THERE, IN THE CORNER OF THE BIG BARN, JACK SENT AS HEHAD NEVER SENT BEFORE.
THERE, IN THE CORNER OF THE BIG BARN, JACK SENT AS HEHAD NEVER SENT BEFORE.
“Nonsense. It was your stunt at Hadley Corners that suggested the trick that got me out of it,” declared Jack. “But say, the manager has given me a month’s vacation. What do you think of that?”
“He did! Look here,” sent Alex quickly, “come to Bixton and spend some of it with me. I’ll promise you all kinds of a good time. Though I am not sure I can guarantee anything as exciting as last night’s work,” he added.
Jack readily accepted the invitation. And, as it turned out, Alex might as well have made his promise. He could have kept it.
VIIA RACE THROUGH THE FLAMES
The fall had been an exceptionally dry one in that section of the middle west, and in consequence several forest fires had occurred, several not far from Bixton. Thus, when a few mornings following Jack’s arrival he and Alex proposed a visit to the old house in the woods where Alex had had his thrilling experience with the foreign trackmen, Mrs. Ward objected.
“You know there was a fire but five miles west yesterday, Alex,” she said.
“But that was only in the grass along the track, Mother, and the section-men soon had it out. They are watching everywhere. And on the first sign of smoke we will light for home like good fellows—won’t we, Jack?” he promised. Somewhat reluctantly Mrs. Ward finally consented, and gave the boys a lunch, and they set off to make a day of it.
Paying a visit first to the abandoned brick-yard, it was noon when Jack and Alex emerged from the woods at the rear of the deserted old cabin.
“So that’s it!” exclaimed Jack with keen interest as they went forward. “And up there is the very door you dropped from, I suppose?”
“Yes, that is it. Still half open, too—just as I left it. And over there is the barn and cow-stable. But let us have lunch first, and I’ll explain everything afterward,” Alex said, leading the way toward the house. “I am as hollow as a bass-drum.”
Ten minutes later, sitting on the cabin floor just within the doorway, eating and chatting, the two boys became suddenly silent, and sniffed at the air. With an exclamation both leaped to their feet, and to the door.
Rolling from the trees at the southern border of the clearing was a white bank of smoke. The woods were on fire!
“Which way?” cried Jack, as they sprang forth. “The railroad?”
Alex darted to the corner of the house and glanced about. “No! The wind has swung to the southwest! We’d never make it! North, for the brick-yard! Come on!
“If we are cornered there, we can swim the river,” he explained as they ran. “The fire isn’t likely to cross the water.”
They reached the trees, and immediately found themselves in a madly frightened procession. At their feet scurried rabbits, squirrels, chipmunks. A fox flashed by within a yard of them. Overhead, birds screamed and called in terror.
On they dashed, and a ghostly yellow light began to envelop them. “The smoke overhead,” said Alex. “It will soon be down here, too.”
“I smell it,” panted Jack a moment later. Soon they began to feel it in their eyes.
Jack began to lag. “How much farther, Alex?” he gasped.
“Only a short distance, now. Yes, here we are,” announced Alex, as brighter light appeared ahead of them. A moment after they broke into the clearing.
Without slackening pace Alex headed for the old semaphore. “From up there we can see just how we stand,” he explained. Almost exhausted, they reached it, and Alex ran up the ladder. Scrambling onto the little platform, he turned toward the river, two hundred yards distant. A cry broke from him.
“We are cut off! The fire has crossed the river!”
Jack hastily clambered up beside him, and above the tree-tops beyond the river he beheld a gray-white cloud.
The boys gazed at one another with paling faces. “What shall we do?” asked Jack.
Alex shook his head. “We might swim the river, and try a dash for it. It is two miles out of the woods, but there might be a chance.”
“We couldn’t do it. We’re too nearly exhausted.
“How about staying right in the river, by the bank?” Jack suggested. “I’ve heard of people doing that.”
“It is too deep here, and it’s awfully cold. We would chill and cramp in no time.
“No; I tell you,” went on Alex suddenly. “We’lltry one of the old tile ovens on the other side of the yard. Perhaps we can box ourselves up in one of them.”
There was no time to lose, for the clearing was now blue with smoke, and climbing hastily to the ground, the boys were again off on the run. They reached the group of round-topped ovens.
A glance showed that their hope was futile. All about the furnaces were thickets of dead weeds, and a short distance away, and directly to windward, was a huge pile of light brushwood.
Promptly Alex turned back. “We would be smothered or roasted in five minutes,” he declared. “No. It is the water, or nothing. Perhaps we can work it by floating on a log.”
As they approached the river, the boys crossed the old yard siding. Stumbling over the rails, partially blinded with the now stinging smoke, both suddenly ran into something, and fell in a heap. Scrambling to their feet, they found an old push-car, with low sides.
Alex uttered a cry. “Jack, why can’t we make a dash down the spur with this old car—pushing it? And say, couldn’t we lift it onto the main-line rails, and run all the way home?”
Jack hesitated. “Look there,” he said, pointing to the wall of smoke into which the track disappeared a hundred yards away. “And wouldn’t there be burned-down trees across the rails?”
