“Give Me Your Hand on That.”
“Give Me Your Hand on That.”
“When ye lave here will ye be going back to Kit Woodford and Graff Miller?”
The eyes of the young man flashed and, with an earnestness that seemed deadly in its intensity, he said hoarsely:
“No! never! I’ll die first!”
“Give me yer hand on that!”
It seemed as if the grip would crush the clasping fingers. The pressure continued for nearly a minute, while the two looked fixedly into each other’s eyes. The pledge had been made and into each heart stole the warm, irradiating glow that God gives to all the children of men when they break loose from evil and cling to that which is good.
And then the young man gave Mike his confidence. Aunt Maggie, with a tact that was creditable to her, left them together most of the forenoon and their talk was comparatively free from interruption.
As Noxon had hinted, he was the eldest son of parents who were in prosperous circumstances. He did not give their name nor place of residence, for it was unnecessary, but he admitted he had been wayward fromearly boyhood. He longed for wild adventure, and caused his family grief and anguish by his persistent wrongdoing. Finally, when he had matriculated at Yale, he ran away from home, taking what funds he could steal and fully resolved upon a life of sin.
“If there were pirates to-day, as there used to be, I should have striven to become the chief of a crew that flew the black flag, but I had to give that up. Some humorist has said that when a man starts to go to the devil he finds everything greased. So it proved with me. I fell in with Graff Miller, who, though he is about my age, has been a burglar for several years. I never suspected it until he found I was hunting for such a companion, when he told me of his partnership with Kit Woodford. In my vanity, I had shown how easy it was for me to open one of the old-fashioned combination safes, by detecting the working of the mechanism inside. This made me invaluable to them, and they proposed that I should become the third member of the gang. I jumped at the chance. SinceMiller told me they used aliases instead of their right names, I took the one by which you know me.
“Their plan was to visit different points in the south of Maine, where there had been a number of post office robberies, and use me to open the safes. I was delighted with the scheme, and we started in a few weeks ago. The Beartown post office was the third visited——”
Just then a knock sounded on the door. Both were startled and Mike called:
“Come in!”
The door was pushed inward and Stockham Calvert entered the room.
“Holy smoke!” exclaimed Mike, “as Father Malone said when he saw his church burning.”
CHAPTER XXVIIIPlucking a Brand From the Burning
“Good day, my friends!” was the greeting of the detective as he closed the door behind him, strode forward and saluted Mike, who, after his exclamation, rose from his chair and, open mouth and staring eyes, limply clasped the hand that was offered him.
“I wasn’t looking for you, Mike, but I was searching for Hor—I beg pardon, Orestes Noxon. I hope I see you well, barring the slight injury to the leg inflicted by Mr. Gerald Buxton last night.”
And what did the officer do but shake hands with Noxon, who kept his seat as if in a daze? Mike, who was watching the couple, instantly noted a significant fact. Beyond question the two were acquaintances. The face of the young man flushed scarlet and he said faintly:
“Well, Mr. Calvert, you have got me at last.”
“Yes; and a right merry chase you have led me. You won’t get away this time.”
“I suppose not.”
“Sit down, Mike,” said the caller, drawing up a chair for himself. “I have something I would like very much to say to thee, Orestes.”
At this moment Aunt Maggie swung through the door again. She had seen the man enter and wished to know what it meant. Calvert sprang to his feet and bowed.
“I have found a couple of good friends of mine, who I am sure are greatly indebted to you for your hospitality. One cannot fail to tell by your looks that you have a wonderfully kind heart——”
“Arrah, now,” replied Mrs. McCaffry, pushing away the hair in front of her face with her fat hand, “but ye are the worst blarney of thim all. I’ll have nothing to do wid ye till dinner time, whin I’ll stuff ye all so full of roast pig and praties that ye’ll be obleeged to kaap quiet regarding dacent folks.”
She knew the three wished to talk overprivate matters, and made sure they were left alone for the next hour or two.
“Mr. Calvert,” said Noxon, “Mike here has proved himself a true friend to me—so you may talk freely before him. He doesn’t know my right name and says he doesn’t care to know. So we will let that pass. What caused you to look here for me?”
