The Edward S. Ellis Megapack

by Edward S. Ellis

  “Well, there isn’t much to get acquainted with. I went down to the village and took a look around,” replied Wagstaff. “I thought I might run against Bob, but he must have taken another route. I had a little lark on my way home.”

  “What was that?”

  “I was passing Dick Halliard’s home, when I caught sight of his bicycle leaning against a tree in the front yard, as if it was tired. I thought right away of what Bob told us about that machine, and saw it was the very chance we wanted. It couldn’t have been better. No one was around, and I slipped through the gate, drew the bicycle out onto the road, mounted and rode it down to the path, where, of course, I got off and pushed it in front to this place.”

  “Good!” exclaimed the delighted McGovern; “that couldn’t have happened better. Won’t Bob be tickled! You are sure no one saw you bring it away?”

  “I won’t forget how I learned there wasn’t any one watching me.”

  “How was that?”

  “After I got out in the road I looked around to make sure. Nobody was in sight, but I turned my head too far, and set the machine to wobbling so bad that before I knew it I was over on my side, and thought my leg was broken.”

  “A cyclist must become used to taking headers; the wonder is that more people are not killed. Tom, I want you to do me the favor of letting me ruin that machine.”

  “I don’t know that I have any objection.”

  “Have you fixed on a plan?” asked McGovern.

  “I haven’t had time to think. How would it do to blow it up with dynamite?”

  “Too risky for the rest of us.”

  “Then we can chop it into splinters and make a fire to cook our game with.”

  “The trouble there,” said McGovern, who seemed to be quite cautious,“is that there is very little if any woodwork about it; it’s nearly all metal.”

  “Let’s dig a hole in the ground and bury it.”

  “That takes too much work; you know we’ve all sworn off labor for the rest of our lives, and we wouldn’t dare hire anybody, for that would be a dead give away.”

  “I have it; we’ll run it into the mill-pond. The water is forty feet deep, and nobody would ever think of looking there for it, and it can be done with no trouble at all.”

  “That’s the idea! It won’t take five minutes to put it where it will never be seen again. Where is it?”

  “Right up here on the edge of the mill-pond, all ready; it’s queer I didn’t think of it myself. But since you feel as you do, why, I’m agreeable.”

  The couple moved along the path, and directly behind them stole Dick Halliard. He had overheard every word that we have recorded, and he was nearly beside himself with anger.

  “So you mean to run my bicycle in the mill-pond, do you?” he muttered between his set teeth; “look out if, instead of running it into the water, that you two don’t get run in yourselves!”

  It was an extensive contract for the single youth to checkmate these fellows, but that was precisely what he had determined to do!

  CHAPTER XVII

  A BRAVE EXPLOIT

  The danger with Dick Halliard was, that his anger was likely to overmaster his judgment, and lead him to attempt something that would cause his own disastrous overthrow.

  The knowledge that the young man had just asked the privilege of destroying his bicycle was exasperating to a degree, but he might have reflected that, since the method chosen was by sinking it in the mill-pond, he had only to wait and watch where the submersion took place, when it could be readily recovered without injury.

  “I won’t stand it,” muttered the wrathful lad, stealing after them;“if they undertake that business somebody is going to get hurt.”

  It was but a short distance to the pond. Dick was walking dangerously near the couple, who were liable at any moment to turn and discover him. He saw the gleam of the water in the faint moonlight, but just before the pond was reached the path divided. While one encircled the extensive sheet of water, the other turned to the left, and led farther into the woods and among the mountainous regions beyond.

  It was as this point the pair stopped for a moment and exchanged a few words. The youth who had stolen the bicycle was the first to speak.

  “Jim, you’re so anxious to drown the wheel, and I’m willing, but there’s no need of waiting to see you do it.”

  “What’s your hurry, Tom?”