“No; not yet. The fire hasn’t been burning longenough. And as to the smoke, it’ll soon be just as bad on the river,” Alex declared.
“All right. Let us try it. But first, let us jump in the river and get good and wet,” suggested Jack.
“Good idea! Come on!
“Or; wait!” exclaimed Alex. “Another idea. There is an old rubbish pile just over here, and a lot of tin cans. Let us get some, and fill them with water—to keep our handkerchiefs wet, to breathe through.”
They turned aside, quickly found and secured several empty cans each, and ran on. Reaching the water, they dropped the cans on the bank, and plunged in bodily.
As Alex had said, the water was intensely cold, and despite the relief to their eyes from the smoke, they clambered out again immediately, hastily filled the tins, and only pausing to tie their dripping handkerchiefs over their mouths, dashed back for the siding.
“You help me start her, Jack,” directed Alex as they placed the cans of water in the forward end of the car, “and when we reach the edge of the woods, jump in. I’ll run it the first spell, then you can relieve me. That way we can keep it going at a good clip.
“All ready? Let her go!” With bowed heads they threw themselves against the little car, the rusty wheels began to screech; rapidly they gained headway, and soon were on the run.
They neared the smoke-hidden border of the clearing.
WITH A RUSH THEY DASHED INTO THE WALL OF SMOKE.
WITH A RUSH THEY DASHED INTO THE WALL OF SMOKE.
“Jump in, Jack!” cried Alex. Jack sprang over the tail-board and threw himself flat on his face, and with a rush they dashed into the wall of smoke.
Rumbling and screeching, the car sped onward. Alex began to feel the heat. Suddenly it swept over them like the breath of a furnace, and there came a mighty roar.
They were in the midst of the flames.
“Are you all right, Alex?” cried Jack.
“Yes.” A moment later, however, Alex too sprang into the car, as he did so tearing off his handkerchief and stuffing it into one of the water-cans. “I couldn’t have held on another minute,” he choked. “I believe the handkerchief was burning.”
Jack prepared to climb out to take Alex’s place.
“No! Lay still!” interposed Alex. “The car will run by itself here. There’s a down grade.”
Jack dropped back thankfully. “Isn’t it awful,” he gasped. “My eyes are paining as though they would burst.”
On rushed the car down the roaring, crackling tunnel of flames, groaning and screeching like a mad thing. Tongues of fire began to lick over the sides of the car at the cringing boys within.
Faster the car went. Presently it began to rock. “She’ll be off the track!” cried Jack at last.
“Lie farther over!” directed Alex above the roar, himself moving in the opposite direction. The rearrangement steadied the car slightly, but still it rockedand plunged on the long unused track so that at times the boys’ hearts leaped into their throats.
The heat was now terrific. The floor and sides of the car began to blister and crack.
“We can’t stand it much longer! We’ll be cooked!” coughed Jack.
“Empty one of the cans over your head,” Alex shouted. “Keep up a few minutes longer, and we will be over the worst. It is the leaves and brush that are making the heat, and we’ll soon be where they have burned out.
“I think we are over the worst of it now,” he announced a moment later. “There’s not so much crackling; and I don’t think it is so hot.”
Simultaneously the car began to leap less wildly, then perceptibly to slow up. Alex at once prepared to climb out again. “I’ll give her another run,” he said. But promptly Jack pressed him back. “No you don’t! I’m going to take my turn.” And in another moment he was out in the full glare of the still shrivelling heat, rushing the car on at the top of his speed. A hundred yards he drove it, and scrambled back within, gasping for breath. Emptying one of the remaining cans over Jack’s head, Alex sprang out and took his place.
A moment after, they struck a slight up grade. Alex uttered a joyful shout. “Only a short run farther, Jack, and we’re out of the woods!”
But immediately he followed this glad announcement with one of new alarm.
“The washout! I’d forgotten it! It’s just ahead! The rails there almost hang in the air!”
In a panic Alex slowed up. Jack climbed out beside him. “Let us rush it,” he suggested. “The rails may hold—like a bridge. We’re not heavy. And we may as well take one more chance.”
Alex debated. “All right! Come on! And jump quick when I say! I think I can tell when we are near it.”
Once more the car was flying onward through the haze.
“Here we come!Now!”
With a bound Jack was back in the car. Alex made a final rush, and sprang after. The car dipped forward and sideways, a breathless instant seemed to hang in mid-air, then righted, and shot forward smoothly. Uttering a hoarse shout of joy, the boys leaped out, and were again running the car ahead, and a moment later gave vent to a second and louder cry.
In their faces blew the cooler air of a clearing.
A few yards farther they halted.
“I can’t see a thing. Can’t open them,” declared Jack, as they stood rubbing their eyes, and recovering their breath.
“Neither can I. Give me your hand, and we’ll soon fix it. There is a path here down to the water.” Feeling with his foot, Alex found it, and pulling Jack after, hastened down, and in another moment bothwere on their stomachs on the river-bank, their faces deep in the cooling water.
Ten minutes later, greatly revived, but with faces and hands intensely smarting from their burns, the boys replenished the cans of water—for they still had a two miles’ run through the smother of smoke—and lifted the car onto the main-line rails.
