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SCHILLING CORSET CO., 7th and Abbot St9, t DETROIT, Mich. A SHARP NIGHT'S WORK A POWERFUL DETECTIVE STORY BY JAMES FRANKLIN FITT8 COPYRIGHT 1888 BY LAIRD & LEE CHICAGO LAIRD & LEE PUBLISHERS CtARK AND ADAM* iTRBETS /7M> , ljasi4X CONTENTS. CHAPTER, PACK I. THE STARTING POINT 9 II. STARTLING NEWS 14 III. To THE RESCUE! 20 IV. ON THE TRACK 26 V. A DESPERATE EXPEDIENT 32 VI. No SUCH WORD AS FAIL 38 VII. THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS 43 VIII. THE LAST RALLY 49 IX. THE EVIL EYE 53 X. THE COURSE or TRUE LOVE 56 XL THE TRAIL or THE SERPENT 62 XII. THE DETECTIVE APPEARS 69 XIII. THE SILENT WITNESS 75 XIV. THE DETECTIVE AT WORK 81 XV. SHADOWED BY NIGHT 84 XVI. THE WOMAN IN THE CASE 87 XVII. UNDER THE SPELL 93 XVIII. PERVERSE FATES 97 XIX. THE TELEGRAM 100 XX. AFTER THE MARRIAGE 104 XXI. AN ESCAPE 109 XXII. IN SWIFT PURSUIT 112 XXIII. Too LATE! 116 XXIV. BAFFLED! 119 XXV. LIGHT BREAKS 125 XXVI. IN DARKNESS AND DISTRESS 131 XXVII. REFUGE AN^R^coVEHyu:^.^. 135 XXVIII. RETRIBUTION* i^o JR^uyipiJ . * v / 138 XXIX. SUNSHINE. THROUGH^ T#E, Cj+oups^. 144 XXX. A HOR'R'OR} p T^S iJiaiiT . .;. .! v \ /: 149 XXXI. THE VOICE' OF T^EA'TH I.'.IVL :..".!'/ 154 XXXII. THE DETECTIVE'S NEW REVELATION 158 XXXIII. RECOMPENSE 165 XXXIV. LAST SCENE OF ALL 168 A SHARP NIGHT'S WORK CHAPTER l. : \o ; ; ; ' . THE STARTING POINT. TUESDAY, September i8th, 1877, at 2:33 p. m., the Western accommodation was precisely on time at Granby Station. One passenger only alighted there; and as the train departed without gaining any travelers at this point, the man was left standing alone in the middle of the platform fronting the little station. Not another human creature was at the moment in sight. The weather was unusually hot for the time, and a bright sun glared down upon the traveler. As his eye glanced all about him, taking in his surroundings, he looked unmistakably weary. He had no baggage, not even a hand-satchel. He was of medium height, spare of form and face, with iron-gray hair, prominent feat- ures, face slightly wrinkled, and such blue eyes as he who once saw would turn to look at again. They were of that cold, expressionless hue, which, accompanying a thin-lipped mouth and Roman nose, give the observer no kind of index to the character of the man, or even to his present thoughts. His form was erect, spite of the fact that his years were nearer sixty than fifty. As to his real character there need be no concealment here. He was a veteran detective, grown old and gray in the skilled business of unearthing great crimes and bring- ing to justice great criminals against wealthy corpora- tions at the West; and although he had lately retired from this exciting and lucrative pursuit, and had come East on an errand, the nature of which will in due time M102721 10 THE STARTING POINT be disclosed, he had undertaken the journey of this day, not only because his heart was in its object, but because his detective ability was urgently demanded to insure its success. The ticket agent within slammed down the window , <>f his'ofjfiQe^ridJwalked lazily out into the hot sun- shine.- VThe'tra.vtler accosted him: " ;How-jfar is'it'to, (Jranby village? " " Is there no conveyance? " The agent laughed. "Sometimes there is; sometimes not. It depends." " Is there one to-day? " the other impatiently asked". " By present appearances, I should say not. This seems to be one of Simple Simon's off-days. Fact is," he continued, in a half-apologetic tone, " it ain't more'n once a week that anybody gets on or off here. When there's anybody coming over from the village who'll pay Simple Simon, as we call him, a quarter to bring him, he'll hitch up his old sorrel and come. Other times, when he feels like ramblin' over to see if there's somebody stopped off, he comes; but he ain't to be depended on." Possessed of so much of the unpromising situation, the traveler snapped his fingers briskly, and sent out questions and remarks as sharply as needle points. " Where can I hire a conveyance to go over to the village?" " You can't hire one. " " What has nobody here got a horse and buggy?" " Nobody but me; and I don't hire mine." " What might your horse and buggy be worth?" The pride of the country ticket agent was touched; this man wanted to talk with him about his horse, the darling of his heart! " Well, sir," he said, " he's a good animal. He can make a mile in four minutes." " Indeed!" said the traveler, humoring him, THE STARTING POINT II " Fact! And that buggy was new only three years ago." " I asked you what they are worth?" " Dunno as I want to sell; but the horse ain't worth a cent less than a hundred an' fifty; and the buggy's worth a hundred more. " " See here," and the traveler spoke rapidly and with decision: " I've got to go to Granby, and get back here in time for the west-bound night express. What's its time?" " Six twenty-seven." " I say I must go over now, and return here in time for that train. I would give you twenty dollars for the use of your rig; yet, as the day is very sultry, and time presses me, I cannot promise to spare horseflesh. You say the establishment is worth two hundred and fifty dollars; I'll buy it of you and give you fifty dollars over. If you choose to take it back to-night at a fair valuation, well and good; if not, I shall not complain. Here!" The speaker drew a plethoric wallet from his pocket, extracted from its contents three one hundred dollar bills, and offered them to the agent. The latter mechanically took the money, but remonstrated with amazement. " It's a dreadful fair offer; but you haven't seen the horse, nor " " The bargain is closed, sir ! " interrupted the trav- eler, peremptorily. We are wasting valuable time; fly around lively, now; I must be on the road." The ticket agent hurried away to his barn, near at hand, thinking that his luck was wonderful that after- noon, and wishing he might know what lunatic it was that had just given him three hundred dollars for property that would have been dear at two hundred, and that without seeing it. But the new rustling bank notes in his hand hastened his movements, and in ten minutes horse and buggy were ready at the rear of the 12 THE STARTING POINT station. Without another word as to the arrangement he had made for the return of the property, the trav- eler climed into the vehicle, and, waiting only to get directions as to the road, he laid on the whip at the start, and was off like a shot. The astonished agent watched him as he disappeared in a cloud of dust, above which he could see the wav- ing whiplash. He had not so much as learned the man's name! "Escaped from some mad-house, sure!" was his comment. " He'll break his neck long before he gets to the village." It was just three o'clock when our traveler left the Granby Station. The animal that he drove might have been as good as recommended, ordinarily; upon such a day and such a dusty road, he certainly was not. His driver did not spare him. Never once in that long nine-mile stretch was the poor beast suffered to walk more than a minute at a time. The whip often descended on his dusty, sweaty flanks, and his long- reaching trot was not suffered to lag. " I pity you, poor beast!" the old detective once murmured, as he noticed the evident distress of the animal. " Thousands upon thousands of miles have I driven over the rough Western highways, and ever have been merciful to the horse; but this is not the time to think of such things." And the whip cracked again. In several houses on the long, straggling street of Granby village the clocks were striking four as the panting, sweating horse, with hanging head and quiv- ering flank, stopped before the inn. The landlord came out in his shirt-sleeves; two or three loungers on the bench before the house roused themselves suffi- ciently to stare at the new comer, and wonder who he was, any way. The detective jumped out. "Landlord," he said, "look sharp here! listen. THE STARTING POINT 13 " D yu see this?" and he thrust a ten-dollar note into his hand. " That will pay you well for all you can do for me. I want your time, your wits, and your best service, quickly given. Have that horse taken out, thoroughly rubbed down, watered in twenty minutes not before fed, and then harnessed, ready to be put in the shafts in a minute. See to this, and then come back. Stimulated by the great liberality just shown, the landlord succeeded in infusing vitality enough into a couple of the loungers to get these directions obeyed. " Now, then, listen to roe," said the detective, lead- ing the landlord off to the end of the platform, out of hearing. " I'm looking for a man; he is here in this village, somewhere. His name is Ernest Mulford. Do you know him?" " Hain't