey set off for the shore, with Jack behind him, and the farm hand bringing up at a safe distance to one side. Presently the farm hand ran ahead, to tell farmer Farrell of how matters now stood.As soon as the hired man had disappeared Andy Mosey tried to argue again."It's Corrigan's doin's----" he began."Mosey, we won't talk now," said Jack at last, for he saw that the Irishman's head was not as clear as it might have been. "If you want to argue you can do it when we are in the boat.""But you'll be afther listenin' to me Jack, me b'y?" pleaded Mosey."Perhaps.""I want to be friends wid ye.""You have a strange way of showing it.""It's the liquor, Jack, me b'y--bad cess to it.""Why don't you leave liquor alone then, Andy?""Sure, an' it would be a good job done if I had niver touched a drap.""You've spoken the truth there.""If Oi iver git out av this hole Oi'll soign the pledge, so Oi will.""You might do worse.""Say the wurrud, Jack, me b'y, an' Oi'll soign it to-morrow," went on Mosey, thinking he was winning the young inventor over."I'll say nothing more at present, Andy, excepting that I want you to get along to the shore, without further delay.""But Jack, if Oi----""Not another word. March!"And then the march to the boat was resumed.CHAPTER XXVI.PAPERS OF GREAT VALUEIt did not take Jack and Mosey very long to reach the shore. They found Farmer Farrell, gun in hand, stalking up and down impatiently. He had ordered Corrigan into the row-boat, and was lecturing him and the hired man at the same time."You've been a mighty long while coming," he remarked, as the dim rays of the smoky lantern fell upon the young machinist's face."I couldn't help it," replied Jack, and he briefly related what had occurred to detain him so long.They embarked at once. The young machinist set out to do the rowing, but was stopped by the farmer, who directed Tim, the hired man to take the oars."You're tired enough," said Farmer Farrell. "Besides, we must keep a close eye on these two, or they'll be up to their pesky tricks afore we know it."Tim pulled a good stroke. He was anxious to get out of such dangerous company and be safe in his bed in the barn loft once more."Isn't there some way we can fix this matter up?" asked Corrigan, after a long period of thoughtful silence."What do you mean?" asked Jack."Why, buy ourselves off.""No, sir, not a bit of it," returned the young machinist, decidedly.Corrigan winced. The prospect of going to prison was not a particularly inviting one."Oi say, Jack, me b'y, if we give up yer model will ye be easy on us?" put in Mosey, who did not know that that precious bit of property had already been recovered."I have it already," replied Jack; "I don't intend to be any harder on you than you deserve," he continued. "You tried to take my friend's life as well as mine, and also to set fire to Mr. Gray's house, and by using the match-safe which belonged to me, cast suspicion on my character, which has not yet been cleared away.""Who can prove I set foire to Felix Gray's place?" demanded the Irishman, blusteringly. His tongue was clearer than it had been, but his head was as muddled as ever."Perhaps I can.""Ye can't, no how.""Well, we'll see, and it will go hard with you unless you can prove otherwise.""Oi didn't do it. It was Dennis's work," howled Mosey, breaking down completely. "Oi found the box and gave it ter him, and he kept it. Didn't he stale the model, too, and run away wid yer sister? Oi niver harmed a soul, save when I was in liquor," he whined."It's a lie!" shouted Corrigan, in a rage. Had he been free he would have struck down his confederate."It ain't, it's true, every worrud of it," responded Mosey, doggedly. "Ye always got me to do yer dirty worruk, and now yer want me to stand all der blame. But Oi won't do it. Oi'll turn Queen's evidence first.""If you turn state's evidence you may save yourself a heap of trouble," put in Farmer Farrell."Oh, Oi'll do it, just mind me, if Oi don't," replied the Irishman, quickly. He was thoroughly cowed, and his one thought was how to best evade the clutches of the law."You mean dog!" interrupted Corrigan, bitterly. "You shall pay dearly for this;" and he grated his teeth together in rancor."I don't think you will be able to harm him for a good while," sagely remarked Farmer Farrell.Corrigan became silent at once, and as each one was busy with his own thoughts, the rest of the trip was accomplished without further words.On reaching the shore the party repaired at once to Farmer Farrell's place where Tim, glad to be home again, hitched up the team to the old family wagon."Is there a doctor anywhere near?" asked Jack; "I promised to send one over to the island.""Dr. Melvin lives just up the road," replied the farmer. "We'll stop and tell him, and Tim can row him over. Do you hear, Tim?""Yes, sir," replied the farm hand. "To-morrow morning will do, I suppose.""To-morrow morning!" repeated the farmer, in surprise. "No, indeed, right away. And if you can't get Dr. Melvin, go over to Dr. Dell's and take him straight to Pooler's cottage. Tell him that the man has a bullet in his shoulder."Much as he disliked