JED HOPKINS, PHŒNIX
For an instant, Allan stared stupidly at those red tongues of flame, licking merrily about the door—then, in a flash, he understood, and his pulses seemed to stop. The robbers had set fire to the station! It was in this way they proposed to get rid of the evidences of a crime far more serious than robbery. And thus, too, they hoped to get rid of the only witness of that crime not implicated in it—and then Allan remembered—it was not the robbers, it was Dan Nolan who had left him here to die—Nolan who had been told to place him in safety, and who had pretended to do so! He remembered Nolan’s last words, the chuckle which had accompanied them,—all this passed lightning-like through the boy’s mind, as a drowning man, in the moment before he loses consciousness, sees before him his whole life, in a kind of wonderful and fearful panorama.
And, indeed, Allan was as near death as any drowning man—and a death infinitely more horrible. Only for a breath did he lie there passive,staring at the flames; then he strained and tugged at his bonds, regardless of torn flesh, of bleeding wrists, of aching muscles, but the knots held firmly. Finally, still tight to the chair, he managed to turn upon his hands and knees and to drag himself, inch by inch, toward the door which opened into the waiting-room. Would he reach it in time? He scarcely dared hope so, for the other door was crackling and smoking, threatening every instant to burst into a sheet of flame.
Hedidreach it, somehow, and raised himself to turn the knob and open it, when from behind him there came a blood-curdling yell, the smoking door burst open and a frantic apparition plunged through the sheet of flame, snatched open the other door before which Allan crouched, and, catching the boy by the collar as it passed, hurled itself on across the waiting-room and through the outer door to safety. There it dropped the boy heavily beside the track, and threw itself into a pool of muddy water, left by the rain of the evening before. In this it wallowed and rolled, as though enjoying the utmost luxury of the bath, and Allan, watching it, began to fancy it some kind of monstrous amphibian.
But at last the monster rose, shook itself, and a hoarse voice issued from it.
“Thought they had Jed Hopkins, did they? Shoot him an’ burn him—bound t’ git him some way! Not this time, gentlemen! Oh, no, not this time,” and Jed rubbed his hand over his head, leavinghimself almost bald, for his hair had been scorched off.
He stood an instant watching the flames. Then he remembered Allan, and strode toward him.
“Hello, kid,” he said. “What’d they do to you?”
The gag prevented Allan from uttering more than a hoarse grunt by way of answer.
Jed stooped down and looked at him more closely.
“Gagged, by gum!” he said, and reaching around behind the boy’s head, had the gag loose in a moment. “Not dead, eh?” he asked.
“No,” answered Allan, smiling despite his wounds. “Only knocked up a little.”
“An’ tied up, too,” added Jed, seeing the ropes for the first time. “I thought there was something queer about you when I dragged you out, but I didn’t hev time t’ stop an’ inquire what it was. There you are,” and he drew a knife from his pocket and severed the ropes. “Kin you stand up?”
He helped the boy to his feet, and after a moment of uncertainty, the latter was able to stand alone.
“Oh, I guess you ain’t much hurt,” said Jed, cheerfully. “Where’d all this gore come from?” and he indicated the boy’s shirt, the front of which was fairly soaked with blood.
“From my nose,” answered Allan, smiling again.
“Oh, that’s good fer ye!” Jed assured him. “Banged you on th’ nose, did they? Break it?”
“I don’t know,” and Allan touched it tenderly. “It’s pretty sore.”
“Let’s see,” said Jed, and seizing the swollen organ, he wiggled it back and forth, not regarding the boy’s pained protest. “No, it ain’t broke,” he announced, after a moment. “Hurt any place else?”
“I think not,” Allan replied, feeling himself all over. “Nothing more than a few bruises, at least. But aren’tyouhurt? I thought you were dead.”
Jed passed his hand over his head again, and laughed.
“So did that feller who put his pistol to my head an’ pulled th’ trigger,” he said. “You see, they all piled on me so that it wasn’t fer some time I could git an arm loose an’ git my gun out.”
“I thought the station was coming down,” Allan remarked, “from the noise you made. It felt like an earthquake.”
“Yes, wedidbump around considerable. Well, when I got my gun out, I jest fired it into th’ air sort o’ haphazard, an’ winged one o’ them.”
“Through the hand; it was he who shot at you.”
“He didn’t take no chance,” said Jed. “He made a lucky kick in th’ dark an’ caught me right on th’ wrist an’ knocked th’ pistol clean out o’ my hand. Then I felt th’ cold muzzle of a revolver pressin’ agin my head, an’ I reckoned Jed Hopkins’s time was up. Then I didn’t know no more till th’ fire begun t’ burn one hand, an’ that woke me up.”
“But how does it come you weren’t killed?”
“Mebbe my skull’s too thick fer a ordinary pistol-ball t’ make a hole in. But I remember jerkin’ my head away, an’ I reckon th’ ball hit me a kind o’ glance blow, jest enough t’ stun me. You kin see how it parted my hair fer me.”
He held down his head, and Allan saw, furrowed in the scalp, a raw and bleeding wound.
“If you happen t’ have a handkercher in yer pocket,” Jed added, “mebbe you’d better tie it up till I have time t’ git it sewed t’gether.”
Allan got out his handkerchief and tenderly bandaged the wound as well as he was able.
“I reckon I’ll be bald fer quite awhile,” remarked Jed, when that operation was finished. “You see, my hat was knocked off in th’ scuffle, an’ my hair was jest ketchin’ fire. I reckon I didn’t come to any too soon.”
“Well,” said Allan, “I’m glad you came to when you did, not only for your sake, but for my own. You saved my life, too, you know.”
