The Edward S. Ellis Megapack

by Edward S. Ellis

  “It’s no use! I’ve got you and I’m going for you like two houses afire. Stand back, Bill, and don’t interfere; if I can’t bring him to terms, then I’m going to resign and climb a tree.”

  Everything was going like a whirlwind. Although Bill Lenman preferred on such occasions as the present to be a non-combatant, he was not the one to stay idle when a friend risked his life for him. He threw the lines over the horses’ backs and sprang down to give what help he could; but in the darkness it was hard to decide in what way he could aid the other. It was evident that Durrell was pushing matters with vigor, and there was no doubt that he expected to bring the rogue to terms.

  But it was easy for one in Ethan’s situation to be mistaken. As long as the fellow kept his pistol, the New Englander’s life was in danger. Bill stooped over with the intention of twisting away the weapon, but at the moment of doing so it was discharged, apparently at the driver himself, for the bullet grazed his temple.

  Finding himself unable to turn the pistol on his assailant, the ruffian saw a chance of deflecting the muzzle sufficiently to hit the new-comer, as he thought, and he fired, missing him by the narrowest margin conceivable.

  Before he could fire again a vigorous kick of the driver sent the weapon flying off in the darkness.

  “Keep your hands off!” called Durrell, the moment he discovered his friend was near him; “I can manage him alone. If you want to do anything get ready to tie him.”

  That was an easy matter, for stage-drivers are always supplied with extras, and a little skill will enable one to get along without a few straps already in use.

  Durrell found his customer tough and powerful. He held him fast for some seconds, but he seemed as tireless as his assailant, and the contest would have been prolonged with the possibility of the fellow working himself loose and darting off among the trees; but fully mindful of this danger, the New Englander had recourse to heroic measures.

  He tightened his grip on the fellow’s throat until he gasped for breath. This was repeated to the danger point, though the man continued to struggle as long as he had the power.

  But Durrell had no wish to punish him beyond what was necessary. He now called to the driver that he could give some help if he wished. Bill appeared to be bristling with straps and ropes, and was eager to do something, for, truth to tell, he felt ashamed that, after all he had said to the New Englander, the latter had attacked the fellow so bravely, while until this moment the one chiefly concerned had given no help at all. He was anxious to make amends.

  Reading the purpose of his captors and knowing that if bound all help was at an end, the robber struggled like a wild cat. He fought, kicked, struck, bit, and shouted to his friends to come to his help, addressing them by names without number, but all in vain; he could not have been more helpless if enclosed by a regiment of men. Bill Lenman was skilled in tying knots, and in less time than it would be supposed the prisoner was so firmly bound that he resembled a mummy, so far as the use of his limbs was concerned.

  The moment came when he gave up in despair. He saw the game was over, and it was throwing away his strength to resist further. While he had been so ready with speech, he ceased all utterances when the first knot was secured between his elbows, and resolutely refused to utter another word.

  “What are you going to do with him?” asked Lenman, as they stood him like a post on his feet.

  “What are we going to do with him? why, take him to Piketon, of course, and deliver him to justice!”

  “I know that,” replied Bill, with a laugh, “but I was thinking whether it was best to stow him under the seats or strap him with the trunks on behind; he might enjoy riding with that box.”

  “No; we’ll take him inside with us; some of the straps might give way and we would want to be within reach of him. Where’s them boys?” asked Durrell, abruptly; “I forgot all about them while this business was going on.”

  The attack and capture of the would-be stage robber consumed very little time, but it gave a chance to our young friends which they quickly turned to good account. They saw but one possible result of the affair, and concluded to make a change of base. It could not be doubted that they had done so, since neither was within sight or call.

  Lenman had paid no attention to them, and it cannot be said that he regretted their absence. True, their fare remained uncollected, but that was not the first time he had carried passengers free, and he could stand it again.

  The prisoner was deposited with as much care on the middle seat of the stage as though he were a package of dynamite. Durrell placed himself behind him where he could forestall any movement on his part. It would not be supposed that there was any chance of anything of that kind, but Durrell had read and heard enough of such people to understand the danger of trusting to appearances. The exploits of some of the gentry in the way of tying and untying knots would rival the Davenport brothers and other so-called “mediums.” Then, too, Durrell thought, he might have other weapons about him, for no search had been made of his garments. Anyway, it cannot be doubted that the New Englander was wise in maintaining such a vigilant watch of the fellow.

  Despite this exciting incident, which threw Bill Lenman’s nerves into a more turbulent state than for years, he could not help smiling as he listened to the efforts of the New Englander to open conversation with the prisoner. Durrell’s curiosity was of the kind that it could not be kept in the background. He was interested in the man and was resolved to learn more about him.

  He began in his insinuating way to inquire as to his name, how long he had been in this bad business, what led him to make such a dreadful mistake, where he was born, whether his parents were living, how many brothers and sisters he had, and so on with a list of questions which no one could remember.

  But the prisoner never once opened his mouth. He saw nothing was to be gained by so doing, and, though it is not to be supposed he would have told the truth, he did not trouble himself to state fiction.

