The motorist offered no verbal protest. When one looks down a gun-barrel at one A. M. in a lonely road, silence is eighteen karat fine. This highwayman was carefully keeping a position just too far away for a clinch. At that distance the pistol gave him priority of rank and entitled him to issue orders.
“Get over dere in de light an’ turn your pockets out!” directed Mr. Connors. “T’row everyt’ing down here by me feet. If youse got a gun in yer clothes I wants ter see it come out wid the muzzle pointed de oder way! See?”
The gentleman saw. “I haven’t a gun,” he said.
“An’,” pursued Mr. Connors succinctly, “let’s be on de level wid each oder. Don’t let’s have no holdin’ back. I wants ter see de linin’s of dem pockets hangin’ outside. You looks prettier dat way.”
For a moment there was complete silence, while pocket contents showered on the grass at Mr. Connors’ feet. Mr. Connors secured for himself the gentleman’s coat, which hung over the tonneau door.
There is a distinction between tribute-levy and vandalism. Mr. Connors left letters and papers undisturbed, taking only currency and articles of intrinsic value.
Then, as they stood, with Mr. Connors unostentatiously in the shadow and the other gentleman in the full glare of the acetylene lamps, hands high and his pockets inverted, they heard a somewhat startled exclamation in the road. A young woman emerged suddenly from behind the car, carrying a bucket of water. The tableau had not greeted her eyes until she reached a point where the screening framework ceased to screen. Then it appeared to interest her greatly.
“Lady,” said Mr. Connors steadily, the pistol muzzle never wavering, “or ladies an’ gents, if dere’s a bunch of youse—please come round here an’ get in line an’ put your hands up. If anybody makes a false move, I croaks dis gent, an’ dat goes, see?”
The lady came forward and took up her station by the side of the man. In order to raise her hands she had to set down the canvas bucket with which she was burdened.
Standing in the acetylene spotlight the young woman struck Mr. Connors as supremely beautiful. He deplored the necessity of keeping her in a prisoner’s attitude and he admired the calm with which she endured the compulsion. Her eyes even seemed to be dancing a trifle as she looked at the somewhat abject Mr. Burrow.
“Please, Mr. Highwayman,” she naïvely requested, “would you mind if I poured some water into the radiator?” She added reassuringly: “It will keep both hands quite busy. The machine can’t go on until we do that, you know, and we’d like to get home—when you are entirely through with us.”
Mr. Connors considered the proposition.
“Go as far as yer like, lady,” he assented at last. “But let dis gent keep close ernuff fer me ter watch youse both. If his hands comes down, I’m afraid I’ll have to hurt somebody, see?”
As the young woman lifted the full bucket with a surprising strength for such slender arms, the gentleman assured her that he regretted his inability to assist. The young lady laughed.
“Dat will be about all fer dis part of de job,” said Mr. Connors. “Now fer the ambulance.”
“The what?” questioned the young woman.
“I’se sorry ter trouble yer, lady,” apologized Mr. Connors, “but it’s like dis: Dere’s a guy up de railroad track w’at’s got a busted slat. I’se got ter borrow your benzine-buggy ter take him ter a doctor.”
“Now see here, you infernal pirate!” The gentleman took one belligerent step forward and halted abruptly as he recognized how close it brought him to the ominous muzzle. “You’re asking too much!”
“Me?” questioned Mr. Connors in an injured tone. “I ain’t askin’ nothin’. I’m tellin’ yer w’at I wants done, an’ yer don’t need ter git fresh about it, see?”
“Is there really an injured man? Is this true?” asked the lady. Evidently she was willing to be reasonable.
“Honest ter Gawd, lady!” Mr. Connors spoke earnestly and his eyes wore their frankest appeal. “Dis guy is liable ter croak if he don’t git a doctor. He’s a pore skate. Meself, I don’t know him personally, but I’se sorry fer him.”
“Some disreputable drunk!” growled the gentleman savagely. “Some contemptible hobo like this man here.”
“It occurs to me,” suggested the young woman in a level voice, “that up to this point you have been very obedient to this person you call a contemptible hobo. At all events I’m not going to leave an injured man by the roadside. I’m going with this person. Do you care to come along?”
“Oh, he’ll come along all right,” Mr. Connors assured her. “I needs him ter run de car.”
The gentleman’s face went white with anger; then, as he turned his eyes on Mr. Connors, his expression grew quizzical, even amused, and a light of sudden recognition came to his pupils.
“Mr. Rat Connors,” he said with deliberate courtesy of address, “I congratulate myself that I have fallen under the bow and spear of so distinguished a crook as yourself. I retract the ‘contemptible hobo.’ I have just recognized you.”
“Mr. High-Brow Reformer Burrow,” replied Mr. Connors with instant promptness, “t’anks fer dem kind woids.”
“May I inquire,” purred Mr. Burrow, “how you knew me?”
“After you, after you!” returned the young gentleman modestly. “How did yer git hep ter me?”
“You see,” explained the Honorable Alexander suavely, “the Chief of Police was speaking of you this morning. He had a good deal to say about you.”