the job, the hired man did not dare to complain; so with a heavy sigh he set off on his errand, traveling through the dark as fast as his heavy boots would permit.The family wagon contained two seats. Farmer Farrell took the front one, with Mosey beside him, while Jack, with Corrigan, sat in the rear, and then the horses were started on the road to Corney."We will stop at the old mill and get my model," said Jack, on the way.At the old structure everything was dark and deserted."Say, Oi'll go along wid ye," said Mosey, as the young machinist dismounted from his seat. "There's something there Oi want to show ye."Corrigan wished to interfere, but Jack, who believed that the Irishman was now really inclined to render assistance, would not let him."There are some papers that belong to Mr. Gray. Dennis stole them when the house was burning," said Mosey, when he and Jack were alone. "Oi can't read, but Dennis said they'd be worth money to us some day.""Where are they?" asked Jack, with interest."Will you be aisy on me if Oi tell ye?" asked Mosey."Perhaps I will.""Oi'll trust ye," replied Mosey. "They're up stairs, under the flure."They ascended the stairs, and taking up a board that Mosey pointed out, Jack drew out a small, oblong packet."I can't read it now," said the young machinist. "Come along. If the contents are valuable I'll see that you get full credit for giving it up."He put the packet in his pocket, and taking up the model, made the Irishman precede him down to the wagon. They were soon on the way again, the precious model safely stowed away in the front of the vehicle."I guess Mr. Benton will be rather surprised when he learns the true state of affairs," thought Jack to himself. "But his treatment of Deb was shameful, and I shall tell him so."As they passed an old barn near the outskirts of the town all heard a loud cry, the scuffle of many feet, and then the door of the place burst open."Hello, what's all this?" exclaimed Jack. "Some one in trouble!"Through the open doorway sprang a tall man. He was but partly dressed, and one side of his face bore a thick coating of black. He ran directly toward the road, and was followed by a dozen or more men wearing masks.Seeing the wagon he made for it as fast as his legs would carry him."Save me, save me!" he gasped. "Get me away from these villains, and I will pay you well!" and in frantic haste he clambered over the wheel and into the front of the vehicle."What's the trouble!" asked Farmer Farrell in astonishment, while Jack took up the gun."They want to tar and feather me!" was the panting reply. "See they made a beginning;" and the excited individual held his face up to view."Mr. Gray!" ejaculated the young machinist.He had not time to say more, for at that instant Corrigan, taking advantage of the excitement, hit Jack under the chin with his head, and then leaped to the ground. In doing so he fell, but picked himself up quickly, and hopped as fast as he could down the road.A second later the wagon was surrounded by the masked men, all armed and gesticulating wildly."Give him up, Willington!" they yelled. "Give up Gray, or we'll tar and feather the lot of you!"
CHAPTER XXIII.
THE MISER'S TREASURE
As he stood in the cave on Blackbird Island, Jack thought he must be dreaming--the smoke and shining gold and silver all dancing before his eyes.
Mechanically he moved forward and grasped hold of the pistol in Mosey's hand. The Irishman was so astonished that he relinquished the weapon without an effort.
"Stand right where you are!" commanded Jack, and he pointed the pistol so that it was nearly in range of both men.
"Cornered!" cried Corrigan, as he looked toward the cave entrance, now blocked by Farmer Farrell and his hired man, "and at the last minute, too."
Meanwhile, Mont had gone down on his knees, and was bending over the prostrate form of Max Pooler, who was bleeding profusely from the wound in his shoulder.
Picking up one of the heavy cloth bags that had contained a part of the scattered coin, the young man clapped it hastily over the bleeding spot, tying it in position with his handkerchief--an action which checked the flow considerably.
"My gold! My precious gold and silver," shrieked Pooler, never deigning to notice the effect of Mosey's hasty shot. "Put it back; put it back in the bags! Oh, don't let them take it! It's mine! All mine!" he whined.
"Never mind," put in Jack. "Don't worry. What's yours shall remain yours. Guess we have them safe, eh, Mr. Farrell?" he continued.
"Looks so," replied the sturdy farmer. "Anyway, I reckon I can keep 'em from going through this door--the pesky critters!" and, with his gun ready for use, the farmer stationed himself in the middle of the passageway, with Deb, Meg and the hired man behind him.
"What's the cause of this row?" asked Jack, hardly knowing how to proceed, the whole affair having happened so unexpectedly.
He looked at Corrigan and then at Mosey, but both of these discomfited individuals remained silent.
"They were trying to rob me of my gold and silver," cried Pooler, "But they sha'n't do it!" he added, vehemently. "It's mine, all mine."