“Oh, shucks!” Jed protested. “Not a bit of it. You’d ’a’ got out all right. But I’m wastin’ time. I’ve got t’ hike away on th’ trail o’ them robbers. Hello! Here comes help!”
The station was by this time almost wholly in flames, which shot high into the air and were reflected on the clouds. The light had been observed in the village and everybody turned out of bed, awakened by the shouts, and started for the sceneof the fire. The volunteer fire company, which possessed an antiquated hand-pump engine, got it out and yanked it along over the muddy road, although, if they had stopped to think, they would have known that there was no available water within reach of the station. However, at such a time, very few people do stop to think. It was, perhaps, a just punishment for their thoughtlessness that the members of the fire company were forced to tug the heavy engine back to the village by themselves, after the fire was over,—the populace, which had been only too eager to pull at the ropes on the outward trip, utterly refusing to lay a hand to them on the way back.
At the end of fifteen minutes, the station was surrounded by a seething mass of people, who understood imperfectly what had happened and applied their imaginations to supplying the details. It was Jed Hopkins who, in spite of his blistered face and scorched head, took the leadership and selected twenty men to form a posse to pursue the robbers. And just as this ceremony was completed, the midnight train pulled in and nearly a score of armed men leaped off, headed by the sheriff of Athens County.
He explained his presence in a moment. The dispatcher at Wadsworth, immediately upon receiving Allan’s warning, had called up the sheriff at Athens, told him of the robbery, and asked him to swear in a body of deputies and proceed to the sceneon the first train. He had also wisely concluded that where there had been so much fighting, there were doubtless some wounds to dress, and the company’s surgeon, armed with lint, bandages, and what not, had come down from Athens with the posse.
He set to work at once dressing the injuries which Allan and Jed Hopkins had sustained; while two linemen, who had come by the same train, started in to straighten out the tangle of wires and reestablish telegraphic communication. The operator who was to relieve Allan was also on the train, so the boy was free to return home, when he wished.
But he had no such intention.
“I’m going along,” he announced to Jed, as that worthy emerged, his head elaborately bandaged, from under the hands of the surgeon.
“All right, kid,” Jed agreed, good-naturedly. “Kin you ride?”
“Not very well; but I’ll manage to stick on.”
“Sure you kin stand it?” and Jed looked at him thoughtfully.
“If I can’t, I’ll drop out.”
“Well, come along; you were in at th’ beginnin’ an’ it’s no more’n fair you should be in at th’ end. Besides, you’ll be useful identifyin’ suspects. You’re th’ only one that seen ’em—they were on me afore I had my eyes open. But I left a mark on one of ’em—that’ll help. You say it went through his hand?”
“Right through his hand, I heard him tell one of the others.”
“Good; that won’t be easy to rub away! Now, men,” Jed went on, “we’ll divide into two parties. You men who come with th’ sheriff are armed, so you kin start at once. Th’ robbers drove off along this road. You start ahead, an’ I’ll go up to th’ mine an’ git arms fer my men an’ as many hosses as I kin find, an’ we’ll come right after you.”
The men murmured assent and started off along the road, the sheriff in the lead.
“But how can they ever catch them?” asked Allan, as he watched them disappear in the darkness.
“Ever hear th’ story of th’ turtle an’ th’ rabbit?” queried Jed.
“Yes—but this rabbit isn’t going to go to sleep.”
“Well, they’ll have t’ sleep sometime. Besides, we’ve got a messenger that kin go a million miles to their one,” and he motioned toward the wires overhead.
“You mean the telegraph?”
“Sure. Th’ fust thing fer you to do is t’ write out th’ best description ye kin of them robbers, an’ have it sent over th’ wire jest as soon as it’s fixed. It ort t’ go to every police station an’ tellygraft office within fifty mile o’ here. By mornin’, every road ort t’ be guarded, and them fellers’ll have to be mighty slick t’ slip through. Meanwhile, wekeep a-follerin’ ’em an’ pushin’ ’em on, an’ purty soon they’re caught between two fires. See?”
Allan nodded. He began to perceive that there was not so much urgency in starting off after the robbers as he had thought. The first thing was to spread the net, and then to drive them into it.
“An’ remember t’ make th’ description as full as ye kin,” added Jed. “Don’t leave out th’ bullet-hole. Every little helps. Ye didn’t happen t’ know any of ’em, did ye?”
“I recognized one of them,” answered Allan, in a low voice, “and I believe I know the others. They’re those convicts who got away from the penitentiary not long ago.”
“Th’ deuce they are!” cried Jed, slapping his thigh. “Oh, this is too easy—this is child’s play! Why, we’ve got ’em sure—every police-station in th’ State has got their photygrafts! Git that off jest as quick as ye kin, an’ then wait fer us here. We’ve got t’ come back this way, from th’ mine, an’ I’ll bring an extry hoss fer you.”
“All right,” agreed Allan, and Jed led his men away into the darkness.
A gasoline torch, hung to one of the telegraph-poles, flared and sputtered above the boy’s head, as he sat down on a rock beside the track to write the description required of him. At the top of the pole, silhouetted against the sky, he could see the linemen labouring to make the connection. The operator had already found an old box, placed it atthe foot of the pole, and screwed his instrument down to it, ready to commence work. Indeed, he had gone farther than that, and attached to the inside of the box a hook for orders—for that box would no doubt represent the Coalville station for some days to come.
Allan got from him a sheet of paper, braced his back against the pole, and began to write, using his knee as a table; he described the men as accurately as he could; then, with compressed lips, he added that in company with the gang was Dan Nolan, a prisoner parolled from the Ohio penitentiary, and that from some words he had overheard, he believed the other men to be the convicts who had escaped from there about a week before. As Jed Hopkins had said, every police-station in the State already had photographs of these men, and it did not seem possible that they could escape the net which this description would draw around them.
