"We'll have to send out a man for him," suggested Basil Holt, who played "heavies."
"It's ten to one we don't find him," declared Dunton. "He'll lay low."
"We'll have to fill his place," said Frank, grimly.
"Fill his place!" gasped several. "How?"
"With another man, of course."
"What man?"
"There's only one man who can do it. The part is that of a hayseed visiting the city. I believe Ephraim Gallup can do it if he tries."
"It's possible," admitted Havener.
"Gallup's on the door. I'll send for him. He has prompted on this piece a number of times, and it is possible he can get through with Sargent's part somehow. It must be done."
The stage manager looked the company over quickly.
"Where's Cates?" he suddenly demanded.
Several had seen him making up, but no one knew where he was just then, nor could he be found. However, it was thought he would turn up all right in a few seconds, and a messenger was sent out for Ephraim Gallup.
While they were waiting for Gallup to appear, they excitedly discussed the situation. All seemed agreed that Sargent had acted in a reprehensible manner in leaving thus just when they had found their first good house in two weeks.
But another shock was coming.
In by the side door came rushing the tall Vermonter.
"Gosh all thutter, Frank!" cried Ephraim, the moment he saw Merry, "the Old Nick is up! The sheriff has attached the box-office receipts, by gum!"
There were cries of dismay.
"Attached the box-office receipts?" said Frank, in some surprise. "Is that right?"
"Yeou bet it is!"
"For whom did he attach them?"
"Sargent and Cates."
"Cates! Then he is in it, too?"
"Cates!" gasped Havener. "Has that fellow thrown up, too? Then we are done for!"
"The jig is up!" declared more than one, and it seemed to be the general opinion.
"Where are these fellows?" asked Frank.
"Aout in front," answered Ephraim.
Frank started for the door.
"I think I'll see them, too," muttered Havener, following him.
At the front of the theater the two rebellious actors were found, together with the sheriff of the town. They had gotten out an attachment, which had been served by the officer.
Havener felt like diving into them then and there, but Frank held him in check.
"Look here," said Merry; "how do you chaps expect to hold the gate receipts?"
"I rather think we can hold them," answered Sargent, insolently. "We've got them, and we'll keep them."
"Not if the show does not go on."
"Why not?"
"Because the money will be refunded to every person who has entered the house."
"You can't refund it now; you're too late," sneered Sargent.
"That's where you make a mistake. You cannot attach this money till it becomes mine."
"Well?"
"Well, it is not mine till we have given the play, just as advertised. If you have any sense, you will know that."
"That's right," growled Havener. "You have been rather too premature."
Sargent and Cates exchanged looks. They had not thought of this, but now they knew it was true.
"Oh, well," grinned Cates, "we've got the money, so we'll go on and play our parts. Eh, Sargent?"
"Not with this attachment on the receipts," said Frank, grimly. "Do you think the rest of the company would stand for that? Not much!"
"Then we won't go on at all," declared Sargent.
"In that case, you will get nothing, for the money will be refunded to those to whom it belongs."
Sargent flushed, for he now plainly saw they had been too hasty in making the attachment. They had baffled themselves.
"Anyhow, we'll bust up the old show," he snapped.
"Much satisfaction that will give you. You will be stranded here with the rest of us. If you go on and play to-night, we shall raise enough money to get out of town. You are playing against yourselves."
Cates began to see it, and he weakened. He whispered something to Sargent, but the actor who had made all the trouble shook his head and snarled an answer.
"Don't be a fool!" said Cates.
There was some more talk, and then Sargent said:
"We'll withdraw this attachment, but you, Merriwell, must sign a written pledge to pay us our salaries in full at the end of the third act."
"I shall do nothing of the sort," said Frank, with quiet determination. "As I have to play a part, I shall make no settlement with the manager of the theater till after the show is over. I will agree then to pay you whatever I can."
"That's no go. We're not bluffed that way."
"But," put in Cates, quickly, "we'll take half what is due us, if you'll agree to that."
Sargent muttered something, but both watched Frank to see what he would say to the comedian's proposal.
"That will not be treating the others fair," said Merry. "You will be receiving more than they, and that is not a square deal."
"Well, it's the best we'll do," snapped Sargent. "Ifyou won't agree to that, we'll break up the whole business."
"And I'll thrash both of you as soon as I can get you by yourselves," promised Havener, holding himself in check with difficulty. "I'd like to begin on the job now!"
After considerable parley, Frank found that was the best he could do with the fellows, and he said:
"I can't make such an agreement without letting the rest of the company know about it. I will tell them, and see what they say."
Then he hastened back behind the scenes, where the other members of the organization were waiting in great suspense to know how matters stood.
Frank called them together and told them just what had happened and what the rebellious actors demanded. He did not urge them to agree to anything, but left the matter for them to decide, explaining just what the result would be if they did not agree to the terms offered by Sargent and Cates.
All denounced the two fellows, but they expressed a willingness to let them have half the money due them from the box-office receipts. Then word was sent out to the rebels, while Frank went before the curtain and informed the audience that there had been an unavoidable delay, but the curtain would go up in a very short time.
Then the pianist banged away on the old piano, which was sadly out of tune, and Sargent and Cates came inbehind the scenes and hurried into a dressing room to make up.
