Mr. Woodward's actions had aroused me as I had never been aroused before. My eyes were wide open at last. I realized that if I ever expected to gain our family rights I must fight for them—and fight unflinchingly to the bitter end.
It was nearly ten o'clock when I reached the Widow Canby's house. I met my Uncle Enos on the porch. He had grown impatient, and was about to start for Darbyville in search of me.
In the dining room I told my story. All laughed heartily at the ruse I had played upon the merchant, but were indignant at the treatment I had received.
"Wish I'd been with you," remarked my uncle, with a vigorous shake of his head. "I'd a-smashed in his figurehead, keelhaul me if I wouldn't!"
"What do you intend to do now?" asked Kate.
"Let's see; to-day is Friday. If you will take us to Trenton to-morrow, Uncle Enos, I'll start for Chicago on Monday."
"Don't you think you had better have this Woodward arrested first?" asked Captain Enos.
"No; I would rather let him think that for the present I had dropped the whole matter. It may throw him off his guard and enable me to pick up more clews against him."
"That's an idea. Roger, you've got a level head on your shoulders, and we can't do any better than follow your advice," returned my uncle.
I did but little sleeping that night. For a long time I lay awake thinking over my future actions. Then when I did fall into a doze my rest was broken by dreams of the fire at the tool house and Mr. Woodward's attack.
I was up at five o'clock in the morning, attending to the regular chores. I did not know who would do them during my absence, and as soon as the widow appeared I spoke to her on the subject.
"Your uncle mentioned the matter last night," said Mrs. Canby. "He said he would do all that was required until you came back. He doesn't want to remain idle all day, and thought the work would just suit him."
This was kind of Uncle Enos, and I told him so when an hour later he appeared, dressed in his best, his trunk having arrived the evening before.
"Yes, Roger, I'd rather do it than sit twirling my thumbs, a-waiting for you to come back," said he. "I used to do such work years ago, before I shipped on the Anna Siegel, and to do it again will make me feel like a boy once more. But come; let's go to mess and then hoist anchor and away."
A few minutes later we were at breakfast. Then I put on my good clothes and brought around the horse and carriage, for the Widow Canby insisted upon driving us down to Newville by way of Darbyville just to show folks, as she said, that she had not lost confidence in me.
Kate was in a flutter of excitement. She had wished to see my father every day since he had been taken away. As for myself, I was fully as impatient. My father was very dear to me, and every time I thought of him I prayed that God would place it within my power to clear his name from the stain that now rested upon him.
We reached the station in Newville five minutes before train time. My uncle procured our tickets and also checked the basket of delicacies the Widow Canby had prepared.
"Remember me to Mr. Strong," said the widow, as we boarded the train. "Tell him I don't believe he's guilty, and perhaps other people in Darbyville won't think so either before long."
A moment later and we were off. Kate and Uncle Enos occupied one seat, and I sat directly behind them. A ride of an hour followed, and finally, after crossing a number of other railroads, we rolled into a brick station, and the conductor sang out:&—
"Trenton!"
It was eleven o'clock when we crossed the wooden foot-bridge of the station and emerged upon the street.
"We'll go to the prison at once," said my uncle. "Perhaps it isn't 'visiting day,' as they call it, but I reckon I can fix it. Sailors on shore have special privileges," he added with a laugh.
"Which way is it?" asked Kate.
"I don't know. We'll take a carriage and trust to the driver."
He called a coach, and soon we were rolling off.
Finally the coach stopped, and the driver sprang from his box.
"Here you are, sir," he said, as he opened the door.
I looked up at the big stone buildings before us. My father was behind those walls. I glanced at Kate. The poor girl was in tears.
"You had better stay on board here till I go in and take soundings," said Captain Enos. "I won't be gone long."
Jumping to the pavement, he walked up to the big open door and entered.
"What a dreadful place!" said my sister, as she strained her eyes to catch sight of some prisoner.
My uncle was gone not over ten minutes, yet the wait seemed an age. He returned with a brightened face.
"I had hard work to get permission, but we are to have half an hour's talk with your father under the supervision of a deputy," he explained.
In another moment we were inside. We walked along a wide corridor and into an office, and then a short, stout man, Mr. Carr, the deputy, joined us.
"This way, please," he said, and gave a kindly glance at Kate and myself. "You will have to leave the basket here. I will see that it reaches the—the—your father."
He led the way. How my heart beat! Why, I cannot tell.
"I'll go in first," said my Uncle Enos.
We entered a room. In a moment the deputy brought in a man dressed in striped clothing, and with his hair cut close. It was my father.
My uncle and I rushed forward. But we were too late. With a cry Kate was in his arms. It was a great moment all around.
"My children! My Katie and my Roger!" was all my father could say, but the words went straight home.
"I am heartily glad that you are back," he said then to my uncle. "You will look after them, Enos, until I am free."
"Indeed I will," replied Captain Enos, heartily. "But you must listen to Roger. He has a long story to tell."
"Then tell it. I am dying to hear news from home." We sat down, and I told my story. Perhaps the deputy ought not to have allowed me to say all I did, but he pretended not to hear.
My father listened with keen attention to every word, and as I went on, his eyes grew brighter and brighter.
"Roger, my faithful boy, you almost make me hope for freedom," he cried. "Oh, how I long to be set right before the world!"
"God make it so," put in my uncle, solemnly. "To suffer unjustly is terrible."
Then I told of my interview with Mr. Woodward in his library and of Holtzmann.
"Holtzmann was one of the principal witnesses against me," said my father. "So was Nicholas Weaver, who managed the Brooklyn business for Holland & Mack. Who John Stumpy can be I do not know. Perhaps I would if I saw him face to face. There was another man—he was quite bald, with a red blotch on the front of his hand—who was brought forward by Woodward to prove that he had nothing to do with the presentation of the forged checks and notes, but what his name was I have forgotten."
"This can't be the man, for he has a heavy head of hair," I replied. "But I am sure Stumpy is not his true name."
"Probably not. Well, Roger, do your best, not only for me but for Katie's sake and your own."
Then the conversation became general, and all too soon the half hour was at an end. My father sent his regards to Mrs. Canby, with many thanks for the basket of delicacies, and then with a kiss for Kate and a shake of the hand to Uncle Enos and me, we parted.