“Warner Hagan met me in Wiscasset yesterday to give what help he could in running Kit Woodford and his gang to earth. Early this morning we heard of the attempted robbery of the Beartown post office. We hired a launch and got there as soon as we could. Nobody in Beartown suspects our business. It did not take us long to pick up all that was known. We learned that one of the three got peppered with bird shot, and managed to limp off in the woods. Of course I recognized the three young gentlemen who were accepting the hospitality of Mrs. Friestone, the postmistress. They required no immediate attention and were sure to turn up all right in the end.
“I left Hagan in Beartown to look into matters further while I set out to hunt for the fellow who had limped off in the woods, after turning the tables so cleverly on Mr. Buxton. Without any reason that I could explain I formed the suspicion that this member of the gang was you, Noxon (I believe that is your travelling name). It was represented that he was hurt much worse than I am glad to say was the fact. I inquired at each house along the road between here and Beartown and hit it at last.
“Now,” added the visitor as if seated with his intimate friends, “since you tell me to talk freely in Mike’s presence, I shall do so. Are you ready, Noxon, to go to your home with me?”
“Begging yer pardin, Mr. Calvert, I beg to say that has been sittled. The dearest hope of Noxy’s heart is to return to his parents.”
“Is that so?” asked the detective of the young man.
“I would give my right hand,” he solemnly replied, holding it up, “if Icould go back three months in my life and have things as they were.”
“You can’t do that as regards time, but it will bring sunshine and happiness to your loved ones when the wandering boy comes to their waiting arms. All being true, we have got to travel the ‘rocky road to Dublin.’ You have committed a serious crime against the United States laws, and if convicted nothing can save you from a long term in prison.”
“Then what hope is there for me?”
“You haven’t been convicted yet, but I won’t deny that you are in serious danger of it.”
“How shall I escape?”
“I thought that over while on the road from Beartown. This, I believe, is your third essay as a burglar. Am I right?”
Noxon nodded.
“Once would be enough to send you to Atlanta, but let that go for the present. Are you willing to turn state’s evidence?”
Noxon moved uneasily in his seat. The proposition was distasteful.
“You needn’t feel any compunctions.Kit Woodford and that cub who calls himself Graff Miller have handed out the double cross many a time, and stand ready to do it again if it promises the slightest advantage to them. They have run off in the hope of taking care of their own hides, without caring the snap of a finger what became of you.”
“There is no mistake aboutthat, Mr. Calvert?”
“I wouldn’t deceive you for an instant. Their own actions prove it. They have done the same thing before, and to-day they did not give you a thought, when danger threatened them.”
“I shall do whatever you wish.”
“Good! You may not know that, although I am a Pinkerton detective, I am under promise to my lifelong friend to do all I can to save you from yourself.”
“Does father know I am in this business, Mr. Calvert?”
“He doesn’t dream of such a thing. The shock would kill him. Therefore, I shall strain every nerve to keep him from ever learning the truth. I have a plan inmind, but before trying it you must answer a few questions.”
“I am ready.”
“In the first place, where do this gang with whom you have been associated have their headquarters?”
“I can guide you to the exact spot.”
“It is not that little patch of ground in the cove at the southern end of Barter Island?”
“No; the character of the islet forbids. Miller ran the launch in there one night when he thought some one was watching, to throw him off the scent. Have you a pencil and bit of paper anywhere about you?”
Calvert produced the articles from an inner coat pocket and handed them to Noxon. Placing the paper on the table in the middle of the room, he spent several minutes in drawing a diagram. He was apt at the work and did it with no little skill. By and by he handed paper and pencil to the owner with the remark:
“That will answer your question.”
“It is a production of art,” said thedetective admiringly. “No professional artist could beat it.”
Noxon had not only drawn a perfect representation of the neighborhood which he had in mind, but lettered it so that no mistake was possible. It pictured a part of the eastern shore of Westport Island, opposite Barter, and only a short distance north of the inlet where theWater Witchhad been visited some nights before. Noxon leaned forward and placed the tip of his finger on the different points.