At last the curtain rolled up and the play began; but there was anything but a good feeling among the actors, and not one of them seemed in first-class form, with the possible exception of Merriwell.
It was remarkable how Frank seemed to cast aside even the remembrance of what had happened and throw himself into the part he was playing.
Watching Merry, Havener observed:
"That chap has the making of a first-class actor in him. He will come out on top, if he sticks to the profession."
When Frank was not on the stage, however, he found enough to worry him.
Old Dan Lee was in no condition to play his part. The old man had proceeded to turn half a pint of whisky down his throat immediately on hearing the box office had been attached, and he was about as near drunk as he could be and keep on his pins.
Cassie came to Frank.
"Can't you do something to stop pop from drinking any more?" she fluttered. "He's got a quart of stuff inhis dressing room, and he takes a drink every time he comes off the stage. He'll never get through to the last curtain if he keeps it up."
"How do you know he has the stuff?"
"Why, I watched him—followed him—saw him drinking."
"Does he know you saw him?"
"Yes."
"Then——"
"I went into the dressing room just as he was taking a drink."
"What did he do?"
"Tried to hide the stuff at first."
"But didn't succeed?"
"No, for he was aware I had caught him."
"Then what?"
"He was dreadfully angry."
"He didn't touch you?"
"No; but he swore at me, Frank—he swore at me!"
"It is getting serious."
"Yes, yes, for pop would not think of swearing at me when he is all right. The old wicked glare was in his eyes—his red eyes! Frank, I'm afraid! I know something is going to happen! I've got the feeling—here!"
She pressed her hand to her breast.
Merriwell was more troubled than he showed.
"Don't worry, Cassie," he said. "I'll get after him."
"Find the whisky—take it away! It's the only thing you can do, Frank. Oh, everything is going wrong!"
"You are discouraged, little girl."
"But I know—I know! I have heard the others talking. They all think we'll break up here. It's too bad, Frank, after you put all your money into the company!"
"Don't worry about me, Cassie. I'll pull along all right. Can't throw me down and keep me down. It's the rest of the people I am thinking about. It will be tough for them."
She looked at him earnestly with her sad eyes, made to seem unnaturally large by the lining pencil.
"Do you ever think of yourself?" she whispered. "You always seem to be thinking about others, but never of yourself."
"Of course I think of myself, Cassie."
"Well, you don't seem to, Frank."
Merry watched the old actor. The next time Dan sneaked away to the dressing room, Frank followed. He entered suddenly, and found the old fellow just in the act of taking a drink.
With two swift strides Frank reached the spot where he could snatch the bottle from Lee.
"I am sorry about this, Mr. Lee," said the young manager, reproachfully.
Old Dan clutched at the bottle, choking with disappointment and surprise.
"It—it's mine!" he spluttered.
"Yes, I presume so, but it is bad stuff for you to have just now. You have taken too much already."
"Only just enough to brace me up," whimpered the old actor. "Only a little snifter."
"Only a number of little snifters. You are full now, Mr. Lee."
Old Dan braced up with an attempt to show indignation and dignity.
"Be careful, young man! Won't shtand it! No, shir! Got a right to take a little snifter!"
"I will take charge of this."
"Give it back!" panted the old fellow, advancing on Merry, his trembling hands outstretched. "Let me have it!"
"After the show—perhaps."
"Now, now! I must have it! I'm shick! It's med'cine!"
"It's bad medicine."
"Who told you I had it? I know—I know! She shaw me take a little snifter. She blabbed!"
"Everyone could see you had taken too much. We all knew you had some of the wretched stuff somewhere."
"Not wretched stuff! 'Sgood whisky! I know poor shtuff when I taste it. Tha's all ri'."
"If you don't make a big brace, you'll get down without taking another drop," declared Merry, in great concern.
"Who shays so?" cried the old man, again stiffening up. "I know how much I can hol'. Gimme that bottle!"
"No, sir: you shall not have it."
An angry glare came into Dan's red eyes.
"Will have it!" he fumed. "Gotter have my med'cine! No ri' to take it 'way from me! Cussid girl had to blab! I'll fix her!"
"Don't you dare lay a hand on Cassie!" warned Frank, instantly. "If you do——"
"What 'f I do?"
"You'll be sorry for it!"
"Gimme back shtuff 'n' I won't touch her."
"No! You must play this piece through without another drink. Have a little sense. If you take any more whisky, you will get down, and that will wreck the play. Do you want to do that? Haven't I always treated you right, Mr. Lee?"
The inebriate hesitated, and then he slowly said:
"Yesh, always treated me fine—fine. Gen'leman, Mr. Merriwell—'swhat you are! Never misushed me till now."
"I am not misusing you now, Mr. Lee; I'm simply keeping you from ruining the play to-night. You have cast reason to the winds, and you are proceeding to get drunk as quickly as you can. If you have the least consideration for me, you will hold up here and now."
"All ri'; I'll hold up. Gimme shtuff."
"I will keep that, just to make sure. You can't object, if you really mean to stop drinking."
"Might need just one little snifter more."
"You do not need it, and you must not take it. Come, come, Mr. Lee; I am your friend, and you know it. Myhead is clearer than yours just now. Trust to me. Let me have this stuff."
"On condishun you'll give it back after show."