Little was said on the way back. No one cared to go to a restaurant, and we took the first train homeward.
It was dark when we reached Newville. The Widow Canby's carriage was at the depot waiting for us.
"Suppose I get my ticket for Chicago now," said I. "It will save time Monday, and I can find out all about the train."
"A good idea," returned my uncle. "I'll go with you."
So while Kate joined Mrs. Canby we entered the depot.
The ticket was soon in my possession, and then I asked the ticket seller a number of questions concerning the route and the time I would reach my destination.
Suddenly instinct prompted me to turn quickly. I did so and found John Stumpy at my shoulder.
Mr. John Stumpy had evidently been watching my proceedings closely, for when I turned to him he was quite startled. However, it did not take him long to recover, and then, bracing up, he hurried away without a word.
He was now neatly dressed and had had his face shaved. I conjectured that Mr. Woodward had advised this change in order to more fully carry out the deception in relation to the tramp's real character.
"There's that Stumpy," I whispered to Captain Enos, as I pointed my finger at the man. "He has been watching us."
"How do you know?" asked my uncle.
"Because he was just looking over my shoulder," I replied. "Shall I speak to him? I'd like to know what he intends to do next."
"It won't do any good. It ain't likely he'd tell you anything, and if he did, it wouldn't be the truth."
"Maybe it might."
"Well, do as you think best, Roger, only don't be too long—the widow and Kate are waiting, you know."
Pushing through the crowd, I tapped Stumpy on the shoulder. He looked around in assumed surprise.
"Hullo!" he exclaimed sharply. "What do you want?"
"Nothing much," I returned. "I just saw you were greatly interested in what I was doing."
"Why, I didn't see you before."
"You were just looking over my shoulder."
"You're mistaken, young man, just as you are in several other things."
"I'm not mistaken in several other things."
"What do you intend to do?" he asked curiously.
"That's my business."
"Where have you been?"
"That is my business also."
"Strong, you're a fool," he whispered. "Do you think you can hurt men like Mr. Woodward and myself?"
"I can bring you to justice."
"Bah! I suppose you think you can do wonders by going to Chicago."
"How do you know I am going to Chicago?" I questioned quickly.
Stumpy's face fell, as he realized the slip he had made.
"Never mind. But you won't gain anything," he went on. "Better stay home and save your money."
And to avoid further talk he pushed his way through the crowd and was lost to sight.
A moment later I joined the others in the carriage. While driving home I related the conversation recorded above.
"It's too bad he found out you were going to Chicago," said my uncle. "He may try to stop you."
"I'll keep my eyes open," I replied.
The remainder of the day was spent in active work around the widow's place. Not only did I labor all the afternoon, but far into the evening as well, to show that I did not intend to shirk my duty even though I was going away. Besides, Mrs. Canby had treated me so well that I was almost willing to work my fingers to the bone to serve her.
The following day was Sunday. Kate and I were in the habit of attending church and Sunday-school over in Darbyville, but we shrank from doing so now. But Uncle Enos and I went to church, and despite the many curious eyes levelled at me, I managed to give attention to an excellent sermon. I noticed that the Woodward pew was empty, but then this was of common occurrence and excited no comment.
On Sunday evening my handbag stood in my room packed, ready for my departure. Dick Blair came over to see me and brought strange and sad news.
Duncan Woodward and Pultzer, his intimate crony, had gotten into a row in a pool room down in Newville and were both under arrest. Mr. Woodward and Mr. Pultzer had gone off to get their sons out of jail. Dick did not know how the row had started, but had heard that the young men had been drinking heavily.
I was much shocked at the news, and so were the others. If affairs kept on like this, Mr. Aaron Woodward would certainly have his hands full.
I retired early so as to be on hand the next day. Sleep was out of the question. I had never been a hundred miles away from Darbyville, and the prospect of leaving filled me with excitement.
I was up long before it was necessary, but found Kate ahead of me.
"You're going to have a good, hot breakfast before you go," she said. "Sit right down. It's all ready."
Presently, as I was eating, my uncle and Mrs. Canby joined me. They were full of advice as to what to do and what to avoid, and I listened to all they had to say attentively.
But all things must come to an end, and at length breakfast was over. My Uncle Enos and Kate drove me to Newville, and waited till the train rolled in.
"Good-by, Roger," said Kate. "Please,please,now do keep out of trouble."
"I will, Kate," I returned, and kissed her. Then I shook hands with my uncle.
"Keep a clear weather eye and a strong hand at the wheel, Roger, my boy," he said, "and you'll make port all safe."
"I'll try, Uncle Enos."
A moment more and I was on the cars. Then with an "All aboard" the conductor gave the signal, and the train moved off.
I passed into the car and took a vacant seat near the centre. I had hardly sat down before a well-dressed stranger took the seat beside me.
"Hot day," said he, after he had arranged his bag on the floor beside my own.
"Yes, it is," I replied, "and dry, too."
"Meanest part of the country I've struck yet," he went on. "Don't have any such climate as this out West."
"I should think that would depend on where you come from," I returned, with a short laugh.
"I hail from Chicago. It's hot there, but we get plenty of breeze from the lakes."
I looked at the man with some attention. He came from the city I intended to visit, and perhaps he might give me some information.
He was a burly man of middle age, and, as I have said, well dressed, though a trifle loud. His hair was black, as was also his mustache, which he continually kept smoothing down with one hand. I did not like his looks particularly, nor his tone of voice. They reminded me strongly of some one, but whom I could not remember.
"You come from Chicago," I said. "I am going there."
"Is that so? Then we can travel together. I like to have some one going along, don't you?"
I felt like saying that that would depend on who the some one was, but thinking this would hardly be polite, I returned:&—
"I don't know. I've never travelled before."
"No? Well, it's fun at first, but you soon get tired of it. My name is Allen Price; what is yours?"
"Roger Strong."
"Glad to meet you." He extended his hand. "You're rather young to be travelling alone—that is, going a distance. Do you smoke? We'll go into the smoker and take it easy. I have some prime cigars."
"Thank you, I don't smoke."
"That's too bad. Nothing like a good cigar to quiet a man's nerves when he's riding. So you're going to Chicago? On a visit?"
