Fighting for fortune or, Making a place for himself
“It’s Jack Carboy!” exclaimed Manly. “I am so glad he is coming.”
“So am I,” declared Eva. “Among them all he seems to be the only one
who has faith that Dean Mercer is innocent.”
“Besides you and me, sister.”
“Yes, Manly. But I can’t understand this last affair.”
“Avast there, shipmates, I mean, lad and lass,” greeted the newcomer.
“These air hard seas to sail.”
“What is the trouble now, Jack? And what has brought you here so early?”
“The b’y, lass. Is it true they hev run down his sloop and moored him
here in this landlocked harbor?”
“You mean Dean Mercer, Jack?”
“Ay, ay, miss. I heerd o’ it. He’s in prison. Lass, he hain’t done
nothing to deserve this.”
“I believe it, Jack. What can be done to save him?”
“Throw a rope to leeward.”
“I do not understand you, Jack. Tell us in plain English what you know
about Dean. You have heard how they have arrested him for breaking into
our house, and that he is now in the lockup. Oh, Jack! what can we do
to save him?”
Half an hour’s consultation followed during which Eva got a more
complete account from Jack Carboy of the burning of the _Spray_ than
she had ever obtained before. At its conclusion she said:
“I tell you what I am going to do. Father is too much worked up over
the whole affair to give Dean any consideration. So I am going to see
Mr. Montague. I do not believe he thinks Dean wholly to blame. Come,
Manly, let’s go at once.”
Having come to this decision Eva started immediately to visit the
lawyer at his office, accompanied by Manly and Jack.
They found Mr. Montague alone and willing to talk with them. In fact
the lawyer was glad to have some one willing to speak of his young
friend in a sympathetic manner.
“They are all against him,” he declared. “I cannot yet think he could
have been so lost to the teachings of his good mother, to say nothing
of the example set him by all of us. Go ahead, Miss Oglesby, and tell
me all you know of the unfortunate affair.”
CHAPTER XXVI.
CRAZY MEG’S MARK.
Let us see what that pair of young schemers, Tim Downey and Rodney
Darringford, are doing all this time.
When the money was received, and after Tim had paid off Daley and
Spofford, he and Rodney decided to join forces, and go off “on a good
time” to Columbus, a large city west of Springfield.
“Life is too slow and risky here,” Tim had remarked, “and we would be
suspected if seen with all this money.”
It was, indeed, a large amount for two boys to handle.
The boys left Springfield with the idea of going to Columbus, but did
not.
Ten miles from Springfield they made a change in their plans. Here
was located a noted summer resort, known as Eagle Cliff, and Rodney
insisted on spending a day or two there.
“What for?” asked Tim.
“To cut a dash.”
“Who’s there?”
“A lot of snobs from the academy I used to go to. I’d just like to show
them that I’ve got more cash than any of them.”
“All right, I’m willing,” assented Tim.
Both boys had rigged themselves up in the finest of clothes, and the
amount of gaudy jewelry that Tim wore was enormous.
They tired of the humdrum life at Eagle Cliff in a day, and both
decided to go on to Columbus.
“Suppose we drive there, and take in the fair at Chester and the races
at Dover on the way?” suggested Tim.
“All right.”
The result was that they made an arrangement with a liveryman to supply
a double team, and one morning they started for Columbus by way of a
fine road lined by charming villages.
They drove recklessly, and in crossing a narrow bridge were so
precipitate that they crowded several boys standing there to its
extreme edge.
One little fellow fell over into the stream and was with difficulty
rescued, but the indifferent Tim and Rodney only laughed at the anger
and indignation of the boy’s companions.
Late that afternoon Tim Downey and his companion arrived at a place
called Ridgeton, where they lingered long enough to get quite
intoxicated.
The tavern keeper bluntly told them that they were not in a condition
to pursue the journey, and that the horses were nearly exhausted.
“We’ll load up with a dozen bottles of champagne and go on to the fair
at Chester,” persisted Tim.
Five miles on the road they became uproariously, intoxicated and
wandered off from the road, finding themselves pursuing a sandy and
yielding course along the shores of a lake.
A girl calling home the cows told them that they had better retrace
their way to the road, but they were stubbornly determined to cross a
swampy reach of land by a short cut, and kept on.
Darkness overtook them at last. They kept drinking more and more,
quarreled, had a fist fight, and then Rodney, at last overcome with the
wine, lay in the bottom of the carriage unconscious.
Tim, angry at the slow progress of the horses, lashed them with the
whip. The animals became frightened and unmanageable.
They tore the reins from his hands, ran away, and colliding with a
tree, the frail vehicle was dashed to fragments and both boys landed
insensible among a wreck of wood and wine bottles in the swamp.
It was about midnight when Tim awoke. It was raining hard, and he lay
in a puddle of water. Every garment he wore was soaked through and
through.
To his stupefied mind, at last came the light, and he groped around and
tried to make out his surroundings.
He stumbled over a wheel and other portions of the wrecked carriage,
and finally found the lamp that was formerly attached to the whip
socket.
About the only dry thing about him, except his parched tongue, was the
inside of his tin match safe.
He managed to light the lamp. Then its rays showed that the carriage
was a hopeless wreck, the horses gone, and that Rodney Darringford was
lying in a stupid slumber in a water-filled rut near by.
Four of the bottles in the basket were intact, and Tim drained one
feverishly.
“Here, wake up, Rodney!” he shouted to his companion, shaking him
vigorously.
“Eh? Lemme be!”
“Wake up!”