  “I’m anxious to see how Bob made out. I’ll turn off the path right here and go to camp; you’ll be along in a few minutes, and if everything is right, Bob ought to be there very soon, if he hasn’t arrived before this.”

  The matter was of no moment, and, as his companion took the path leading deeper into the woods, Jim kept on in the direction of the mill-pond, where the bicycle was leaning against a tree near the edge of the water.

  This little circumstance, however, encouraged the angry Dick, for he now had but one person to contend with, though the second was near at hand.

  Jim, as he had been called, spent several minutes in searching for the bicycle, though he was close to it all the time. This, too, was fortunate, since Tom was walking rapidly away and was likely soon to be beyond call.

  “Ah, here it is!” muttered Jim, a moment later, “I thought Tom was fooling me, but I’ll soon fix it now.”

  He took hold of the wheel, and as it assumed the perpendicular, began shoving it toward the water. The path was so narrow that some difficulty was caused, and Dick heard him muttering angrily to himself again.

  “I guess you had better drop that!”

  Dick uttered the words in the most guttural bass he could assume, and they were startling enough in the gloomy stillness of the place.

  Jim was on the very edge of the pond at the moment, balancing the bicycle, and about to shove it out into the deep water at his feet, where it would instantly drop from sight. The hiss of a serpent beneath his feet could not have given him a greater shock.

  He turned so abruptly that the machine fell over on its side with the rim touching the pond, which just there was at its deepest. Seeing a figure advancing from the darkness, he recoiled a step and faced the intruder.

  In his fright he stepped a few inches too far and fell backward with a loud splash.

  “It would serve you right if you were half drowned,” said Dick, moving forward to pick up his wheel.

  He had it erect in a twinkling, and started to push it along the path, when the terrified Jim shouted:

  “Help! help! I can’t swim! I’m drowning!”

  This put a new and serious face on the business. Dick let his bicycle tumble sideways again and ran to the edge of the pond to give help to the unfortunate youth.

  As has been stated the water at this part of the mill-pond was deeper than anywhere else. The instant Jim went off the land, he was where a twenty-foot pole would not have reached bottom. Furthermore, he told the truth when he called that he could not swim. He was unable to sustain himself for a single stroke.

  Quick as was Dick Halliard in dashing over the brief intervening space, he saw the head of the fellow disappear under the surface, the disturbed waters bubbling over him.

  But he knew he would come up again, and hurriedly looked around for a pole or stick to extend to him. None was within reach and the seconds were of too momentous value to allow him a further hunt.

  Knowing the endangered youth was in a panic, Dick now strove to reach him without leaving the land. Remembering where he had gone down, he essayed to step as far out from the edge as he could, in the hope that he might give him his hand.

  But, familiar as he was with the big mill-pond and its surroundings, he forgot that the shore at that place went downward as sheer as the side of a stone wall.

  As a consequence, the instant he bore the least weight on the extended foot, down he went with a force that carried him below the surface.

  But Dick was one of the most skillful of swimmers, and though the water was chilly, he came up like a duck.

&
nbsp; He was so prompt in doing this that he and Jim rose simultaneously, and within arm’s length of each other.

  “Keep still! don’t move, and I’ll take you ashore!”

  He might as well have appealed to the whirlwind. The instant he grasped the hair of the big fellow the latter turned and flung both arms about his neck, and despite all his rescuer could do the two disappeared again.

  The young rescuer knew that unless the desperate lock was broken both must drown, and the coolness with which he decided on the right and only thing to do and did it, was one of the most striking exhibitions our hero ever gave, or, for that matter, that any one could have given.

  While holding his breath below, the death-lock of the drowning youth was slightly relaxed, but not sufficiently for his hold to be released. Our body is slightly less in specific gravity than water, and, aided by the exertions of Dick, the two quickly rose to the surface again.

  The crisis came the instant they readied fresh air. It was then the drowning Jim would strive fiercely to gather his rescuer closer to him, and nothing less than the power of Hercules could shake him off. Dick knew it and acted accordingly.