"No, sir; on business."
"Yes? Rather young for business—excuse me for saying so."
"It is a personal business."
"Oh, I see. Going to claim a dead uncle's property or something like that, I suppose. Ha! ha! well, I wish you luck."
Mr. Allen Price rattled on in this fashion for some time, and at length I grew interested in the man in spite of myself. I was positive I had seen him before, but where I could not tell. I asked him if he had ever been to Darbyville.
"Never heard of the place," he replied. "Only been in Jersey a month, and that time was spent principally in Jersey City and Camden. I'm in the pottery business. Our principal office is in Chicago."
"Do you know much about that city?"
"Lived there all my life."
I was on the point of asking him about Holtzmann, but on second thought decided to remain silent.
On and on sped the train, making but few stops. There was a dining-car attached but I was travelling on a cheap scale, and made my dinner and supper from the generous lunch the widow had provided.
Mr. Price went to the dining-car and also the smoker. He returned about nine o'clock in the evening, just as I was falling into a light doze.
"Thought I'd get a sleeper," he explained. "But they are all full, so I'll have to snooze beside you here."
His breath smelt strongly of liquor, but I had no right to object, and he dropped heavily into the seat.
Presently I went sound asleep. How long I slept I do not know. When I awoke it was with a sharp, stinging sensation in the head. A pungent odor filled my nose, the scent coming from a handkerchief some one had thrown over my face.
With a gasp I pulled the handkerchief aside and sat up. Beside me sat Mr. Allen Price with my handbag on his lap. He had a number of keys in his hand and was trying to unlock the bag.
I was startled and indignant when I discovered Mr. Allen Price with my handbag, trying to open it. It looked very much as if my fellow-passenger was endeavoring to rob me.
I had suspected from the start that this man was not "straight." There was that peculiar something about his manner which I did not like. He had been altogether too familiar from the first; too willing to make himself agreeable.
What he expected to find in my bag I could not imagine. If his mission was robbery pure and simple, why had he not selected some one who looked richer than myself? There was, I am certain, nothing about me to make him believe I had anything of great value in the bag.
"What are you doing with my valise?" I demanded as I straightened up.
My sudden question made the man almost jump to his feet. The bag dropped from his lap to the floor, and the keys in his hand jingled after it.
"I—I—didn't think you were awake," he stammered.
"You didn't?" I repeated, puzzled as to what to say.
"No—I—I&—"
"You were trying to open my bag."
"So I was—but it's all a mistake, I assure you."
"A mistake?"
"Quite a mistake, Strong." He cleared his throat. "The fact is, I'm suffering so from the toothache that I'm hardly able to judge of what I'm doing. I thought your bag was my own."
"They are not much alike," I returned bluntly.
"Well, you see mine is a new one, and I'm not used to it yet. I hope you don't think I was trying to rob you?" he went on, with a look of reproach.
I was silent. I did think that that was just what he was trying to do, but I hardly cared to say so.
"It's awful to have such toothaches as I get," he continued, putting his hand to his cheek. "They come on me unawares, and drive me frantic. I wanted to get my teeth attended to in Jersey City when I was there, but I didn't have time."
"What's this on the handkerchief?" I asked.
"Oh, I guess I spilled some of my toothache cure on it," he replied, after some hesitation. "I used some and then put the bottle back in the valise. That's how I came to look for the bottle again. I hope you're not offended. It was all a mistake."
"It's all right if that's the case," I returned coolly.
Holding my valise on my lap, I settled back in the seat again, but not to sleep. The little adventure had aroused me thoroughly. Mr. Allen Price sat beside me for a few moments in silence.
"Guess I'll go into the smoker," he said finally, as he rose. "Maybe a cigar will help me," and taking up his handbag, he walked down the aisle.
In a dreamy way I meditated over what had occurred. I could not help but think that the handkerchief I had found spread over my face had been saturated with chloroform, and that my fellow-passenger had endeavored to put me in a sound sleep and then rifle my bag. Of course I might be mistaken, but still I was positive that Mr. Allen Price would bear watching.
About four o'clock in the morning the train came to a sudden stop. The jar was so pronounced that it woke nearly all of the passengers.
Thinking that possibly we had arrived at our destination, I raised the window and peered out.
Instead of being in the heart of a city, however, I soon discovered we were in a belt of timber land. Huge trees lined the road on both sides, and ahead I could hear the flowing of a mountain stream.
The train hands were out with their lanterns, and by their movements it was plain to see that something was up.
I waited in my seat for ten minutes or more, and then as a number of passengers left the car, I took up my bag and did the same.
A walk to the front of the train soon made known the cause of the delay. Over a small mountain stream a strong wooden bridge with iron frame had been built. Near the bridge grew a number of tall trees, and one of these had been washed loose by the water and overturned in such a manner that the largest branch blocked the progress of the locomotive. The strong headlight had revealed the state of affairs to the engineer, and he had stopped within five feet of the obstruction. Had he run on, it is impossible to calculate what amount of damage might have been done.
"Don't see what we are going to do, except to run back to Smalleyville," said the engineer, who was in consultation with the conductor.
"Can't we roll the tree out of the way?" asked the latter official.
The engineer shook his head.
"Too heavy. All the men on the train couldn't budge it."
They stood in silence for a moment.
"If you had a rope, you could make the engine haul it," I suggested to the fireman, who was a young fellow.
"A good idea," he exclaimed, and reported it to his superior.
"First-class plan; but we haven't got the rope," said the engineer.
"Have you got an axe?"
"Yes."
"Then why not chop it off?"
"That's so! Larry, bring the axes."
"It won't do any good," said one of the brakemen who had just come up. "The bridge has shifted."
An examination proved his assertion to be correct. As soon as this became known, a danger light was hung at either end of the structure, and then we started running backward to Smalleyville.
"How long will this delay us?" I asked of the conductor as he came through, explaining matters.
"I can't tell. Perhaps only a few hours, perhaps more. It depends on how soon the wrecking gang arrive on the spot. As soon as they get there, they will go right to work, and it won't take them long to fix matters up."
Smalleyville proved to be a small town of not over five hundred inhabitants. There was quite an excitement around the depot when the train came in, and despatches were sent in various directions.