With his restless eyes rolling wildly, the miser--for Max Pooler was naught else--reached out his uninjured arm, and clutching the pieces of money within reach, stowed them away in his bosom.
"Better keep quiet," suggested Mont, placing his hand on the bandaged shoulder. "Your wound may be more serious than you think."
Max Pooler started.
"Do you--you think so?" he asked in a hoarse whisper.
"Not being a doctor, I can't say anything certain. It depends on what direction the bullet took."
"Can I do anything?" put in Deb at this juncture. She had pushed her way past the farmer, and now stood by the young man's side.
"I guess not, Deb," Mont replied. "We haven't much at hand in the shape of hospital supplies," he added, soberly.
"Suppose we try to get him up to the house," suggested Farmer Farrell, without removing his eyes from the two who had caused all the mischief.
"I won't leave my gold and silver!" howled the miser. "Leave me here. Never mind my arm; it will soon get well. Only take those two men away."
Max Pooler struggled to his feet. The movement caused him intense pain, and he uttered a sharp groan.
"We can't do as he wishes," said Jack to Mont. "He might die, and we would never forgive ourselves."
"I know it," replied the other. "But it will be a hard matter to separate him from his money. Besides what shall we do with Mosey and Corrigan?"
"That's a sticker. If we had a rope I 'd bind them tighter than they ever bound me."
"There's a rope in that chest," put in the miser, who overheard the last remark. "Tie 'em up--don't let 'em get away."
"It's sorry ye'll be for sayin' that," exclaimed Mosey. "Oi'll tell--hic--all----"
Corrigan caught him by the arm.
"Shut up!" he whispered in his ear. "Can't you see Max is excited? Let him cool down. You will be getting us into a heap of trouble presently."
The rope in the chest was long and heavy, and Jack picked it up with considerable satisfaction.
"You first, Mosey," he said, "and none of your fooling, mind."
"That's all roight, Jack, me b'y. Oi'll not run a shtep. Never--hic--moind the rope," returned the Irishman in his oiliest tones.
"I won't trust you, Mosey," returned the young machinist firmly; and, assisted by Mont, he tied the man's hands behind him, and his feet in such a manner that he could barely take a walking step.
"Now your turn," said Jack to Corrigan.
"What are you going to tie me for?" asked that individual in pretended surprise. "I didn't shoot him."
"Perhaps not, but you were perfectly willing to have him shot. Come, quick. I'm not going to argue all night."
Corrigan saw that Jack's patience was exhausted, and that the young machinist was not to be trifled with. He submitted without another word.
"Well, what's to do now," asked Farmer Farrell, when the job was finished.
"Suppose we row them over to the mainland and march them to Corney," suggested Jack. "It's half-past eight now. We can reach there by ten."
"I'll get my wagon, and we can drive over," returned the farmer. "But what of this man here? We can't leave him."
"Carry him up to the cottage," put in Meg, who had thus far been a silent spectator of what was passing. "There's medicine there, lots of it. It came from----"
Max Pooler glared at the girl.
"Shut up, will you?" he snarled. "How many times have I got to tell you to make you mind?"
"You can say what you please," replied the girl boldly, "and I will, too. I've left the island for good, and don't care what you do."
The miser turned pale with rage.
"What!" he cried, harshly. "Leave me! Why, you good for nothin'----"
In his anger he raised his wounded arm as if to strike. Jack sprang forward to defend the young girl.
But his caution was unnecessary, for at the same instant Max Pooler gave a sharp gasp of pain, and wavering backward and forward for a second, fell heavily to the floor.
Deb and Meg both gave a shriek, Jack and Mont turned the wounded man over on his back.
"Is he--he dead?" asked Deb. She was white, and trembled all over.
"No, only exhausted," replied Mont, after applying his ear to the miser's breast. "His passions hold him completely under control."
"Then he is to be more pitied than blamed," said the girl, sympathetically.
The wound had again commenced to bleed. Mont adjusted the bandage that had become displaced, but this seemed to do little good.
"I will run to the cottage, and get anything you want," put in Meg, gazing with softened features at the unconscious form.
"All right," replied Mont, and he named several things which he thought might be used to advantage. "And don't forget plenty of linen, and some cotton if you have it," he added.
The young girl started off at once, and soon disappeared in the darkness.
Meanwhile the two prisoners were growing restless.
"Guess me and the man can march the pesky critters down to the boat," said Farmer Farrell, who was weary of watching the pair. "That is, if you don't mind going through the woods with us," he continued to Jack.
"Certainly, I'll go," answered the young machinist. "Will you stay here, Deb?"
"Yes, I may be needed," replied the girl. "We'll have to dress the shoulder when Meg returns."
A moment later the party started off, Mosey and Corrigan in the center, with the hired man behind.