"We'll talk about that then. No time to talk now. I must go on again in a minute. Brace up. You are not very steady on your feet. The audience will tumble to the fact that you have been taking something, and I'll be held responsible for giving such a show. They will blame me."
That appealed to the man more than anything else Frank could have said.
"No business to blame you," said the old man, puckering his lip. "You're all ri'; everybody elsh all wrong. I shtick by you, Mr. Merriwell. You gen'leman—'swhat you are! No business to be 'soshyating with lot of bum hamfatters. They ain't 'n your class. Anybody can shee that."
"Then it's all right, Mr. Lee; I'll take care of this whisky."
"Just gimme one more little drop now," pleaded the old man. "You broke me ri' off in middle of drink. Didn't get 'nough to wet my throat. Loshin' my voice. Need something to clear it up."
He was talking huskily, but Frank knew better than to let him get his hands on the bottle again.
"You can show what you are good for by bracing without taking another drink, Mr. Lee," said Frank.
"Not good for anything."
"You may feel that way now, but you are all right. I must go on right away."
Without saying anything more, Merry hurried out of the dressing room and soon hid the bottle of stuff behind some scenery packed in a corner at the back of the stage.
He was not aware that his movements were watched by a pair of treacherous eyes.
Old Dan did keep on his pins till the play was over. In some manner he played his part fairly well, although he got tangled in his lines once or twice. In one place it was necessary for him to say to the villain of the piece:
"Now, Hubert Bancroft, the prison door that once closed on me opens to receive you."
Instead of saying that, he twisted it after this fashion:
"Now, Bubert Hancroft, the prison door that once opened to close on me now closes to open to close on you."
Then, thinking some one else was wrong, he turned to one of the other people on the stage and demanded,sotto voce:
"What in thunder are you saying, anyway?"
Of course that broke up the actor spoken to for a moment, and he was forced to turn his back on the audience to keep them from seeing that he was laughing.
It was all over at last, and Frank breathed a deep sigh of relief when the final curtain fell.
The audience had not expected too much, and they departed fairly satisfied.
Sargent was not on the stage at the close of the play, and it was found that he had removed his make-up and departed before the piece was over.
"It's a good thing for him!" declared Havener. "I've been getting hotter and hotter, and I'm just longing to punch that fellow. I'll get at him too!"
Then he went away somewhere to look for Sargent.
Two minutes later there came a sudden scream from one of the dressing rooms, followed by the sound of a hoarse, excited voice.
Everyone gasped and turned toward that room.
The scream was repeated.
"Don't, pop—please don't hit me again! Oh—oh, pop!"
Then came old Dan's voice:
"Blab, will ye—blow on me! You hussy—you ungrateful girl! Take that, dern ye!"
Then there was a blow and a fall.
Frank Merriwell made a rush for the door of the dressing room.
It was fastened on the inside.
From within the room came groans and sobs.
"Oh, pop—don't kick me, pop! You are killing me! Oh, Heaven! Oh, oh, oh!"
Frank backed off, leaped forward, planted his shoulder against the door.
Crash!—it fell before him, and he burst into the room.
On the floor lay Cassie, face downward, while over her stood her father, the picture of insane rage, his foot lifted to kick her again.
Forward shot Merriwell, catching the mad actor by the neck, snatching him aside, pinning him against the partition.
"You miserable old devil!" grated Frank, quivering with such emotion as he had not felt before in many months. "You sodden old brute! You deserve to be hanged!"
Old Dan gasped for breath.
The rest of the company, with the exception of Sargent and Havener, came pouring into the little room, or crowded to the door to look in.
"She's an ungrateful hussy!" snarled old Dan. "She deserved it! She told you I was drinking! You took the stuff away, but I got it back. I had a friend, and he told me where you put it."
On a shelf the empty bottle was standing.
"Who did it?" demanded Frank. "Who told you?"
"A friend."
"Give me his name—give me his name, or by the eternal skies, I'll choke it out of you! Who was the miserable cur who told you where I placed that stuff?"
"Don't—don't!" whined old Dan. "You—you hurt!"
"His name!" thundered Frank, his eyes blazing, his face showing such fury that the intoxicated man trembled and cowered.
"It—it was Sargent," faltered the old actor.
"I thought so!" came from Merriwell. "It was what I might expect of him! The wretch! See what he has done! See what you have done! Look at that poor girl!"
"She blabbed!"
"Silence! You struck her, knocked her down, kicked her! You should spend the rest of your days in prison for that! Oh, what devilish stuff whisky is!"
"That's right—that's right!" fluttered the father, eagerly catching at Frank's words. "It was the whisky did it! Why, I wouldn't strike my girl—my poor little girl! It was the cursed whisky did it!"
Cassie had not stirred; she still lay face downward, curled in a position of pain. She did not seem to breathe.
"She's badly hurt!" said the leading lady, bending over the little soubrette. "Somebody bring water. She's fainted!"
Outside the door of the dressing room there was a shout.
"What's this? Cassie hurt? Back—let me in! Get away!"
Roscoe Havener tore a way through to the door and came panting into the room. In a moment he was kneeling on the floor, and had gathered the little soubrette inhis arms. Her head hung back, the blonde wig falling off and showing her black hair beneath. Her eyes, lined along the lashes with a black pencil, were closed. The paint on her cheeks hid the pallor of her face, but she looked ghastly even then.
