Fighting for fortune or, Making a place for himself

Springfield at once. There is nothing but heroic measures left to us now. I must do alone what I can to aid my father. Failing, I shall appear in court on the day of the trial, tell my story, and hope to have some effect upon the decision of the jury.” “And me, Marcus?” “You must now think only of proving your own innocence and baffling the villains who have robbed and disgraced you,” and then, to Dean’s astonishment, Marcus told of Tim Downey’s latest scheme to secure money. He told Dean what he must do--go to the city and keep track of Tim, day and night, until he saw Colonel Darringford. At any moment that he thought propitious he was to have Tim arrested--if possible, when he got the money from Colonel Darringford. He was also to send officers to arrest Daley and the others at the cave. “Arrested, some one of them will confess the truth to save himself,” said Marcus confidently, “and circumstances will make your claims plausible.” “But I myself will be arrested!” “Never fear if you are. I will be on hand later to add my evidence to yours to convict these villains. You, at least, will come out triumphant.” “And you, Marcus?” “If I save you and my father, I don’t care if they send me back to the reform school for life!” cried Marcus doughtily. They walked on for over a mile. Dean told of the purse he had found. It contained nearly twenty dollars in silver. “We need it, and we won’t hesitate to use it,” said Marcus as they divided its contents. “Now then, Dean, you to the city, I to the quest of Manseur. Be wary, and act just at the right minute.” “I’ll try.” They passed some boys quarreling over some stolen pears in a field, ascended a hill, and at its summit Marcus said: “There’s your road to Springfield, I shall return to Portsmouth.” “Hold on!” exclaimed Dean as they were about to say adieu. “Look over yonder, Marcus!” “Hello! that boy is in trouble.” “I should say so!” “Shall we help him?” “I guess we had better.” At the edge of a cliff they discovered a strange and startling scene. Four boys had attempted to reach an eagle’s nest by lowering a rope over the ledge. They had lowered one of their number and he had just reached the nest when the mother bird came flying to the spot and attacked him. The boys above threw sticks and stones at the bird, and Dean and Marcus, reaching the spot, helped to draw the imperilled adventurer, badly frightened, to the top of the cliff. “Couldn’t hold on to the young eagle, the old one pecked at me so!” he said. “I guess you won’t try again, youngster,” laughed Dean. “Yes, I will. I saw something else down there.” “What was that?” “A lot of money.” “Nonsense!” “I tell you, I did.” “Money?” “Yes.” “Gold, you mean?” “No, greenbacks.” Marcus looked curious and incredulous. He peered over the ledge of the cliff: “Dean,” he said, “there is certainly a package down there that looks like money.” “But it can’t be.” “I’ve a mind to climb down and see.” “Take care of the eagle.” Marcus grasped a short cudgel in one hand and descended the rope. He uttered a startled cry as he saw lying among the litter about the rock, a package secured in manilla paper. One end had been pecked out so as to show the ends of bank notes. Near it lay a large envelope, discolored and torn, but he made out on it the address: “Mr. Durand, Attorney, Springfield.” Near it lay a lot of pieces of paper, evidently its inclosure, but the eagles had so picked it to pieces that only fragments of the original papers remained. Marcus Ellison gathered up every scrap of paper and secured them, the envelope and the money package, in his coat. He was very pale as he again reached the cliff. He gave one of the boys a silver coin, and said to Dean: “Come on!” At a safe distance from the boys, Marcus took out pieces of paper. Dean watched him in wonderment. “Dean,” spoke Marcus huskily at last, “I have found the papers that prove my father’s innocence.” “What?” cried Dean. “Yes, but torn to pieces. Here a word, there a letter. They are useless. That proof has gone forever, for the eagles have eaten away whole portions of it, but from the envelope I know that I must be right.” Yes, Marcus was right, but the discovery was of no avail, for the fragments could not be connected, and with a sigh of despair Marcus threw them away. “The eagle must have carried the package here from some of Meg’s hiding places,” theorized Dean. This was true. In the crevice near the exit from the cave Meg kept a lot of dried meat. In this she had placed the package for safe-keeping, and the eagle had rifled it, and strangely brought it to the nest where Marcus had found it. The money was safe, only a few bills being torn. They counted it--seven thousand two hundred and fifty dollars. Then they discussed new plans. Dean secured the money in his coat, bade Marcus an unwilling adieu, and the next day reached Springfield, on the track of Tim Downey. CHAPTER XXXVI. TIM DOWNEY ARRESTED. Two days later, just at dusk, some startling occurrences were to be witnessed in the vicinity of Boyer’s Hotel in Springfield. Since the day previous, a strangely dressed boy had occupied Daley’s room. It was the scheming Tim Downey. Tim had replaced his old clothes with new ones, and having an opportunity to secure cheap the discarded suit of a lackey, he presented a decidedly comical appearance in his attire, and fancied that no one would recognize him in it. He at once wrote a letter to Colonel Darringford at Millville as soon as he reached the city. It was a vaguely worded epistle, and hinted that the colonel would save serious trouble for himself and his son by coming alone to a certain room at Boyer’s Hotel that night. At the hotel was a close spy on