As they did so, from far to the west came a whistle.
“A train! Can’t we stop her?” suggested Jack.
“They’d never see us in the smoke.”
“Then, say, let us throw the old car across the tracks, so they’ll strike it. They would probably stop to see what it was.”
“It might derail her. No. I’ve got it. Come on, and get the car started so she’ll cross the bridge, and I’ll explain.”
“Now,” said Jack, as they rolled out on the trestle.
“You remember the steep grade just over the bridge? Well, we’ll stop about fifty yards this side, wait till the train whistles the last crossing, then hit it up for all we are worth, and—”
“And let the train catch us?” cried Jack. “But, gracious! won’t that be taking an awful chance?”
“No, for she won’t be going very fast, on account of the curve at the bottom, and we’ll be going like a house afire,” declared Alex, confidently. “And when she bunts us, we’ll jump for her cow-catcher, and five minutes later we’ll be out in the glorious fresh air again.”
CLOSER CAME THE ROARING MONSTER.
CLOSER CAME THE ROARING MONSTER.
“Well, all right. If you are willing to take the risk, I am,” said Jack.
They reached the spot designated by Alex, and brought the car to a stand.
Again came the whistle of the train. “Ready!” cried Alex. “The next time!”
It came. Like sprinters they threw themselves at the car, and in a few strides were racing down the rails at full speed; reached the head of the grade, and sprang over the tail-board just as the train rumbled onto the bridge.
Downward they shot, gaining momentum at every turn of the wheels.
“Whe-ew! But we’re taking an awful chance,” said Jack, nervously.
“No. Listen to her brakes,” said Alex.
Despite his assurance, when, a moment later, the great engine suddenly appeared out of the smoke and came thundering down upon them, Alex faltered, and, with Jack, nervously clutched the sides of the little car. But dashing on unrestrained, they yet further increased their mad speed, and for a few seconds seemed even to be holding their own with the mighty mogul.
Then the great engine began eating up the distance between them, and the boys gathered themselves together for the supreme moment.
Closer came the roaring monster. “Now, don’t jump,” cautioned Alex, who had regained his nerve. “Wait until she is just going to hit us, then fall forward and grab the brace—that rod there.
“Here she comes! Ready!Now!”
With a jolt the engine hit the car, and in an instant the boys fell forward, grasped a smoke-box brace, and in another moment had scrambled to the top of the cow-catcher.
And they were safe!
When, ten minutes later, the train came to a standstill at Bixton, the engineer suddenly felt his hair rise on end as two wildly unkempt and blackened figures appeared slowly dismounting from the front of his engine, and stumbled across the station platform. But the shout of joy which greeted them told they were no ghosts.
“Although I think we weren’t far from it, were we, Jack?” said Alex, at home a few minutes after, when his mother made a similar comparison.
“I hope I’ll not be as near it again for a long time to come,” said Jack, earnestly.
VIIITHE SECRET TELEGRAM
“Alex, will you work for me three or four hours to-night?” requested the Bixton night operator of Alex one evening late in October. “I have just had an invitation to a surprise party at Brodies’, and wouldn’t care to miss it.”
Alex agreed willingly. “I’ll be right in line then for the latest news of the chase,” he declared. For an attempt had been made that morning to rob the Farmers’ Savings Bank at Zeisler, a posse had been sent from Bixton to aid in the pursuit of the robbers, and reports from the hunt were being anxiously looked for.
“Take care you don’t get in line for any bullets,” laughed the operator as he left. “It’s your weakness, you know, to get mixed up in any excitement that’s going on within a mile of you.”
To Alex’s disappointment hour after hour passed, however, and brought no further word, either of the pursued, or the pursuers. Finally, just before midnight, hearing Zeisler “come in” on the wire to report the passing of a freight, Alex reached for the key, determined to inquire.
As he did so footsteps sounded on the silent platform without, the waiting-room door opened, and two strangers appeared at the ticket-window. Glancing in, they turned to the office door, and entered.
“Hello, youngster,” said the taller of the two, cordially, leaning over the parcel-counter. “What’s the news from the man-hunt?”
“I was going to ask Zeisler just as you came in,” replied Alex, turning again to the key.
“Well, never mind, then. Just tell them they were captured here, instead.”
“What! Captured here?” exclaimed Alex.
“That’s it. About an hour ago, just north, by the Bloomsbury posse. Sheriff O’Brien sent us down with the news, so you could send word up and down the line and call in the other posses. No need of them plugging around all night.”
But, instead of complying, Alex suddenly turned more fully toward the two men. “What posse did you say you were with?”
“Bloomsbury! Bloomsbury!” said the smaller man, impatiently.
“Bloomsbury! Don’t you mean Bloomsburg?”
“Well, what thundering difference—” The taller man flashed a warning gesture, and in an instant Alex understood.
He was face to face with the bank robbers themselves!
For a moment he stared from one to the other in consternation. Then, sharply recovering himself, heturned quickly back to the key. But he was too late. He had betrayed his discovery.
Both men laughed. “Your surmise is correct, my young friend,” said the taller man, lightly. “We are the gentlemen who were forced to leave Zeisler so hurriedly this morning.