A great groan broke from Havener's heart.
"She is dead," he cried. "Oh, my darling—my own little sweetheart!"
Old Dan stared at them with red eyes.
"Eh?" grunted the old man. "What's that. What'd he call her? He ain't no right to——"
The old actor struggled as if he'd jump on the stage manager, but Frank held him in check.
"Steady!" Merry commanded.
"See—can't you see!" panted old Dan. "Havener—he's got her in his arms! He's callin' her his darling! Can't you see?"
"Yes."
"He's married! He ain't no right to touch her! I'm the one to hold her!"
"You should be placed where you could never see her again, you old brute!" declared Frank, his feelings getting the best of him. "There is no manhood left in your old body when you have been drinking."
Before them all, Havener kissed Cassie's painted lips again and again, sobbing like a child.
"Oh, my dear little girl—my own little girl! Dead! dead! dead!"
"She ain't dead!" cried old Dan, hoarsely. "She can't be dead! I know better! I won't have it!"
"Keep still!" ordered Frank. "See what you have done!"
"I didn't mean to—I didn't mean to do it!" whimpered the miserable old actor, beginning to tremble. "It was the whisky—you know it was the whisky! Why, my little pet, I wouldn't hurt her for the world! I love her so—love her so! She's the sunshine of my life—she's all I have left to live for! Oh, you all know how much I love her!"
"You have shown your love!"
"I swear I didn't know what I was doing!"
"That won't save you from the gallows if you have killed her!"
"The gallows!" whispered old Dan, his eyes, bloodshot, wide and staring. "The gallows!"
"It will be what you deserve."
"The gallows! Oh, God! not that—not that! She can't be dead! I won't believe it! Let me take her in my arms! Let me talk to her! I'll bring her back to life!"
"Back, old man!" came fiercely from Havener, as old Dan tried to kneel beside the girl. "You have done your work! Here it is! Now she is mine!"
"By what right?" weakly asked the wretched father.
"By the right of my love for her! Let everybody know—who cares! Once she forgave you when you had nearly murdered her; she'll not do it again, if she lives."
"She'll not forgive me!" muttered old Dan. "My girl will not forgive me, do you say? She'll hate me—she'll curse me! And she's all I have in the world. Oh, God! then I'll be ready to die!"
Cassie opened her eyes, looked up at him, faintly whispered:
"Pop—poor old pop! He didn't mean to do it! Don't—don't be too hard on him!"
Frank could hold old Dan no longer. With a wild cry he tore himself free, flung himself on his knees, snatched Cassie from Havener's arms, and strained her to his bosom.
They looked on, not even Havener venturing to take her from him.
"They said ye wouldn't forgive me!" came thickly from the old man. "They said I'd killed you, my sunshine—my little bird! And even if I hadn't killed you, they said you'd hate me!"
"No, no, pop! It wasn't you—it was the whisky! I know, pop—I know!"
"I won't touch it any more, girl—I swear I won't! I've broken my word a hundred times, but I'll keep it thistime! Oh, my little pet! What did I do? I was crazy! A devil was in me!"
"Yes, pop, a devil that causes no end of misery in this world. Oh, oh, my side! How it hurts! Oh, pop—such dreadful pain!"
The old man began to weep.
"Get a doctor!" he entreated, looking up, tears streaming from his eyes and making tracks down his painted cheeks. "Somebody go for a doctor!"
"Give her to me!" ordered Havener. "I'll take her out and put her on the couch."
"Can't I? I will! Get away! Let me!"
Then, to the amazement of all, old Dan rose to his feet, lifting Cassie in his arms.
She moaned with pain.
"Room!" cried old Dan, hoarsely.
He marched out by the door, carried her to the couch, placed her on it, and knelt beside her.
The others followed and gathered about.
Cassie continued to moan with pain.
"What can be done for her?" asked Havener, great beads of perspiration standing out on his forehead.
"Frank!"
Cassie called.
Merry quickly bent over her, and she whispered:
"The morphine—I must have it! It will help me some. It is in my make-up box in the dressing room. Bring it."
Frank did not hesitate, but hastened to get what sherequired. However, before allowing her to use it, he called everyone away, except old Dan and Havener.
Then it was that, for a second time that evening, Ephraim came rushing behind the scenes, showing great excitement.
"Say, Frank," he cried, "b'gosh, they've done it!"
"Done what?" said Merriwell, puzzled.
"They have."
"Done what?"
"Got the money, by thutteration!"
"What money?"
"All the money taken at the door."
"What's that? What do you mean? Who's got it?"
"Them two sneaks—same ones, Sargent and Cates."
"Sargent and Cates? Why——"
Then Frank remembered that he had seen nothing of Cates since the play was over. This was not very strange, considering all that had occurred.
"Why, you must be mistaken, Ephraim!" he said. "They made an agreement with me that they would not——"
"What's their agreements good fer, Frank? I tell yeou it was a trick, an' they've got all the money. They had the sheriff ready ter make the grab the minute the show was over."
Frank followed Ephraim out to the box office, and there he found the Vermonter had told the truth. He had been deceived by the two actors, and they had attached the receipts.
Sargent and Cates were there. Frank looked them over, intense scorn in his manner.