no such man here," was the prompt reply. " Are you sure?" " Sartin sure. There's a matter of less'n three hun- dred people in Granby, and I know 'em all every sin- ner of 'em. Nobody o' that name here, I tell you." " The name don't count for much ; it is the man I want. Nothing is put off and on as easily as a name. Are there any strangers in the village? " " Nary one." The detective's face clouded. " But since July, say only two months back. Just think, now, and see if you can't remember that strangers, new people, have come in here within that time, and stayed." The landlord rubbed the stubble on his chin thought- fully, and said, slowly: " Why ye-e-s; I guess there has been one or two. What sorter man you lookin' for? " " I have never seen him ; but he is described to me by many people, who have seen him, as five feet eleven in height; slim and active; brown eyes and hair; ruddy 14 STARTLING NEWS face; abent twenty-six years old. Now, what do say?" The landlord heard, and a remarkable change came over his stolid countenance. A broad ray of intelli- gence lighted it. He significantly pointed backward with his thumb over his shoulder. " You're pretty good on describing stranger, " he said, " you've just exactly hit off a young fellow that came here 'long the middle or last of July, an' hain't done nothing since but write letters and never get any; take long walks all by himself; watch at the postoffice for letters that never come, and make a fool of himself gen'r'ly. He's been stayin' here with me, and he's lyin' on that bench there this minute. He goes by the name of Martin Sammons. The detective turned abruptly, and, with his hands behind his back, walked the length of the platform in front of the inn. At the further end he turned and walked back. Each time he passed a little nearer to the lounger on the bench, and each time upon passing he shot a swift glance that way. Finally he halted and stood still, directly before him. The lounger opened his eyes, and drowsily took in the appearance of the stranger. He closed them again, when the detective's voice, low as it was, broke like a thunder-clap on his dozing senses: " Well, Ernest Mulford, ho.w do you find yourself? " CHAPTER II. STARTLING NEWS. THE young man sprang to his feet and looked wildly at the detective. He was thoroughly roused and alarmed, and the blood fled from his cheek. He stood speechless, confronting the man who had addressed him. The latter stood carelessly, with his hands be- hind his back, returning the young man's gaze with a STARTLING NEWS 15 quiet look. His face was absolutely without xpr6- sion. "Well! "he said. " My name is not Ernest Mulford," the other pro- tested. " Oh yes, it is. Don't deny it. I know you, sir! " The young man heard the quiet, determined tone, and saw the resolute eyes that steadily regarded him. A common expression best describes the effect pro- duced upon him. He weakened. Sinking down upon the bench again, he said, with a sigh: " Let it be so, then. I don't care. Arrest me, if you will. Only, mind, I don't admit any wrong- doing! I'm innocent of crime, I say! " " This is no place to talk such things over," replied the detective. " Come inside with me. I want you to go with me to the station; but I've something to say to you first. " He led the way into the shabby little parlor of the inn, the other doggedly following him. The detective locked the doors. " You admit, then, that you are Ernest Mulford? " "Yes. What of it?" " You shall hear. I am Elias Lear, late chief of de- tectives for several great Western railroads. Perhaps you have heard of me." " Yes; but I don't care. If you are going to arrest me. " " I am not going to arrest you," said Mr. Lear, quietly. " When you said out there, a moment since, that you had not committed any crime, you told the truth. But you have acted foolishly, and without judg- ment." Mulford began to speak, but Mr. Lear silenced him with a motion of his hand, and went on. " It is barely eight weeks ago since you left the vil- lage of Bardwell, secretly and at night. Two motives prompted you. The girl you loved had rejected your 1 6 STARTLING NEWS suit, as you thought, and your heart was filled with bitterness. Just at that time your employer peremp- torily dismissed you without giving any true reason for so doing. These two misfortunes so wrought upon you that you hastily and unwisely determined to fly from the place where you had been honored and respected for years. Is this true? " Ernest Mulford sat with folded arms, his eyes bent upon the floor, silent under this recital. " Since you left/' pursued Lear, " gossip and rumor have been busy with your name. It has been reported, and it is generally believed, that you were discovered by your employer in thefts from his safe; that he accused you, and that, on your confession, he agreed not to prosecute you provided you would leave town at once. This story, I may say, is believed by nine-tenths of the people of that village." "But it is false, "was the sullen reply. "I don't know that it is any of your business, but since you will talk about it, I will say that you have found out one good reason for my leaving Bardwell. Right off, after that, when Mr. Mayhew discharged me without fair explanation, I did feel upset, and I left without a word to anybody. You say it was unwise; I don't know nor care. I have done with that town and its people; they will never see me again. " "You will reconsider that determination, Mr. Mul- ford, within the next fifteen minutes. Did it never occur to you that there was some connection between your dismissal by that lady and your dismissal by Mr. Mayhew?" Mulford started to his feet. " Sit down again, sir; be quiet; let us talk. Have you heard anything from Bardwell since you left | there?" "No; not a word." " Have you written?" Mulford hesitated. Mr. Lear took his hand, and STARTLING NEWS I 7 addressed him in a tone of frankness and cordiality such as he had not before used. " Mr. Mulford, we must have an understanding at once. I want you to return to Bardwell with me; but it will not be by compulsion. I have come here as your friend; some day you shall know what it was that made me labor earnestly for you; it is too long a story to tell now. Believe me, I want to help you to right yourself and to prevent the consummation of the most outrageous villainy against you and another. Will you trust me? " The honest manliness of the words and of the face at that moment prevailed over the young man's doubts and bewilderment. He silently returned the pressure of the hand that had taken his. " Thank you; you do well to trust me. Now tell me why you are still lingering here if you have heard nothing from Bardwell since you left there? " " Because it is only a few hours' journey from there, I suppose. Because," and his tone grew bitter, " be- cause, like many another fool before me, I can't take a woman's 'No/ and end it. Twenty times I have re- solved to go to New York and enlist in the regulars, or ship before the mast; once I got as far as Granby Sta- tion on my way and I couldn't go. Idiot that I am, I can't give her up. " The pent-up feelings of the distressed lover almost prevailed against his manhood. He lowered his head, and the quick ear of the other heard a stifled sob. " And you have written to her? " " Yes; and to others. But nothing has come back to me?" " I suppose you did not think," drily remarked Lear, " of Mr. Weston Mayhew's commission as postmaster at Bardwell? " Mulford looked up. Very slowly the sinister mean- ing of the detective's words came to him. Then, A Sharp Nighfs Work 2 1 8 STARTLING NEWS as if moved by an electric shock, he bounded to his feet. "Great heaven, sir!" he cried, "you don't mean that that man " " Weston Mayhew," interrupted Mr. Lear, " is capable of anything to secure his coveted ends. What he has done and what he proposes to do, you need not trust my word for; here it is in black and white. Look! read! and then say if you are not only willing but anxious to go back with me." He drew from an inner pocket a large, square, stiff envelope. It seemed filled with inclosures. First, he took from it a piece of Bristol board, upon one side of which were, neatly joined together and pasted, the torn and minute fragments of a letter. The envelope, bear- ing the Granby postmark, restored in the same way, was pasted upon the other side of the board. Save one small fragment the letter was complete, and easily legible. " That is your writing, I presume," said Lear. " One of my letters to her/" gasped Mulford. " Where did you get it?" " She never saw it ; you ought to be able to conjec- ture, after what I have told you, the reason why. Well, we must hasten ; we have but a few minutes more to spend over these