“But don’t let that make any difference,” he continued, producing a revolver and placing it significantly on the counter before him. “Go right ahead with the message.
“Or wait, give me a blank, and I’ll write it, so you will be sure to have it right.”
“Oh, hold on,” interposed his companion. “Now that he knows who we are, how do you know he will send the message as you write it, and not just the other thing—give us away?”
The first speaker threw down his pen. “Well, I’m an idiot. That’s so.”
He thought a moment, then, turning toward Alex, eyed him sharply an instant, and said: “Youngster, I’ll give you a dollar a word if you will give me your solemn promise to send this message just as I write it.”
A bare instant Alex hesitated, while the tempter whispered that it would mean thirty or forty dollars for a few minutes’ work, and that everyone would take it for granted he had been compelled to send it. Then abruptly he leaned back in his chair and shook his head. “I couldn’t do it,” he said quietly but positively.
“Oh, you couldn’t, eh, Goody-goody?” exclaimed the smaller man, with a snarl, catching up the revolver and pointing it at Alex’s head. “Now could you do it?”
The taller man caught his arm. “Don’t be a fool, Jake. After all, we couldn’t be sure he wasn’t fooling us even if he took the money.
“Look here, I have a scheme.”
They stepped back and spoke together in low tones for a moment; then the taller turned again to Alex, who meantime had remained quiet in his chair, futilely endeavoring to think of some means of spreading the alarm.
“I suppose you are not the only operator at this station, kid?”
“No; there is a day and a night operator. I am only ‘subbing’ for the night man,” responded Alex, wondering.
“Where is he?”
“At a party.”
“Where is the day man?”
“At his boarding-house. But you couldn’t get either of them to do it,” Alex declared confidently, thinking he had caught the drift of their purpose.
“Never mind what we could or what we couldn’t. Where does the day operator board? Is it far?”
Momentarily Alex had a mind to refuse to tell; then, on the thought that suspicion might be aroused if one of the robbers went to rout the day man out,he replied, “About a quarter of a mile,” and described how the house could be reached.
Again the two men held a whispered consultation, and at its conclusion the smaller man hurriedly left.
“Now I suppose you are wondering what we propose doing with the day operator,” said the tall man, with a grin, when they were alone. “Well, it’s so good I think I’ll tell you. One of the cleverest getaway schemes you ever heard of, and my own idea. Can you guess?”
Alex shook his head. “If it’s not to send the message—and which I know he won’t—I don’t know.”
The robber laughed. “You are going to send the message, and he is going to stand just outside the door here and tell us letter by letter just what you make the instruments say. See?”
Alex uttered an exclamation. And, strange as it may seem, it was not entirely of chagrin, for the striking originality and ingenuity of the plan immediately appealed to his own peculiar genius for getting over difficulties.
“And then,” continued the talkative safe-breaker, “we will tie you both in your chairs, cut the wires, then flag the night express, and depart for the East like respectable citizens, and by the time you have been found and the wires restored we will be well out of danger.
“Now, I claim there is some class to that scheme. What?”
Despite himself, Alex could not forbear a smile, even while he at once saw that to defeat the plan would be almost an impossibility. Nevertheless, as the bank robber turned his attention to a time-table, Alex determinedly addressed his wits to the problem.
Presently, as he sat looking at the telegraph instruments for an inspiration, he started. That last First of April joke he had played on his father! The cut-off arrangement of wires was still in place beneath the instrument table! Could he not use it?
He determined to see whether the connections were still in order. Fortunately he was sitting close to the table, with his feet beneath. Making a move as though tired of his position, he crossed one foot over the other, and sank a little lower in the chair. Then, the change having brought no comment from the man at the counter, he carefully reached out the upper foot, found the two wires and pressed them together. Immediately came a click from the instruments.
It was in working order! With hope Alex at once addressed himself to its possibilities, and soon a suggestion came. “Yes, I believe I could do it,” he told himself with satisfaction. “I’ll make a try anyway. So much for never giving up.”
At that moment the footfalls of the returning robber and those of another sounded on the platform without. Both men were talking, and as they entered the waiting-room Alex heard the evidently still unsuspecting Jones say: “Funny, though. I never heard of the boy being troubled with his heart before.”
“COME ON! COME ON!” EXCLAIMED THE MAN IN THEDOORWAY.
“COME ON! COME ON!” EXCLAIMED THE MAN IN THEDOORWAY.
The next moment Jones’s casual tones changed to a sharp cry of fright, and Alex knew that the robber had revealed himself. “Now you keep your tongue between your teeth, and do exactly what you are told, young man, or you get this! You understand?
“Now turn about—your back toward the office door—so.” The door was flung open, and the robber appeared standing sideways, his gun in his hand, pointing at the day operator, who was just out of Alex’s sight.
“Now what you are to do is to read off letter by letter what this young shaver in here sends on the wire. You are a tab on him. You understand?”
In a trembling voice Jones responded in the affirmative.
“And the first one of you who appears to do anything not straight and aboveboard gets daylight through his head,” he added, raising his voice for Alex’s benefit. Then, addressing his partner, he said: “Give the kid the message, Bill.”