“Right there is one of a hundred similar coves among the waters of southern Maine. It is smaller than the others, and a little way back is an island, which resembles except in size those that you see in every part of these waters. You know they rise above the surface like vast bouquets, with trees growing down to the edge of the river or sea. It is not so with that bit of earth you first asked about, but it is so with the islet in that cove which I show on that piece of paper.”
“What about this one?”
“It is what you may call the headquartersof the Woodford gang of post office robbers. And, yet, it seems hardly right to call it that, for it is sort of hiding place to which they flee when things begin to grow warm.”
“You have been there?”
“Several times. I will go again with you.”
“No need; I can’t go wrong with such directions. Why, Mike himself can understand it.”
He gravely held up the drawing before the Irish youth, who squinted one eye and carefully scrutinized it.
“I must say I don’t make sure whither it’s a picter of yersilf, Mr. Calvert, or a view of an automobile trying to climb a tree.”
“What did I tell you, Orestes? Isn’t he bright?”
“An unnicessary question,” said Mike loftily; “as Auntie McCaffry would answer if ye asked her which was the handsomest and cutest and smartest one among her three guests.”
“Noxon,” said Calvert, with a smileover the repartee of the Irish lad, “do either Kit Woodford or Graff Miller know your right name?”
“They never asked me and it was never given in their presence.”
“You said as much before. Do they know where you came from?”
“They haven’t the slightest knowledge. I am as unknown to them as regards my real identity as if I never existed.”
“That will help my plan, which, I may say to you and Mike, is simply this: get you out of this neighborhood to your home. There, of course, you will assume your true identity and no one need ever be the wiser.”
“What of the testimony of Woodford and Miller when they are released from jail?”
“You and they will be so much older that neither will recognize the other. Have no fear on that score. The thing is to run you out of the State of Maine. The hunt for these post office robbers has become so hot that it isn’t going to be an easy job, but I believe I can work it. There’s somesort of a mix-up of motor boats, which as yet I can’t get the hang of, but when I do I shall try my plan. Mike, how was it you were here with Noxon when I called? Can you tell me anything about your launch or theWater Witch?”
Thereupon the Irish youth related his story, and when it was finished the detective smiled.
“If I’m not mistaken that is going to help us a big lot.”
CHAPTER XXIX“The Beautiful Isle of Somewhere”
Detective Stockham Calvert was quick to make deductions and as quick in adapting himself to circumstances. He had said he did not expect to have the help of Orestes Noxon—as we must continue to call him—in capturing the two criminals, but ten minutes later he made a radical change of plans. He meant to make use of the young man, in his pursuit of the post office robbers.
“We must leave here at once,” he announced in his crisp manner. “Searching parties are out and some of them are likely to call here at any time. Since Noxon worked with his face masked, except when the slip occurred last night, it is not likely, he would be recognized by any of those who are looking for him. But there is a risk which we must avoid.”
Mrs. McCaffry made strong objection to their leaving before the dinner hour,but the officer assured her it could not be helped. He and Noxon compelled her to accept liberal tips, but she refused to take the last remaining quarter of Mike.
“The same would bring me bad luck,” she said, with a shake of her head.
“How could it do that whin it brought me the bist of luck, being I came to your door?” asked the youth, trying to press it upon her; but she would not consent.
“Ah,” he said, “it’s mesilf that’s of no more account than a naught wid no circle round it.”
Instead of following the path that led to the highway and so on to Beartown, Calvert turned into the woods through which his companions had made their way to the humble but hospitable home.
“We’ll keep clear of the village,” he explained, “for every one there is in a fever of excitement, and although I can do my part in the way of prevarication, I don’t wish to be driven to the limit, when it might not, after all, avert trouble.”
The fogs which often plague the coast of Maine and vicinity have a habit of sometimesleaving as suddenly as they come. It was a great relief to the party when they dived in among the pines and firs to find that the gloomy dampness had lifted and the sun was again shining from a clear sky. It impressed all as a good omen.