things. Look over these quickly," and he took more inclosures from the envelope. There were five of them. With much labor and skill the torn and scattered fragments had been collected and restored. "These are all that I wrote to her," said Mulford through his teeth. Mr. Lear tapped the envelope. " Here are also three letters that you mailed here to friends at Bardwell. Not one of them was delivered to its address. " " In the name of all that is wonderful, sir, how did you get them and put them together this way? " " No matter now. I can't spend time to tell you. STARTLING NEWS \ Such work is only a bagatelle to me after the things in my line that I have done at the West. Do you begin to see through the plot? " " Yes, and to blame myself for being so foolish as to give that desperate scoundrel such a chance to ruin me. Yes, I'll go back with you; I'll confront him, and " " Slowly, Mr. Mulford. Brace yourself now for a shock. The half has not been told. The woman you love is true to you, or was, till your own willfulness put it in the power of a villain to lie her heart from you. Read this." Another carefully restored letter he handed to the startled young man. The envelope bore the postmark of Bardwell, and it was addressed to himself at Bard- well a drop letter. He looked at the date; it was the day next after that, two months before, when he had last seen the writer. He read the well-remembered, delicate characters, and a mist obscured his eyes. He kissed the paper passionately. " O, how I have been deceived, betrayed! " he cried. " Was this, too, stolen and suppressed by the same bad hand?" . "None other." " Let us not delay a moment," exclaimed Mulford, rushing to the door and unlocking it. " For God's sake, good sir, let us hasten! I long to punish that scoundrel, and and " The fervent desire to meet that beloved one from whom the basest villainy had separated him, was left unexpressed, but it throbbed eagerly with his heart. " Hold, my dear young sir; you must know the whole truth. Bear what is coming like a man. I tell you there is that yet in this choice repository of crime that will wring your heart. There is also that which will stagger you with amazement. Summon your fortitude, now. Be a man, I say. Read!" The speaker passed his arm about Mulford's should- ers, evidently fearful of the effect of the disclosure he 20 TO THE RESCUE was about to make. He had need to be. The young man took the tinted, cream-laid envelope, and withdrew the small sheet of similar paper from it, which bore several lines of print in copperplate script. His eyes devoured the contents at a glance. He turned a stony stare upon Mr. Lear, and the latter became aware that the man's whole weight was on his arm. Ernest Mulford had fainted. CHAPTER III. TO THE RESCUE! ELIAS LEAR laid his inert bady down upon the lounge, and vigorously fanned the white, suffering face with his hat. In a moment the scattered senses returned, the eyes opened, and the sufferer sat up. He saw the detective standing by him. " You are here, then ? " he said. " I have lived an age in the last five minutes. I hoped it was a dream." " It is no dream, but a stern reality. Let us see if you can meet it like a man/' " Mulford's eyes fell upon the tell-tale invitation-card that had fallen from his hand. Snatching it up, he carefully read it again. A groan burst from his tortured breast. " Lost lost ! " he moaned. " Half past eight o'clock of the evening of September i8 y 1877! It is now; this day; this very night! O pitying God, what shall I do? Man, whoever you are, have you brought me this cruel news only to torment me? What can I do? what can I do, I say! " His voice was raised to a despairing cry, and he clutched the detective by the shoulder. Not in the least discomposed by his companion's words or manner, Mr. Lear consulted his watch. The minutes were speeding, the time was now twenty minutes before five. TO THE RESCUE 21 " And you knew of this monstrous thing, "continued Mulford, bitterly. " Yes, you knew it was to be; for here you have the notice of it, in black and white. And you did not stay at Bardwell, to stop it, as you might have done, but you must needs come posting off here to find me, and torture me with the ill tidings of what I cannot prevent. And you tell me you are my friend; and you " Mr. Lear's hand was laid upon his shoulder. Some- thing that he saw in those cold blue eyes told him to stop. " I overlook your rashness and impatience," said the detective. " I know what you are suffering, and I sympathize with you; and I repeat that I have come here as your friend, and that you will soon be satisfied of it. But you have a right to know why I am here at this hour, instead of at Bardwell, when that document that you hold in your hand had warned me of what was to happen there, or near there, at half-past eight of this very night. Yes, I will tell you, since there is time. " He opened the door and called to the landlord. " How is the horse?" he inquired, when the host appeared. " Pretty stiff in the off hind leg, and sore in the flanks. Pardon, sir, but you used the whip on her pretty freely." " I know it; I had to. Can she take two of us back to the station in an hour? " " No, sir ! " was the positive reply. " She's fed and watered well, but with the pull you've already given her, and taking into account this awful sultry weather, and there being two of you to go back why, I say she can't do it. It would kill her." " I may have to kill her then," said Lear. The landlord stared at him. " Have her put to the buggy and brought round at once. Have you any wine in the house? " " Some grape wine, sir. " 22 TO THE RESCUE " Bring me a large glass of it." The detective returned to the parlor with a full goblet in his hand. Mulford was excitedly pacing the room. " Drink this," said Mr. Lear. " Your nerves are all unstrung; you need a little bracing. This is a mild stimulant, and will do you good." The young man swallowed it at a draught. " The conveyance will be at the door in five minutes, and we will make a push to head off this magnificent rascal." " Of what use? " Mulford cried. " What can we do at this late hour? " " All everything!" was the cheery response. " On the way here I studied the time-table and the train stops of this road, and everything is clearly laid out in my mind. I tell you, my boy, if the unexpected don't happen and men of my business are always on the lookout for the dreadful unexpected but if we have ordinary luck, we'll get there in time to-night, defeat that cunning schemer, make Mr. Ernest Mulford a happy man, and give Bardwell and vicinity such a sen- sation as has never been known there. " " Get there in time, to-night!" the other doubtfully repeated. "Impossible! I remember that the evening express is due at Bardwell a few minutes after nine. It'll all be over then; but by heaven, I'll meet him there at the station and kill him!" and the speaker clenched his fists. " Young man, be quiet, and listen to me. I won't have any pistols or bloodshed about this affair; I've laid it out differently. I believe we shall have our smart gentleman inside the penitentiary before the first of January; but it will be by taking my way, not yours. Of course, I know what time the night express reaches Bardwell; that won't do for us, as you say. Eight miles this side of that village, as you know, is the little way-station of Drayton. Between those places runs the steep granite ridge, over which the highway is car- TO THE RESCUE 23 ried n a very steep grade too steep, the engineers thought, for a railroad. That was thirty years ago, when this road was first laid out; though I guess engineering science wouldn't make much of it to-day. And as the thick wall of granite could never be tun- neled, they took the line around in a wide curve of seventy miles, to a point where they could flank the troublesome ridge. " " Yes," interrupted Mulford. " I know all this; but I don't see " " Patience!" said the detective, watch in hand. " The train leaves Granby, over here, at six twenty-seven, and stops five minutes on a siding at Drayton for the down express to pass. It is due at Drayton at seven fifteen; it is a flyer you know; from there to Bardwell, around that immense curve, it makes every mile in a minute and a half. But you see our problem, getting off at Drayton, we want to make that eight miles to a certain mansion just this side of Bardwell in sixty min- utes, leaving us fifteen minutes' leeway after we get there. Do you think we can get up that long hill and over there in that time?" " Horse ready, sir!" said the landlord, putting his head inside the door. " Very well; in a moment." Ernest Mulford stood grasping the detective's arm with both his hands, his eyes strained, his