The tall man leaned over the counter and tossed the blank on the table before Alex.
“Who will I send it to first?” asked Alex.
“The sheriff, Watson Siding.”
“All right. But first, you know, I have to call him,” explained Alex, somewhat nervously, now that the critical moment had come. “His call is WS.”
Therewith he began slowly calling, that Jones might read off each letter as he sent it, “WS, WS, WS, BX.”
“WS, WS—”
“I, I,” answered WS.
“WS answers,” interpreted Jones.
Steadying himself with a deep breath, Alex proceeded to carry out his plan. Carefully reaching forth with his foot beneath the table, he pressed the two wires together, then loudly clicked his key. The instruments, thus “cut out,” of course failed to respond.
“The wire appears to have opened,” announced Jones. “Probably the man at WS has opened his key while getting a blank or a pen.”
Again Alex clicked the key as though in a futile effort to send, then leaving it open, thus holding the instruments on the table “dead,” began ticking his foot against the impromptu key beneath the table.
And while the instruments at Bixton remained momentarily silent, the surprised operator at Watson Siding read in draggy but decipherable signals the words:
“Read every other word.”
“Come on! Come on!” exclaimed the man in the doorway, turning suspiciously. Immediately Alex withdrew his foot and closed the key, and at the resulting audible click Jones announced: “The wire has closed. He can send now.”
“All right. Come ahead,” commanded the short man, impatiently.
Then very deliberately, with a pause after each word, seemingly to enable Jones to interpret, but really to give himself time to send another word, unheard,beneath the table, Alex sent on the key, and Jones read aloud, the following message:
“Sheriff,“Watson Siding:“Safe-blowers have been captured near here. Call in your posse.“(Signed) O’Brien,“Sheriff Quigg County.”
“Sheriff,
“Watson Siding:
“Safe-blowers have been captured near here. Call in your posse.
“(Signed) O’Brien,“Sheriff Quigg County.”
“(Signed) O’Brien,
“Sheriff Quigg County.”
What the at first puzzled and then thunderstruck operator at Watson Siding read off his instrument ran very differently. It read:
“Safe THEY blowers ARE have HERE been IN captured STATION near INTEND here. GOING call OUT in BY your NIGHT posse. EXPRESS.“(Signed) ’PHONE O’Brien, “BACK Sheriff HERE Quigg QUICK County.”
“Safe THEY blowers ARE have HERE been IN captured STATION near INTEND here. GOING call OUT in BY your NIGHT posse. EXPRESS.
“(Signed) ’PHONE O’Brien, “BACK Sheriff HERE Quigg QUICK County.”
A moment after giving his “OK” the Watson Siding operator was at the telephone calling for Bixton central.
Meantime, having thus sent the message to WS to the bank-breakers’ satisfaction, Alex proceeded to call and send it by turns to Zeisler, Hammerton, and other stations on the line. Sending slowly, to make the most of his time, it was within fifteen minutes of the hour the express was due when Alex had sent the last of the messages.
“Now you can step in and see your friend,” said the man in the doorway, addressing Jones, who appeared, white and trembling, and coming behind the counter, dropped into a chair facing Alex. The speaker then once more disappeared, and presently an opening click of the instruments told the nature of his errand. The wires had been cut.
He soon returned, and rummaging about, while the taller man stood guard over them, he found some ropes, and proceeded to bind Alex and the day operator tightly in their chairs.
Just as the task was completed there came a long-drawn whistle from the west. Both robbers promptly turned to the door. “Well, good night, gentlemen,” said the smaller, grimly. “Much obliged for your kind services.”
“And I would just pause to repeat,” said the taller, jocosely, “that there is some class to this getaway scheme, should any one ask you. Good night.”
“Yes, there is class—but it isn’t first!”
Uttering a cry the two bank robbers staggered back from the door, and with a bound the deputy sheriff and a constable were upon them, bore them to the floor, and after a brief but terrific struggle disarmed and handcuffed them.
“Yes,” said the sheriff, rising, and with his knife quickly freeing the two prisoners, “there was class to it, but it wassecond.
“Our young friend here takes ‘first.’”
“HOW DID YOU DO IT, SMARTY?” SNAPPED THE SHORTER MAN.
“HOW DID YOU DO IT, SMARTY?” SNAPPED THE SHORTER MAN.
The robbers turned upon Alex with furiously flashing eyes. “How did you do it, smarty?” snapped the shorter man.
Alex laughed, kicked one foot beneath the table, and the instrument responded with a click. “A little First of April trick. What do you think of it?”
Whatever the two renegades might have said through their gritting teeth, there was no doubt as to what the sheriff and the others thought. Nor the bank officials at Zeisler, when, a day later, there came to Alex a highly commendatory letter and a check for two hundred dollars.
But better even than this, in Alex’s estimation, a few mornings after the chief despatcher called him to the wire and announced his appointment as night operator at Foothills, a small town on the western division.