“Won’t!”
But Tim maliciously switched Rodney until he aroused to wakefulness.
Then he gave him a bottle of wine, pocketed the two others, and taking
up the carriage lamp, said:
“Come on!”
“Where are you going?” asked Rodney irritably.
“To find shelter. We’re in an awful fix.”
“Yes--clothes are spoiled.”
“And rig wrecked. It will cost us something.”
“If the man ever sees us again, yes. Ha! ha!”
The remaining wine buoyed up the flagging spirits of the two reckless
boys and made them forget the chill and rain.
They floundered in and out of the swamp and finally reached the higher
ground.
No lights showed anywhere.
Finally, between two hills where the uplands began, Rodney said:
“We’ll stay here.”
“Oh, no!”
“Must; I’m tired.”
“But it’s raining!”
“Don’t care.”
“We must find shelter.”
“Find it, then! I’m comfortable here,” replied Rodney obstinately.
Tim went on a little way. He made a discovery, and shouted back to his
companion:
“Come on, Rodney!”
“What’s the matter?”
“Found a cabin.”
“All right.”
Rodney staggered after Tim. In a little grove a dismantled hut showed.
It had no door, and the window apertures were sashless, but it was a
shelter.
Tim entered it. The carriage lamp showed a bare interior, a broken
bench, a stool, a three-legged table and an enormous fireplace.
Rodney lay down on the bench with a grunt of relief, but Tim, shivering
with the dampness and cold, proceeded to gather a lot of wood outside.
He soon had a rousing fire in the fireplace, and found the door that
had been broken off its hinges outside and propped it into place to
keep out the wind and rain.
“Come, Rodney,” he said to his sleepy companion, “take off some of your
clothes and spread them out to dry.”
Rodney reluctantly obeyed, and Tim did the same, and their coats,
vests, hats and shoes and stockings were soon steaming before the fire.
“Where’s your money, Rodney?” asked Tim.
“In my pocket.”
“Hand it out.”
“What for?”
“Take it out and see.”
Rodney did so. He now knew what Tim meant. The roll of bills and even
the interior of the wallet that contained them were a mass of wet rags,
almost reduced to a pulp.
The new, crisp bills were matted together and discolored so much that
he looked alarmed.
“Same way with mine,” said Tim. “We’ll have to separate and dry them.”
“You do it. I’m sleepy.”
“No; you must do your share,” retorted Tim.
They soon had the broad stone in front of the fireplace covered with
the water-soaked bank notes.
“Hello! these papers are pretty nearly done for,” said Tim, as he drew
a large envelope containing documents from his pocket.
“What’s that, Tim?” asked Rodney curiously.
“Some papers I took from young Ellison on board the _Spray_.”
“What are they?”
“Oh, something about the Ellison murder. They’re no good.”
“Hold on.”
Tim had made a motion as if to throw them in the fire.
“What’s the trouble?”
“Don’t destroy them.”
“Why not?”
“They may be important.”
“They’d prove we were thieves if they found them on us.”
“Well, dry them with the rest, and I’ll see what they are in the
morning.”
“Just as you say,” and Tim spread the papers out to dry alongside of
the bank notes.
It was a curious picture that the interior of the rude cabin presented
half an hour later.
A fortune lay on the hearth, and near it slumbered the stupefied boys.
The scene had an outside spectator, although the boys little suspected
it.
At the window, just as they began talking about the bank notes and
the papers, and spreading them out to dry, a strange, weird face had
appeared.
A wild pair of eyes gleamed in at the scene, and the same eyes peered
in at the door as it was stealthily lifted out of place half an hour
later.
At the door appeared a strange figure. It was that of a woman, old,
haggard, with bedraggled attire, and face and eyes that seemed to
indicate that she was some homeless wanderer, bereft of her reason, and
accidentally strayed here.
For all that, there seemed to be a purpose in her visit. She moved
about stealthily, and her gleaming glance was fixed on the papers and
bank notes on the hearth.
Chuckling, muttering, she gathered up the last one of them, thrust them
into a bundle under her shawl, and then stole toward the door again.
Halfway to it she paused. An elfish, crooning laugh escaped her lips.
She drew a bottle filled with blood-red liquid from beneath her shawl,
dipped her finger in it, and then deliberately marked an X on the
forehead of each of the sleeping boys.
“Blood!” she muttered. “I’ll mark them, too, for they spoke that name,
Ellison. Money and papers! ho! ho! Crazy Meg will go to the bad man
with the knife who scared her so, ho! ho!”
Then the woman disappeared as silently as she had come to the cabin.
It was broad daylight when Rodney Darringford awoke. He gazed around
stupidly. The door was out of place, and the fire was out.
He looked startled as he glanced at the hearth, and recalled the night
previous.
“Tim! Tim!” he cried. “Wake up. Say, did you gather up the money?”
“What money?”
“The bank notes we spread on the hearth to dry.”
“Not I. They’re there.”
“Well, they ain’t.”
“What?”
“No.”
Tim sat bolt upright and stared blankly at the hearth.
“You’re joking, Rodney?”
“I ain’t.”
“Just wake up?”
“Yes.”
“Wind blew them into the corner of the room.”
“None there, and the door is down. Some one has been here.”
“The money is gone?”
“Yes, stolen.”
“We’re beggars.”
“Worse--thieves!”
The worst was soon known. The money was gone.
The only plausible theory was one admitting that some dishonest prowler
had discovered the money, and taken it.
The blow was a terrible one to the boys, so much so, that when Rodney