"So this is the way you fellows keep promises!" he exclaimed.
"Oh, you're easy, Merriwell!" said Cates, attempting to carry it off with a laugh. "If you stay in the business, you'll sprout your pin-feathers after a while. With us it was a case of do you or get left, and we do not fancy getting left."
"And so you did me."
"Well, we made a strike for our money, and we've got it. You'll have something left after settling with us."
"I shall not be able to settle with you in full to-night," said Frank, grimly.
"You can't help it," sneered Sargent.
"As far as the money goes, I shall make a settlement," came from Frank; "but that will not square the bill. I shall still owe you something, and I trust the time will come when I'll be able to square the account."
They could not misunderstand him.
"Oh, is that what you are driving at?" grinned Cates. "Well, we won't let that worry us. We'll take our chances of getting anything else you may fancy you owe us after we receive our money."
"I presume you'll not need our services any more?" said Sargent, also resorting to sarcasm.
"No!" exclaimed Frank. "I am done with you."
"Thanks!" murmured both actors, together.
"You can fill our places with the Dutchman and the Yankee," snickered Cates. "They will make great actors."
"You have shown your incompetence by carrying them around with the company," declared Sargent. "What have they done? The Dutchman has passed around a few bills and looked after the baggage, while the Yankee has taken tickets at the door. They have been a needless expense. You don't know how to run a show!"
"Hardly!" agreed Cates.
"I hardly think it is necessary for you to make any comments on my management of the company."
"Oh, it isn't necessary, but it may do you some good."
"You are very anxious to do something to benefit me, I see!"
"As long as it won't harm us."
Frank reckoned up with the manager of the theater, and he found there would be something like thirty dollars left over after paying Sargent and Cates what was due them and making the proper dividend with the manager of the house.
"Oh, you'll be able to settle hotel bills," laughed Cates.
Frank said nothing, and the two actors took their money and departed.
Yes, there would be enough to settle hotel bills, but not enough to carry the entire company to the next town. Looking the affair squarely in the face, Merriwell realized that they were stranded at last!
He did not know how badly Cassie was injured, but now he hastened back to see if anyone had been sent for a doctor. He was astonished to find the girl sitting up.
"Why, Cassie!" he cried; "you are all right!"
She smiled weakly, held out her hand, and drew him down.
"It's the morphine," she whispered in his ear. "I can feel the pain now, but the stuff helps me bear it. I'll have to keep full of the drug till the pain goes away, and then the stuff will have a firmer hold than ever on me. I reckon this is the thing that does me up. I can see my finish!"
Havener was near.
"What is it I hear?" he asked. "They're saying Sargent and Cates attached the box office after all."
"It's right," confessed Frank. "They have received every dollar I owed them."
"It's my fault we didn't look out for them," declared the stage manager. "I should have known what they would do. And Sargent—it was that skunk who told old Dan where you hid his whisky!"
"Yes."
"Then he is responsible for what happened to Cassie! Let him keep out of my way!"
"Oh, Ross!" cried the girl.
"Let him keep out of my way!" repeated Havener, his face working with passion. "I'll kill the cursed whelp if we meet!"
"Ross! Ross!"
"It's what he deserves! He ought to be hanged!"
"That's right," muttered Frank.
Cassie was taken to her room in the hotel. It was necessary to carry her over on a stretcher, for she found she could not walk. Havener carried one end of the stretcher, while Frank was at the other. Old Dan walked at the side, holding the girl's hand, and mumbling his shame, his regret, his love.
Occasionally Havener ground his big teeth together and muttered something under his breath. At the hotel he took her in his arms. As he lifted her from the stretcher she cried out with pain.
"My side, Ross—my side!" she gasped.
"Oh, that miserable whelp!" grated the stage manager.
She lay on her bed, looking white and weak when the paint had been removed from her face by the aid of cocoa butter, soap and water. With folded arms, Havener stood and gazed down at her, his bosom heaving.
The other women of the company came and did all they could for her. The men came to the door to ask some questions.
"How did it happen?" they inquired.
"A brute did it!" answered Havener, and old Dan shrank and cowered in a corner.
"A—a brute?" faltered the physician. "A—a man?"
"Yes."
"Why don't you have him arrested? Why don't you have him punished?"
"Oh, he shall be punished!" declared the stage manager. "He shall get what he merits!"
Old Dan trembled.
"Where is he?"
"I don't know."
The old actor looked up in surprise.
"But you know him—you know his name?"
"Yes; his name is Sargent."
Cassie's father half started up, and then dropped back on his chair, gasping.
The doctor said it was impossible to tell how much Cassie was hurt, but he left some medicine to be taken internally and some liniment to be applied to the bruises.
When he was gone, old Dan came and grasped Havener by the hand.
"It was' kind of you—kind of you!" burst from the lips of the old actor. "I thought—I thought——"
"I know what you thought," said Havener. "You are Cassie's father. For her sake I shielded you, but if you ever lift your hand to her again, I'll——"
"Ross, Ross," cried the girl, "stop! Don't threaten him! He is my father!"
"Oh, my little sunshine—my poor child!" sobbed old Dan, falling on his knees at the bedside. "Can you forgive me? Can you forgive your miserable old father?"
