Fighting for fortune or, Making a place for himself
for it. Those boys! they make me feel sad. But Meg has her captive. Meg
must think of herself and her army.”
Meantime, the boys had left the vicinity of the cave, and they thought
it best to hide in a thicket near the road until the time for again
seeing Meg arrived.
Marcus Ellison had explained his suspicions to Dean.
“That woman certainly knows something about the murder for which my
father has been arrested,” he said.
“She may not have known the value of the papers.”
“Oh, I do not judge from that.”
“What then?”
“Her talk about crime and her captive.”
“You are sure you know him?”
“Yes, James Conroyd’s old hired man.”
“That’s the man Lawyer Montague believed was the murderer.”
“I think so, too.”
“He tried to cast the guilt on your father?”
“I know that.”
“And as soon as Lawyer Montague began watching him, Manseur ran away.”
“He didn’t run far, it seems,” remarked Marcus.
“No, Meg has him.”
“Yes; and she has some secret about him that she boasts of, as you
heard her. Oh! I am certain she knows everything about him and
Conroyd’s murderer.”
CHAPTER XXXIV.
IN A HARD PLIGHT.
They were hungry and sleepy, but about eight o’clock that morning
several vehicles passed down the road near them, and a boy came by with
a basket of apples, and Dean ventured to steal forth and beg some of
him.
Then he and Marcus slept until noon. Then they talked and worried, and
finally Marcus said:
“Dean, I’m going back to the cave.”
“What for?”
“To see Meg.”
“But she said not to come until night.”
“I’m afraid I couldn’t find the way at night.”
Dean was quite as anxious as Marcus, and they retraced their way to the
hills.
Without much difficulty they located the entrance to the cave. Here
Marcus paused.
“What had we better do?” he asked of Dean.
“Wait here for Meg.”
“Until night?”
“Yes; she said so.”
“I’m afraid she’ll forget all about us.”
“Then let us seek her.”
“Come on.”
It was a venturesome and dubious experiment threading the mazy
labyrinths of the cave.
They groped on and on, and finally emerged into an open space, but the
darkness was intense.
“I am sure that this is the main room in the cave,” said Marcus.
“Have you a match?”
“Yes.”
“Light it.”
Marcus did so. Its rays revealing some pine knots near by, he ignited
one.
“Yes; this is the central cave,” he affirmed.
“Where the captive was?”
“Exactly.”
“But he?”
“Gone. There is the chain and the ring in the rock.”
The man Marcus had recognized as Manseur had disappeared.
There was, furthermore, no trace of Meg.
The boys stared wonderingly about the place.
“Dean,” said Marcus finally, after a pause, “it looks queer here.”
“Like a struggle.”
“Yes, or some one throwing things about.”
“There’s been some kind of trouble since we were here.”
“What do you think?”
“Those men.”
“Our enemies?”
“Yes.”
“You think they have been here?”
“I fear so,” replied Dean. “It looks as if some one had been searching
for something all over the cave, and in so doing had disturbed things.”
“Shall we go on?”
“I guess so.”
The boys now pursued the other corridor leading from the cave toward
the witches’ sugar bowl.
Soon they came to where daylight showed and extinguished the torch.
Dean was in the lead, and just as he reached the opening he started
back with a cry of dismay.
“What is it, Dean?” asked Marcus excitedly.
“Look yonder.”
“Not the woman?”
“No, Daley and Tim.”
Both boys peered toward a little hollow where a small campfire burned.
Seated near it were two figures, recognized by the startled Marcus as
Tim Downey and Daley.
They seemed to be engaged in earnest conversation, and a grim, resolute
expression came into the face of Marcus Ellison, as he realized that a
knowledge of its details would prove of the utmost importance to them.
“You wait here, Dean,” he said.
“What for; what are you going to do?”
“Get nearer to those fellows.”
“Don’t try it, Marcus.”
“I must.”
“You’ll certainly be seen.”
“No, I won’t.”
“Some of the others may return!”
“You watch out, and whistle if they do.”
Marcus crept on the ground to a clump of thick bushes that lined the
hollow, in which sat Tim and Daley.
He listened intently, all unsuspected by the talkers.
The latter was indeed discussing themes of vital interest to Marcus and
Dean.
“Yes, we’ll leave here,” Daley was saying.
“When?” asked Tim.
“As soon as the others return. We’re beat all around.”
“Yes, Meg is done for.”
“Drowned, sure! We almost had her.”
Marcus was filled with dismay.
Meg drowned!
If this was true, farewell to all hopes of ever establishing the
innocence of his father.
“You see,” continued Daley, “we were too precipitate.”
“We found the cave here and went in. In the centre we found a man
chained to a ring in the solid rock.”
“Who was he, I wonder?”
“Some victim of Meg’s crazy plan,” he said. “Anyway, he offered to show
us all her hiding places he knew of if we released him, and we did it.”
“And we searched everywhere?”
“Yes, and found nothing. Then we came outside. The man told us of
another cave by the river yonder, and ran away.”
“We went there.”
“And found Meg.”
“She ran.”
“We pursued her, and she fell over the cliff into the river. I saw her
sink. Spofford and Rodney have gone to try and find her body, in the
hopes that the stolen money may be on her, but the current is swift,
and I guess it is a hopeless task.”
“I guess so, too,” replied Tim. “We may as well say good-by to the
money.”
“Sure!”
“And we’re paupers?”
“It looks so.”
“I’m bound to have money, I’m bound to leave the country. That fellow
Mercer is free, and he certainly knows our plots. Perhaps he has
already gone to the police with his story.”
“That’s so,” muttered Daley uneasily.