Presently a shower came up, and this drove the passengers to the cars and the station. I got aboard the train at first to listen to what the train hands might have to say. I found one of the brakemen quite a friendly fellow, and willing to talk.
"This rain will make matters worse," said he. "That tree was leaning against the bridge for all it was worth, and if it loosens any more it will carry the thing away clean."
"Isn't there danger of trains coming from the other way?"
"Not now. We've telegraphed to Chicago, and no train will leave till everything is in running order."
"When does the next train arrive behind us?"
"At 9.30 this morning."
We chatted for quite a while. Then there was a commotion on the platform, and we found that part of the wrecking gang had arrived on a hand-car.
They brought with them a great lot of tools, and soon a flat car with a hoisting machine was run out of a shed, and they were off.
By this time it was raining in torrents, and the station platform was deserted. Not caring to get wet, I again took my seat in the car, and presently fell asleep.
When I awoke I found it was six o'clock. The rain still fell steadily, without signs of abating.
I was decidedly hungry, and buttoning my coat up tightly about my neck, I sallied forth in search of a restaurant.
I found one within a block of the depot, and entering, I called for some coffee and muffins—first, however, assuring myself that my train was not likely to leave for fully an hour.
While busy with what the waiter had brought, I saw Mr. Allen Price enter. Luckily the table I sat at was full, and he was compelled to take a seat some distance from me.
"Good morning, my young friend," said he, as he stopped for an instant in front of me.
I was surprised at his pleasant manner. He acted as if nothing had ever happened to bring up a coolness between us.
"Good morning," I replied briefly.
"Terrible rain, this, isn't it?"
"It is."
"My toothache's much better," he went on, "and I feel like myself once more. Funny I mistook your valise for mine, last night, wasn't it?"
"I don't know," I replied flatly.
I returned to my breakfast, and, seeing I would not converse further, the man passed on and sat down. But I felt that his eyes were on me, and instinctively I made up my mind to be on my guard.
As I was about to leave the place, several more passengers came in, and by what they said I learned that the train would not start for Chicago till noon, the bridge being so badly damaged that the road engineer would not let anything cross until it was propped up.
Not caring to go back to the train, I entered the waiting-room and took in all there was to be seen. At one end of the place was a news stand, and I walked up to this to look at the picture papers that were displayed.
I was deeply interested in a cartoon on the middle pages of an illustrated paper when I heard Mr. Price's voice asking for some Chicago daily, and then making inquiries as to where the telegraph once was located.
He did not see me, and I at once stepped out of sight behind him.
Having received his directions, Mr. Price sat down to write out his telegram. Evidently what he wrote did not satisfy him, for he tore up several slips of paper before he managed to prepare one that suited him.
Then he arose, and throwing the scraps in a wad on the floor, walked away.
Unobserved, I picked up the wad. Right or wrong, I was bound to see what it contained. Perhaps it might be of no earthly interest to me; on the other hand, it might contain much I would desire to know. Strange things had happened lately, and I was prepared for all sorts of surprises.
A number of the slips of paper were missing and the remainder were so crumpled that the pencil marks were nearly illegible.
At length I managed to fit one of the sheets together and then read these words:&—
C. Hholtzmann>, Chicago:Look out for a young man claiming to&—
Look out for a young man claiming to&—
I had not been mistaken in my opinion of Mr. Allen Price. He was following me, and doing it with no good intention.
I concluded the man must be employed by Mr. Woodward. Perhaps I had seen him at some time in Darbyville, and so thought his face familiar.
I was glad that if he was a detective I was aware of the fact. I would now know how to trust him, and I made up my mind that if he got the best of me it would be my own fault.
One thing struck me quite forcibly. The merchant and John Stumpy both considered my proposed visit to Chris Holtzmann of importance. They would not have put themselves to the trouble and expense of hiring some one to follow me if this was not so. Though Mr. Aaron Woodward was rich, he was close, and did not spend an extra dollar except upon himself.
I was chagrined at the thought that Holtzmann would be prepared to receive me. I had hoped to come upon him unawares, and get into his confidence before he could realize what I was after.
I began to wonder when the telegram would reach Chicago. Perhaps something by good fortune might delay it.
Mr. Allen Price walked over to the telegraph office, and following him with my eyes I saw him pay for the message and then stroll away.
Hardly had he gone before I too stepped up to the counter.
"How long will it take to send a message to Chicago?" I asked of the clerk in charge.
"Probably till noon," was the reply. "The storm has crippled us, and we are having trouble with our lineman."
"It won't go before noon!" I repeated, and my heart gave a bound. "Are you sure?"
"Yes; perhaps even longer."
"How about the message that gentleman just handed in?"
"I told him I would send it as soon as possible,"
"Did you tell him it wouldn't go before noon?"
"No; he didn't ask," returned the clerk, coolly. He was evidently not going to let any business slip if he could help it.
"Is there any possible way I can get to Chicago before noon?" I went on.
The clerk shook his head. "I don't think there is," he replied.
"What is the nearest station on the other side of the bridge?"
"Foley."
"And how far is that from Chicago?"
"Twelve miles."
"Thank you."
I walked away from the counter filled with a sudden resolve. I must reach Chicago before the telegram or Mr. Allen Price. If I did not, my trip to the city of the lakes would be a failure.
How was the thing to be accomplished? Walking out on the covered platform, out of sight of the man who was following me, I tried to solve the problem.
Smalleyville was a good ten miles from the misplaced bridge, and in a soaking rain such a distance was too far to walk. Perhaps I might get a carriage to take me to the spot. I supposed the cost would be several dollars, but decided not to stand on that amount.
I had about made up my mind to hunt up a livery stable, when some workingmen rolled up to the station on a hand-car.
"Where are you going?" I inquired of one of them.
"Down to the Foley bridge," was the reply,
"Will you take a passenger?" I went on quickly.
"You'll have to ask the boss."
The boss proved to be a jolly German.
"Vont ter haf a ride, does you!" he laughed.
"I'm not over particular about the ride," I explained. "I've got to get to Chicago as soon as possible, even if I have to walk."
"Vell, jump on, den."