Hardly had they left ere Max Pooler returned to his senses, and sitting up, suddenly looked around.
"Gone?" he ejaculated. "Did they leave my money? Did they leave me my shining gold and silver?"
"Yes, it's all there, so don't worry," replied Mont gently. "You must keep quiet; it is bad for your shoulder when you move."
Max Pooler lay back, and eyed the young man suspiciously.
"You talk as if you meant well," he said, "but no one can be trusted nowadays. Who are you?"
"Oh, never mind that," replied the young man, "just keep quiet."
"But I want to know your name," persisted the wounded man.
"My name is Monterey Gray."
The miser leaped to his feet, his teeth clenched, and his eyes rolling frightfully.
"It's a lie!" he shrieked. "Monterey Gray is dead!--died years ago! He died on the yacht! I saw him. Oh, you can't fool me! His ghost is in the falls, but he is dead; and his gold and silver--oh, you can't fool me! This ain't his; it's mine, all mine!"
CHAPTER XXIV.
A GLIMPSE OF THE PAST
The miser's wild and unexpected revelation was certainly a most astonishing thing to Mont Gray. As we know, he had surmised that this strange man knew much of the history of the past, and he had already decided to put several questions to Max Pooler on the first available opportunity. But such a statement as he had just heard took away his breath, and he stared at the prostrate man, scarcely able to move.
Deb, too, was astonished, but, woman-like, paid more attention to the effect upon the young man than to what was said.
"Oh, Mont, isn't it awful?" she exclaimed, catching him by the arm. "What makes you so pale? What is that man talking about?"
"I can't say, exactly," he replied, in an oddly unnatural voice. "My father's death is a mystery to me. This man can unravel it, I suppose, if he will," he added, as he knelt down, and turned Pooler once more on his back.
The face of the wounded man had lost all color, and his heart seemed to have stopped beating.
"If we only had some water it might help him," said Mont. "Although I can't make anything out of a case like this."
"There's a brook just outside," returned Deb. "Wonder if there is a cup anywhere around?"
In one corner he found a can, such as is used in preserving vegetables. It was empty, and, taking it outside, she washed it thoroughly, and returned with it full of pure, cold water, with which they bathed the wounded man's head.
"He is suffering more from the excitement than from the pistol shot," observed the young man, as he worked away.
"I suppose being surprised by those two men was the start of it," replied Deb.
The miser was rapidly regaining his color, and his forehead felt like fire. Soaking the handkerchief in the can, the girl bound it over his temples.
Presently Pooler grew restless. He did not open his eyes, but moved his body from side to side uneasily.
"He is coming to," whispered Mont. "Perhaps you had better go outside. He may become violent."
"Never mind if he does," replied the girl; "I think I ought to stay, and I won't care so long as you are here," and then, as Mont gave her a grateful smile, Deb suddenly blushed and turned away her face.
"My gold and silver! It's mine, all mine!" muttered Pooler to himself. "Monterey Gray is dead, and it belongs to me, all, all, all!" He gnashed his teeth. "Oh, why did I go on that accursed yacht--evil is always sure to follow! My gold and silver! All mine!"
A long silence followed, broken only by the irregular breathing of the exhausted man.
"He has passed into a stupor," said Mont. "How long it will last I cannot tell."
Presently Meg returned, carrying a number of bottles and bandages.
"Brought all I could carry," she declared. "Hope there's what you want there."
Deb looked over the list and fixed up a dose which Mont poured down the wounded man's throat.
Meanwhile, Meg picked up the scattered coins and tied them up in the various bags that lay upon the table. How much there was they could form no estimate, but it would certainly run up to thousands of dollars.
Evidently, Max Pooler had not dreamed of being surprised while counting over his hoarded wealth, and the demands of Mosey and Corrigan, who probably had some hold upon the miser, had led to an immediate quarrel.
While Meg was still at work, Jack returned, somewhat flushed from hurrying.
"We don't know what to do with those two men," he said, after taking a look at Pooler, who still rested quietly. "That hired man is afraid of his own shadow, and Mr. Farrell hardly thinks he can manage them alone."
"Suppose you go with them," suggested Mont. "I can get along here alone, and when you come back you can bring a doctor."
The young man's idea was thought by all to be a good one.
"But what will you do?" asked the young machinist of his sister.
"I'll do whatever you say, Jack," was Deb's reply.
"I'll stay here, if it's best," put in Meg. "I ain't afraid of anything on this island."
"Perhaps you had better remain, too, Deb," said Jack. "I'll be back with the doctor just as soon as I can."
"Wonder if we can't get this man up to the cottage," put in Mont. "He'd be much better off in his own bed than here."
"We can, but carrying may make his wound worse," returned the young machinist.