Suddenly the instrument on the box began to chatter, and Allan knew the connection had been made. As he read over his description, his ears mechanically caught the first words spelled out on the instrument, and his eyes clouded with sudden tears, for the words were:
“Is West safe?”
“Yes,” the operator answered. “He’s right here writing a description of the robbers.”
“O. K. Let’s have it,” clicked the instrument, and Allan handed the description over.
As he leaned forward, it seemed to him that something burst in his side; there was an instant’s rending pain, which wrung from him an agonized cry; then merciful nature intervened, and he fell back unconscious upon the ground.
HOW THE PLOT WAS LAID
Allan had said in his message that he had recognized Dan Nolan; yet, in the stress of his emotion at the time, the strangeness of Nolan’s appearance under the circumstances had not occurred to him. Yet it was strange; yes, more than strange. Here was Nolan in company with the men whom he had basely betrayed by turning State’s evidence, and apparently received by them again on terms of comradeship. How had they come to forgive him the one offence which criminals never forgive? What was it had turned aside their anger and persuaded them to admit again to their company a man who had been proved a traitor?
The chain of circumstances which led to this result was so peculiar that it is worth pausing a moment to describe.
Nolan had gone south, as Jack Welsh had predicted, after the failure of his attempt to wreck the special and to revenge himself on Allan; but drawn, as Jack had foreseen, by an irresistible attraction, he had gradually worked his way back to the northagain, and, not daring to return to Wadsworth, had finally drifted to Coalville. There, after loitering around the saloons, until they refused admission to so penniless and disreputable a customer, he had secured work as hostler in the company’s stables; where, if the wages were not large, neither was the work exhausting. Here Nolan had remained for some months, believing himself secure from discovery. He slept in a loft at the rear of the stable, and here, one night, he was awakened by a savage grip at his throat. He endeavoured to yell, but as he opened his mouth, something was stuffed into it that muffled the cry, and nearly choked him. Half-dead with fright, he felt himself lifted from the hay, passed down the ladder and borne out into the open air. Then he fainted.
When he opened his eyes, he fancied for a moment that he was dreaming, so weird and uncanny was the picture which confronted him. Black columns towered about him into the darkness overhead, like the pillars of a cathedral, and now and then he caught a glimpse of the ebon ceiling, shining with moisture, which dripped down the pillars to the floor. Just in front of him flickered a little fire, over which a pot was simmering. About the fire were grouped four figures; and as he looked from one to the other of them, Nolan’s senses reeled and his heart quaked, for, by the dancing light of the fire, he recognized the four men whom he had betrayed.
How had they come here? Their terms in prison, he knew, would not end for many years; buried as he was in this hole among the hills, associating only with the dullest and most depraved of human beings, he had heard nothing of their escape. How had they found him? Above all, what did they intend to do with him? He shuddered as he asked himself that last question.
His captors were talking earnestly among themselves, paying no heed to him, but at the end of a moment, one of them arose to examine the contents of the pot, and glancing at Nolan, perceived that his eyes were open.
“Why, hello, Dannie,” he cried, with a sort of unholy glee which frightened Dan more than any threats could have done, “how are ye?”
Dan could find no voice to answer, but the others got up and, moving nearer, sat down before him. Their eyes were shining as a cat’s do when it sees the mouse under its paw. And like the cat, they prepared to put their prey to the torture.
“Well, thisisan unexpected pleasure,” said one.
“So glad to have you as our guest,” said another.
“Yes; we’ve got the spare room ready,” said a third, whereat they all laughed uproariously.
“The spare room—good!”
“A lofty chamber, Dannie; you’ll feel like a king.”
“And sleep like a top!”
“Even if the bed is rather hard.”
And then they all laughed again.
“Yes—and as long as you like! You’re our guest, Dannie. And we’re going to keep you awhile!”
Dan was bathed from head to foot in a cold sweat. He could not guess their meaning, but he knew it boded no good for him.
“We’ve been wanting to see you so bad,” one of the men went on, “ever since you treated us so well at the trial. Pity you couldn’t have held your tongue then, Dannie; you’d have had to stay in jail a little longer, but at least you’d have been alive.”
At last Dan found his tongue.
“You ain’t a-goin’ t’ kill me!” he cried. “You wouldn’t treat an old pal like that!”
“No, no, Dannie!” came the answer, soothingly, “we’re just going to put you in our spare room. Then I’m afraid we’ll have to bid you adieu. You see this State don’t agree with our health very well. We wouldn’t have stayed this long except for the pleasure of seeing you. Ain’t you glad?”
“How’d you know where I was?” Nolan asked.
The man laughed.
“Why, we’ve known where you were ever since you were let out on parole. We heard how you’d tried to wreck another train, and then lighted out for the south; we heard about your roustabouting on the wharves at Mobile, and stealing a case of tobacco from a warehouse and trying to sell it andcoming so near getting pinched that you had to get out of that place in a hurry, and start back north again. Why, we’ve got friends who, at a word from us, would have done for you a dozen times over—they knew what you’d done; but we were reserving that pleasure for ourselves, Daniel. And when we heard that you had stopped here, we decided to pay you a little visit on our way out of the State, and had this place fixed up for us, and here we are. But you don’t look a bit glad to see us!”
Dan, following the speaker with painful attention, caught a glimpse of an underworld whose existence he had never suspected—a confederacy of crime to which he, as a mere novice and outsider, had never been admitted. The one unforgivable crime to this association was to turn traitor, to “peach”—that is, to inform against one’s accomplices in order to escape oneself. That was exactly what Nolan had done, and he was now to pay for it.
The four men, as by a single impulse, rose to their feet, and one of them picked up a coil of rope which lay at the foot of the nearest pillar.