Noxon’s rest and care for his injured leg had been of great benefit. The rising inflammation had gone and the pain was trifling. If they did not walk fast, he was sure it would give him no anxiety.
Calvert took the lead, with Noxon next and Mike Murphy at the rear. The last was highly pleased to see his young friend walk without a perceptible limp.
The leader kept his bearings so well that when within an hour he reached the shore of the Back River, it was at the spot he had in mind. There was the runabout in which he and Warner Hagan had come from Wiscasset, and the owner was calmly smoking his brier wood pipe, content to wait indefinitely when he was well paid for so doing. He lay a few rods south of the landing, and just below him was theWater Witch, with Alvin Landon and Chester Haynes on board,wondering what in the world had become of Mike Murphy. The youths had tried to open communication with the master of the runabout, but he had been warned by his two passengers to tell nothing to anyone, and he glumly refused to talk. Chester had set out in quest of the missing Mike, going as far as the village. All he could learn there was that his friend had left a good while before and no one knew anything of him. The second mate went back to his Captain, and the two were so impatient that they were half inclined to leave without him, when lo! he appeared with Calvert and Noxon, coming from among the trees as if he had been absent only a few minutes.
Then followed full explanations, and you can imagine the astonishment of Alvin and Chester. They were sure of the identity of Noxon when he first appeared, but were considerate and said never a word that could hurt his feelings.
“You ran away with their launch,” added Calvert. “They ran away with yours, and you and they met as you were coming back. But for the fog you wouldhave seen each other, for you must have passed quite close. The beauty of it is,” said the officer, with a flash of his keen eyes, “that while they have gone far away we know exactly where. My friend Hagan and I, with Noxon as our guide, are going to scoop them in.”
He thought it best not to affect too much mystery.
“They passed down Montsweag Bay clear to Knubble, through Goose Rock Passage into the Sheepscot, and up that to the Beautiful Isle of Somewhere. Most folks don’t know the exact location of that sweet spot, but we know—thanks to Noxon—the latitude and longitude of ours, which the same is the port we are heading for.”
The plan was simple. Noxon, who was familiar with the running of theWater Witch, was to act as engineer and steersman. Calvert and Hagan would be the only passengers, and the prize would be Kit Woodford and Graff Miller.
“And phwat’s to become of us?” asked Mike.
“That depends upon how you behaveyourself. If you grow tired of waiting, take a walk up to Beartown, have dinner with Mrs. Friestone and then come back and wait for a few days and nights till you see us again.”
“That’s aisy, as I told me taicher whin she asked me how much two and two made and I informed her the same was five.”
“But Mr. Hagan isn’t here,” reminded Chester.
“He will be very soon. Meanwhile, I’ll say a word to my man.”
He walked to the runabout, where he told its owner he might return to Wiscasset as he was not needed further. He added a dollar to the price agreed upon and the man bade him good-by. Hagan, who had gone off on what might be called a reconnaissance, justified the faith of his partner, for he came forward, and thus the party was complete.
The distance was shorter by way of the Narrows and down the Sheepscot than by the route just named. Accordingly, theWater Witchheaded north, while theDeerfootit will be remembered went south.The difference was not much, the real reason why the course was taken being of another nature. If theWater Witchhad set out to search for the other boat, with no knowledge of its destination, it would have prowled to the southward, inspecting all likely hiding places on the way, with a strong chance that she herself would be detected and her purpose read before she discovered the fugitive. By taking the northern route this handicap would be avoided. They could make much better progress and not be seen until it was too late for the criminals to escape.
Thus Alvin Landon, Chester Haynes and Mike Murphy were left on the shore of the Back River, near Beartown landing, without any launch and compelled to pass the time as best they could. They decided to spend a few hours in the village.
They appreciated the reason why Calvert would not have their company. He was plunging into a venture where deadly weapons were likely to be used, and their lives would be endangered. The affair was really none of theirs. Besides, their presencewould be a serious handicap and might prove fatal to success.