"There, there, pop!" she said, reaching out her thin hand and putting it on his gray hair. "Don't you know I forgive you? It wasn't you; it was the whisky."
"And he gave it to me—he told me where Merriwell had hid it!" said the old actor, glad to shift the responsibility.
"He did it to hurt Merriwell," said Havener, grimly; "but that makes him none the less responsible."
Lillian Bird came in and sat beside the bed, and, as soon as possible, Havener made an excuse to go out. Five minutes later Frank found the stage manager in his room.
Havener was loading a revolver!
"What are you doing?" asked Merry, in surprise.
"Getting ready," was the grim answer, as the man slipped the cartridges into the cylinder.
"Getting ready?" repeated Frank, wonderingly.
"Yes."
"For what?"
"Trouble."
"What kind of trouble?"
"I'm going gunning."
Frank understood now.
"Oh, come, Havener!" he cried, "you can't mean that——"
"Just that!" said Havener, grimly. "I'm going gunning for a man!"
"That is folly, man! You must know what it means!"
"It means that Sargent gets what he deserves!"
"It means that you wreck your own life—that you may be hanged for murder!"
"Oh, what's the odds! My life doesn't amount to anything! The girl is done for. I know it. She'll never recover from this."
"What makes you think that?"
"I feel it—I know it! The morphine—she is using it again. It will kill her in the end, if she doesn't die from the treatment she received to-night."
"She won't die from that."
"You don't know. You didn't see the look on that doctor's face. I understood his meaning when he said he could not tell just how bad she was hurt. He knows, but he would not say."
"He knows what?"
"That she is injured internally—that she will not recover."
Frank was shocked.
"Havener, Havener!" he cried, "you can't be right about this! You must be mistaken! You have imagined what is not true."
The desperate man shook his head gloomily.
"No," he declared, "it is not imagination. I feel it in my heart. I shall not let that whelp get away! His lifeshall pay for her life! For it was he who murdered her!"
Frank looked into Havener's eyes, and what he saw there made him shudder. It seemed that the man was insane for the time.
"Wait," Merry urged—"wait and see. Cassie may be all right in the morning."
"I'll take no chance of letting him get away. It is useless to talk to me, Merriwell. My mind is made up. I shall shoot him on sight!"
"And be arrested within the hour. Do you know what that will mean for Cassie?"
"What will it mean?"
"You, Havener, will be the one to kill her. The bullet you fire at Sargent will go straight to her heart!"
The wild light in the stage manager's eyes turned to a look of horror. He sank down on a chair and sat there, staring at Frank—staring, staring, staring.
"Now you see it, Havener," Merriwell went on. "You must hold your hand—you must not do this thing."
"Perhaps you are right," came huskily from the half-crazed man. "I had not thought of it that way. I must wait till she is dead. Till she is dead!" he moaned. "Ah, Merriwell, you do not know how I have loved that girl! And now she is going to die!"
"We'll hope not—we'll pray that she does not, Havener."
"We'll pray! No! I've never prayed in my life! I don't know how. But you—Cassie told me you prayed.Merriwell, pray for her—pray for me! There is hell in my heart to-night! I never felt this way before. When I came in there and found my little girl so still and limp—gods! it seemed that something snapped in my head! Since then there has been a buzzing and ringing in my ears. Sometimes it seems that I can hear a great river of blood rushing through my head. I don't know what ails me!"
"You are all wrought up over this affair, Havener; you need time to cool down."
"To cool down! Ha, ha! As if I could cool down if I thought of it! My little sweetheart knocked down and beaten in a most brutal manner! Why, the thought is enough to make a devil of anybody! I won't search for Sargent, but let him keep out of my sight! Let him beware! I shall shoot him on sight!"
Havener was on his feet now, pacing wildly up and down the small room, his eyes blazing, his face flushed.
Looking at him, Frank wondered if the seeds of madness were not sprouting in his system.
Again Merry talked to him; again he did his best to soothe the man.
"Go to Cassie," he urged. "Stay by her a while."
"Not now—not now!" breathed Havener, hoarsely. "The sight of her will stir me up again. I must not see her for a time."
Then he flung himself at full length on the bed, and Frank slipped out, leaving him there.
Frank felt that it was his duty to warn Arthur Sargent of his danger, for he could not doubt that Havener really meant to shoot the man on sight. The stage manager never blustered or made needless talk about anything. In fact, he was a man of few words. His likes and dislikes were strong and pronounced. He was just the sort of a person to make up his mind to shoot a man and then go straightway and do it.
But what troubled Frank most was Havener's singular actions and his wild words. Never before had the man appeared like that. Frank had seen a light in the stage manager's eyes that appalled him.
"Just the look I saw in the eyes of the maniac who was hunting Darius Conrad down," thought Merriwell.
Was it possible that there was something of insanity in Havener and the occurrences of the night had served to arouse it? Merry remembered the man had said something seemed to snap in his head when he saw Cassie on the floor of the dressing room.
"No telling what freak may seize him. I will find Sargent without delay."
Down in the office of the hotel Cates was writing a letter. Frank went straight up to him.
"Where is Sargent?" he asked.
Cates looked up with a start.
"Eh?" he exclaimed. "Oh, is it you, Mr. Merriwell? Sargent? Now, what do you want of him?"
"I want to see him about an important matter."
Cates grinned.