lips parted, his face pale, as he fc un g on the other's words. " We could do it; we will if I can find Ted Vaun there at the station. He's got a pair of strong blacks and a stout democrat wagon; he can do it easily. And Ted was my schoolmate; he'd do anything for me. I tell you, sir, if we can get hold of Ted at Drayton we are sure to be in time. " " We shall find him there," said Mr. Lear, quietly. " All that a detective don't know and ought to know he must pick up as he goes; and I learned all you have told me about Vaun on the slow accommodation train 24 TO THE RESCUE this morning. At Sunderland, twelve miles back, I telegraphed to him to be ready at Drayton Station, at seven fifteen, with his horses and wagon, promising him twenty-five dollars for a short ride; and to make sure that he would heed the dispatch, I put your name to it. " " Good glorious!" Mulford shouted. " Now we're safe. Whoever you are, you are our savior, our noble benefactor; blessings on you, sir! after this night is well over, we'll try to thank you. But come, now; let us be going. " " Yet a moment, Mr. Mulford. We must start fair; there is more yet that you must know; and," look- ing at his watch, which he had not returned to his pocket, " I see that I can spare two minutes to explain to you why I did not stay at Bardwell and stop the vil- lainy of to-night, instead of coming here. It was simply because I first learned, upon the train that brought me here, what was going to happen at that house to-night." "Why why!" Mulford stammered. " Has it been kept secret? " " The time yes, remarkably secret. Interested as I have been in these affairs, and continually making quiet discoveries, I could not but see that the scoundrel was shaping everything to this supreme end. Yet you will remember that it is barely two months since you disap- peared from Bardwell; and all the probabilities of such a case were naturally against haste and secrecy. But Weston Mayhew is cunning as well as unscrupulous; he is cunning as the devil, sir! and that's the truth. Then he is immensely rich, as you know; I am satis- fied that his figure is not short of two hundred thous- and. What cannot such a man accomplish in the dark? If you ask his motive for all this secrecy, it can be easily explained. The dark paths that he has been lately treading, and the criminal acts that he has done, have made him fearful for his safety. What I am going TO THE RESCUE 25 to tell you in a moment will furnish the best reason in the world for his stealthy movements. I am satisfied that he does not mean to be seen in Bardwell after to- night. You stare I tell you it is so. He knows that a storm is gathering over his head; he means to be west of the Rocky Mountains or beyond seas when it bursts. I learned yesterday what no one else in Bard- well knows: that he has forwarded his resignation as postmaster, and that he has turned his whole property into funds and securities. What does that look like? " " Flight and with her to share his disgraceful exile!" Mulford whispered. " If I miss him, may the vengeance of an insulted God overtake him! Yet, look at this card; here is publicity after all. How do you account for that?" " Merely by supposing that there was a point beyond which poor deceived Emmanuel Gregory and his wife would not go, and that Mayhew had to concede this much to them. The information that I had been gathering for some weeks was at last amply sufficient to justify me in putting a sudden stopper on Mr. Weston Mayhew, and I resolved to wait no longer. But when the expose was made, I wanted you there; in fact, you are a necessary witness as to the writing and posting of those letters. I knew where you were; nobody else at Bardwell knew, save Mayhew. The fact that you were so near prob- ably hurried him up. But, much as I have unearthed of this man's villainy, I took my seat in the car this morning in profound ignorance of the crowning atrocity that he had contrived for to-night. This side of Dray- ton I overheard some of the conversation of two ladies about that invitation. Detectives are not often much surprised at anything; I was by what they said. They left the train at the next station, and the envelope and card were left on the seat in their haste. I secured them, read them, and thought very fast before the next station was reached. I found that I could not return to Bardwell by railroad before the night express, and 26 ON THE TRACK that I should lose no time in continuing my journey. I picked up the information about Ted Vaun, got an opportunity to telegraph to him and you know the rest. Only," and Mr. Lear's voice grew solemn and impressive, " we can see something in all this far beyond human contrivance. When I stepped aboard that train, the only human being who could prevent the outrage of to-night was ignorantly removing himself from the point of danger. The hand of Him who watches over the innocent was surely outstretched to throw that astonishing missive in my way." He put on his hat and stepped into the hall. Mul- ford followed him. Mr. Lear paused, and took one more inclosure from the great envelope. It was of fine white paper, about the size of a bank-bill, partly writ- ten and partly printed. He held it up before the young man's eyes. It was quickly read. " Just God," cried Mulford, " let him not escape us!" The clock over the bar struck five. CHAPTER IV. ON THE TRACK. THEY went out to the buggy. Mulford, in his eager- ness to be off, jumped in first. With his foot on the step between the wheels, Elias Lear paused, hesitated, staggered back, and would have fallen but for the promptness of the landlord, who sprang forward and caught him. " Are you sick, sir? " he asked. " A little I'm afraid," replied the detective, feebly. " Help me back to the parlor." Ernest Mulford, seeing and hearing what had hap- pened, got out and called a lounger to hold the horse. In the parlor he found Mr. Lear extended on the sofa, while the landlord's wife was wetting his head with a sponge. He smiled gravely as he saw Mulford, and ON THE TRACK 2 7 the latter saw in his face that he wished him to come close. The young man did so, and sympathetically took his hand. " This isn't dangerous, my dear fellow," he whispered. " I understand it perfectly. It's the after effect of a slight sunstroke. All this afternoon I have felt it com- ing on and have held it back by sheer force of will. I couldn't be sick, you know, till I had got you started on the right track. Go ahead now, and God prosper you." " But I can't leave you in this way," Mulford pro- tested. " You can, and will. You can do me no good by staying here. You have heard nothing but the truth from me so far, and you shall know the truth about this. Three years ago, in Southern Missouri, I had just such a stroke at the end of such another hot day as this. 'You must be warned, Mr. Lear/ the doctor said, * not to expose yourself long at a time to the direct rays of the summer sun.' At that time, perfect rest and quiet for twelve hours restored me, and I doubt not that they will do as much now. Go on ; you've no time to lose. Don't worry for me. I shall follow you to-morrow morning and join you some- where." " You'll let them send for the doctor ? " " Yes, of course, though I am sure that rest and quiet are the only physicians I need. Wait just a moment." He closed his eyes wearily and seemed gathering strength to say more. " Take the big envelope out of my pocket, " he whispered again. " Take it along with you. I need not tell you to keep those papers as carefully as you would your heart's blood. Tons of gold could not buy them." Mulford transferred the precious documents from the detective's inside pocket to his own. " One last instruction," was faintly whispered. " Have you any money? " 28 ON THE TRACK M A few dollars." " Take out my wallet. There are two thousand dol- lars in it, in large bills. Take half of it. You are starting on a mission, the length of which or the time of which no man can know. You can do nothing with- out money. Take it freely. I'll give you a chance by and by to account for it, and do you river stop nor rest till you overtake Weston Mayhew, and foil him." It was not a time for quibbling or demurring. Mul- ford took the money, pressed Mr. Lear's hands, and hurried from the room. Once more he sprang into the buggy. The landlord was at the horse's head, his broad red face overspread with a look of serious concern most unusual with him. " You'll do everything for him, won't you? " Mulford asked, as he gathered up the reins, nodding his head toward the parlor. " You'll send for the doctor right off?" " O aye, sir; never you fear. Dr. Sumner lives just below here, and my old woman is the best nuss in the country." " Let go," said Mulford. " Just