"It isn't that which worries him the most. It's his money and his conscience," declared the young man, as he eyed Pooler meditatively.
"Then come; we'll lock hands and make an armchair for him to ride in."
Not without considerable difficulty they raised the man between them. He now uttered no sound, and his weight was that of a dead body.
Meg led the way, carrying the lantern which she had taken from the cave. Deb brought up the rear, her overskirt weighted down by as many of the bags of the coin as she could carry, which Jack advised should be taken along.
It was a long and tedious walk, for the greater part in the dark. They rested twice, and both Mont and Jack gave a sigh of relief when they deposited their burden upon a temporary bed in the front room of the cottage.
"There, now you'll have to get along the best you can," said the young machinist. "I suppose Mr. Farrell is wondering what keeps me so long. Good night all;" and off he went toward the shore.
Meg brought some extra blankets from the other beds, and Mont prepared a resting place for the unconscious man, placing the wounded shoulder in as comfortable a position as possible.
"You had both better try to secure a little sleep," he said to the two girls. "I can get along alone. If I need help I will call you."
After some discussion both Deb and Meg retired to what had for many years been the latter's resting place, a small chamber at one end of the garret.
Mont kept a constant eye upon his strange patient, frequently rearranging the pillow, and watching that the bandage did not slip from the shoulder.
There was an anxious look in the young man's face as he moved about, and it soon vented itself in a brief soliloquy.
"This man knows all about the past," he whispered to himself. "He knew my father, and he knows uncle Felix, I must help him to recover and, there----" he rubbed his hand over his forehead; "If I only knew the truth!"
He noticed that the brow of the miser gradually grew hotter, and that the man's restlessness increased every moment.
"I don't know of anything else I can do," said Mont to himself. "I hope Jack will hurry back with the doctor."
It was not long before Max Pooler was tossing from side to side.
"My gold and silver," murmured the feverish miser. "My shining gold and silver! You shan't take it away! It's mine. Ask Felix Gray if it ain't."
Mont started.
"What did you say?" he asked bending low over the tossing form.
"Water, water!" moaned Pooler, paying no attention to the question. "Give me a drink of water, I'm burning up!"
Mont took up the pitcher which Meg had filled at the spring, and held it to his lips. The miser took one sip, and then pushed it from him.
"Ha! ha! you can't fool me!" he screamed. "You're in the water--the same old face! Haven't I looked at it many a time from the deck of the Kitty? But you're dead, yes dead, and you can't tell anything!" and he fell back on the bed with a groan.
"You must keep quiet," said Mont, who, to tell the truth, was highly excited himself; "you are wounded in the shoulder, and will fare badly if you don't take things easy."
But Pooler either could or would not pay any attention to Mont's advice. He kept muttering to himself--at one moment apparently in his right mind and at the next talking at random.
"Who did you say you were?" he asked during a lucid interval.
The young man did not reply. He knew that under the circumstances to do so would only excite the man.
"Oh, I know--Monterey Gray. But you're not. Monterey Gray is dead," and the miser chuckled.
"You are thinking of my father," said Mont finally.
Max Pooler glared at him.
"'Tain't so!" he cried, and then, after a pause: "Who was that other young man?"
"My friend, Jack Willington."
"Willington!" gasped Pooler, rising up. "Both of them; and they have come to take away the money! But Monterey Gray and Martin Willington are both dead, and the gold and silver is mine! Didn't I tell you so before? It is all mine!"
CHAPTER XXV.
CHASING ANDY MOSEY
Jack's thoughts were busy as he hurried toward the shore, where he expected to meet farmer Farrell and the two prisoners.
"Pooler acts mighty queer to say the least," he told himself. "I can't make it out at all, excepting that I think we are on the edge of some discovery of importance."
It was dark under the trees, and he had to pick his way along as best he could. Once he lost the path and came close to running into a small brook flowing halfway across the island.
Never for a moment did he imagine that either of the two prisoners could get away from the farmer and his hired man.
But in this he was mistaken.
Corrigan was too tightly bound to help himself, but not so Andy Mosey. The Irishman had been so near complete intoxication that it had not been deemed necessary to make his bonds extra strong.
But finding himself a close prisoner had sobered Mosey a good deal and long before the shore was gained he made up his mind to escape if he possibly could.
With a cunning that he had heretofore failed to exhibit he began to act as if he was more intoxicated than usual.
"Look out, or you'll go down!" was the warning of the farmer. "And if you do go down you can pick yourself up, for I shan't help you, excepting with a kick."
"Oi know me way," was Mosey's unsteady reply. "Oi'm comin'. Don't ye worry about me."