I did so, and a moment later we were off. I was pretty confident that Mr. Allen Price had not witnessed my departure, and I hoped he would not find it out for some hours to come.
The rain had now slackened, so there was no further danger of getting soaked to the skin. There were four men on the car besides the boss, and seeing they were short a hand I took hold with a will.
Fortunately the grade was downward, and we had but little difficulty in sending the car on its way. At the end of half an hour the stream came in sight, and then as we slackened up I hopped off.
Down by the water's edge I found that the bridge had shifted fully six inches out of line with the roadbed. It was, however, in a pretty safe condition, and I had no difficulty in crossing to the other side.
Despite the storm a goodly number of men were assembled on the opposite bank, anxiously watching the efforts of the workmen. Among them I found a man, evidently a cabman, standing near a coupe, the horses of which were still smoking from a long run.
"Are you from Foley?" I asked, stepping up.
"No; just come all the way from Chicago," was the reply. "Had to bring two men down that wanted to get to Smalleyville."
This was interesting news. Perhaps I could get the man to take me back with him. Of course he would take me if I hired him in the regular way, but if I did this, I was certain he would charge me a small fortune.
"I am going to Chicago," I said. "I just came from Smalleyville."
"That so? Want to hire my rig?"
"You charge too much," I returned. "A fellow like me can't afford luxuries."
"Take you there for two dollars. It's worth five—those two men gave me ten."
"What time will you land me in Chicago?"
"Where do you want to go?"
That question was a poser. I knew no more of the city of Chicago than I did of Paris or Pekin. Yet I did not wish to be set down on the outskirts, and not to show my ignorance I answered cautiously:&—
"To the railroad depot."
"Have you the time now?"
"It is about seven o'clock."
"I'll be there by nine."
"All right. Land me there by that time, and I'll pay you the two dollars."
"It's a go. Jump in," he declared.
I did so. A moment later he gathered up the reins, and we went whirling down the road.
The ride was an easy one, and as we bowled along I had ample opportunity to ponder over my situation. I wondered what Mr. Allen Price would think when he discovered I was nowhere to be found. I could well imagine his chagrin, and I could not help smiling at the way I had outwitted him. I was not certain what sort of a man Chris Holtzmann would prove to be, and therefore it was utterly useless to plan a means of approaching him.
At length we reached the suburbs of Chicago, and rolled down one of the broad avenues. It was now clear and bright, and the clean broad street with its handsome houses pleased me very much.
In half an hour we reached the business portion of the city, and soon the coupe came to a halt and the driver opened the door.
"Here we are," said he.
I jumped to the ground and gazed around. Opposite was the railroad station, true enough, and beyond blocks and blocks of tall business buildings, which reminded me strongly of New York.
I paid the cabman the two dollars I had promised, and he drove off.
In Chicago at last! I looked around. I was in the heart of a great city, knowing no one, and with no idea of where to go.
Yet my heart did not fail me. My mind was too full of the object of my quest to allow me to become faint-hearted. I was there for a purpose, and that purpose must be accomplished.
My clothes were still damp, but the sunshine was fast drying them. Near by was a bootblack's chair, and dropping into this, I had him polish my shoes and brush me up generally.
While he was performing the operation I questioned him concerning the streets and gained considerable information.
"Did you ever hear of a man by the name of Chris Holtzmann?" I asked.
"I dunno," was the slow reply. "What does he do?"
"I don't know what business he is in. He came from Brooklyn."
The bootblack shook his head.
"This city is a big place. There might be a dozen men by his name here. The street what you spoke about has lots of saloons and theatres on it. Maybe he's in that business."
"Maybe he is," I returned. "I must find out somehow."
"You can look him up in the directory. You'll find one over in the drug store on the corner."
"Thank you; I guess that's what I'll do," I replied.
When he had finished, I paid him ten cents for his work, and walked over to the place he had mentioned.
A polite clerk waited on me and pointed out the directory lying on a stand.
I looked it over carefully, and three minutes later walked out with Chris Holtzmann's new address in my pocket.
As I did so, I saw a stream of people issue from the depot. Some of them looked familiar. Was it possible that the train from Smalleyville had managed to come through, after all? It certainly looked like it.
I was not kept long in doubt. I crossed over to make sure, and an instant later found myself face to face with Allen Price!
I will not deny that I was considerably taken aback by my unexpected meeting with the man who had been following me. I had been firmly under the impression that he was still lolling around Smalleyville, waiting for a chance to continue his journey.
But if I was surprised, so was Mr. Allen Price. Every indication showed that he had not missed me at my departure, and that he was under the belief that I had been left behind.
He stopped short and gazed at me in blank astonishment.
"Why—why—where did you come from?" he stammered.
"From Smalleyville," I returned as coolly as I could. "And that's where you came from, too," I added.
"I didn't see you on the train," he went on, ignoring my last remark.
"I didn't come up by train."
"Maybe you walked," he went on, with some anxiety.
"Oh no; I rode in a carriage."
"Humph! It seems to me you must have been in a tremendous hurry."
"Perhaps I was."
"Why, you excite my curiosity. May I ask the cause of your sudden impatience?"
He put the question in an apparently careless fashion, but his sharp eyes betrayed his keen interest.
"You may."
"And what, was it?"
I looked at him for a moment in silence.
"I came to see a man."
"Ah! A friend? Perhaps he is seriously sick."
"I don't know if he is sick or not."
"And yet you hurried to see him?"
"Yes."
"Well, that—that is out of the ordinary." He hesitated for a moment. "Of course it is none of my business, but I am interested. Perhaps I know the party and can help you. May I ask his name?"
"It's the same man you telegraphed to," I returned.
Mr. Allen Price stopped short and nearly dropped his handbag. My unexpected reply had taken the "wind out of his sails."
"I telegraphed to?" he repeated.
"Exactly."
"But—but I telegraphed to no one."
"Yes, you did."
"Why, my dear young friend, you are mistaken."
"I'm not your dear friend," I returned with spirit. "You telegraphed to Chris Holtzmann to beware of me. Why did you do it?"
The man's face fell considerably, and he did not answer. I went on:&—
"You are following me and trying to defeat the object of my trip to Chicago. But you shall not do it. You pretend to be an ordinary traveller, but you are nothing more than a spy sent on by Mr. Aaron Woodward to stop me. But I have found you out, and now you can go back to him and tell him that his little plan didn't work."