one thing, young sir. I don't want to blame the gentleman in there for hard driving; I see that some deviltry is afoot that you two are tryin' to head off; I see that, from the talk and actions of both of you. But the fact is, just the same, that poor beast has been shockingly put to it this awful hot day, and I tell you he ain't now in condition to travel three miles. And you're going to the station and you mean to take the six twenty-seven west? " " Yes," said Mulford, impatiently. " What's the exact time now? " " Quarter past five. " " Well, sir, you may do it; but you'll have a dead horse on your hands at the end of the road." " Have you any horses? " Mulford demanded. " No; and I dunno where you'd find one here." ON THE TRACK 29 " Then it can't be helped. Let go his head, will you? " The landlord did so, and placed a small sponge and bottle at the young man's feet. " There's some spirits," he said, " when he's ready to drop in the harness, sponge out his nose, and you may get a mile or two more outen him. " With a cut of a whip, the animal sprang away. The hamlet of Granby was quickly left behind, and the long, straight stretch of the road over to the station was before them. For the first three miles the horse kept up a long trot without much urging. Then the whip had to be used to urge the tired limbs off from a walk. Short spurts of trotting slackened into a walk, and then into a dead halt. The heat at this hour was the most oppressive of the day. But for the powerful excite- ment that strung every nerve and muscle to action, Mulford would have sunk listless, like the poor dumb brute, under the burden of the sun and the atmosphere. As it was, he hardly noticed them. Half the distance was passed. Far away eastward he heard a faint but prolonged note, shrill and clear, faint as it was. " What's that? " he inquired of a man who leaned on his gate and fanned himself with his broad-leaved hat. "'What?" " That sound." The rustic listened. " Wai, I declare! Must be a mighty clear air to-day, if it is hotter 'n Tophet. That's the Western express whistling for Somers. I don't hear it more 'n three times a year." " How far is it? " "Twelve miles." Mulford had ceased looking at his watch. He put on the lash. The horse sprang away; the lash was 36 ON THE TRACK repeated; two painful miles were passed. Then there was a dead stop. The driver jumped out, filled his sponge from the bottle, rubbed it freely over the nose and head of the beast, and let him snuff the contents. " You poor, brave creature !" he thought. " I do pity you;. but I can't spare you, indeed I can't." Back in his seat, he urged the horse with his voice, and a fair speed was kept up for another mile. Then the pace slackened. One mile and a half still lay between Ernest Mulford and Granby Station. " It might as well be a thousand," he groaned, " with this miserable blown animal." Another noise caught his ear. It was a faint rumble, a faint roar; and far off to the eastward he saw a tiny thread of black smoke lengthening out over the tree tops. The express was near at hand on its rapid flight. Unmercifully, unsparingly, now did he lay the whip on the quivering, smoking flanks of the stiff and ex- hausted animal. He snorted under the punishment, and with a wild neigh of fright broke into a gallop. The buggy swayed to and fro with the speed. The driver clutched the reins with one hand and laid on the lash with the other. With frantic bounds the horse sped along the dusty road. Mulford heard the clang of the bell, the rumble of the wheels, and, panting under the whip, the animal stopped at the rear of the station, and fell in the shafts. Mulford got out and rushed around the building. The train stood on the track; there was some bustle and confusion. He saw three or four at the window buying tickets, and he stepped up there. Two or three more followed him. " Drayton," he said, laying down a bill when his turn came. The agent seemed almost bewildered by the unusual occurrence of half a dozen people wanting tickets for ON THE TRAGIC 3! the same train. It was a rare thing at Granby. He seemed to want to say something to the man who had demanded a ticket for Drayton. He looked at him, and saw three other men pressing up behind him. He saw the conductor walking the platform, and knew that there could be but a moment more of delay, and he gave it up, or rather he handed Mulford his ticket and change, and in the pressure of the moment forgot what it was he was trying to say to him. Mulford went out on the platform. A hand was laid on his arm. " Your horse is dead, sir," said a man. " I am sorry," said the young man, " but I had to crowd him. Who are you? " " Simple Simon, sir, at your sarvice." " Ah the village expressman. Here take this; bury the horse, and take care of the buggy. I'll be up this way again before long, and see you about it. " He turned away, leaving Simon in that excited state of mind that the gift of a five dollar bill would naturally produce upon him. "All aboard!" the conductor shouted. The bell clanged. Mulford entered a car. The train was crowded; he procured a seat with some difficulty. The sun had set twenty minutes before. The brief twilight was closing. The shadows of night were fast enveloping the familiar objects about the station as the train pulled out and gathered headway. Like a giant refreshed, the engine sped onward, faster and still faster, drawing its living burden of joy and sorrow, hope and fear, care and content. On, on, at full speed now, thundered the long train, with a rush and roar like the bellowing of some demon of the Arabian Nights let loose on earth; over rivers, along precipitous heights, through tunnels and past villages and farms, it fled at the rate of forty miles an hour. Sitting by the car window, watching the lights that flashed suddenly out of the darkness along the way and as suddenly disap- 32 A DESPERATE EXPEDIENT peared, Ernest Mulford felt his heart bound and swell with the proud feeling of triumph yet to come, soon to come. He felt that he was to be vindicated; that the love of which he had been robbed by the most cruel villainy was to be restored to him; that swift and heavy punishment was about to descend upon the guilty. His heart, if not his lips, continually murmured: "In time! in time! Heaven bring me there in time!" CHAPTER V. A DESPERATE EXPEDIENT. "TICKETS!" His eyes were bent upon the fleeting lights and shadows outside; he did not hear the familiar demand. " Your ticket, sir, please." The conductor's hand was laid upon his shoulder. He started, looked up at the bearded face of the official, which was becoming slightly clouded with vexation at the delay, comprehended what was wanted, and taking his ticket from his vest pocket, handed it over. The conductor took it, glanced at it, and looked with a frown at the passenger. " Dray ton," he said, snappishly. " Dray ton! Well, I'll be hanged if some of these agents will ever learn anything. Did you get this at Granby? " "Yes, sir." " The stupid dolt! I told him myself, not twenty minutes ago, that Drayton was off the card for this train; that the new table was out, and he would have one to-morrow; and to be sure not to sell Drayton tickets for this train." The conductor handed the ticket back. " There's no help for it, sir," he said. " I'll take you on to Bardwell without charge, since you 're not to A DESPERATE EXPEDIENT 33 blame, and you can come back by the accommodation in the morning. " He spoke quick and brusquely, as is often the way with his class, and passed on. He felt a hand on his arm, and looked over his shoulder. Mulford had risen up, and showed a white, rigid face to him. " Sir," he asked, " do you mean to say that this train will not stop at Drayton to-night? " " Well, that's about the size of it." " I understood that this train waited there for the express east to pass? " " It did yesterday; it won't to-night. They pass at Bardwell now. " " The public have had no notice of this, sir. Your agent sold me that ticket and took my money, without notice or explanation. I demand that you let me off at Drayton." " O, come now, young man, don't put on airs. I guess I know what I'm about. This is disagreeable for you, to be sure, but you've got to stand it. I know my business and I shan't stop for you. So you take it cool. And I guess it ain't a matter of life or death with you, either. " " The happiness or misery of my whole future depends upon my stopping at Drayton to-night." The words were spoken in a tone of such pathos that the conductor turned about and held his lantern up to scrutinize the face of the speaker. What he saw there impressed him. "Wait a few minutes," he said; " I'll be back presently and I'll see what can be done for you." At the rate