Just as the vicinity of the shore was gained Mosey slipped the bonds from first one hand and then the other, taking care that not even his brother-in-law should see him, for he was now thinking of saving himself only.
"Come, don't drag," came from farmer Farrell. "I am not going to stay here all night."
"Sure, an' Oi sthepped in a hole, the ould b'y take the luck!" spluttered Mosey. "Oi'm comin' jhust as fast as Oi can!"
The farmer moved on and so did Corrigan and the hired man. Farmer Farrell had cautioned the hired man to keep an eye on Mosey, but the job was not at all to the fellow's taste and he was thinking of nothing but to get back home, where he had left a comfortable bed in the barn.
At last Mosey thought he saw his opportunity and dropped further behind than ever, acting as if he had lamed his foot. Then of a sudden he darted behind some trees and crashed away through some bushes.
"Hi! stop!" roared farmer Farrell. "Stop, or I'll fire on you!"
To this Andy Mosey made no reply, but increased his speed, so that he was soon quite a distance from the island shore. The farmer gazed around in dismay, first at Corrigan and then at his hired man.
"Go after him, you dunce!" he cried to the hired man. "I must watch this rascal. Didn't I tell you to keep an eye on the other fellow?"
"And I did, sir," was the weak answer. "He ran off before I knew it."
"Well, after him, I say! Don't stand there like a block of wood!"
"He--he may take it into his head to shoot me," faltered the hired man.
"He hasn't any pistol, we disarmed him," returned the farmer, frantically. "Are you going after him or not?"
"I'll go, sir," said the hired man, and hurried off as far as the bushes into which Mosey had first disappeared. But by that time the Irishman was a good hundred yards away, and running as rapidly as his limbs would carry him.
In the bushes the hired man came to a halt. He pretended to look around, but he did not venture a step further.
"Do you see him?" called out farmer Farrell.
"No, sir."
"Why don't you follow him up?"
"I don't know where he went to."
"He went up the shore. Quick, follow him, or I'll discharge you to-morrow morning."
Thus threatened the hired man started up the shore and then moved in the direction of the cottage, having a notion that Mosey might move in that direction, although he might have known better. A minute later he heard footsteps and came to a halt with his heart in his throat.
"If he attacks me I'm a goner!" he groaned, and then saw that it was Jack and not Mosey who was approaching.
"O, sir, he's got away!" he cried, with a feeling of relief when he recognized the young machinist.
"Got away? Who?" questioned Jack, quickly.
"The rascal named Mosey."
"When?"
"Just a few minutes ago, sir--when we were almost to the boat."
"What of Corrigan?"
"Mr. Farrell is watching him."
"But Mosey was bound?"
"I know it, sir. But he got away anyhow, and ran like a deer up the shore."
"Then he can't be far off," exclaimed Jack. "Were you after him?"
"Yes, sir."
"But if he went up the shore----"
"I was a-thinking he might turn toward the cottage."
"No, he didn't come this way."
"Then he must have gone that way."
"We must catch him," cried Jack, earnestly. "He has done too many wrong deeds to be allowed to escape in this fashion. Come on, follow me."
The young inventor pushed forward and the hired man came after him, but at what he considered a safe distance in the rear. Soon Jack was running up the shore at a point where there was a wide open field, which Pooler had once used for growing wheat.
As the young machinist came out on the edge of the field he saw a dark form just leaving the open space at the opposite side. The form was that of Mosey.
"Stop, Mosey!" he cried, loudly. "Stop, it will be best for you!"
The cry from Jack alarmed Andy Mosey more than ever, and he tried to run with increased speed. But his first burst had been almost too much for him, and he was panting loudly for breath.
"Sure an' Oi can't make it afther all," he panted. "Bad cess to Jack Willington fer followin' me! Oi wisht Oi had me pistol. Oi'd soon be afther sthopin' his game!"
But Mosey had nothing more than a sharp stone, which he had picked up in the field, and at present he saw no way of using this, for Jack was too far off.
Feeling that he could not run much further, he looked around for some place where he might hide. A gnarled tree with low-spreading branches was not far away and to this he went and began to climb the trunk with all possible speed. Soon he was some distance from the ground and then he stretched himself on a limb and remained quiet.
Crossing the field at his best speed, Jack darted in among the trees and peered around sharply. Of course he could see nothing of Mosey, and he moved on for a distance of a hundred feet or more. Then he came back and stood directly under the tree in which the Irishman was hiding. In the meantime the farmer's hired man came to a halt in the middle of the field, ready to run at the first sign of danger.
"Mosey!" called Jack. "Mosey, you might as well give yourself up. You are bound to be caught sooner or later."
He listened, but no reply came back. Then Jack walked around the tree.