  At the moment of emerging from Black Bear Swamp, Lenman was alarmed by being hailed by a stranger who asked for a ride. This was unusual, for he was now so close to Piketon that the walk would not have taxed any one.

  Durrell whispered to the driver to refuse to take him up, for no doubt he was a confederate of the prisoner; but Lenman thought it more dangerous to refuse than to comply. He therefore checked his team, and told the applicant that the town was near by and he was about to indulge in a needless expense; but the stranger cared naught for that, and hastily climbed up in front and seated himself beside the driver, who peered at him as best he could in the gloom, but was unable to make out his features.

  “If he tries any tricks,” said Lenman to himself, “I’ll neck him before he knows it; after that chap from New England showed such pluck I aint going to back out of the next rumpus.”

  Evidently the driver felt the force of the example, for he kept a close eye on the stranger. Besides this, he thought the occasion warranted a little extra urging of the horses, and he put them to the briskest trot they had shown since leaving Belmar.

  Ethan Durrell, as may be supposed, was fully as anxious as the driver, for he was almost certain the man in front was a friend of the prisoner, and if so, there was little to prevent a rescue, since, as I have shown, neither Durrell nor Lenman was armed.

  The relief, therefore, was great when the lights of the little town glimmered through the darkness, and shortly after the stage came to a halt in front of the old-fashioned inn, where it had stopped regularly for so many years.

  The passenger last picked up, there was reason to believe, had never seen the rogue before. The latter may be dismissed with the remark that, having been caught in the commission of his crime, he received full and merited punishment therefor.

  CHAPTER XIII

  ADRIFT IN THE SWAMP

  Meanwhile Tom Wagstaff and Jim McGovern, the two youths from New York, found themselves involved in a series of singular and stirring incidents.

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bsp; It will be admitted that they were not fond of meeting the kind of persons who brought the old stage to a standstill in the dismal depths of Black Bear Swamp, and, when they saw an opportunity to leave, lost no time in doing so.

  They were trembling in their seats, wondering what would be the next act of the dreaded fellow dimly seen in the gloom, when Ethan Durrell performed his brave exploit which ended in the capture of the rogue.

  “Now’s our chance!” whispered Jim, who saw the couple struggling on the ground; “bimeby he’ll kill that greenhorn and next the driver and then our turn will come.”

  “If that’s so, I don’t see any use in waiting,” replied Tom, losing no time in scrambling out of the coach, and dropping to the ground in such haste that he fell forward on his hands and knees.

  The driver and the New Englander were too much engaged at that moment to pay any heed to the youths, who were in such desperate haste to get away from the spot that they dashed among the trees at the imminent risk of seriously bruising themselves.

  After pressing forward until they were nearly out of breath, they came to a halt in the depths of the wood for consultation. They had managed to reach a point some distance from the highway, where they felt safe for the time.

  “It’s lucky we were cool enough to bring our guns with us,” was the bright remark of McGovern, “or there’s no telling what might have happened.”

  “Do you think those robbers will follow us, Jim?”

  “Of course they will; you don’t suppose they want us to testify in court against them and have them hanged, do you?”

  “But we didn’t see them plain enough to know them again.”

  “That don’t make any difference,” was the brilliant reply, “for I would know that fellow’s voice among a thousand.”

  “I guess maybe you’re right; it won’t do for us to go back to the road, for we would be sure to run against them.”

  “No; we’ll push on through the woods till we come out somewhere. If we were only acquainted with the country we would know what to do, but there’s no saying where we’ll fetch up.”

  At such times a person feels safer while in motion, and, though the young men had no more idea of the points of the compass than if adrift in mid-ocean, they pressed on, impelled by their anxiety to place all the space possible between themselves and the stage-robbers, who, they believed, numbered three at least.

  They agreed that the New Englander was the most foolish of persons in attacking the criminal, for, even if he succeeded in bearing him to the ground and overcoming him, his companions had already rallied to his help and would quickly dispatch him and the driver.

  Jim and Tom listened for sounds of the conflict, and the fact that they heard no shouts or more reports of fire-arms did not lessen their belief that it was all over with Lenman and Durrell.

  The boys were still picking their way through the lonely woods when they found their feet sinking in the spongy earth and were stopped by a morass which grew worse at every step.

  “It won’t do to go any farther over this road,” said Wagstaff, who was a few steps in advance, “for the water is getting deeper and I don’t believe there are any boats for us to use.”

  The obvious course was to turn back and make an abrupt change in their route. This was done and they soon were walking over the dry leaves.

  “Tom,” whispered his companion, who was still a few feet behind him,“somebody is following us.”

  “You don’t say so!” exclaimed Wagstaff, stopping short and looking around in the gloom; “are you sure of that?”

  “Listen!”

  Both were silent. There certainly was a rustling of the leaves behind them, which could not have been made by the wind, for hardly a breath of air stirred the branches. The violent disturbance that had so alarmed them when riding in the coach had entirely subsided and was succeeded by a calm that gave no sign of the flurry.

  “It’s one of them robbers,” was the frightened reply of Tom, “and he’s after us sure enough.”