of forty miles an hour the train rushed noisily through the darkness. After what seemed to Ernest Wolford an intolerable time, but which was only fifteen minutes, the conductor returned. "Well! "he said. A Sharp NighCs Work 3 34 A DESPERATE EXPEDIENT " I must stop at Drayton," was the decided state- ment of the passenger. The people who filled the neighboring seats had become interested in the difficulty. Those who sat in front turned round, and those sitting back of Mulford craned their necks forward. " I suppose you are strictly right, " said the conductor. "The blunder of that lunkhead of an agent at Granby has given you the advantage. But I tell you kindly, sir, that I have my orders, and I cannot stop at Drayton." " Cannot!" Mulford cried. "You have only to pull that bell-cord. " " If I did I might never have a chance to pull it after this trip," said the conductor, grimly. "In other words, I dare not stop. This is the first night of the new arrangement of the express trains meeting at Bardwell, and I must be on time. To lose the head- way that this stop would cause, would make me ten minutes late there. I'm sorry for you, but I can't risk it. I must obey orders, and you can settle your griev- ance with the company. " " Is that all you've got to say to me?" Mulford asked. " I thought you said you would see what you could do for me. What made you say that? Look here, sir! I must and will leave this train at Drayton. If you refuse to stop it, I shall leave, just the same. Perhaps that will give you a better showing with the company! I call on these passengers to witness the outrage; this company sold me a ticket for Drayton, and now refuses to let me off there. And if I am carried to Bardwell to-night, untold misery to good people will be the con- sequence." He became vehement, raising his voice till it rang through the car and sounded above the rattle and rumble of the train. Not I, reader, and not you, ever heard just such an appeal made in such a place; nor did we probably ever see a man possessed by such A DESPERATE EXPEDIENT 35 intense and desperate agony of soul as fired that of Ernest Mulford in that moment. The nearest passen- gers looked sympathizingly at him; but, as is the way of spectators in general of other people's distress, they said nothing, and none of them ventured to interfere. "Well, don't get huffy," the conductor said. "I will do all I can, all I dare to do for you. I will slow up as we pass Drayton, and you can jump if you want to." "Good!" said Ernest, with deep relief. "Excel- lent! I thought you were a man. I'll take the jump." " Mind, now; I don't tell you to jump! I don't even permit it; you're a fool if you do. You'll take all the responsibility." " I make no bargain," was the reply. " You are bound to let me off at Drayton. If you won't stop, I shall get off the best way I can." 11 You've good pluck, any way," muttered the con- ductor. " You'd make a splendid railroad man. " The prolonged scream of the whistle and the clang of the bell were at this instant borne back to them. " That's for the road-crossing, three miles this side," he continued. " If you're bound to leave at Drayton, you'd better get out on the platform." He hastened along through the car. Ernest Mulford rose and walked to the opposite end. Unclosing the door, he stepped out upon the platform. Grasping the rail with each hand, he descended cautiously to the lowest step upon the side where he remembered that the Drayton station stood. A brakeman stood above him with his hands on the brake-wheel, waiting for the signal. " It's going to be risky, sir," he shouted. " We can't check this speed enough to make it safe. Better not try it." Mulford heard him, but gave no heed. Tightening his grasp on the rails, he leaned over and peered for- 36 A DESPERATE EXPEDIENT ward. The roar of the train was in his ears, but he hardly observed it; he was not then, as at any other time he must have been, impressed with the fascinating peril of his position. There he stood, clinging to the rails, within eighteen inches of the solid ground, yet borne onward with such velocity that a single step at that moment would have hurled him into eternity! He thought not of that; he thought not of death or danger; his yearning soul was speeding far in advance of the train, over the miles that still lay between him and the mansion just out of Bardwell. The stars were dim in the sky; the landscape was rather obscure; the air was cool and refreshing after the intense heat of the day, and the rtfsh of it fanned his face, now glowing with anticipation. Familiar objects began to flit by. There was a lofty elm near by that he remembered; a white house, a half- burned barn. The train passed under a road-bridge; he knew it well. He remembered the slight curve by which this station was approached. He peered forward again. There was the high light, plainly in view. The whistle sounded in a prolonged shriek. He heard the rush of escaping steam. The brake- wheel crunched harshly behind him. He saw the end of the station and the platform before it coming into view. Twenty car- windows were up, and eager eyes watched him. The passengers shuddered at the peril he was braving. They saw and knew what he did not what he would not have heeded had he plainly seen and known it that the speed of the train, although largely slackened, was too great for such an attempt. It could not have been much less than twenty miles an hour. Opposite the door of the little station he jumped. His feet struck the platform together. The impetus he had gained carried him two or three steps further, whirled him about and flung him over. He fell pros- trate, his head striking heavily as he came down. " NO SUCH WORD AS FAIL 77 CHAPTER VI. THE train thundered on toward the ridge, and quickly disappeared in the woods that fringed its base. Ernest Mulford lay still and senseless where he had fallen. A short distance in rear of the station two men stood by the fence at the side of the highway. One, a tall, strong fellow, in a blouse and overalls, held by the bits two spirited horses, that fidgeted uneasily as the train went by; the other, with his hands in his pockets, looked at the flitting phantom and heaved a deep sigh. " Seems odd enough not to have the old flyer stop here," he said. " I came over only from force of habit to-night. Nothing to do here. What brought you, Ted? You must have known this morning, when you got that dispatch, that your man couldn't stop here if the train didn't." " Yes, I knew it. Don't know what made me come. I expect it was my anxiety to do something, or try to do something to oblige Erny Mulford God bless him! You don't know what a big-hearted fellow that is, Mr. Robbins, nor how he has helped me since we were at school together. I want to be able to tell him, when I see him again, that I was here with the blacks to-night, all ready hitched up, waitin' for him, and willin' and anxious to serve him, if he could ha' stopped." " What d'ye suppose he wants? " " Well, I dunno, but I guess he wants to drop in on 'em over at Gregory's to-night." The station-master gave a prolonged whistle. The two as they talked had left the horses, which Ted Vaun had haltered to the fence, and walked over to the plat- form. They were continuing their talk of what was about to happen at Mr. Gregory's, and what Mulford could mean by interfering, when they both at the same instant discovered the body of the latter where he had " NO SUCH WORD AS FAIL " 39 fallen. Hastily unlocking the door, the agent procured his lantern, lit it, and stooped down to examine the fallen man. " Is he badly hurt? " Ted anxiously asked. " Can't tell. It looks as though the fool had jumped off the flyer, and got the breath knocked out of him, any way. Bring him in here, and I'll look him over." Ted lifted his friend bodily in his strong arms as easily as though he had been an infant, and, following the agent into his office, laid him down upon the lounge. They loosened his clothes and dashed some water in his face. Mulford groaned and opened his eyes. " Where am I? " he asked. At Gregory's? " " Oh, no! Erny; you're here at Drayton," Ted re- sponded. " And I can tell you, my lad, you came pretty near being in Heaven, with your foolishness. " " Take me on to Gregory's," Mulford murmured. " Don't delay a moment. Ted, drive your horses round here, and we'll get in. You must get there before half-past eight. " He closed his eyes wearily. " I'm afraid he's injured Internally," the agent said, passing his hands over his body and limbs. " Yet I don't see that any bones are broken. " The wandering senses of the sufferer were arrested by the words. He opened his eyes again, and with an effort that contorted his face with pain, he sat upright. " My watch," he said. " Show it to me. " Ted took it from his pocket and held it up to him. The hands had stopped with the shock of his fall at seventeen minutes past seven. " Mr. Mulford," the station-master interposed, " please lie down and be quiet. Do you feel any pain? " "No; only a kind of faintness and a ringing in my head." " Mighty lucky he didn't have concussion of the brain," the agent muttered to Ted. " It was a narrow escape." 