Now had the Irishman kept quiet he might have escaped the young inventor, but his success at getting away made him extra bold, and not knowing that the farm hand was near he resolved to do Jack a great injury. Bringing the sharp stone from his pocket, he took careful aim at Jack's head and let drive with all the force he could command.
Had the stone landed as intended the young inventor might have been killed, but as it was, on the instant that Mosey threw the missile Jack took a step forward, thinking to go on another hunt for the Irishman. Consequently the stone merely grazed his shoulder, doing hardly any damage.
Much startled, Jack leaped forward and then turned around. He did not know exactly where Mosey was, but resolved to put on a bold front.
"So that is where you are!" he cried. "Do you want me to put a bullet through you?"
"Bad luck to yez!" growled Mosey, much crestfallen. "No, don't shoot me, Jack, me b'y. It--it was all a mistake. I thought ye was the farmer, upon me wurrud."
"Do you surrender?"
"Yis, yis!" Andy Mosey had a wholesome fear of being shot, and he could not see whether Jack had a pistol or not.
"How many more rocks have you up there?"
"Nary a wan, Jack, Oi only had the wan, upon me honor."
"Then jump down here, and hold your hands over your head. If you try to play me another trick I'll shoot you sure."
With a groan Andy Mosey descended to the ground, and then held his hands over his head.
"Now turn around and march the way you came. And don't you dare to look back," continued the young inventor.
"But, Jack, me dear b'y----"
"I am not your dear boy, Mosey, and I won't stop to parley with you."
"But, Jack, I didn't----"
"Stop it I say, and march. Or do you want to be in the fix Pooler is in?"
"No, no! I'll march, Jack; don't shoot!" And without further ado Andy Mosey set off for the shore, with Jack behind him, and the farm hand bringing up at a safe distance to one side. Presently the farm hand ran ahead, to tell farmer Farrell of how matters now stood.
As soon as the hired man had disappeared Andy Mosey tried to argue again.
"It's Corrigan's doin's----" he began.
"Mosey, we won't talk now," said Jack at last, for he saw that the Irishman's head was not as clear as it might have been. "If you want to argue you can do it when we are in the boat."
"But you'll be afther listenin' to me Jack, me b'y?" pleaded Mosey.
"Perhaps."
"I want to be friends wid ye."
"You have a strange way of showing it."
"It's the liquor, Jack, me b'y--bad cess to it."
"Why don't you leave liquor alone then, Andy?"
"Sure, an' it would be a good job done if I had niver touched a drap."
"You've spoken the truth there."
"If Oi iver git out av this hole Oi'll soign the pledge, so Oi will."
"You might do worse."
"Say the wurrud, Jack, me b'y, an' Oi'll soign it to-morrow," went on Mosey, thinking he was winning the young inventor over.
"I'll say nothing more at present, Andy, excepting that I want you to get along to the shore, without further delay."
"But Jack, if Oi----"
"Not another word. March!"
And then the march to the boat was resumed.
CHAPTER XXVI.
PAPERS OF GREAT VALUE
It did not take Jack and Mosey very long to reach the shore. They found Farmer Farrell, gun in hand, stalking up and down impatiently. He had ordered Corrigan into the row-boat, and was lecturing him and the hired man at the same time.
"You've been a mighty long while coming," he remarked, as the dim rays of the smoky lantern fell upon the young machinist's face.
"I couldn't help it," replied Jack, and he briefly related what had occurred to detain him so long.
They embarked at once. The young machinist set out to do the rowing, but was stopped by the farmer, who directed Tim, the hired man to take the oars.
"You're tired enough," said Farmer Farrell. "Besides, we must keep a close eye on these two, or they'll be up to their pesky tricks afore we know it."
Tim pulled a good stroke. He was anxious to get out of such dangerous company and be safe in his bed in the barn loft once more.
"Isn't there some way we can fix this matter up?" asked Corrigan, after a long period of thoughtful silence.
"What do you mean?" asked Jack.
"Why, buy ourselves off."
"No, sir, not a bit of it," returned the young machinist, decidedly.
Corrigan winced. The prospect of going to prison was not a particularly inviting one.
"Oi say, Jack, me b'y, if we give up yer model will ye be easy on us?" put in Mosey, who did not know that that precious bit of property had already been recovered.
"I have it already," replied Jack; "I don't intend to be any harder on you than you deserve," he continued. "You tried to take my friend's life as well as mine, and also to set fire to Mr. Gray's house, and by using the match-safe which belonged to me, cast suspicion on my character, which has not yet been cleared away."
"Who can prove I set foire to Felix Gray's place?" demanded the Irishman, blusteringly. His tongue was clearer than it had been, but his head was as muddled as ever.
"Perhaps I can."
"Ye can't, no how."
"Well, we'll see, and it will go hard with you unless you can prove otherwise."