IXJACK PLAYS REPORTER, WITH UNEXPECTED RESULTS
Not long after Alex left Bixton to take up his duties at Foothills, Jack, at Hammerton, also received an advancement. In itself it was not of particular note, beyond an encouraging increase in salary, and a transfer from the day to the night force; but indirectly it resulted in an experience more thrilling than any Jack’s genius for tackling adventurous difficulties had yet brought him.
Wheeling by the office of the “Daily Star” one afternoon, he heard his name called, and turned his head to discover West, the reporter with whom he had made the memorable Oakton trip, hastening after him.
“Just the man I was looking for, Jack,” declared West, as the young operator wheeled to the curb. “I have a job for you.
“How would you like to tackle a bit of Black Hand investigation?”
Jack laughed. “You don’t mean it.”
“I certainly do. It’s this way,” went on the reporter, lowering his voice. “A Black Hand letter demanding money was received last week by TommySpanelli, of the Italian restaurant. It was mailed here; and we have the tip that last evening two foreigners were seen stealing across the old quarry turnpike, and into the woods, as though not wishing to be seen. Of course they may not be connected with this at all, but again they may; and I was put on the job to find out. The difficulty is that I am too well known. If they caught sight of me, they would be suspicious immediately.
“But they would never suspect a lad like you,” West proceeded; “and I know you could carry anything through that came along. So will you run out there and investigate for me?”
“Why, certainly. But just what shall I do?” Jack asked.
“Wheel up and down the quarry turnpike for an hour or so, then, if you have seen no one, beat around through the woods as far as the old stone quarry. And any foreigners you come upon, take a good look at. That’s all. And drop in at the office here in the morning, and report.”
“That’s easy. All right,” agreed Jack readily.
“Thank you. And keep the matter quiet, you know,” West added. “We want an exclusive story for the ‘Star’ if anything comes of it.”
“I understand. And, say,” said Jack as he turned away, “I’ll take my camera, too. I may be able to get a snap of them, if I see anyone.”
“Good idea. A picture would help to land them, if they are the fellows we want; and we could runit in the paper with our story. Go ahead, Jack, and good luck.”
Jack was not long in wheeling home and securing his folding Brownie; and a half hour later found him pedalling slowly along the quarry road near the point several miles from the city where the suspicious foreigners had been seen to enter the woods.
An hour passed, however, and he had seen no doubtful characters, and finally dismounting at the entrance to a path he knew to lead toward the old stone quarry, Jack concealed his wheel in a thicket, and set off to make an investigation in that direction.
A moment after he came to a halt with a sharp exclamation. In the path at his feet lay a murderous-looking stiletto. Picking it up, he examined it. Yes; it was of foreign make. And the still damp mud stains on the side of the blade which had lain uppermost showed it had been but recently dropped.
Apprehensively Jack cast a glance about him, almost immediately to utter a second suppressed exclamation. Emerging from the woods on the opposite side of the road was a short, dark man—undoubtedly an Italian.
With beating heart Jack watched him. Was he one of the men he was looking for?
In the middle of the road the stranger halted, looked sharply to right and left, and came quickly forward. Darting from the path Jack threw himself on the ground behind a bush, and the next moment the man hurriedly passed him. He was soon out of sight, andrising, Jack placed the dagger carefully in an inside pocket, and determinedly set off after.
Half a mile he followed the Italian amid the trees. Then there appeared the light of an opening, and going forward more carefully, Jack found himself on the edge of the quarry clearing. The foreigner was hurrying along the brink of the excavation, evidently heading for a small tumble-down cabin at its farther end.
The man reached the shanty, and knocked. To Jack’s surprise the door was opened by a negro.
Wonder at this was quickly forgotten, however, for as the door closed from the woods behind Jack came the sound of voices, then an ejaculation in Italian. A moment Jack stood, in consternation, believing he had been seen. But a glance showed that the owners of the voices were yet out of sight beyond a rise, and recalling his wits, Jack ran for a nearby clump of elders.
The voices came quickly nearer. Suddenly then, for the first time Jack recalled the camera. At once came the suggestion to get a snap of the newcomers as they stepped into the clearing.
Jack glanced about him. A short distance away, and but a few feet from the path, was a low, tent-like spruce. With instant decision he made for it, drawing the camera from his pocket as he ran.
Dropping to his knees, he wormed his way beneath the tree, and through to the opposite side. Finding an aperture commanding the exit of the path, he openedand focused the camera upon it. The next moment the two Italians appeared. For the fraction of a second Jack hesitated, fearing the click of the shutter might betray him. But he took the chance, there was a crisp, low click—and he had them, and they had passed on.
Chuckling with delight, Jack crept forth. What next? Looking toward the shanty, he again saw the door opened by the negro. This decided him. Replacing the camera in his pocket, he set off on a circuit through the trees that would bring him back to the clearing immediately opposite the shanty, determined if possible to reach it, and learn what was going on inside.
Without incident he made the point desired, and gazing from the cover of a bush, discovered with satisfaction that the two hundred yards separating him from his goal was dotted with small bushy spruce. More important still, on that side of the cabin were no windows.
Stooping, Jack was about to steal forth, when he paused with a new idea. It came from a stray piece of wrapping-paper lying on the ground before him.