TheWater Witchsoon shot past Cushman Point, passing the runabout so close that the officers exchanged salutations with the man who had brought them from Wiscasset. Calvert and Hagan sat side by side, both puffing heavy black cigars, the smoke of which as it streamed astern might have suggested that the launch was impelled by steam instead of gasoline. She ran smoothly, and Noxon, with a pale face, his hands grasping the wheel, steered as skilfully as Alvin Landon had directed the swifterDeerfoot. He had done it many times and had no fear. The young man had come to the parting of the ways, and nothing could turn him back. His resolution was due to the wound, which had distressed him so much when he hobbled to the home of Mrs. McCaffry that he believed for a time he was near the end of life, and when one reachesthatpoint he is sure to do some serious thinking.
Just above Clough Point, marking the northern extremity of the large island ofWestport, theWater Witchturned eastward through the Narrows and headed straight south down the Sheepscot River to its destination some ten miles away. Noxon seated with his hands upon the wheel remained silent. The officers spoke to each other now and then in low tones, but most of the time left him to his meditations. He held the boat to moderate speed, for there was no call for haste. She was running easily, but a glance by the young man into the gasoline tank showed the supply was low, and he wished to avoid stopping at any of the landings to renew it. Besides, high speed is always a strain upon an engine, and he was nervously anxious to prevent a breakdown at a critical point in the enterprise. His familiarity with the launch made him cautious.
While Calvert and Hagan were following a clearly defined plan, they knew “there’s many a slip ’twixt the cup and the lip.” They had high hopes of finding the other boat at the spot which Calvert had facetiously named the Beautiful Isle of Somewhere, but it might well happen that theywould be disappointed. At the first sign of danger theDeerfootwould run away and her superior fleetness would leave her pursuers hopelessly behind. Above all, it was important that the criminals should not discover their peril in time to get away.
“Noxon,” said Calvert, leaning forward, “let us know when we are near the cove.”
“We are within less than a mile of it now. It is just ahead on the right.”
Each officer flung his stump of a cigar overboard and slipped from his chair to the bottom of the boat. Inasmuch as their interest was centred on one side of the boat, they crowded each other a little. They removed their headgear and permitted only their crowns to show a few inches above the rail as they peered over. They held themselves ready at the same time to duck into complete invisibility.
“The cove is in sight,” announced Noxon, slightly turning his head. “Better keep down.”
A few minutes later they felt the change in the course of the launch. They were entering the inlet and the officers raisedtheir heads barely enough to peer alongside of the steersman, over the front and beyond the flagstaff with its fluttering bunting.
“There it is!” whispered Calvert to his friend.
“I see it,” said the other, “the Beautiful Isle of Somewhere; we are closer to it than I supposed.”
CHAPTER XXXA Through Ticket to Home
There it was in plain sight, rising like a giant nosegay of emerald from the crystalline water. It was barely two acres in extent, and, like nearly all islands great and small in southern Maine, the firs, pines and spruce grew to the very edge of the water. It reminded one of the patches of green earth in Europe where the frugal owners do not allow a square inch to go to waste.
“I don’t see anything of theDeerfoot,” said Calvert in a guarded voice to Noxon.
“We always lay to on the other side. Keep down!”
It was wise advice, though not needed. The two crouched so low in their crowded quarters that a person a hundred feet away would not have seen them. Each instinctively felt of his hip pocket. The little weapon was there.
The officers had now to depend uponNoxon, who for the time was director of the enterprise. He could make himself heard over his shoulder without drawing attention to himself, provided he was under the eye of his old associates. He was never more alert.
Veering to the right, where there was a hundred yards of clear water between the islet and the mainland, he slowed down and began gradually circling the exuberant patch of earth. It will be remembered that he had been there before and knew the habits of Woodford and Miller. By and by, he had glided far enough to bring the western shore into his field of vision. Before that moment he had discerned the stern and flagstaff of a launch. A second glance told him the truth, which he cautiously made known to the crouching forms behind him:
“TheDeerfootis there! Don’t stir till I give the word!”