Tim, although he little suspected it. Dean Mercer had acted wisely and cautiously, and had secured the very next room to that occupied by Tim. He had cut a small hole in the partition between the two rooms, and so closely did he watch Tim and overhear his hopeful soliloquies, that he knew that the latter expected Colonel Darringford that night. He did not, however, know where Tim intended to meet him, and at dusk Dean went to a doorway near the hotel entrance and lingered there, determined, if Tim came out, to follow him wherever he went. Dean had resolved on a definite plan of action now, in pursuance of Marcus Ellison’s suggestions. He resolved to learn the result of Tim’s interview with Colonel Darringford, then he would hasten to the police and demand his arrest, and if the colonel gave Tim a large sum of money as he expected, its possession by Tim would go to prove Dean’s assertions. Dean lingered in the doorway watching the hotel entrance, but Tim did not come out. “I guess if he expects the colonel it is at his room” decided Dean at last. “Hello! there is the very man.” Yes, Colonel Darringford came slowly down the street at that moment. He was not alone. A companion, who seemed to be only walking his way, was with him. “It’s the town marshal at Millville,” murmured Dean somewhat concernedly. “They shake hands, and Morton goes on, but the colonel has entered the hotel. I must get to my room and see all that goes on--stop, sir! What do you mean?” “Well! well! it is Dean Mercer!” Dean struggled in a strong grasp. He had crossed the road, forgetting all about the town marshal. The latter had seen him, stared at him, and now he held him firmly--a prisoner. Dean was too overcome to speak. “Disguised yet, eh? But I know you. How lucky I chanced to walk this way with the colonel from the steamer!” chuckled Morton. “Dean, you’ve led us a troublesome chase. But I’ve got you now!” “Mr. Morton!” gasped Dean. “Well?” “You mean to arrest me?” “Ha! ha! I should say so!” cried the marshal exultantly. “Please don’t!” “Ho! ho!” “That is, just now,” pleaded Dean desperately. “I won’t try to escape, honest I won’t. I never burned the _Spray_, I never robbed Judge Oglesby!” “Oh, you didn’t? Well, you will come on to jail!” “Do you want to learn the truth--do you want to recover the money that was stolen?” asked Dean. “Certainly.” “Then come with me, only for a minute, Mr. Morton. I promise you I won’t try to escape, only you must come with me into that hotel, and I will prove to you that I am innocent.” The marshal hesitated. “No tricks!” he said sternly. “Lead the way.” “Cautiously, sir.” Morton clutched Dean tighter as the latter led the way to his room and then to the hole in the partition that looked into Tim Downey’s room. “Now, sir, look and listen!” In amazement Morton peered into the adjoining apartment. “Incredible!” he gasped. For within the next half-hour he heard Tim Downey accuse Colonel Darringford of having hired him to burn the _Spray_. He heard the colonel admit it. Tim told how Dean had been drugged and robbed, and how Rodney had cashed the eight thousand dollar check. The craven colonel promised to pay Tim’s demand to free his son and remove the possibility of arrest for his share in the burning of the _Spray_. “The villains!” gasped Morton. “Dean, you are indeed an innocent, wronged victim of a terrible plot.” “Will you arrest them, sir?” asked Dean eagerly. “The colonel, no. We must proceed cautiously.” “But, Tim?” “Yes.” Colonel Darringford left the hotel. A minute later the astounded Tim Downey was confronted by the Millville marshal. He slept in the city jail that night. Before morning he had confessed everything, under a promise of light punishment for his share in the plot against Dean Mercer. That night, too, several policemen left Springfield to arrest Daley, Spofford and Rodney at the cave near Portsmouth. And the next morning a messenger left for Millville to bring Judge Oglesby and Lawyer Montague at once to Springfield. CHAPTER XXXVII. THE RECKONING. The news of the happening of the last few days flew rapidly, as news good and bad usually does. The papers in Springfield devoted columns with flaring headlines, to the developments of affairs which effected so many. “See!” cried pretty Eva Oglesby, running to her father and mother with the paper in her hand, “Dean has found out the whole cause of the trouble against him, and caught the wicked persons. “Tim Downey has confessed to his wrongdoings and confirmed Dean’s story. Rodney Darringford--only think of it!--was with him in his crimes. And Colonel Darringford actually hired Tim to burn the _Spray_! Can you realize that, papa? Tim hired two men to do his nasty work, and Dean has captured them.” “A wonderful boy indeed,” said Judge Oglesby, with a smile, for secretly he felt as glad as his daughter that his favorite had proved himself of sterling truth and worth. A few days later the trial of Tim Downey and his associates came on the docket at Springfield. That is, Daley and Spofford were tried, but Colonel Darringford and his son had disappeared and they were never seen in that vicinity again. So they escaped trial by the court, but we feel certain they had learned a lesson which lasted them through life. Tim was sent to the reform school and his confederates to the penitentiary. In the midst of this trial Marcus Ellison appeared, accompanied by the woman who had been known as Crazy Meg. Manseur, who was wanted so much, had been found by Marcus, but he was suffering from a fall and could not come hither. In fact, he had but a few days to live. Marcus had found Meg near to the river nearly dead and he had nursed her back to life. Her reason had returned and her story of the murder