The man's brow grew black with anger. He was very angry, and I could see that it was with difficulty he kept his hands off me.
"Think you're smart, don't you?" he sneered.
"I was too smart for you."
"But you don't know it all," he went on. "You don't know it all—not by a jugful."
"I know enough to steer clear of you."
"Maybe you do."
The man evidently did not know what to say, and as a matter of fact, neither did I. I had told him some plain truths, and now I was anxious to get away from him and think out my future course of action.
"What's your idea of calling on Chris Holtzmann?" he went an after a long pause.
"That's my business."
"It won't do you any good."
"Perhaps it may."
"I know it won't," he replied in decided tones.
"What do you know about it?" I said sharply. "A moment ago you denied knowing anything about me. Now I've done with you, and I want you to leave me alone."
"You needn't get mad about it."
"I'll do as I please."
"No, you won't," he growled. "If you don't do as I want you to, I'll have you arrested."
This was strong language, and I hardly knew what to say in reply. Not that I was frightened by his threat, but what made the man take such a strong personal interest in the matter?
As I have said, I was almost certain I had seen the fellow before, though where and when was more than I could determine. Perhaps he was disguised.
"Perhaps you don't think I know who you are," I said quickly.
My words were a perfect shock to Mr. Allen Price. In spite of his bronzed face he turned pale.
"You know who I am? Why, I am as I tell you,—Allen Price," he faltered.
"Really," I replied, with assumed sarcasm.
"Yes, really."
"I know better," I returned boldly.
I was hardly prepared for what was to follow. The man caught me by the arm.
"Then what you know shall cost you dear," he cried. "I'm not to be outwitted by a country boy. Help! Police! Police!"
As he uttered his call for assistance he let drop his handbag and drew his purse from his pocket.
"I've got you, you young thief!" he cried, letting the purse fall to the sidewalk. "You didn't think to be caught as easily, did you? Help! Po—Oh, officer, I'm glad you've come!" the last to a policeman who had just hurried to the scene.
"What's the matter here?" demanded the minion of the law.
"I just caught this young fellow picking my pocket," exclaimed Mr. Allen. "Where's my pocketbook?"
"There's a pocketbook on the sidewalk," put in a man in the crowd that had quickly gathered.
"So it is." He picked it up. "You rascal! You thought to get away in fine style, didn't you?" he continued to me.
For a moment I was too stunned to speak. The un-looked-for turn of affairs took away my breath.
"I didn't pick his pocket," I burst out.
"Yes, you did."
"It isn't so. He's a swindler and is trying to get me into trouble."
"Here! here! none of that!" broke in the officer. "Tell me your story," he said to Mr. Allen Price.
"I was coming along looking in the shop windows," began my accuser, "when I felt a hand in my pocket. I turned quickly and just in time to catch this fellow trying to make off with my pocketbook."
"It is a falsehood, every word of it," I declared.
"Shut up!" said the officer, sternly. "Please go on."
"He is evidently a smart thief," continued Mr. Allen Price. "I must see if I have lost anything else."
He began a pretended examination of his clothes. In the meantime the crowd began to grow larger and larger.
"We can't stay here all day," said the policeman, roughly. "What have you got to say to the charge?"
"I say it isn't true," I replied. "This man is a humbug. He is following me for a purpose, and is trying to get me into trouble."
"Ridiculous!" cried my accuser. "Why, I never heard of such a thing before!"
"That story won't wash," said the officer to me. "Do you make a charge?" he continued to Mr. Allen Price.
My accuser hesitated. "I will, if it is not necessary for me to go along," he said. "I am pressed for time. My name is Sylvester Manners. I am a partner in the Manners Clothing Company. You know the firm, I presume."
"Oh, yes, sir," replied the officer. He knew the Manners Clothing Company to be a rich concern.
"I will stop at the station house to-morrow morning and make a complaint," continued Mr. Allen Price. "Don't let the young rascal escape."
"No fear, sir. Come on!" the last to me.
"I've done no wrong. I want that man arrested!" I cried. "He is no more a merchant here in Chicago than I am. He&—"
But the officer would not listen. He took a strong hold upon my collar and began to march me off. Mr. Allen Price walked beside us until we reached the corner.
"I will leave you here, officer," he said. "I'll be down in the morning, sure. As for you," he continued to me, "I trust you will soon see the error of your ways and try to mend them, and&—" he continued in a whisper, as the officer's attention was distracted for a moment, "never try to outwit John Stumpy again!"
Mr. Allen Price and John Stumpy were one and the same person! For a moment so great was my surprise that I forgot I was under arrest, and walked on beside the officer without a protest.
Now that I knew the truth it was easy to trace the resemblance, and I blamed myself greatly for not having discovered it when we first met.
Of a certainty the man was bent upon frustrating my plans, partly for his own safety, and more so upon Mr. Aaron Woodward's account. No doubt the merchant was paying him well for his work, and John Stumpy intended to do all he could to crush me.
But I was not to be crushed. The forces brought against me only made my will stronger to go ahead. It was do or die, and that was all there was to it.
I could easily understand why John Stumpy wished to obtain possession of my handbag. In it he hoped to find the papers Mr. Woodward had lost and Nicholas Weaver's confession. I could not help but smile at the thought that, notwithstanding all I had said to the contrary, the two plotters still believed I had the lost documents.
One thing perplexed me. Why was my visit to Chris Holtzmann considered of such importance that every possible means was taken to prevent it? Did this man possess the entire key to the situation? And were they afraid he could be bought up or threatened into a confession? It looked so.
"You are not from Chicago, young fellow?" said the policeman who had me in charge.
"No; I'm from the East."
"Humph! Got taken in short, didn't you?"
"I'm not guilty of any crime," I returned, "and you'll find it out when it comes to the examination."
"I'll chance it," replied the officer, grimly.
"That man is a fraud. If you call on the Manners Clothing Company, you will find it so."
"That's not part of my duty. I'll take you to the station house, and you can tell the judge your story," replied the policeman.