Neither of the criminals was in sight, but it was evident they were near, else the launch would not be lying where it was. Noxon gave a series of toots with hiswhistle, though the noise of the exhaust must have been noted before. In response, Kit Woodford and Graff Miller came out from among the trees, halted at the side of the launch and stared at theWater Witchand its single occupant.
Could they believe their eyes? They saw before them their own boat and the young man whom they had cowardly deserted in his extremity. What was the explanation to be?
By this time the parties were so near that they could talk with only a slight raise in their voices. Kit Woodford was the first to open his mouth. With a profane expletive expressing his surprise, he demanded:
“Where did you come from?”
It was on the tongue of Noxon to make a biting reply, but he did not forget the part he had to play.
“I found this boat at the wharf at Beartown and thought I’d hunt you up. How came you to havethatlaunch?”
“Some one had run off with ours and left that. So we made a trade and I rather think we got the best of the bargain. Idon’t understand how ours was found by you.”
“Maybe the owners of that wanted to trade back. I say, Kit, I would like to know something—why did you and Graff run off and leave me behind?”
“We didn’t!” replied Woodford, with virtuous indignation. “Me and Graff hunted high and low for you and made up our minds you had run off yourself with the swag.”
“A fine lot of swag I had, when I had to scoot just after I got the safe open.”
While this snatch of conversation was going on, Noxon, who had cut off the power, was edging nearer. Calvert and Hagan squeezed each other so hard that it looked as if they would push themselves through the hull of the launch.
Graff Miller now put in his oar:
“If we didn’t get a haul out of the measly post office we’ve scooped a mighty fine motor boat. We can sell it and gather in enough to last us till we crack another place.”
“That won’t be as easy as it looks toyou. The whole neighborhood is up in arms and we shall have to lie low for awhile.”
“Well, we’ve got enough to keep us a week or so——Nox, there’s somebody in the boat with you!” exclaimed Miller, who that instant caught sight of the head of one of the crouching men. The craft was now so close that concealment was impossible. In fact, in the same moment that theWater Witchgently bumped against the other boat, Stockham Calvert and Warner Hagan straightened up and bounded across upon theDeerfoot. Each grasped a revolver, and Calvert shouted:
“Hands up, or I’ll let daylight through you.”
The terrified Woodford turned to run, but a bullet whistled past his ear. Perhaps too he realized in that frightful instant that no place of refuge awaited him. The island was too small to allow him to hide himself. He abruptly halted on the edge of the wood, and facing about sullenly raised his hands.
As for Graff Miller he did not attempt to get away. Accepting the order addressed to his leader as applying to himself, he stoodstock still and seemed to be doing the best he could to keep the sky from falling on him.
Knowing that Hagan would look after him, Calvert gave his whole attention to Woodford. Keeping his revolver presented, he crossed the narrow deck of theDeerfootand dropped lightly to the ground. A few steps took him to the cowardly ruffian. Never lowering his weapon, he ran the other hand over the outside of the man’s clothing and twitched a revolver from his hip pocket.
“That will do, Christopher; if you now feel an inclination to lower your dirty hands, you have my permission to do so. Perhaps it will not tire you quite so much.”
Hardly had he complied when a sharp click sounded. So quickly that it looked like a piece of magic a pair of handcuffs were snapped upon the miscreant, and Hagan was only a few seconds later in doing the same with his prisoner.
The capture of the two was so easy that it suggested a farce.
“If you had only put up a fight, Kit, it would have been a good deal more interesting,”said Calvert, “but you always were one of the biggest cowards that ever made a bluff at being a bad man. Get a move on you!”
As meekly as a lamb the prisoner stepped upon the nearest launch, and, as ordered, seated himself on one of the seats at the stern.
“Do you want me to go there too?” humbly asked Graff Miller.
“Of course; step lively.”
Calvert explained what was to be done. The handcuffed prisoners were to be taken to Wiscasset on theDeerfoot, their captors bearing them company. In that city they would be locked up, and every step that followed would be strictly in accordance with law.