40 " NO SUCH WORD AS FAIL " " I say, Teddy," Mulford now eagerly demanded, " you got that telegram, didn't you? " "Yes, Erny; but " " And you've got your horses and wagon here, of course? " "Yes; but you " " Then let's start right away. I must be at Gregory's before half-past eight. You can make it, can't you, Ted?" " O, yes; but you see " He looked appealingly at the agent, who instantly interposed: " Mr. Mulford, listen to me, and see if you can com- prehend a little reason. I'm a bit of a doctor myself, and you are at present under my care. You have closely escaped a most serious, and probably fatal, injury, and your whole system has been severely shaken by the shock you have given it. Added to this, I see you are laboring under strong mental excitement. I tell you that the consequence of your going on to Bardwell to-night would, in all probability, be a brain fever. Do you comprehend?" The patient looked at him, wearily but steadily. " Yes, I comprehend; but I shall go, all the same." The agent lost his temper. " See here, sir; you don't stir a foot out of this build- ing before morning. Lie down there, instantly. I'll give you an opiate and send over for .Dr. Morton." Ernest rose to his feet. He was weak and dizzy, and his legs trembled under him. Ted Vaun promptly threw an arm about him and held him up. " You are very kind, Mr. Robbins," said Ernest, huskily, " and you mean to do the best you can for me, but you don't understand how I feel about this affair. I'll take no opiate ! Sleep, sir! You want me to sleep t at such a time as this, when I alone can frus- trate the plans of the wicked, and save helpless and deceived innocence? No, sir! I'll go to Mr. Gregory's " NO SUCH WORD AS FAIL " 41 with Ted if it kills me. I'd go if I knew it would kill me. Don't argue with me; don't try to dissuade me. Where's my hat? Teddy, help me out to the wagon. Good night, Mr. Robbins; a thousand thanks to you." Before such a resolute spirit as this, speaking in the voice and shining out of the eyes of this heroic man, good Mr. Robbins weakened. He saw that all con- tention was useless, and bestirred himself to do the best he could for his stubborn charge. He was by Ernest's side before he could take a step. " Just a moment," he said, with the utmost kindness in his voice. " If you're bound to go I won't try to detain you; but you must let me send you off a little refreshed." "Time is passing; I can't wait, ' r was the impatient reply. " For God's sake, let me go." The agent took out his watch. "Half-past seven," he said. "Ted, in how much less than an hour can you make it? " The man switched some loose papers on the floor as he replied: " It's a little short of eight miles to Gregory's. I can't rise the hill this side short of twenty minutes. After that, there's most six miles of beautiful down road. The blacks have done that, a mile in four min- utes, many a time. Say fifty minutes, at the out- side." " That gives you ten minutes to spare," said the agent, briskly. " I want only one of those minutes." He hastened to his desk, unlocked it, and produced a stout wicker flask. " It is brandy," he said as he uncorked it. " I keep it here for sudden emergencies like this. Drink ! " He offered it to Mulford, who put it away. " Thank you, I never use it. " " But you'll take a good dram of it now," cried the agent, " or Ted shall hold you and I'll force it down 42 " NO SUCH WORD AS FAIL " your throat. Here you are suffering from a shock to your whole system, not fit physically to be out of bed, just about crazy yourself with nervous and mental excitement, and you're going to ride eight miles in an open wagon. Take it, I say, without any more fuss ; I know what's good for men in your condition." Ernest took a draught from the flask. The strong stimulant coursed through his veins and colored his cheek ; he felt instantly strengthened and braced for the work before him. Without further parley Ted Vaun led the way to his horses and unhitched them. Ernest climbed to the seat without assistance, and Ted was quickly by his side. " Good-night," shouted Mr. Robbins, " and good luck ! " " Good-night ! " Ted gathered up the reins. " Hie up ! " he chirruped to his horses, and they reached out in a steady trot. " Put on the lash ! " Ernest cried. " Teddy, my dear fellow, don't spare them. " " Don't fret, Erny. I know how to get speed out of these animals. The hill is only a quarter of a mile off; they'll get cleverly warmed up by the time they get to it, so they will climb like sailors." " Do you mean to walk them all the way up that hill ? " Ernest cried, impatiently. " Every step of it, my boy. Do you want me to run 'em up and founder 'em ? You keep cool, Erny ; give me twenty minutes for the rise and then I'll spin you down the slope t'other side in a way that'll make you hold your hair on." To the base of the hill the noble team went with a swinging trot. The driver held the reins in his left hand, while his teeth labored at an enormous plug of tobacco grasped in the other. . His hat was drawn down to his eyes ; his eyes were steadily bent on the road, over and beyond the horses' heads. Ernest Mulford sat rather bent forward, also looking THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS 43 ahead. His hand grasped the iron rim at the end of the seat; his heart throbbed madly; he took no heed of the pains that shot through his limbs and body. He was conscious of a strange exhilaration of spirits as he entered on the last stage of his journey. Every breath he drew was taken with an unuttered prayer that he might not be too late; each throb of his heart was audible. One thought, one aspiration, one prayer filled his mind, to the exclusion of all else " O God of the helpless and the innocent, bring me there in time!" And the wheels seemed to echo the prayer in their swift revolutions, the gentle night-breeze seemed to murmur it. Nature in her evening slumber seemed so full of sympathetic voices, that the words were con- tinually ringing in his ears: " In time, in time O God, bring me to her in time!" CHAPTER VII. THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS. THEY reached the base of the hill. With long, even strides, without the least urging, the horses began to climb the steep and winding road. It was constructed up the rugged face of the jagged and irregular granite cliff where in many places the masses of rock had been blasted out to make foothold for man and beast. The way was painfully crooked; stunted trees growing in the clefts interrupted the starlight; this part of the journey was obscure and gloomy. Ted Vaun discharged a copious libation of tobacco- juice over the wheel. " How do you feel, Erny? " " All right, Ted; but I can't talk. You say what you want to; don't mind me." 44 THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS " O, well, my old chum, I guess I understand you. I've got to sing, or talk, or make some kind of noise in this pokery place. S'pose you think once in a while, Ern, about the times fourteen years ago or so when we sat on the same seat in the old school-house? You was a bright scholar, but I never could learn much out of books. Once you got a licking 'cause you wouldn't tell on me. By gum, Ernest, you was always plucky when you got roused! I used to think as long ago as that, that you had a kind of sneaking fondness for June Gregory, small as she was." ' Ted, don't! Don't mention her." " O! aye, I see. What a lummocks I am, to be sure, to put my foot in it that way! Well, I'll talk about the horses; if you wa'n't along I should be talking to them. Perfect match, you see; six year olds. Wouldn't take five hundred of any man's money for em; both just as good as they make hosses, but David is a little, just a little, better'n Jonathan. Queer names? Yes. Well, I heard the minister one Sunday reading out of the Book about those two; how they was pleasant in their lives and in their death they was not divided, and I gave the names to the colts. You can't think now those creatures love each other! I believe if they were separated for a week, they'd pine to death. " Teddy's garrulous tongue ran on thus till the top of the hard hill was reached. As they passed the summit Mulford's eager eyes were strained ahead. The stars were shining brightly now, and he could see the broad descent