“Get up,” said one of them roughly, to Nolan.
But Nolan was paralyzed by fear, and incapable of movement, for he believed that they were going to hang him.
“Get up,” his captor repeated, and seizing him by the shoulder, jerked him to his feet.
Nolan clutched for support at the pillar againstwhich he had been leaning. He saw now that it was of coal, and he suddenly understood where he was. He had been brought to one of the abandoned workings of the mine; he knew there were many such, and that no one ever ventured into them through fear of the deadly fire-damp which almost always gathers in such neglected levels. And he knew there was no hope of rescue.
“Why, look at the coward!” cried his captor, disgustedly. “He’s as weak as a rag. It’s enough to make a man sick!”
Dan turned a piteous face toward him.
“You—you ain’t goin’ to hang me?” he faltered.
The men burst into a roar of laughter.
“No,” one of them answered, “we’re goin’ to save you from gettin’ hanged, as you certainly would be if we let you go. Really, you ought to thank us.”
Partially reassured, Dan managed to take a few steps forward. After all, they had said they were not going to kill him!
Then he stopped, with a quick gasp of dismay. At his feet yawned a pit, whose depth he could not guess. The torch which one of his captors bore disclosed the black wall below him, dripping with moisture, plunging into absolute and terrifying darkness.
Then Nolan understood. This was the “spare room.”
His teeth were chattering and a sort of hoarse wailing came from his throat, as they slipped the rope under his arms. He was only half-conscious; too weak with terror to resist. He felt himself lifted and swung off over the abyss; his body scraped downward along the rough wall, hundreds of feet, as it seemed to him; the moisture soaked through his clothes and chilled him. At last his feet touched solid ground, but his legs doubled helplessly under him and he collapsed against the wall. He felt the rope drawn from about him; then a kind of stupor fell upon him and for a time he knew no more.
At last he opened his eyes again and looked about him. He thought, at first, that he was sleeping in his loft, and that it was still night. Then he felt the rock at his back, and suddenly remembered all that had happened to him. His throat was dry and parched; his muscles ached, and every particle of strength had left his body. It seemed to him that hours and even days had passed while he lay there unconscious. Really, it had been only a few moments.
He stretched his hands out on either side and felt the rough and dripping wall; then he got uncertainly to his feet, and step by step, advanced along the wall, stumbling, and stopping from time to time all a-tremble with fear and weakness. He kept on and on for perhaps half an hour; the cavern seemed of mammoth proportions, and a new terror seizedhim. Perhaps his captors had not really intended to leave him there to die; perhaps they only wished to frighten him; but if he wandered away into the mine there would be no hope for him.
He turned, and started back again with feverish haste. Suppose they should look for him, and finding him gone, give him up for lost? A dry sobbing choked him, but still he hastened on. And yet, how was he to tell when he had reached the spot to which he had been lowered? Might he not go past it? How was he to know?
He stared upward into the black void above him, but it showed no vestige of light. He raised his voice in a shrill cry, but there was no response except the echo flung back at him by the vault above. And again that convulsive trembling seized him, and he sank limply down against the wall. But whatever manhood he had rallied to his support; that love of life which is the one controlling force of cowardly natures asserted itself and gave him some semblance of self-control. He clasped his head in his hands and tried to think. To find his way back—and then it suddenly occurred to him that he had in his pocket some matches. He fumbled for them eagerly. Perhaps, with their help—
He struck one against the under side of his coat-sleeve, which was comparatively dry. It flared unsteadily, and then burned clearly. For a moment, Nolan was blinded by the flame; then he stared about him, scarcely able to believe his eyes. Foron every side the black walls shut him in. He was at the bottom of a pit, not more than thirty feet in diameter, and he had been walking round and round it, too agitated and stupefied by fear to notice that he was travelling in a circle.
The match sputtered and went out, and Nolan sat for a long time with the stump of it in his fingers. He was evidently at the bottom of a shaft sunk in search of another vein, or, perhaps, of a natural cavity in the rock. Of the height of the walls he could form no estimate, but they were so smooth and straight that ten feet were as impossible to him as a hundred. Decidedly there was no chance of escape unless his captors chose to assist him.
As he sat there musing, a light fell into the pit, and he looked up to see one of his captors gazing down at him by the light of a torch which he held above his head.
“I just came to say good-bye,” he called down.
“Good-bye?” echoed Nolan, hoarsely.
“Yes,—it will soon be dark, and we’re going to pull out for the west. Ohio’s too hot for us just now.”
“And—and you’re goin’ t’ leave me here?” cried Nolan.
“We certainly are. How do you like it?”
“But that’ll be murder!” Nolan protested. “You might swing fer it!”
“Oh, no, we mightn’t. You’ll never be found.You’re done with this world, Daniel. Fix your thoughts upon the next.”
Nolan uttered a hollow moan. Then a sudden inspiration brought him to his feet.
“See here,” he said, “let me out o’ here an’ I’ll put y’ on to somethin’ good.”
His captor laughed mockingly.
“I’m afraid it’s not good enough, Daniel-in-the-lion’s-den,” he said. “You’re asking too big a price.”
“It’s sixty thousand dollars,” said Dan, still more eagerly. “You kin git it day arter t’-morrer, as easy as fallin’ off a log.”
The smile on the other’s face vanished and he stood for a moment looking thoughtfully down into the pit.
“Is there anything in this, or is it just moonshine?” he asked, at last.
“It’s straight!” Nolan protested. “It’s dead straight! Pull me out o’ here an’ I’ll tell you.”
“Wait a minute,” said the other, and disappeared.
Nolan waited with an anxiety that deepened with every passing second; but at last the light appeared again at the edge of the pit, and this time four faces looked down at him instead of one. The rope was lowered, he slipped it under his arms, and three minutes later stood again facing his captors.