Why couldn’t he conceal the camera in this paper, with a string tied to the shutter; approach the house, knock, ask some question, and secretly snap whoever opened the door?
To think was to decide, and at once he set about preparations. Finding some cord in a pocket, he first deadened the click of the shutter with a thread of thestring, and secured a piece of it to the shutter trigger. Carefully then he wrapped the camera, open, in the paper, and with his knife cut a small hole opposite the lens, and a second and smaller hole beneath. Through the latter he fished out the trigger-string—and the detective camera was complete.
Without delay Jack adjusted the parcel under his arm, holding the trigger-string in his fingers, and strode boldly forward toward the shanty. He reached it, approached the door, and knocked. From within came the sound of voices, then a heavy step. Drawing the string taut Jack moved back several paces, and pointed the opening in the package at the door.
But success was not to come too easily. The latch lifted, and the door opened only a few inches, barely showing the eyes and flat nose of the negro.
“W’at yo’ want?” he demanded.
“Would you please tell me the way out to the road?” said Jack steadily.
The negro regarded him sharply a moment, then opening the door barely sufficient to reach out a hand, pointed toward the woods, and said gruffly, “Yo’ see dat broke tree? Right out dah.”
“Which one? I see two,” declared Jack, coolly.
Impatiently the negro threw the door wide, stepped out, and pointed again. In an instant Jack had pulled the string, and from the parcel had come a soft “thugk!” “Thank you, sir,” said Jack, turning away, and inwardly chuckling at the double meaning of the words. “Thank you.”
“But look aheah, boy,” added the colored man threateningly, “doan yo’ be prowlin’ roun’ heah! Un’stan’?”
“No fear. I’ll be glad when I’m away,” responded Jack, again secretly laughing, and headed for the woods, the negro watching him until he was half way across the clearing.
Once more in the shelter of the trees, Jack determined to follow up his success by endeavoring to discover just what was taking place at the cabin. Hiding the camera in a convenient brush-heap, he made sure all was quiet, and again stole forth. Slipping quickly from shrub to shrub, he safely made the crossing, and came to a halt at the rear of the shanty.
To his ears came the sound of voices in subdued discussion. They were so muffled, however, that he could distinguish nothing, and recalling a partly open window at the front, he went forward to the corner, peered cautiously about, and tiptoed to within a few feet of it.
At once the voices came to him plainly.
“You gotta dat?”
“Stan’ in doo’way, hat in yo’ han’, upside down,” responded the colored man’s gruff voice.
Wondering, Jack drew nearer.
“At halfa da past two by da beeg clock,” continued the first speaker.
There was a pause, and the negro repeated, “At half pas’ two by dah city clock, shahp.”
Suddenly it came to Jack. At the dictation of theItalian, the negro was writing a “Black Hand” letter—ordering one of their victims to display some signal to show that the demand for money would be complied with!
The Italian’s next sentence left no further doubt. “If you no giva da sign, you deada man by seex clock.”
At the words, and the fierceness with which they were uttered, Jack felt a chill run up his spine. Had he followed his immediate impulse he would have fled. But determining to learn if possible who the letter was for, he waited.
“What numbah?” asked the negro.
“Feefity-nine Main.”
The Italian restaurant! Another letter to Spanelli! The men he was after!
Jack waited to hear no more, but tiptoeing back about the corner, was off for the woods, jubilant at his success.
Indeed Jack was over jubilant—so jubilant that he forgot the necessity of caution, made a short cut across an open space in full view of the shanty, and half way was brought to a sudden realization of his mistake by the creak of an opening door. In consternation he at once saw he could not reach cover before being seen, and also that did he run, the Black-Handers would understand they had been discovered.
With quick presence of mind he recognized and instantly did the one thing possible. Turning, heheaded back boldly for the cabin. The next instant the three Italians came into view, immediately discovered him, and halted. Secretly trembling, but with a cool front, Jack approached them as they stood, excitedly whispering.
“Would you kindly tell me the time?” he asked.
The three men exchanged glances, then, as at a signal, stepped forward and surrounded him. “Now, whata you want?” demanded one of them sharply, thrusting his dark face close to Jack’s. Before Jack could repeat his question the shanty door opened and the negro appeared. Exclaiming angrily, he ran toward them.
“W’at he want? W’at he want now?” he demanded.
“He say, whata da time,” repeated one of the Italians.
“W’at de time? He am a spy! A spy!” cried the negro. “In de house with him!” Jack sprang back, and turned to run. With a rush the negro and one of the foreigners were upon him, and despite his terrified struggles he was dragged bodily into the shanty. There they flung him heavily into a chair, and gathered menacingly about him.
“Now boy, w’at yo’ spyin’ roun’ heah fo’? Eh?” demanded the negro fiercely.
Instinctively Jack opened his lips to deny the charge, but closed them, and remained in dogged silence. Despite his peril, he felt he could not tell a deliberate falsehood. The negro repeated the question.
“I simply asked them the time,” said Jack evasively.