Noxon was to trail after the launch in theWater Witch. There was more than one reason for this arrangement. Since both boats were capable of making good speed, it was better than to have one tow the other. If theWater Witch’sgasoline gave out, theDeerfootcould take it in tow, but this would not be done unless the necessity arose.
The separation of Noxon from his former associates would prevent an unpleasant scene. Kit Woodford and Graff Miller could not fail to see that Noxon had given them into the hands of the officers. While they were powerless to harm the young man, they could make it uncomfortable for him despite the restraining presence of Calvert and Hogan.
It is safe to say that none of the steamers and other boats encountered on that memorable voyage up stream suspected the meaning of what they saw. One launch was gliding evenly up the river with a second closely resembling it a hundred yards or more to the rear. In the latter sat a young man. In the former were four persons, two of whom had been engaged for weeks in robbing post offices in the State of Maine. No one observed that they wore handcuffs, or dreamed that the man handling the wheel was a famous detective. In this case he was Calvert, who had a fair knowledge of running a motor boat.
The prisoners were sullen and silent for most of the way. Hagan, seated behindCalvert, could protect him from any treacherous attack with the handcuffs. The detective was too wise to invite an assault of that nature.
When a turn in the course brought the long Wiscasset bridge in sight with the pretty town on the left, Kit Woodford turned his head and looked back at the young man who was guiding the other launch.
“What are you going to do withhim?” he asked, with a black scowl.
“Nothing,” replied Hagan.
“Why haven’t you got the bracelets on him?”
“He has done us too valuable service. That isn’t the way we reward our friends.”
Calvert, who had overheard the words, looked round.
“We may need his evidence to land you and Graff in Atlanta.”
The remark was so illuminating that the prisoner said never a word. The occasion was one of those in which language falls short of doing justice to the emotions of the persons chiefly involved. It was GraffMiller who snarled with a smothered rage which it is hard to picture:
“I’ll get even with him if I have to wait ten years.”
“You’ll have to wait all of that and probably longer,” said Calvert, “and by that time I don’t think Orestes Noxon will care much what you try to do.”
The detective pronounced the name with emphasis, to learn whether it attracted any notice. It did not so far as he could judge, whereat he was glad.
The criminals were put behind bars, and the young man strolled through the street to the railway station. On the way, the elder said:
“It looks to me as if you have a clear title to theWater Witch. What do you wish to do with it?”
“Sell it to someone so I shall never see it again.”
“If you will turn the boat over to me I think I can dispose of it for you. Have you any price in mind?”
“Sell the launch for whatever you can get, if it isn’t more than twenty-three cents.”
“All right; I’ll fix it. Here is the railway office. You have enough funds?”
“Plenty. I shall a buy a through ticket to—home.”
“Of course. I shall call upon you this autumn. Good-by, Horace.”
“Good-by to one of the best friends I ever had. God bless you!”
CHAPTER XXXIGathering Up the Ravelled Threads
The records show that not long ago there were a number of post office robberies among the towns and villages in that section of Maine to which some attention has been given in the preceding pages. Not all the guilty parties were captured, but we know of two, or rather three, who were caught in the toils. Two of them, Kit Woodford and Graff Miller, were convicted in the United States Court at Portland, for, to use a common expression, they were caught with the goods on them, and sentenced to long terms in the Atlanta penitentiary. There they are sure to stay for an indefinite time to come, provided they are not soon released on parole, or pardoned on the ground of poor health. Let us hope for better things.
During the trial of the criminals inquiries were heard for the third member of the gang, but he seemed to have vanished as completelyas if the earth had opened and swallowed him. Possibly the Judge learned all the facts from Detective Calvert and saw that justice would be best served by winking at the youth’s offence. Moreover, an officer of the law cannot be punished for the escape of a prisoner unless gross carelessness or collusion is proved, which was not easy in the case named. Be that as it may, Orestes Noxon no longer exists. In his place rises another young man, “redeemed and disenthralled”—a brand plucked from the burning. The grandest work of our penal institution is that of reforming instead of wreaking revenge upon the erring ones. It certainly proved so in the instance named. The parents of the youth knew he had strayed from the narrow path, but it will be a long time before they learn how far his wayward footsteps led him. There is no need of their ever knowing the painful truth. Detective Calvert simply told the grateful father that his boy had gotten into bad company, but the error could never be repeated, nor can I believe it ever will be.