“’IT B’LONGS T’ TH’ MINE COMPANY,’ SAID NOLAN.”
“’IT B’LONGS T’ TH’ MINE COMPANY,’ SAID NOLAN.”
Without speaking, they led him back to the place where their fire was still burning and motioned him to sit down.
“Now,” said one of them, “let’s have the story.”
“And if it’s straight, you’ll let me go?”
“If it’s straight, we’ll let you go. If it’s not, back you go into the pit, and this time you won’t have a rope to help you down.”
“Oh, I ain’t afeerd,” said Nolan. “It’s straight. But I think I ort t’ have some of it.”
“How much did you say there is?”
“Between fifty an’ sixty thousand dollars.”
“It’s not in a bank?”
“No; it’s in a box.”
“And we can get it within a day or two.”
“You kin git it day arter to-morrer.”
“If everything turns out well, you shall have a thousand dollars.”
“Oh, come,” protested Nolan, but the other stopped him with an impatient gesture.
“That or nothing,” he said, curtly, and Nolan surrendered, for he saw the man was in earnest.
“All right,” he said, glumly, and instinctively they all drew a little nearer the fire. “Th’ day arter t’-morrer,” he began, “they’ll come in on th’ evenin’ train a box containin’ sixty thousan’ in cold cash.”
“Whose is it?” asked one of the men.
“It b’longs t’ th’ mine company,” said Nolan; “it’s th’ men’s wages.”
And again the group drew a little closer together.
THE PURSUIT
Jed Hopkins, at the head of his men, hastened away from the station toward the offices of the company. There were several things he wanted cleared up before starting in pursuit of the robbers. In the first place, what had happened to the wagon which was to have come after the chest; and, in the second place, what had become of the man he had sent out to look for it?
The latter question was quickly answered. As they passed through a little locust grove just beyond the station, Jed’s alert ear caught a stifled cry or gurgle to the left of the road, and without pausing an instant, he started toward it. The others followed, and a moment later, they found Jed’s companion bound to a tree and gagged as Allan had been.
His adventures were soon told. He had started along the road leading to the mine, expecting every moment to meet the wagon coming for the chest. Just as he reached the grove, he heard wheels approaching, and stopped, intending to hail it, butbefore he could open his mouth, some one threw a heavy cloak or sack over his head from behind and pulled it tight, while some one else tripped him up and sat on him. His hands were tied, the gag forced into his mouth, and he was led to the tree and securely fastened. Then to his astonishment, he heard the wagon stop, and the men on it exchange greetings with his captors. The latter then clambered aboard and the wagon continued on toward the station.
“Was it the company’s wagon?” asked Jed.
“I couldn’t swear to it,” answered the other, chafing his wrists to start the circulation, “but it sounded mighty much like it.”
“Well, we must find out,” said Jed, and hurried forward.
As they neared the company’s office, they became aware of a dull pounding, as of some one hammering upon iron. It would cease for a moment and then begin again, louder than before. Not until they came quite near did any of the posse guess what it was; and it was Jed who guessed first.
“There’s somebody shut up in th’ office,” he said. “I’ll bet th’ robbers did it! Well, they’re clever ones fer sure!”
And this conjecture proved to be correct, as Jed found after a few moments’ shouted conversation with the prisoners. The first thing to be done was to get them out, but this was not so easy as might appear, for, as has already been stated, the littlebuilding had been built to withstand a siege; it was lined with steel, the windows were heavily barred and the door was armoured. One of the prisoners explained that the door had been locked on them from the outside, but the key was not in the lock.
“They probably throwed it away arter they locked th’ door,” said Jed. “But we can’t find it in th’ dark. Th’ only thing t’ do is t’ break a couple o’ bars out o’ one o’ th’ winders, an’ make a hole big enough fer ’em t’ squeeze through.”
And, after twenty minutes’ hard work, this was accomplished.
There were four prisoners, one of whom was the paymaster and another the mine superintendent, and after they had crowded through the opening, they told the story of their capture.
The horses had been hitched to the wagon in the company’s stable, and it had then been driven to the homes of the superintendent and paymaster, picked them up, as the custom was, and then turned back toward the company’s office to get the two guards who awaited it there and who were to accompany it to and from the station. The guards were there, and the superintendent had unlocked the door, and led the way in to get the guns with which the guards were always armed. He had left the door open and the key in the lock, as he expected to go out again immediately. It was at that moment that the door was slammed shut and the key turned.Those within the office had seen no one, nor heard any noise until the door closed.
“But what was your driver doin’ all that time?” asked Jed. “Why didn’t he give the alarm? Did they git him, too?”
“I don’t know. Probably they did. I don’t see how else his silence can be explained.”
“You didn’t hear any struggle?”
“No; still they might have silenced him with one blow.”
“Mighty hard to do,” said Jed, reflectively, “with him up there on th’ wagon-seat.”
“We’ll know in the morning,” remarked the superintendent. “We’ll probably find his body hid around here somewhere.”
“Well, we haven’t got time t’ look fer him now,” said Jed. “How many hosses kin we hev?”
“We’ve got six in the stable yet.”
“Let’s have ’em out,” and while they were being saddled and brought up, Jed picked out four of the men whom he knew to accompany him and his partner in the mounted pursuit of the robbers. One of them crowded through the hole in the window and passed out arms and ammunition. The remainder of the posse was dismissed, and returned slowly toward their homes, not without considerable grumbling that their services had been so lightly regarded.
At the end of ten minutes, Jed and his five companions were mounted and away. They were soonback at the station, which was now only a smouldering mass of ruins, so quickly had the flames been able to consume the flimsy frame structure.