Yet I could see by the way his brow contracted that my assertion had had its effect upon him. Probably had he given the matter proper thought in the first place, he would have compelled John Stumpy to accompany him.
Still, this did me no good. Here I was being taken to the jail while the man who should have been under arrest was free. I would probably have to remain in confinement until the following morning, and in the meantime John Stumpy could call on Chris Holtzmann and arrange plans to suit himself.
This would never do, as it would defeat the whole object of my trip West, and send me home to be laughed at by Mr. Aaron Woodward and Duncan.
"Can I ask for an examination at once?" I inquired.
"Maybe; if the judge is there."
"And if he isn't?"
"You'll have to wait till to-morrow morning. You see it isn't—Hello! thunder and lightning! what's that?"
As the officer uttered the exclamation there was a wild cry on the streets, and the next instant the crowds of people scattered in every direction.
And no wonder, for down the pavement came an infuriated bull, charging everybody and everything before him.
The animal had evidently broken away from a herd that was being driven to the stock-yards, and his nose, where the ring was fastened, was torn and covered with blood, and he breathed hard, as if he had run a great distance.
"It's a mad bull!" I cried. "Take care, or he'll horn both of us!"
My words of caution were unnecessary, for no sooner had the bull turned in our direction than the officer let go his hold upon me and fled into a doorway near at hand.
For an instant I was on the point of following him. Then came the sudden thought that now would be a good chance to escape.
To think was to act. No sooner had the policeman jumped into the doorway than I dodged through the crowd and hurried across the street. Reaching the opposite side, I ran into an alley. It was long and led directly into the back garden of a handsome stone mansion.
The garden was filled with beautiful flowers and plants, and in the centre a tiny fountain sent a thin spray into the air. At one side, under a small arbor, stood a garden bench, and on this sat a little girl playing with a number of dolls.
Her golden hair hung heavy over her shoulders, and she looked supremely happy. She greeted my entrance with a smile, and took me at once into her confidence.
"This is my new dolly," she explained, holding the article up.
"Is it?" I asked, hardly knowing what to say.
"Yes; papa bringed it home yesterday. Does oo like dollies?"
"Oh, yes, nice ones like that. You must have lots of fun. I&—"
I did not finish the sentence. There was a noise in the alley, and the next instant the mad bull came crashing into the garden!
For a second I was too surprised to move or speak. The little girl uttered a piercing scream, and gathering her dolls in her arms huddled into a corner of the bench.
Why the animal had followed so closely behind me I could not tell, but once in the garden, it was plain to see he was bent upon doing considerable damage. He was more enraged than ever, and scattered the sodding about in every direction.
At first some red flowers attracted his attention, and he charged upon these with a fury that wrecked the entire flower-bed in which they were standing.
While the bull was at this work I partly recovered my senses, and then the first thought that came to my mind was the necessity of getting the little girl to a place of safety. Let the bull once get at her, and her life might pay the penalty. I was not many feet away from the little miss, and a few bounds took me to her side.
"Come, let me take you into the house," I said, and picked her up.
She made no reply, but continued to scream and clung to me with all the strength of her little arms.
There was a back piazza to the mansion five or six steps high. I knew that if we once reached this we would be safe, for no matter what the bull might do, he could not climb.
"Oh, Millie, my child!" came s voice from the house, and I saw a lady at one of the windows. "Oh, save her! Bring her here!" she cried, as she caught sight of the bull.
I uttered no reply, but sprang toward the steps.
But though I wasted no time, the bull was too quick for me. Springing over the flower-bed, he planted himself directly in my path.
It made my blood run cold to have him face me with that vicious look and those glaring eyes. One prod of those horns and all would be over.
"Oh, save Millie! Save my child!" The lady had opened the door and now came running out upon the piazza.
"I will if I can!" I returned. "Don't come down here. He'll tear you all to pieces!"
Even as I spoke the bull made a plunge for me. I darted to one side and sprang over to the edge of the piazza corner.
"Give her to me! Hand her up!" exclaimed the lady, as she rushed over, and as I held the little one on my shoulder, the lady drew her up and clasped the child, dolls and all, to her breast.
Hardly had I got rid of my charge than the bull came for me again. The trick I had played on him only served to increase his rage, and he snorted loudly.
I was in a bad fix. Between the piazza and the next-door fence was a distance of but ten feet, and behind me was the solid stone wall of the house. Escape on any side was impossible. Had I had time I might have climbed up to the piazza, but now this was not to be thought of, and another means of getting out of danger must be instantly devised.
"Oh, he will be killed!" cried the lady, in horror. "Help! help!"
I glanced around for some weapon with which to defend myself. I had nothing with me. Even my valise lay at the other end of the garden, where I had dropped it when the animal first made his appearance.
As I said, I looked around, and behind me found a heavy spade the gardener had at one time or another used for digging post holes. It was a strong and sharp implement, and I took it up with a good deal of satisfaction.
The bull charged on me with fury. As he did so, I took the spade and held it on a level with my waist, resting the butt end on the wall behind me.
The next instant there was a terrific crash that made me sick from head to foot. With all his force the bull had sprung forward, only to receive the sharp end of the spade straight between his eyes.
The blow was as if it had been delivered by an axe. It made a frightful cut, and the blood rushed forth in a torrent.
With a mad cry of pain the bull backed out. At first I thought he was going to charge me again, but evidently the blow was too much for him, for with several moans he turned, and with his head hanging down, he staggered across the garden to the alley and disappeared.
I gave a sigh of relief when the bull was gone. The encounter with the mad animal had been no laughing matter. I had once heard of a man being gored to death by just such an infuriated creature, and I considered that I had had a narrow escape. I put my hand to my forehead and found the cold sweat standing out upon it. Taking my handkerchief, I mopped it away.
"Are you hurt?" inquired the lady, with great solicitation.
"No, ma'am," I replied. "But it was a close shave!"
"Indeed it was. And you saved my Millie's life! How can I thank you!"
"I didn't do so much. I guess she's scared a good bit."
"She hardly realized the danger, dear child. Did you, Millie, my pet?"
"The bad cow wanted to eat up my dollies!" exclaimed the little miss, with a grave shake of the head. "But oo helped me," she added, to me.
"I'm glad I was here," I returned.