“So I say, we must get money and leave the country.”
“That’s easily said.”
“And easily done.”
“How?”
“I have a plan.”
“To get money?”
“Lots of it.”
“Tell it to me. You’re a keen ’un, Tim,” Tim’s eyes glowed cunningly.
“Will you help me?” he asked.
“Certainly.”
“And do as I say?”
“Yes.”
“I shall scheme to get ten thousand dollars.”
“That’s a heap.”
“I intend to get it.”
“Who from?”
“Colonel Darringford.”
Daley started.
“Rodney’s father?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“I’ll tell you,” replied Tim with a mysterious chuckle.
CHAPTER XXXV.
STARTLING ADVENTURES.
Tim Downey was full of schemes, and his present confident manner
indicated that he had one that promised more than ordinary results, to
his way of thinking.
“I’ve got a good one,” he said. “I’ve thought it all out.”
“What is it?” queried the eager Daley.
“I go quietly to Springfield.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
“Necessary?”
“Particularly so. I keep very shady, for that Mercer may have the
police looking for me; so I dare not venture to Millville. In the first
place, I must have a quiet and safe room for a day or two.”
“Take mine.”
“At Boyer’s Hotel?”
“Yes.”
“Got the key?”
“Here it is, and rent paid ahead for a month.”
“Good! That just suits me. What’s the matter?”
Daley looked somewhat troubled, as, after producing the key, he
continued to grope in his pockets.
“I’ve lost something,” he muttered.
“What?”
“My little change-wallet. In the cave, I guess.”
“Much in it?”
“No; a few dollars. Go on.”
“Well, I get the room and write a letter to Colonel Darringford, at
Millville, or to the steamer, in Springfield.”
“Yes, yes!”
“I tell him if he is wise and wishes to save trouble he will come at
once to Boyer’s Hotel.”
“Will he do it?”
“I’ll give him a hint that will make him.”
“And Spofford and I?”
“Stay here.”
“And Rodney?”
“Keep him with you, at all hazards. If he gets restive and wants to
leave, tie him up; but keep him, for his being here is a part of my
plot.”
“I see.”
“Tell him that I’ve gone to get some money you had in bank in the city.”
“All right.”
“When Colonel Darringford comes to my room I tell him that I’m in
trouble, all on account of him; make up a great story about Rodney
being a forger and the like, and say that unless I can get money to
leave the country, I shall go to the police and turn State’s evidence,
and swear that he hired me to burn the _Spray_, and that Rodney stole
the eight thousand dollars.”
“Capital!” cried Daley enthusiastically.
“Then I shall demand----”
“How much?”
“Ten thousand dollars.”
“Will he pay it?”
“If he don’t, I’ll tell him that a villain----”
“Meaning me?” grinned Daley.
“Exactly.”
“Well, what then?”
“I’ll tell him that you have Rodney locked up in a horrible dungeon,
and that you will never release him except to hand him over to the
police as a forger, unless he pays me the ten thousand dollars.”
“Tim, you’re a genius!” exclaimed Daley admiringly.
“I guess that will fetch the colonel.”
“Without a doubt.”
“You can wait here, and maybe yet find the money.”
“We’ll try it.”
“And keep Rodney?”
“Never fear.”
“I must have some money.”
“I’ll give you a hundred.”
Just then Dean Mercer, peering from the cave opening, made a discovery.
Some distance down the valley he saw two forms.
Spofford and Rodney were returning to the camp in the hollow.
Marcus was so engrossed in listening to the conversation of the two
plotters, and so situated that he did not see their returning allies.
Dean wished to warn him, but he feared that if he whistled as agreed
upon, it might attract Daley’s attention.
He groped about for a piece of loose stone to throw at Marcus.
As he did so, his fingers clutched at something soft and yielding lying
on the floor of the cave.
“A purse!” he murmured surprisedly.
It was Daley’s lost purse.
Dean pocketed it, and picked up a small stone.
This he flung with such accuracy at Marcus that the latter turned in
his crouching attitude and looked at him.
Dean made violent motions, indicating trouble, and Marcus crept back to
the cave.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Spofford and Rodney are coming.”
“Glad you warned me. Oh, yes, I see them. Wait; we are safe to watch
them for a time.”
Dean could see by Marcus’ face that he had discovered something
unfavorable to their plans.
On the arrival of Spofford and Rodney there was a conference and then
Tim left them, and the other three came toward the cave as if intending
to take up their quarters there, Daley glancing all about him in
evident quest of the lost purse.
“Come, Dean,” said Marcus hurriedly, “we must retreat. They are coming
this way.”
The boys did not talk as they hastened back the way they had come.
It was only when they had gone clear through the cave again and come
out at its other exit that Marcus spoke.
He led the way to a thicket and sat down on a fallen tree, with a
gloomy sigh.
“You look discouraged, Marcus,” said Dean anxiously.
“I am.”
“Bad news?”
“The very worst.”
“Oh, I hope not.”
“Yes, Meg is dead.”
“Dead! oh, that cannot be!” cried the startled Dean.
“Yes, drowned.”
“Then our hopes----”
“Of ever recovering the lost papers and money die with her. Those
scoundrels pursued her and drove her to her death. They have searched
for the money in the cave and could not find it, and no more might we,
even if they did not intend to remain there for several days. No, Meg’s
body is probably beyond recovering, and the papers and money hidden in
some out-of-the-way place, never to be found again.”
“It’s terrible!” gasped Dean.
“Yes, for my father. But I must not despair. That man, Manseur, has
fled. I believe him to be the real murderer of James Conroyd. The
trial comes off in two weeks. Dean, we must separate. You must go to