"I can guess," he said. "What's the use to fight? It won't give you any satisfaction."
"I haven't the least idea in the world of fighting," assured Frank. "But Sargent is in great danger."
"Of what?"
"Losing his life."
"Come off! You don't mean to kill him?"
"No; but somebody else does."
"Oh, what a bluff!"
"It's no bluff."
"Who is this somebody else?"
"I'll tell Sargent that when I find him."
"Well, you're not liable to find him."
"Why not?"
"Because he's left this hotel."
"It's a good thing for him that he has. You won't tell me where he has gone?"
"No."
"Then tell him to get out of Groton without delay, for less than five minutes ago I left a man who had a loaded revolver for him. That is straight goods. I have no love for Sargent, but I don't wish to see him shot, nor do I wish to see the other man arrested for murder. I am giving you straight stuff, as you must see."
Cates began to be impressed.
"All right," he said; "I rather think Sargent will be out of Groton early in the morning. I am writing now for an engagement for both of us. We don't hold any feelings against you, Mr. Merriwell."
"That is more than I can say to you, sir. You broke your promise to me, and——"
"Oh, you'll get used to little things like that by the time you have been in the business a while. Promises don't amount to much, anyway."
"Not with such men as you, that is plain."
"What's the use of holding a grudge, old man?" smiled the comedian, familiarly. "It won't do any good. The company was bound to go up anyhow, and we did no more than anybody else would have done. We simply made a break for our money—and got it."
"At the expense of the others. With that money we could have made the jump to the next town."
"And been stranded there."
"You don't know that."
"It was sure enough. There's no business out here. Crops have failed, and money is wanting. If you ever go out with another company, keep out of this region."
"Thank you for your very kind advice! If I ever go out with another company, I shall take care to have all promises made in writing."
"A very good scheme," grinned Cates, and Frank turned away, feeling his pulses throbbing with anger, andfearing he might have trouble with the insolent fellow if he talked with him longer.
Merry continued his search for Sargent.
"If he thinks of getting away in the morning, it must be that he'll get his trunks out of the theater to-night," thought Frank.
He started for the theater, where he knew Ephraim and Hans were at work packing things.
The stage door was open, and he entered, ascending to the stage.
Hans met him there, and hoarsely whispered:
"Der dressin' rooms vas in him!"
"What's that?" asked Merry, puzzled.
"Der dressin' rooms vas in him," repeated the Dutch lad.
"The dressing room? Do you mean some person is in one of the dressing rooms?"
"Yaw."
"Who?"
"Sargent."
"What?"
"Dot vas right."
"The very man I am looking for? Which room?"
Hans pointed out the room, and Frank walked straight to the door, which he thrust open, entering without hesitation.
Sargent was there, just in the act of starting to drag his trunk toward the door. He stopped and straightened up quickly, showing signs of alarm.
Frank closed the door, placing his back against it, while Sargent showed symptoms of great alarm.
"I have been looking for you," spoke Merriwell.
Sargent fell back a step.
"What—what do you want?" he asked, rather huskily, and it was plain he feared an immediate attack.
"I want to warn you."
"Warn me? About what? What is the matter?"
"Your life is in danger."
"How?"
"You told old Dan where I hid his bottle of whisky."
"Perhaps I did."
"There is no perhaps about it; old Dan says you did. Well, the old man got wretchedly drunk, and he nearly killed Cassie in the next room after the show was over. He knocked her down and kicked her. It was the whisky that made him do it. You gave him the whisky, and so you are responsible for all that happened."
"No such thing! The old fool was drunk anyhow, and what I did made no difference. In fact, he would have been uglier if he hadn't recovered the whisky. Don't try to make out that I am to blame because he beat the girl!"
"Whether you are to blame or not, there is one man who believes you are."
"What man?"
"Ross Havener."
"Him?"
"Yes; and you know the kind of a man Havener is.To-night he loaded a revolver for you, and but for me he would have started on a hunt for you, intending to shoot you on sight. I persuaded him to hold up for a while, but even now he says he will shoot you if he sees you. You must get out of Groton before another morning."
"I don't know."
"I do know! If you stay, you take your life in your hands. Havener believes Cassie is seriously injured, and he is like a crazy man. If Cassie should die before morning, your life would not be worth a pinch of snuff!"
Sargent turned pale.
"Havener's a fool!" he snapped. "I am going anyhow—I shall get away early, but it's not because of Havener. I want you to understand I am not afraid of Roscoe Havener——"
Frank had stepped away from the door! Bang!—it flew open.
Havener stood in the doorway!
Havener saw Sargent, and the wild light leaped into his eyes.
"You!" he hoarsely cried.
Sargent shrank and cowered, for he saw in the face of the stage manager that which filled him with deadly horror.
"So you are here!" burst from Havener. "And you killed Cassie, you dog!"
"Killed her?" gasped the frightened actor. "Is she dead?"
"She's dying!"
"Good gracious!"
"You—you did it when you showed old Dan where Frank hid that whisky! You put the devil into the miserable old father who is wailing and tearing his hair at the bedside of his dying girl! You are responsible for it all!"
"I—I didn't think!" stammered Sargent. "I—I didn't mean to—to do anything wrong!"
"You lie!" roared Havener, pointing one finger at the terrified fellow—"you look like the dog you are! You did mean to do something wrong!"