With a snarl one of the foreigners caught him by the shoulders and yanked him upright. “Tie heem!” he directed, and roughly two of the others drew Jack’s hands behind him, and bound them with a cord. As one of the Italians then proceeded to tie a handkerchief about his ankles, Jack barely suppressed a cry of fright. But grimly he clenched his teeth, and not a sound escaped him as the negro then caught him up, carried him across the room, kicked open a door, and threw him upon the floor within.
For a few minutes Jack lay dazed, then turning on his side, he looked about him. By the dim light of a dusty window he saw he was in a small, roughly furnished bedroom. Before he had taken in further particulars, however, a sound of heated discussion in the outer room drew his attention.
“No, no! We can’t taka da chance!” came the voice of one of the Italians. “Not wid dat boy!”
Filled anew with terror Jack struggled to a sitting position and began straining desperately at his bonds. A moment’s effort caused his heart to sink. The knots were as taut as though made of wire.
Determinedly he continued to strain and pull, however, and presently, losing his balance, he rolled over on his side, and something hard pressed into his chest.
The dagger he had picked up! Quickly he saw the possibility of using it. Working again into a sittingposition, he bent low and sought to reach inside his coat and seize the hilt of the knife with his teeth. But as often as he reached, the coat swung, and the hilt evaded him.
Jack was not to be beaten, however. Getting to his knees, he bent far over, until his head almost touched the floor, and fell vigorously to shaking himself. At the second effort the dagger slipped out to the floor. Quickly then he got a firm hold on the end of the handle with his teeth, struggled again to a sitting position, drew his knees up as far as possible, and bending low between them, began stabbing at the handkerchief about his ankles with the point of the weapon.
At the first attempt the knife barely touched the handkerchief. He tried again, and just reached it. Throwing his head far back, to gain momentum, he lunged forward with all his strength. The keen point struck the linen squarely, there was a rip and tear—and his feet were free.
As the severed handkerchief fell from his ankles, the dagger, slipping from Jack’s teeth, clattered to the floor. But the noisy discussion still going on without prevented its being heard; and promptly Jack turned to the problem of freeing his hands.
As they were tied behind him, this promised to be far more difficult. Indeed Jack’s courage was beginning to fail him, when the method of freeing his ankles suggested a possibility. At once he essayed it. Rising to a kneeling position, he strained at his wristsfor several minutes, then, bending far over, began working his hands down beneath him.
It seemed as though they would never come, and again and again he had to pause for breath. Desperately he continued, and suddenly at last they slipped, and were under him, directly below his knees.
Throwing himself over on his side, he once more grasped the dagger hilt in his teeth, and as he lay, carefully aimed the point between his legs at the cord about his wrists, and gave a quick, hard thrust. At the first blow he struck the cord fairly, but only half severed the strand. Again he lunged, and the next moment he was free.
The heated debate was still in progress in the outer room, and nearly exhausted though he was, Jack immediately scrambled to his feet and tiptoed to the window. To his joy he discovered it was made of a sliding frame, only fastened by a loosely-driven nail. It required but a few minutes’ work to remove this, and very cautiously he began sliding the window back.
Half way it went easily, without noise. Then it stuck. Carefully Jack put his shoulder to it. Suddenly, without warning, it gave, then stopped with a jar, and to his horror a broken pane shot from the frame and fell clattering to the floor.
From the other room came a shout and a rush of feet. In desperation Jack stepped back, and with a run fairly dove at the opening. His head and shoulders passed through, then he stuck. Behind him thedoor flew open. With a desperate wriggle he struggled through, and fell in a heap to the ground just as the negro reached the window and made a wild lunge for him. The next moment Jack was on his feet and off across the clearing like a hare.
The four lawbreakers were quickly out of the house in full chase. Presently there was the report of a pistol, and a shrill “wheeeu” just over Jack’s head. Ducking instinctively, but with grimly set lips, he rushed on. Again came the whine of a bullet, and again. With a final sprint Jack reached the cover of the woods in safety, darted to the brush-pile and recovered his camera, and on, straight through the trees for the spot at which he had hidden his wheel.
Love of outdoor life and sports now stood Jack in good stead. Despite the exhausting efforts of his escape, and the hard running amid the trees, over trunks and through undergrowth, he kept on at the top of his speed, and finally reached the road ahead of the nearest of his pursuers.
Rushing for his wheel, he dragged it forth, and quickly had it on the road. Not a moment too soon. As he sprang into the saddle there was a shout and a crash of bushes but a few feet from him. But throwing all his weight on the pedals, he shot away, and a moment after sped about a bend in the road—and was safe.
Jack would not have been a real boy had there not been considerable pride in his voice when, entering the “Star” office the following morning, he handedWest, the reporter, two small photographs, neatly mounted, and said:
“Here are the pictures, Mr. West.”
West sprang to his feet. “No! Great! Splendid!” he cried. “How did you do it, Jack?
“But here—” Pushing Jack into a chair, he dropped back into his own, and caught up a pencil. “Give me the whole story, from beginning to end. If the police round up these fellows this morning we will run it in to-day’s edition.”
This, with the aid of Jack’s snap-shots, the police did, capturing the entire band; and that afternoon’s edition of the “Star” carried a two-column story of Jack’s adventure with the Black-Handers, which, with the pictures, made what West declared “the biggest story of a month of Sundays.”