sweeping with an easy grade down from the top of the ridge over miles of fertile territory. The highway stretched like a gray ribbon due west until lost in the distance, and six miles off lights were seen as they flashed out, disappeared and flashed again. " Bardwell ! " cried Mulford. " Now, Ted. " " Hie up, boys, hie-e-e there!" At the driver's cheery, long-drawn cry the blacks broke into a fast trot, which in two minutes had THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS 45 increased to a tremendous pace. Faster, faster they went, the wheels spinning and the iron hoofs ringing on the road, while Ernest laughed and shouted with the long-pent pressure that must at last have voice. And then the unexpected! A round granite bowlder, started by some heedless or reckless hand that day, had rolled down that smooth descent some fifteen hundred yards, stopping at last in the wagon-track. The horses were right upon it; they saw it and swerved. It was upon Ernest's side; the driver never saw it. He heard the quick, warning cry of his com- panion, but he did not comprehend it. At that head- long speed one of the forewheels struck the great stone and was instantly shattered. The fore part of the wagon tipped down; the horses began to kick and bound furiously; with both hands did Ernest cling to the seat; how it was that he escaped death or frightful injury from those plunging hoofs he could not tell. He saw, in less time than it takes to say it, the horses free themselves from the gear and dash forward. Ted Vaun, holding like a vise to the reins, was dragged bodily from the seat and several rods along the road. With one leg fractured by a kick from one of those frantic hoofs the plucky fellow never released his grip of the lines, nor did he cease to cry "Whoa, Davey! So, Johnny!" in his efforts to calm the maddened team. They knew his voice, and, presently obeying it, stood still, though dripping with sweat and quivering in every muscle. Ernest clambered out of the wagon and knelt down by his prostrate friend. " Dear old Teddy," he said, " I hope you are not badly hurt?" Ted struggled hard to repress his groans; but the pain was too much for him. " No, I'm not much hurt, Ern. A few bruises, more or less and Jonathan gave me a bad one on this leg." 46 THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS " Can you get up? Let me help you." He put his arms under Teddy's, and raised him. The poor fellow gave a cry of pain, and sank back. "No use, Ernest. That leg's badly fixed; I can't stand. But you never mind. Get on one of the horses, and go on. Cut off the traces, strip the harness, and make a kind of bridle of the reins. Stick onto him, and give him his head, and he'll take you through. Don't mind me, old boy. Somebody'll come along here and pick me up soon; and it'll be no harm for me to lie on the ground awhile this warm night." For a moment for one unworthy moment, Ernest Mulford was tempted to comply. One glance he cast far down the road toward Bard- well; one fierce clamor of his heart, to mount and ride away there, he resisted and overcame; and then he turned back to his helpless friend. " Teddy," he said, " you can't think so meanly of me as to believe that I would leave you alone here in this way! I'm going for help, to that house that we passed back there. Will the horses stand or shall I hitch them to the fence?" " O, they'll stand; I'll talk to them. So, Davey! quiet, John! " Ernest ran swiftly back, and furiously assailed the door of the house. No one appearing promptly, he bolted in. The little place was filled by a laborer, his son, and their families; and the men, wearied with a hard day in the fields, were preparing for bed. Mul- ford burst in on them like a hurricane. "Here! come with me I want you both," he exclaimed breathlessly. " There's a man hurt, out here; I want you to bring him in, and take care of him. Say do you see that ? " He took a new fifty dollar greenback from his pocket- book and held it up to them. " Why, yes, mister, we see it," said the elder of the two, " and a right good sight it is for sore eyes." THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS 47 " Take it! " and the impatient Mulford threw it to him. " Keep it; it's yours; only fly round lively, and do what I tell you. I'll be back here in less than a week; I'll give you another just like it. Will you do as I tell you? and make haste?" " Why, bless you, yes; father and I'll do anything for you. It's rare good luck you bring us." " Listen, then; I've got to hurry away, and I want you to do just as I say. There's two horses out here; one of them I'm going to ride toward Bardwell; the other I want one of you to mount and ride to Drayton Station as though the devil had kicked you; find Mr. Robbins, the station-master; tell him that Teddy Vaun is out here with a broken leg; and then go to Dr. Morton, and tell him to come here at once. Do you understand? " " O, aye, sir; we know both those gentlemen. " "And will you go?" " I'll go, sir," the son spoke up. "Well, now, take that door off its hinges; get a mattress and put on it, and bring them out here to the roadside. You've to fetch Teddy Vaun here, and put him in you feather bed, and make him as easy as you can till the doctor comes. The women here will do all they can; I know they will. Hurry! " He stood by, fretting and fuming, while the men deliberately unhinged the door, and the women got the mattress to lay on it. He walked the floor, showering entreaties and imprecations on the heads of the men; and they, used to the slow ways of day laborers, let him storm, and took their time. At last they were ready; and Ernest hastened out before them to where Vaun lay on his back. He was talking to the horses, and a whinny occasionally showed that he was understood. " O, is that you, Erny ?" Vaun said. " What do you think? just now Jonathan came round here and put his head down to me, same as to say he was sorry. 48 THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS Poor fellow, he was frightened; he never meant it. But say ain't it high time you was off?" " Yes, Ted. These folks will take good care of you. I'll come round in a few days to look after you. Good- by, Teddy. " " Good-by, Ern. You'll get there. O, I say take David?" "Yes." Ernest Mulford took the laborer's son aside. " Take that horse to your shed, so you will have him secure," he said. The man started with him. Mulford removed all the harness from the other horse, and extemporized a bridle out of the lines. He found himself growing weak. He had to lean against the horse to keep himself up. " Help me to his back?" he said. The laborer did so. " Now head him toward Bardwell." It was done. "Stand clear!" He crouched down upon the bare back of the animal, turning his knees closely in, and held a loose rein. He had not the strength to sit upright. With a strap cut from the harness he gave the horse a cut over the flank. The spirited creature bounded, snorted and bolted down the road like a shot. The laborer's son had now returned, and stood with his father, watching the shower of sparks struck from the stony road by the iron hoofs of the vanishing horse. " A dreadful rattle-brained chap," the son remarked, gaping after him. " Very free-like of his cash," said the elder of the two, fingering the substantial reality of a fifty-dollar note. Ted Vaun was growing delirious. Their voices THE LAST RALLY 49 roused him and summoned back his lingering con- sciousness. " Where is he? " was his question. " Vamoosed with one of the horses." " Which one? " "The one with the half-cropped ear," replied the laborer. "Aye," whispered Vaun, "that's David; he'll take him through." And as they bore his poor, bruised body to the house, they heard him softly murmur the last words that he spoke in consciousness for days: "David is a leetle just a leetle the best of the two. He'll do it, if either of 'em could! " CHAPTER VIII. THE LAST RALLY. AWAY, now, as if on the wings of the wind! No further need to use the strap : a word, a cry, and the great black horse, with the sinews and wind of a Cen- taur, increased his speed. With a gallop like a whirl- wind he tore along the highway, neighing and snorting in the fierce joy that the rapid motion gave him. And, clinging to his back, weak, almost delirious, and still holding on with the clutch of desperation, the rider repeated his cry: " Faster, David faster!" Several wayfarers were passed on the road. They looked with terror and superstition at this phantom horse and rider, appearing and disappearing in a whirl. Two or three carriages on the way abandoned the road in time to escape being ridden down and demolished. Nearer and nearer flashed the lights of Bardwell. He was almost there. A Sharp Nighfs Work 4 5