Mr. Connors grinned, as one whose greatness has been duly recognized.
“Will yer give me best ter de Chief? Will yer tell ’im I’m well an’ doin’ business an’ I hopes he’s de same?”
“I shall be honored to do so,” declared the Honorable Alexander gravely. “I shall also look forward with pleasure to a meeting when all three of us shall be present—you, the Chief and I. But you haven’t told me how you came to recognize me.”
Mr. Connors smiled broadly.
“Yer name was printed in gold letters on yer pocket-book—an’ I kin read.”
“Oh,” murmured Mr. Burrow.
Mr. Connors waved his weapon with a gesture of energy.
“Let’s beat it,” he suggested. “Dis busted-up guy’s liable ter git homesick.”
Mr. Rat Connors superintended the arrangement of the car. The Honorable Alexander was requested to take the wheel, and the lady to sit at his side. Mr. Connors disposed himself in the tonneau, from which vantage-point he issued orders after the fashion of an Admiral from the bridge of his flag-ship.
Two hundred yards from the railroad track Mr. Connors gave the word to halt.
Having disembarked, he marshalled his cavalcade in what he deemed the most advisable formation.
“Let de lady go foist,” he suggested. “Dat’s de perlite system.” As they took the indicated order of precedence Mr. Connors added, “An’ den if yer makes a break, I won’t haf ter shoot t’rough de lady ter git yer, see?”
While they were picking their way through a bit of woods the Honorable Alexander Hamilton Burrow was moved to speech.
“You see, Miss Asheton—Mary—I may call you Mary, mayn’t I? Life is full of chances. You need a protector. You had better reconsider and give me the right to act always——”
But Miss Asheton interrupted him with a clear peal of laughter. Despite the guard at the rear, she halted in her tracks.
“Certainly you may call me Mary,” she said, “and you may protect me, too. Protect me now. Take the gun away from this person.”
The halting of Miss Asheton forced the Honorable Alexander to halt, and the halting of the Honorable Alexander brought the cold muzzle of the revolver against the back of his neck.
“Move on dere!” ordered Mr. Connors. “Cut out de chin-music an’ keep hikin’!”
The march was resumed.
“Of course,” said Mr. Burrow, in a less jaunty voice, “there are times when we are at a disadvantage. The protection I alluded to——”
“Cut it out!” suggested Mr. Connors. “Less of dat comedy! Less of it!”
Mr. Burrow fell silent. To have one’s tenderest declarations pronounced comedy by a critic one is not at liberty to contradict, is disconcerting.
Then they came to the embankment and were instructed to climb up. On the railroad track they saw three men. One was an elderly gentleman in rusty clerical garb. One was a tall man of a younger generation, but the salient feature of the situation was that between them they supported a third person. Despite mud-smeared clothes and demoralized personal appearance, this third person was clearly recognizable to bride-elect and best man as Mr. Lewis Copewell.
Mr. Lewis Copewell raised his head and saw standing at the edge of the embankment a rare and radiant maiden whom mortals called Mary Asheton. For an hour Mr. Lewis Copewell had been demanding of the smoldering logs whether he should ever again clasp this rare and radiant maiden. It was upon this reverie that the Minister and his son, the Justice of the Peace, had arrived. And now—miracle of miracles!—there seemed to stand the lady in the flesh!
He tore himself from the supporting arms of the minister and the justice of the peace with an inarticulate roar. Then he proceeded to hop on one foot across the track, to find out whether this were a true vision or merely a brain mirage.
Miss Mary Asheton took a swift inventory of his injuries and went to meet him. Miss Mary Asheton did not have to hop, and a man can stand quite well on one foot when he has both arms around the only girl in the world. If you don’t believe it, try it.
It dawned quite suddenly on the Honorable Alexander Hamilton Burrow that the party was quite complete. Bride, groom, best man, minister, witness and—how should he classify Mr. Connors? He swept a comprehensive glance about—but there was no Mr. Connors. Mr. Connors had vanished into the night as suddenly as he had arisen out of the night. He had played his part and passed.
In point of fact, Mr. Connors was looking on from the shadow of a not-too-distant sycamore. Sitting at the foot of this sycamore he drew from one pocket the gold timepiece that had formerly reposed in the pocket of Mr. Lewis Copewell. Then he abstracted from another pocket the watch that had been, until a short time ago, worn by the Honorable Alexander Hamilton Burrow. Then he affectionately patted the rolls of greenbacks in his breast pocket.
“Oh, dat ain’t so bad!” he optimistically told himself.
For a moment there was silence on the railroad track. Then Mr. Copewell, feeling quite assured that the vision was genuine, managed to say, “Mary!”
Miss Asheton said, “Lewis!”
The Honorable Alexander Hamilton Burrow, thinking of nothing witty or timely to say, touched the minister on the arm and began feeling in his pockets for the marriage license.
Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the September 1911 issue ofAdventuremagazine.
Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the September 1911 issue ofAdventuremagazine.