"May I ask how you happened to come in?" continued the lady.
In a few words I told my story. I had hardly finished when the back door opened and a gentleman stepped out.
"What is the trouble here?" he asked anxiously. "I just heard that a mad bull had run into the garden."
"So he did, James; a savage monster indeed. This young man just beat him off and saved Millie's life."
"Hardly that," I put in modestly. I did not want more praise than I was justly entitled to receive.
"Indeed, but he did. See the spade covered with blood? Had he not hit the animal over the head with that, something dreadful would have happened."
"I didn't hit him exactly," I laughed. "I held it up and he ran against it," and once more I told my story.
"You have done us a great service, young man," said the gentleman when I had concluded. "I was once in the butcher business myself,—in fact, I am in it yet, but only in the export trade,—and I know full well how dangerous bulls can get. Had it not been for you my little girl might have been torn to pieces. One of her dolls is dressed in red, and this would have attracted the bull's immediate attention. I thank you deeply." He grasped my hand warmly. "May I ask your name?"
"Roger Strong, sir."
"My name is Harrison—James Harrison. You live here in Chicago, I suppose?"
"No, sir, I come from Darbyville, New Jersey."
"Darbyville?" He thought a moment. "I never heard of such a town."
"It is only a small place several miles from New York. I came to Chicago on business. I arrived about half an hour ago."
"Really? Your introduction into our city has been rather an exciting one."
"I've had other adventures fully as exciting in the past few days," I returned.
"Yes?" and Mr. Harrison eyed me curiously.
"Yes. Our train was delayed, I almost had my handbag stolen, and I've been arrested as a thief."
"And all in a half an hour?" The gentleman and his wife both looked incredulous.
"No, sir; since I've left home."
"I should like to hear your story—that is, if you care to tell it."
"I will tell you the whole thing if you care to listen," I returned, reflecting that my newly made friend might give me some material assistance in my quest.
"Then come into the house."
"I'd better shut the alley gate first," said I, and running down I did so, and picked up my handbag as well.
Mr. Harrison led the way inside. I could not help but note the rich furnishings of the place—the soft carpets, artistically papered walls, the costly pictures and bric-a-brac, all telling of wealth.
Mrs. Harrison and the little girl had disappeared up the stairs. Mr. Harrison ushered me into his library and motioned me to a seat.
I hardly knew how to begin my story. To show how John Stumpy had had me arrested, it would be necessary to go back to affairs at Darbyville, and this I hesitated about doing.
"If you have time I would like to tell you about my affairs before I started to come to Chicago," I said. "I would like your advice."
The gentleman looked at the clock resting upon the mantel shelf.
"I have an engagement at eleven o'clock," he returned. "Until then I am entirely at your service, and will be in the afternoon if you desire it. I'll promise to give you the best advice I can."
"Thank you. I am a stranger here, and most people won't pay much attention to a boy," I replied.
Then I told my story in full just as I have written it here. Mr. Harrison was deeply interested.
"It is a strange case," he said, when I had concluded. "These men must be thorough rascals, every one of them. Of course it yet remains to be seen what this Chris Holtzmann has to do with the affair. He may be made to give evidence for or against your father just as he is approached. I think I would be careful at the first meeting."
"I did not intend to let him know who I was."
"A good plan."
"But now if I venture on the street I may be arrested," I went on.
"It is not likely. Chicago is a big city, and unless the officer who arrested you before meets you, it is improbable that he can give an accurate enough description of you for others to identify you. Then again, having failed in his duty, he may not report the case at all."
"That's so; but if I do run across him&—"
"Then send for me. Here is my card. If I can be of service to you, I shall be glad."
Mr. Harrison gave me minute directions how to reach Holtzmann's place. Then it was time for him to go, and we left the house together. I promised to call on him again before quitting Chicago.
It was with a lighter heart that I went on my way. In some manner I felt that I had at least one friend in the big city, to whom I could turn for advice and assistance.
Guided by the directions Mr. Harrison had given me, I had no difficulty in making my way in the direction of Chris Holtzmann's place of business or house, whatever it might prove to be.
As I passed up one street and down another, I could not help but look about me with great curiosity. If Chicago was not New York, it was "next door" to it, and I could have easily spent the entire day in sightseeing.
But though my eyes were taking in all that was to be seen, my mind was busy speculating upon the future. What would Chris Holtzmann think of my visit, and what would be the result of our interview?
At length I turned down the street upon which his place was located. It was a wide and busy thoroughfare, lined with shops of all kinds. Saloons were numerous, and from several of them came the sounds of lively music.
"Can you tell me where Chris Holtzmann's place is?" I asked of a man on the corner.
"Holtzmann's? Sure! Down on the next corner."
"Thank you."
"Variety actor?" went on the man, curiously.
"Oh, no!" I laughed.
"Thought not. They're generally pretty tough—the ones Chris hires."
"Does he have a variety theatre?"
"That's what he calls it. But it's nothing but a concert hall with jugglers and tumblers thrown in."
I did not relish the idea of going into such a place, and I knew that my sister Kate and the Widow Canby would be horrified when they heard of it.
"What kind of a man is this Holtzmann?" I continued, seeing that the man I had accosted was inclined to talk.
"Oh, he's a good enough kind of a fellow if you know how to take him," was the reply. "He's a bit cranky if he's had a glass too much, but that don't happen often."
"Does he run the place himself?"
"What, tend bar and so?"
"Yes."
"Oh, no; he's too high-toned for that. He only bosses things. They say he's rich. Be came from the East some years ago with quite a little money, and he's been adding to it ever since."
"Then you know him quite well?"
"Worked for him two years. Then he up one day and declared I was robbing him. We had a big row, and I got out."
"Did he have you arrested?"
"Arrested? Not much. He knew better than to try such a game on me. When I was in his employ I kept my eyes and ears open, and I knew too much about his private affairs for him to push me, even if I had been guilty. Oh, Sammy Simpson knows a thing or two."
"That is your name?"
"Yes; Samuel A. Simpson. Generally called Sammy for short. I was his bookkeeper and corresponding clerk."
"Maybe you're just the man I want to see," I said. "Do you know anything about Mr. Holtzmann's private affairs in the East?"
"In Brooklyn?"