One day Gideon Landon, the wealthybanker and capitalist of New York, received a characteristic letter from his son Alvin. He said his motor boatDeerfoothad been housed for the winter, there to remain until next summer, and he and Chester Haynes had had the time of their lives, for which they could never thank the kind parent enough. The son meant to prove his gratitude by acts instead of words, for he intended to buckle down to hard work and not rest until he was through West Point and had become General of the United States Army. He added:
“And now, my dear father, I want you to do a favor or two for me, Chester and Mike Murphy, who is one of the best fellows that ever lived. Some time I shall tell you all our experience after you left the bungalow on Southport Island. I know you will agree with what I say.“Please send to ‘Uncle Ben Trotwood,’ Trevett, on Hodgdon Island, Boothbay Township, Maine, a big lot of fine smoking tobacco. While you are about it you may as well make it half a ton, more or less. In his old age, he doesn’t do much else but smoke, eat, sleep, and talk bass, but he was very kind to Chester and me. He kept us overnight and fed us, and was insulted when we wished to payhim.” (No reference was made to Uncle Ben’s frugal wife.)
“And now, my dear father, I want you to do a favor or two for me, Chester and Mike Murphy, who is one of the best fellows that ever lived. Some time I shall tell you all our experience after you left the bungalow on Southport Island. I know you will agree with what I say.
“Please send to ‘Uncle Ben Trotwood,’ Trevett, on Hodgdon Island, Boothbay Township, Maine, a big lot of fine smoking tobacco. While you are about it you may as well make it half a ton, more or less. In his old age, he doesn’t do much else but smoke, eat, sleep, and talk bass, but he was very kind to Chester and me. He kept us overnight and fed us, and was insulted when we wished to payhim.” (No reference was made to Uncle Ben’s frugal wife.)
The genial old man would never have solved the mystery of the arrival of the big consignment of the weed had it not been accompanied by a letter from the two boys in which all was made clear.
(Another paragraph from Alvin’s communication to his father.)
“In the little town or village of Beartown live the sweetest mother and daughter in the State of Maine. Anyhow, there is none kinder and more loving. The name of the daughter, who isn’t out of short dresses yet, is Nora Friestone. Send her a fine first class piano—no second-hand one—with about a bushel of music. Select any stuff you choose, not forgetting a copy of ‘The Sweet Long Ago,’ published by C. W. Thompson, Boston. I wish you could have heard Mike Murphy sing that for them. He has one of the finest voices in the world. If he would only study and cultivate it, he would be a second Caruso. I will send an explanatory letter to Mrs. Friestone, so you needn’t bother to write her.”
“In the little town or village of Beartown live the sweetest mother and daughter in the State of Maine. Anyhow, there is none kinder and more loving. The name of the daughter, who isn’t out of short dresses yet, is Nora Friestone. Send her a fine first class piano—no second-hand one—with about a bushel of music. Select any stuff you choose, not forgetting a copy of ‘The Sweet Long Ago,’ published by C. W. Thompson, Boston. I wish you could have heard Mike Murphy sing that for them. He has one of the finest voices in the world. If he would only study and cultivate it, he would be a second Caruso. I will send an explanatory letter to Mrs. Friestone, so you needn’t bother to write her.”
And the Steinway duly reached its destination. Mother and daughter were overwhelmed.They would have insisted that a tremendous mistake had been made had not a letter reached them at the same time from the bungalow. This was signed by Chester Haynes, Mike Murphy and Alvin Landon. It begged Miss Nora to accept the present as a token of their appreciation of the hospitality received by them, and in memory of an interesting night they had spent in the Friestone home not long before. Nora wrote one of the most delightful replies that goodness and innocence could pen, and assured the donors that the prayers of her mother and herself would follow the three as long as mother and daughter lived.
(Another paragraph from Alvin’s communication to his father.)