“Where’s that kid?” asked Jed. “I didn’t suppose he’d keep us waitin’.”
“Something’s th’ matter over there,” said one of the men, and pointed to a little group which had gathered at one side of the track.
Jed swung off his horse and hastened to investigate. He found that it had gathered about Allan West, who lay unconscious, his pale face looking positively ghastly under the flickering light of the gasoline torch, which hung from the pole above him.
“What’s th’ matter with him?” asked Jed. “He told me he wasn’t hurt.”
“He’s hurt in the side,” answered the surgeon, who was bending above the boy. “I think there’s a couple of ribs broken. He never mentioned the injury when I dressed his other wounds. Is there a hospital at Coalville?”
“Hospital?” Jed grunted, derisively. “Well, I should say not!”
“Number Nine’s due in about ten minutes,” said the operator. “You can fix up some sort of bed in the baggage-car and take him back to Wadsworth.”
“That’ll do,” agreed the surgeon, and bent again above the boy.
Jed stood watching him for a moment, shifting uneasily from one foot to the other.
“Think he’s very bad, doctor?” he asked, at last.
“Oh, no,” answered the surgeon. “Just overdone things, I guess, and fainted from the pain. He’ll be all right, as soon as I can get him to a place where I can fix him up.”
Jed heaved a sigh of relief.
“That’s good,” he said. “He’s a plucky kid. I’d hate to see him knock under,” and he strode away to join his men.
In another moment, they were off up the road in the direction taken by the robbers. The latter had a start of over an hour, but that did not worry Jed, because he knew they would soon find themselves on the horns of a dilemma. Either they must take the chest with them, or leave it behind. If they took it, they could not abandon the wagon, and yet they would scarcely dare to use it after daybreak, for it had the name of the mining company painted on its side. On the other hand, they would not abandon the chest until they had opened it and secured the contents, and Jed knew that it would be no easy job to break the chest open. So he rode on at a sharp canter, confident that the fugitives could not escape.
For some miles there were no branches to the road except such as led to houses among the hills a little back from it. So he rode on without drawingrein, until he came to the place where the road forked. Here he found the sheriff and the posse which had set out on foot unable to decide which fork to take and unwilling to divide their forces.
“You wait a minute,” said Jed, jumping from his horse, and striking a match, he went a little way up one of the forks and examined the road minutely. “They didn’t come this way,” he announced, at last, and came back and went up the other fork. Here he repeated the same performance, lighting match after match. At last he stood erect with a grunt of satisfaction. “All right,” he said. “We’re on th’ trail.”
“How do you know we are?” inquired the sheriff, incredulously.
“No matter,” said Jed. “Take my word fer it. I didn’t live on th’ plains twenty year fer nothin’. Hello! What’s that?”
He was listening intently, but for some moments the duller ears of the other members of the posse could catch no sound. Then they heard, far up the road, the clatter of horses’ hoofs and the rattle of wheels. The sound came nearer and nearer, and Jed, who was peering through the darkness, suddenly drew his pistol and sprang to the middle of the road.
“Halt!” he cried, and the other members of the posse instinctively drew up behind him, their guns ready.
They could hear the wagon still lumbering toward them.
“Halt, or we fire!” cried Jed, again, but still the wagon came on, and a gray shape appeared in the darkness ahead.
Jed raised his pistol; then, with a sharp exclamation, thrust it back into his belt, sprang forward, and seized the approaching horses by the bridle.
The posse swarmed about the wagon. The sheriff struck a match, and painted on the wagon’s side descried the words:
COALVILLE COAL COMPANY
“Why,” said the sheriff, in bewilderment, “this is th’ rig they run away with!”
“Precisely,” agreed Jed, coolly. “One of you men hold these horses, will you?”
The sheriff clambered to the seat and struck another match.
“The wagon’s empty,” he announced.
“I thought so,” said Jed, mounting beside him. “They took out th’ chest an’ then turned th’ rig loose.”
“And where are they?”
“They’re somewhere ahead openin’ that box. I’ll ride on with my men. You turn th’ wagon around an’ foller with as many as she’ll hold.”
“All right,” agreed the sheriff, and Jed sprang to horse again.
“Come on, boys,” he called, and set out up the road at a sharp gallop.
Mile after mile they covered, but without finding any sign of the fugitives. At last, Jed dismounted and again examined the road.
“We’ve passed ’em,” he announced. “They didn’t git this far. We’ve got ’em now, sure.”
The east was just showing a tinge of gray, as they turned to retrace their steps. Jed stopped every now and then to scrutinize the road. At the end of a mile, they met the sheriff and his party in the wagon.
“See anything of ’em?” he asked.
“Not a thing,” said Jed, “but they’re back there, somewhere. Wait a minute,” and he got down and looked at the road again. “By George!” he cried, “they ain’t far off! See, here’s where they turned th’ wagon an’ started her back.” Then he looked at the tracks again. “I don’t know, either,” he added. “I don’t believe they turned it at all. Look how it ran down in this gully here by the fence—it’s a wonder it didn’t upset. The horses turned toward home themselves.”
“Well, and where are the convicts?” asked the sheriff.
“They’re somewhere between here an’ th’ forks o’ th’ road,” said Jed. “They can’t git away!”
But by noon he was forced to confess that their capture was not going to be so easy as he had supposed. Practically every foot of the ground on both sides of the road had been beaten over, and yet not a trace of the robbers had been discovered. Nay, more than that, search as he might, Jed, with all his skill in woodcraft, was not able to discover where they had left the road. That four men, carrying a heavy chest, should have been able to cross the muddy fields which extended on both sides of the road without leaving some mark of their passage seemed absurd, and yet, after going over the ground for the third time, Jed was forced to confess himself defeated.