"No, no!"
"Silence! You were trying to injure Frank Merriwell; you can't deny that. You knew old Dan was drunk, and you hoped to get him down, so he would break up the play. You knew Frank had taken the whisky from him."
"But—but I never dreamed——"
"It makes no difference; you are responsible, and nothing can save you!"
"Save me? Why—why, what do you mean? It can't be——"
"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed Havener, and that laugh turned the cowering actor's blood to ice water. "I kept my word to Frank Merriwell. I did not search for you. I found you here by accident. I said I would shoot you on sight if I found you like this!"
"But you were joking! You——"
"Joking!" roared Havener, furiously. "Joking about that? No! I was in deadly earnest! Arthur Sargent, get ready for eternity!"
His hand went back to his hip pocket, and out flashed a revolver.
With a scream of terror, the imperiled actor dropped on his knees, clasping his hands and crying:
"Don't do it, Havener—please don't shoot! I didn't mean to! I can't die! I'm not fit to die! Oh, please, please, please!"
"My ears are deaf," declared the man with the revolver. "Say your prayers!"
"Mercy!"
"Say your prayers!"
There was no sign of relenting in Havener's face.
"Oh, Mr. Merriwell!" cried Sargent, appealingly, "speak to him—do something to save me! Don't let him murder me in this cold-blooded way!"
"It is useless for you to appeal to him," declared Havener. "He can't save you now!"
But Frank had no idea of standing still and seeing murder done in that little room.
"Hold, Havener!" he cried. "Drop that revolver!"
"Keep back! Don't try to interfere with me!"
Havener took aim at Sargent, who covered his face with his hands, and, uttering a scream, fell forward on his face upon the floor.
With a bound, Frank Merriwell was before the madman, having placed his body in front of Havener's revolver at the very moment when the stage manager was liable to fire!
Thus Frank imperiled his life to save that of his enemy.
"Stop!" he cried, advancing on the stage manager.
"Get out!" snarled Havener, and the hammer of the self-acting revolver quivered under the pressure of his finger on the trigger. "Stand aside!"
"No!"
"Stand aside!"
"You shall not shoot!"
"Stand aside, or by the living gods! I'll shoot through you to reach him!"
"You will do nothing of the kind!"
Straight up to the muzzle of the revolver Frank walked. Then he grasped the man's hand, thrust it aside, and tried to take the weapon from him.
For a moment Ross Havener seemed dazed by Merriwell's nerve, and then, uttering a furious cry, he struggled to retain the revolver and get a shot at Sargent.
Crack!—the weapon was discharged, but the bullet tore harmlessly through the partition and buried itself in the wall of another room.
"Let go!" ordered Havener, almost foaming at the mouth in his mad rage.
"Give up that pistol!"
"Not till I have killed him!"
"That you shall not do!"
"I swear I will!"
It was a furious struggle, for Havener was big and strong, and he did his best to retain the weapon and break away from Frank. But Merry, once the champion all-round athlete at Yale, finally pinned the man to the wall, large and strong though he was, and held him there. Never for a moment had Frank relaxed his hold on the revolver, and now he broke Havener's grip, taking the weapon from him, despite all his efforts.
The stage manager was astounded, for never had he dreamed that Frank Merriwell possessed such strength.
Having secured the weapon, Frank suddenly leaped backward, setting Havener free.
For a moment the man remained motionless, and then he cried:
"All right, you have the revolver, but you can't keep me from killing the cur! I'll strangle him! I'll—— Why, where is he?"
Sargent was gone!
"Gone!" cried the disarmed man, amazed.
"Yes," said Frank, with satisfaction.
"When? How?"
"While we were struggling for the revolver."
"The coward! He ran away! But I'll find him yet!"
Havener dashed from the room, looking around for Sargent. As he could see nothing of the man, he went leaping toward the stairs that led to the stage door.
"I'll find him!" he shouted, as he bounded down the stairs. "I'll avenge her yet!"
Slam—he was gone.
With the revolver in his hand, Frank turned back, unheeding a weak cry:
"Vat's all der madder apoudt, Vrankie? I peliefed me a slycone hat sdruck der blace, und I got me cofer under to peen oudt der vay uf id."
The head of the Dutch lad popped up from behind a sofa, where he had been hiding.
Frank knew Ephraim Gallup was not there, for the Vermonter would have forced his way into the dressing room to learn what was taking place there.
Merry did not believe Sargent had left the building. He entered the dressing room, and then passed through by connecting door into the adjoining room, taking a light with him.
There he found Sargent, shivering with fear, trying to hide behind some trunks.
"Now is your time to get out of here," said Frank."Havener believes you have left the building, and he has gone to look for you."
Sargent was so frightened that it was with difficulty he could stand on his feet.
"The man is mad!" he whispered. "I could see it in his eyes."
"Yes. He is crazed by what has happened. You must not be seen by him. You have the money to get away, and you must lose no time in doing so."
"I won't lose a minute."
"Your trunk——"
"Hang the trunk! If I get off with a whole skin I'll let that go."
"Tell me where to send it, and——"
"I'll wire you. Will you send it?"
"Yes."
"All right."
Then, without one word of thanks for what Frank had done, the ungrateful actor hurried out of the building.