"Oi didn't do it. It was Dennis's work," howled Mosey, breaking down completely. "Oi found the box and gave it ter him, and he kept it. Didn't he stale the model, too, and run away wid yer sister? Oi niver harmed a soul, save when I was in liquor," he whined.
"It's a lie!" shouted Corrigan, in a rage. Had he been free he would have struck down his confederate.
"It ain't, it's true, every worrud of it," responded Mosey, doggedly. "Ye always got me to do yer dirty worruk, and now yer want me to stand all der blame. But Oi won't do it. Oi'll turn Queen's evidence first."
"If you turn state's evidence you may save yourself a heap of trouble," put in Farmer Farrell.
"Oh, Oi'll do it, just mind me, if Oi don't," replied the Irishman, quickly. He was thoroughly cowed, and his one thought was how to best evade the clutches of the law.
"You mean dog!" interrupted Corrigan, bitterly. "You shall pay dearly for this;" and he grated his teeth together in rancor.
"I don't think you will be able to harm him for a good while," sagely remarked Farmer Farrell.
Corrigan became silent at once, and as each one was busy with his own thoughts, the rest of the trip was accomplished without further words.
On reaching the shore the party repaired at once to Farmer Farrell's place where Tim, glad to be home again, hitched up the team to the old family wagon.
"Is there a doctor anywhere near?" asked Jack; "I promised to send one over to the island."
"Dr. Melvin lives just up the road," replied the farmer. "We'll stop and tell him, and Tim can row him over. Do you hear, Tim?"
"Yes, sir," replied the farm hand. "To-morrow morning will do, I suppose."
"To-morrow morning!" repeated the farmer, in surprise. "No, indeed, right away. And if you can't get Dr. Melvin, go over to Dr. Dell's and take him straight to Pooler's cottage. Tell him that the man has a bullet in his shoulder."
Much as he disliked the job, the hired man did not dare to complain; so with a heavy sigh he set off on his errand, traveling through the dark as fast as his heavy boots would permit.
The family wagon contained two seats. Farmer Farrell took the front one, with Mosey beside him, while Jack, with Corrigan, sat in the rear, and then the horses were started on the road to Corney.
"We will stop at the old mill and get my model," said Jack, on the way.
At the old structure everything was dark and deserted.
"Say, Oi'll go along wid ye," said Mosey, as the young machinist dismounted from his seat. "There's something there Oi want to show ye."
Corrigan wished to interfere, but Jack, who believed that the Irishman was now really inclined to render assistance, would not let him.
"There are some papers that belong to Mr. Gray. Dennis stole them when the house was burning," said Mosey, when he and Jack were alone. "Oi can't read, but Dennis said they'd be worth money to us some day."
"Where are they?" asked Jack, with interest.
"Will you be aisy on me if Oi tell ye?" asked Mosey.
"Perhaps I will."
"Oi'll trust ye," replied Mosey. "They're up stairs, under the flure."
They ascended the stairs, and taking up a board that Mosey pointed out, Jack drew out a small, oblong packet.
"I can't read it now," said the young machinist. "Come along. If the contents are valuable I'll see that you get full credit for giving it up."
He put the packet in his pocket, and taking up the model, made the Irishman precede him down to the wagon. They were soon on the way again, the precious model safely stowed away in the front of the vehicle.
"I guess Mr. Benton will be rather surprised when he learns the true state of affairs," thought Jack to himself. "But his treatment of Deb was shameful, and I shall tell him so."
As they passed an old barn near the outskirts of the town all heard a loud cry, the scuffle of many feet, and then the door of the place burst open.
"Hello, what's all this?" exclaimed Jack. "Some one in trouble!"
Through the open doorway sprang a tall man. He was but partly dressed, and one side of his face bore a thick coating of black. He ran directly toward the road, and was followed by a dozen or more men wearing masks.
Seeing the wagon he made for it as fast as his legs would carry him.
"Save me, save me!" he gasped. "Get me away from these villains, and I will pay you well!" and in frantic haste he clambered over the wheel and into the front of the vehicle.
"What's the trouble!" asked Farmer Farrell in astonishment, while Jack took up the gun.
"They want to tar and feather me!" was the panting reply. "See they made a beginning;" and the excited individual held his face up to view.
"Mr. Gray!" ejaculated the young machinist.
He had not time to say more, for at that instant Corrigan, taking advantage of the excitement, hit Jack under the chin with his head, and then leaped to the ground. In doing so he fell, but picked himself up quickly, and hopped as fast as he could down the road.
A second later the wagon was surrounded by the masked men, all armed and gesticulating wildly.
"Give him up, Willington!" they yelled. "Give up Gray, or we'll tar and feather the lot of you!"