“They’re slick ones—that’s all I kin say,” he remarked, and mounted his horse and started back to Coalville.
The sheriff picketed every by-path; through all the neighbourhood the alarm was spread, and men were on the alert. Acting under instructions from the State authorities, the sheriffs of adjoining counties set a guard on every road by which Coalville could possibly be approached, and every one who could not give a satisfactory account of himself and who resembled in the least degree any one of the four convicts, was placed under arrest. The police of every city, the constables of every township, nay, the dwellers in every house, were on the lookout for the fugitives. It seemed impossible that they could escape through the meshes of a net soclosely drawn. Yet two days passed, and they had not been heard from. They had disappeared as completely as though the earth had opened and swallowed them.
A GRUESOME FIND
When Allan opened his eyes, it was to find the kindly face of Mary Welsh looking down at him.
“Is it time to get up?” he asked, and tried to rise, but Mary pressed him gently back against the pillow.
“There, there, lay still,” she said.
“But what,” he began—and then a sudden twinge in the side brought back in a flash all that had occurred. “Am I hurt?” he asked.
“Not bad, th’ doctor says; but you’ll have t’ kape quiet fer awhile. They’s two ribs broke.”
“Two ribs!” repeated Allan.
“Right there in yer side,” said Mary, indicating the place.
“Oh, yes; that’s where Dan Nolan kicked me.”
“Where what?” cried Mary, her eyes flashing.
And Allan related in detail the story of his encounter with Nolan.
Before he had finished, Mary was pacing up and down the chamber like a caged tigress, her hands clasping and unclasping, her features working convulsively.Allan, in the carefully darkened room, did not notice her agitation, and continued on to the end.
“You lay still,” she said, hoarsely, when he had ended; “I’ll be back in a minute,” and she hurried down the stair.
Once out of his sight, her self-control gave way completely; a dry sobbing shook her, a sobbing not of grief but of sheer fury. Jack was sitting listlessly by the window when she burst into the room.
“Why, what is it, Mary?” he cried, starting to his feet. “Is he worse? He can’t be! Th’ doctor said—”
“Jack,” said Mary, planting herself before her husband, “I want you t’ promise me one thing. If you iver git yer hands on Dan Nolan, kill him as you would a snake!”
“What’s Nolan been doin’ now?” he asked, staring in astonishment at her working features.
“It was him hurt our boy,” she said; “kicked him in th’ side as he laid tied there on th’ floor. Stood over him an’ kicked him in th’ side!”
Jack’s face was livid, and his eyes suffused.
“Are you sure o’ that?” he asked thickly.
“Allan told me.”
“Th’ fiend!” cried Jack. “Th’ divil!” and shook his fists in the air. Then he sat heavily down in his chair, shivering convulsively.
“An’ more’n that,” Mary went on, "he shut th’boy in th’ station an’ left him there t’ burn," and she repeated the story Allan had just told her.
When she had done, Jack rose unsteadily.
“You say th’ boy’s all right?” he asked.
“Yes—he ain’t got a bit o’ fever.”
“Then I’m goin’ t’ Coalville,” he said. “I couldn’t sleep with th’ thought of that varmint runnin’ loose. I’m goin’ t’ git him.”
Mary’s eyes were blazing.
“Good boy!” she cried. “When’ll you go?”
“Now,” he answered. “I kin jest ketch Number Four. Good-bye.”
“Good-bye, Jack,” she answered, and caught him suddenly in her arms and kissed him.
She watched him as he went down the path, then turned, and composing her face as well as she was able, mounted the stair and took up again her station by Allan’s bed.
Half an hour after Jack had got off the train at Coalville, he entered the office of the Coalville Coal Company.
“I want a gun,” were his first words.
“What for?” inquired the man at the desk.
“T’ look fer th’ robbers.”
The man gazed at him thoughtfully. There was something in Jack’s appearance, a certain wildness, which alarmed him a little.
“I don’t believe we care to employ any more deputies,” he said at last.
“I don’t want t’ be employed—I don’t want no wages—I’m a volunteer.”
At that moment, the door opened and a man came in,—a tall, thin man, whose head was bandaged and the skin of whose face was peeling off.
“Here, Jed,” said the man at the desk, glad to turn the task of dealing with a probable madman into more competent hands, “is a recruit. And, strangely enough, he doesn’t ask for pay.”
“It ain’t a bit strange,” protested Jack, and he explained briefly who he was.
When he had finished, Jed held out his hand.
“Shake,” he said. “That kid o’ your’n is all right—grit clear through. Will he git well?”
“Oh, he’ll git well, all right.”
“Good!” cried Jed, his face brightening. “I’ve been worryin’ about him considerable. How’d he git his ribs broke?”
“One o’ them fellers kicked him in th’ side,” explained Jack, and repeated the story he had heard from Mary.
“Th’ skunk!” said Jed, when he had finished, his face very dark. “Th’ low-down skunk! I only wish I could git my hands on him fer about two minutes.”
“So do I,” agreed Jack, his lips quivering. “That’s why I came.”
Jed held out his hand again.
“I’m with you!” he said. "We’ll go on a littlestill-hunt of our own. I’d intended t’ go by myself, but I’ll be glad to hev you along."
So Jack, provided with rifle and revolver, presently sallied forth beside his new friend.
“No trace o’ them yet?” he asked.
“Not a trace,” Jed answered. “It beats me. But one thing I’m sure of—it’s possible that they managed t’ slip through my lines, but they didn’t take th’ chest with ’em.”
“Then what did they do with it?”
“That’s what I’m a-goin’ t’ find out,” said Jed, grimly. “It’s somewhere here in these hills, an’ I’m goin’ t’ find it if it takes ten years.”