  At the moment he gasped for breath he let drive with his right fist, landing directly between Jim’s eyes. It was the strongest blow Dick could deliver, and like a flash he repeated it.

  It did the business. Poor Jim was in a dazed condition already. The two blows of Dick stunned him and he became a dead weight on his rescuer.

  Fortunately for the latter they were close to shore, else his attempt to save the other might have resulted most seriously to himself. The larger boy was likely to recover from the stunning blow in a few seconds, and the instant he did so would become frantic again, while Dick’s strength must speedily succumb.

  The cry of the drowning youth rang through the wood and reached the ears of Tom Wagstaff, who dashed back to learn what it meant. At the moment he arrived Dick had reached one hand up on the planking which ran along the edge of the pond, and, with his other arm under the shoulders of Jim, kept his head in the air, but was unable to help him further until he should recover his senses.

  Dick knew who the second party was that suddenly appeared on the margin.

  “He’s all right,” he said, alluding to Jim; “reach down and give him your hand; he’s coming to.”

  The hand grasped by Tom was limp at first, but it suddenly gripped the other with desperate force, and putting forth all his power, Tom gave a pull which dragged out the half-drowned Jim, and stretched him on his face, where he showed signs of speedily recovering his bewildered senses.

  “How did this happen?” asked the puzzled Tom, looking at Dick as he emerged from the water.

  “He was about to push my bicycle that you stole into the pond, when he fell in himself; he called out that he couldn’t swim, so I jumped in after him; and now, if you have no objection, I’ll take my wheel home.”

  As he spoke he advanced to where the bicycle was lying, stood it up, and moved down the path.

  And as for Jim and Tom they spake never a word.

  CHAPTER XVIII

  AN ACT OF FORGETFULNESS

  It would be supposed that common gratitude would have filled the heart of Jim McGovern after his rescue from death by the very lad whom he had sought to injure, but when he returned to the tent, changed his draggled garments, helped himself to strong spirits and began puffing a cigarette, he was angered at seeing the smile on the face of his companion.

  “What’s the matter with you?” he growled.

  “Nothing, only I think you and I ought to learn how to swim.”

  “I don’t see any need of it,” replied Jim, who was in a savage humor.

  “Then you won’t have to yell for Dick Halliard to help you out when you tumble into the mill-pond.”

  “He didn’t help me out; what are you talking about?”

  “He said so, and you didn’t deny it.”

  “It was me that helped him out,” was the unblushing response of young McGovern, growing angrier every minute; “and I’m going to get even with him.”

  “Get even for what? For helping him out?”

  “For lying about me; I don’t allow any chap to do that.”

  “How are you going to do it, Jim?” asked Tom, glad of a chance to tantalize his companion.

  “Why, how do you suppose? I’ll lay for him.”

  “Ah, that reminds me!” said his companion; “I forgot it until this minute.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Why, when Bob started out this evening, he said he was going to do that very thing—lay for young Halliard.”

  “What’s he got against him?” demanded Jim, resenting the idea that any one should rob him of his anticipated pleasure.

  “You heard what he said last night; Halliard holds himself so much better than he that he feels it his duty to bring him down a peg or two; he told me that while you and I took a stroll wherever we chose, he would go down to Piketon to get some things at the store and before he came back would fix Halliard.”

  “I wonder if he did it before Halliard pulled me out of the pond—I mean before I pulled him out.”

  “If he did, it couldn’t have amounted to much, for he didn’t act like a chap suffering harm. No, it must be that Bob has missed him; but he’s likely to catch him on the way back. It’s so late that Bob must be coming home, and he’ll be sure to meet the young gentleman and will give him a laying-out that he will remember for years.”

  Jim smoked a few minutes in silence. It is a principle of human nature that if we do another a kindness we are apt to feel more friendly disposed toward him than before, while the one receiving the favor is inclined to resent it. His gratitude may overmaster this mean emotion, but there is something in the thought of being under obligations to another which is unpleasant, and results in stirring up emotions that are no credit to us.