  “You’re right; what shall we do?”

  “How would it work to climb a tree?”

  “What good would that do?” was the sensible question of Jim.

  “He wouldn’t know where we were, and by and by would give up the hunt.”

  “That won’t work. Why, Tom, I forgot; we’ve got our guns and they’re loaded; why not use them?”

  “That’s so. I didn’t think of that, but we must look out that he don’t get in the first shot, I’ll tell you what we’ll do,” added Tom, stepping so close to his friend that his mouth almost touched his ear;“you walk around back of him, so as to place him between us; then we’ll come toward each other and the first one that gets sight of him will drop him.”

  Jim was not over pleased with the plan, since it looked to him as if his task was to be the most dangerous, but he could not well refuse. He therefore faced the other way, and began advancing with the utmost care, making a circuit to the right so as to be certain of not running against the dreaded individual.

  In fact, the young man made a larger circuit than was necessary, but he kept his bearings, so that when he once more approached Tom it was in a direct line and the stranger was between them.

  McGovern held his rifle tightly grasped, ready to raise and fire the moment he caught sight of their enemy. While there was a little light here and there among the trees, it gave neither him nor his companion any help. It was so early in the autumn that few leaves had fallen, and, had he not used extreme care, literally feeling every step of his way, he would have been injured by the projecting limbs and the numerous trunks of the trees.

  While it may be supposed that the strategy of the young men had placed their foe at great disadvantage, they found themselves hindered by the impossibility of giving or receiving any mutual signals. Since the stranger was closer to both than Tom and Jim were to each other, any attempt to send word over his head was certain to be caught and understood by him. All that could be done, therefore, by the young men was to follow the lines hastily marked out before they separated.

  Jim having approached his friend as far as was prudent, stopped to decide what to do next. The boys were not thoughtless enough to lose sight of the danger to themselves in carrying out their plan. Since they were coming together each was liable to mistake the other for an enemy. They had not thought of this at first, but both remembered it now, and each decided not to fire at any person who might come into view until first challenging him.

  In no other way could a fatal mistake be guarded against, and when, therefore, Jim had stood motionless a minute or two, and was sure he heard the same rustling in front, he simply brought his gun to his shoulder.

  “Tom, is that you?” he asked, in a subdued voice that could not fail to reach the stranger.

  The noise ceased, but there was no answer. The youth now slightly raised his voice:

  “If you don’t speak I’ll fire! I see you and won’t miss.”

  The stillness continued unbroken, and the stranger did not stir. It was impossible in the darkness to make him out clearly, but sufficient could be seen to insure the success of a shot at so short a range.

  “I’m going to fire, look out! One—two—three!”

  Mr. McGovern ought to have reflected that no man, especially one trained in wrong-doing, would stand up in this fashion and wait for another to perforate him; but at the utterance of the last word Jim let fly straight at the figure, and what is more, he struck it.

  The hair of the youth seemed to lift his hat from his head, as a strange cry broke the stillness, and he heard the body, after a single spasmodic leap, fall on the leaves, where, after a few struggles, it lay still.

  “Have you killed him?” called the horrified Tom, hurrying from his station a few rods away.

  “I’ve killed something,” was Jim’s reply, who, drawing his pocket safe, struck a match and held it over his head, while both stooped over and examined the trophy of their skill and strategy.<
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  “Jim,” said Tom, the next moment, “I’ll agree never to say anything about this, for I’m in it as bad as you.”

  “It’s a bargain,” was the reply of the other; “we’ll never tell Bob, even, for he would plague us to death.”

  The object before them was a six months’ old calf. It had probably become lost in the woods, and, hearing persons walking, followed them with a dim idea that they were friends and would take care of it. The result was a sad example of misplaced confidence.

  Certain now that nothing was to be feared from the rogues that must have disposed of Lenman and Durrell long before, the youths resumed their progress through the wood with the same aimless effort that had marked their journey from the first.

  It was not long after their incident with the calf that both noticed that they had entered what seemed to be a valley of slight descent. The sound of running water warned them to be careful of their steps, though it was evident the stream was small.

  Wagstaff still kept his place slightly in advance, and was picking his way with the same care he had shown from the first, when he stopped short once more.

  “What is it?” asked his companion, stepping to his elbow.

  “What the mischief can that be?” asked Tom, in reply.

  Although Jim could not see the extended arm, he knew his friend was pointing at something which was now observed by him, and whose appearance mystified him beyond expression.

  “It must be a ghost,” he whispered; “I can’t make it out!”

  “Don’t stir; wait and see; gracious, it’s moving!”

  CHAPTER XIV

  HOST AND GUESTS

  Tom Wagstaff and Jim McGovern might well be puzzled at the sight which greeted them while picking their way through the wood.

  A strong light seemed to be shining through a screen. At first it was stationary, its appearance preventing them from guessing its nature. While they stood silent, wondering and frightened, on the point of retreating, the shadow of a person glided in front of the light. It was grotesque and gigantic, and flitted across their field of vision, disappearing as quickly as it had come to view. The next moment some one was seen holding a lamp in his hand and peering out in the gloom.