And, indeed, after the first day’s search, it seemed to Jack that it might easily take much longer than that.
“There’s one thing they might ’a’ done with it,” Jed remarked, as they turned homeward in the twilight. “They might ’a’ shoved it up in some of th’ old workin’s around here. They’re full o’ fire-damp, o’ course, an’ no man could venture in them an’ live, so I don’t see jest how they’d work it. But to-morrer we’ll take a look at ’em.”
So the next morning they set out, carrying, instead of rifles, a collection of ropes, candles, and lanterns, which Jed had procured from the mine.
“I’ve got a plan of th’ old workin’s, too,” he said. "There’s some over on th’ other side of th’ hill which it ain’t any use wastin’ time on. Them fellers couldn’t ’a’ carried that chest over th’ ridge,if they’d tried a month. But there’s six or eight on this side. There’s th’ fust one, over yonder," and he pointed to a black hole in the hillside. “All of these old workin’s,” he went on, “are what they call drifts—that is, wherever they found th’ coal croppin’ out, they started in a tunnel, an’ kept on goin’ in till th’ vein pinched out. Then they stopped and started another tunnel on th’ next outcrop. They’re all driven in on an incline, so they’ll drain theirselves, an’ as soon as th’ company stopped pumpin’ air into them, they probably filled up with gas, so we’ve got t’ be mighty careful.”
He clambered up to the mouth of the tunnel and peered into it cautiously.
“Can’t see nothin’,” he said. “Let’s try fer gas.”
He took from his pocket a leather bag, from which he extracted a little ball of cotton saturated in oil.
“Stand aside,” he said, and himself stood at one side of the mouth of the tunnel. Then, grasping the ball by a piece of wire attached to it, he struck a match, touched it to the cotton, and then hurled the ball with all his force into the opening.
It seemed to Jack that there was a sort of quick throb in the air, a sheet of flame shot out of the tunnel mouth, and an instant later a dull rumbling came from within the hill.
Jed caught up a lantern, snapped back the coveringof wire gauze which protected the wick, and lighted it.
“Come on,” he said. “It’s safe for awhile now,” and he led the way into the cavern.
For a moment Jack could see nothing; then as his eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, he discerned the black and dripping walls on either hand, and the dark void before, into which Jed walked, swinging the lantern from side to side.
But he did not go far. Fifty feet from the entrance, a pile of debris blocked the way. Jed swung his lantern over it and inspected it.
“No use t’ look any further in here,” he said. “This stuff’s been down a long time. Let’s go on to number two.”
The second tunnel was about five hundred feet from the first one, and resembled it exactly. But when Jed threw into it his blazing ball, there was no explosion.
“Hello!” he said, in surprise, and then, bending down, he saw the ball blazing brightly on the floor of the tunnel, some distance from the entrance. “Why, that hole is ventilated as well as a house!” he added. “Plenty of air there,” and catching up the lantern, which he had not extinguished, he started into the tunnel.
The air was fresh and pure, and Jed, looking about for an explanation, was not long in finding it.
“Look up there,” he said, pointing to wherea glimmer of light showed through the gloom above. “There’s a flue up there—an accident, most likely,—just a crack in the rock,—but it lets the gas out all right. Why, a feller could live in here—By George!” he added, “some feller has been livin’ here. Look there.”
Jack followed the motion of his finger, and saw, on the floor, a pile of half-burned coal. Over it was a bent piece of iron which had been driven into the floor and evidently served as a crane. A pot and a couple of pans lay near the base of one of the pillars which had been left to support the roof.
“And they was more than one,” Jed continued, and pointed to four lumps of coal grouped around the central pile. “They used them to set on. It’s dollars to doughnuts here’s where th’ gang stayed till they was ready t’ spring their trap. Th’ question is, are they here yet?”
“You kin bet your life they ain’t,” answered Jack, confidently.
“’Cause why?”
“’Cause we’re here t’ tell th’ tale. If they was here, they’d ’a’ picked us off ten minutes ago. Think what purty marks we made.”
“Mebbe they thought they was a posse with us.”
“Well, they don’t think so now, an’ they ain’t shot us yet.”
Jed nodded and moved forward.
“Well, if they ain’t here, mebbe th’ chest is,” he said, but they saw no sign of it, although they explored the chamber thoroughly. “They could ’a’ reached here with it easy enough,” he went on. “Th’ road’s jest down there, an’ th’ station ain’t over half a mile away. Nobody thought o’ their gittin’ out so clost to th’ station. That’s th’ reason I didn’t find their tracks. They drove th’ wagon on nearly six mile afore they turned it loose. Steady, steady,” he added, suddenly, and stopped.
At his feet yawned a pit of unknown depth. He swung his lantern over it and peered down, trying to see the bottom. Then he stood upright with a sharp exclamation.
“It’s down there,” he said.
“What is?”
“The chest. Look over. Don’t you see it?”
“I kin see something,” answered Jack, “but it might be a lump o’ coal, or any old thing. What makes you think it’s th’ chest?”
“Iknowit is,” Jed asserted. “You wait here till I git th’ ropes,” and he hurried away toward the mouth of the tunnel.
Jack, holding the lantern at arm’s length and shading his eyes with his other hand, leaned over the pit and stared down long and earnestly. But strain his eyes as he might, he could discern no details of the oblong mass below. That it should be the chest seemed too great a miracle.
But Jed was back in a moment, a coil of rope in his hand.
“Now I’ll show you,” he said, and laying down the rope, took from his pocket another of the oil-saturated balls, lighted it and dropped it into the pit.
It struck the bottom and sputtered for a moment, then burned clear and bright.
And the two men gazed fascinated at what it revealed to them.
The chest was there, as Jed had said; and beneath it, crushed against the rock, lay a man.