  Jim McGovern could not forget that he was trying to injure an innocent person when that person saved him from drowning. Had he not been thus engaged, probably he might not have felt so ugly toward him. But his situation was so humiliating, considered in all aspects, that he looked upon Dick Halliard with more dislike than upon his bitterest enemy.

  “Tom,” said he, rising to his feet and flinging away the remnant of a cigarette, “I aint going to stand it.”

  “You are standing it this minute after sitting all the evening.”

  “Stop trying to be funny; I’m going after that Halliard.”

  “When—tomorrow?”

  “No, tonight; right away.”

  “Nonsense, it is very late; wait until tomorrow.”

  “I can’t do it; I’m mad clear through; I’m off!”

  He started toward the opening, but Tom sprang up and caught his arm.

  “If you are bent on going take your weapons with you. There’s no telling how badly you’ll need ’em.”

  “No; I don’t intend to shoot anybody, but I mean to give that fellow the biggest whipping of his life.”

  “How are you going to manage it?”

  “I can’t stop to explain. I’ll tell you when I come back;” and, without saying anything more, the wrathful Ranger strode toward the mill-pond, where he took the main path leading to the highway. As he saw the gleam of the water he shuddered to recall how near he came to death; but his evil nature had no room at that time for the sweet, tender emotions that should have filled him.

  At the moment of leaving camp he had fixed upon no clear method of procedure, and he gave his meditations now to the best plan for punishing his preserver.

  “It’s easy enough,” he added, after walking a short way; “I’ll go to the door and knock, and if it isn’t young Halliard that opens it, I’ll ask for him, saying I must see him on something important. Then, when I get him outside, I’ll jump on him. I can do him up before anybody comes to his help. If he’s the first one to show himself, it’ll be all the better.”

  Bob had pointed out the modest little home of D
ick Halliard that day, while the three Piketon Rangers were returning from their call at their leader’s house. Consequently McGovern had no trouble in finding the place. He was surprised to observe the twinkle of a light from an upper window, which he accepted as proof that Dick was in the act of retiring.

  I wonder whether, if he had known it was the light burning in the sick chamber of his preserver’s parent, it would have restrained him from pushing on with his scheme of revenge. I fear not.

  Standing in front of the gate the Ranger spent several minutes in making what might be called a reconnoissance.

  So far as he could discover everything was silent and no one was astir. It was the only house in sight, and the lamp, showing through the curtain, was the solitary sign of wakefulness in Dick Halliard’s home. No shadows passed in front of the light, and he wondered why it was that all was so strangely quiet.

  But the impressiveness of the hour did not deter the evil youth from carrying out his purpose. He softly opened the gate and moved as stealthily as a burglar along the short path leading to the front door.

  Here he paused a few seconds to make sure his plan would work perfectly.

  “When he shows himself, I’ll step back and ask him to come outside, as I don’t want any one to hear me. I’ll get him to shut the door and leave the porch; then when I’ve got him where I want him, I’ll let him have a half-dozen right and left-handers, and run as hard I can down the road. Nobody round here knows me and he won’t get a good look at my face. If he does and makes a kick over it, I’ll prove an alibi.”

  Nothing seemed amiss, and the expectant McGovern reached up his hand to sound the old-fashioned knocker.

  “More than likely it will be young Halliard himself that will come to the door—gracious! I never thought of that!”

  At that moment Bowser, the big bull-dog belonging to Dick Halliard, having heard a slight noise in front, came trotting around the corner of the house to see whether there were any tramps for him to devour.

  Had Jim kept his place he would not have been molested, for Bowser was too well trained to harm any one calling in the right way, and whose appearance was not against him. But the instant the youth caught sight of the ferocious canine, he did the very worst thing possible—he started to run.