Beadle's Half Dime Library, No. 187 — page 17: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Heed Halwars (thes He, Boat Bags ee ee ee” Indeed, it might be gling agents at work, sonal in uy, m Bundy has ible that, if it were smug- e might be subjected to per- got that double-twist eye of t Fred, ‘* I'll have to circum- ssi? J his on my door,” thoug ‘vent him. than by the door. These windows, now, are dy.”’ There were two windows overlooking the nearly flat roof of the porch. This was upheld by several wooden Ware, and extended out about five feet from the house. Fred lost no time in stepping through his raised window to the porch roof. Along this he made his way to the nearest end, the one overlooking the sta- ble yard. His suspicions were correct. There stood a Bane wagon, drawn by a single horse. A faint light from the house fell upon the wagon, at the rear of which two men seemed to be busied. Ata glance he recognized one of these as his host. The affair was growing interesting. Fred moved back, with the utmost caution, to the opposite end of the porch, Here he was quite removed from ob- servation by the men he had seen. In an instant, with an agility for which he was somewhat noted he swung himself over the corner of the roof, and grasped with his feet the round wooden post. It did not take the active lad a minute to get a firm hold of the latter and slide down to the porch. With undiminished caution Fred sought the other end of ae porn and, under cover of a clump of bushes, made his way to a point not far removed from the wagon. He carefully erocp ad behind his shelter as he heard voices seemingly approaching from the house. The dim light again Sone into the yard, revealing Jim Bundy and a stoutish com- on, whom Fred had not seen before. They had certain bundles in their arms, which they carefully arranged in the wagon. ‘That finishes,’’ said Bundy. ‘‘ You had better oouer them with your oil-cloth blanket. It might rain.” ‘*That’s so,"’ replied the driver. ‘‘It is thickening up a little. e'll be on the safe side,”’ As he spoke he proceeded to spread a large water- proof covering over the packages in his wagon, pss curtains he also drew down and tightly se- cured. ‘‘There; I think we are safe now from rain, and from prying eyes, too, for that matter.”’ ‘* How patent we've sold our spy up-stairs,’’ re- marked Bundy, with alow laugh. ‘* Won’t I be in- nocent to-morrow morning! I know the boy thinks he is a very razor for sharpness.”’ “It might have been better for you if you hadn't been so innocent to-night,’’ muttered Fred. “I don’t owe the chap any thanks for giving me this long night ride,” growled the man. “If I were In your place I'd get even with him yet, for his ‘No, no, I don’t owe the bo oor malice,’’ return- ed Bundy. ‘“‘He’s a sort of old acquaintance of mine, too, though I can’t quite get the hang of how it comes: about. Are you all ready now?”’ ‘* You had better come in first, and try some hard stuff. You'll find a eae of brandy will be prime bac ag’in’ the night air.” ‘Don't keer if I do,” returned the man, ve reeely. “Tt never hurts a man to warm up his in’ards.”’ The two returned to the house, closing the door behind them, and spusting out the dim gleam which came from some light within. happened during the interval of their ab- sence we ti. not just here relate. They returned after a few minutes, the driver mounting into his wagon and taking the reins. ‘Give m ects to that young gentleman,’’ he said. ‘I te ell have a good night’s sleep and t dreams.”’ leasan . > ‘‘Drive careful,’ cautioned Bundy. ‘The fellow might wake.” e driver did so, walking his horse until he had tsome distance down the street. Here, turning to a road | northward, he drove more rap- idly, chuckling quietly to himself. “T’ve a notion the spy’s badly sold,”’ he cogitated. ““ What. these goods are I know no more than the man in the moon. There’s something underhand about them, that’s certain. But all my business is to fetch them safe into New York, and hold my tongue afterward.” e drove steadily on fortwo hours. Phe moon, now in its last quarter, was shining, and lit up the country road. emonitions of daylight, in fact, now layed themselves, gro stronger with every peinntes Chanticleer was giving his signal of the coming day over all the country round, and a faint rose tinge began to paint the cloudy curtains of the east. “IT hope Brice’s will be open,’’ muttered the dri- ver. “This night air isfearful damp. I must warm up somewhere.”’ he sun just showed his red limb at the horizon when the wagon arrived in front of a low, long inn, about which a man or two were already moving. “That's clever. I thought they’d be around. Must wet my whistle before I go another step.” He alighted from the wagon, and greeted the men, who followed him into the house. The driver's whistle must have been a very long or a very dry one, for it took a considerable time to be- come thoroughly moistened. He would have made better time, per ape, if he had known all that was going on outside while he was thus occupied within. ly had he left the wagon ere a slight commo- tion took place in bis cargo. The oil-cloth covering slowly lifted, inch by inch, a curly head gradually becoming uncove A pair of bright eves took a heen observation of the general look of things, and | ~~. There are more ways of leaving a room | then, slowly and carefully, the form followed the head. It was the ay of Fred Halyard, who had been taking a free ride, cosily coiled away under the oil-cloth covering of the goods. He looked out heedfully from the front of the wagon. The coast was clear. Without an instant’s hesitation Fred pe: iy the reins, which had been loosely tucked in at the front of the wagon. Witha slight hint the horse stepped lightly away. **Good-by,” said Fred, aloud. ‘‘ Excuse me for not waiting, but ’min a fearful old hurry to-day. Will call or you on my way back, if I come this A touch with the whip and the horse was off at a rapid pace down the road. Then what Fred had expected a aaa A ery of alarm was heard from inside the barroom, and the men came rushing hastily out. The horse seemed to them to have start- ed of his own accord. ‘That comes of not hitching your animal,”’ said one of the men to the driver. But the latter started off at full speed down the road, yelling after the horse, andstriving to catch it. For a full quarter of a mile this chase continued, at the end of which time Fred stuck his head out- side the wagon, calling back to the pursuer: ‘**T wouldn’t get out of breath, if 1 was you. It’sa long run from here to York. Best go back and wet your whistle and get a fresh wind.”’ It was with a curse of deep por that the driver recognized the true position of affairs. He guessed in an instant what had happened. From Bundy’s description of the shrewdness of the youthful sp he imagined that the latter had in some way out- witted them. “Tl be even with you yet, blast you,’ screamed the driver. ‘‘There’s better horseflésh in the world than that old tub you've got.” Turning he ran hastily back. Fred, foreseeing his intentions, whip up his horse, but the mal had something of a load behind him, and was more noted for bottom than speed at the best. He had not got more than a half-mile from the inn ere the driver was upon his track, in a light wagon, drawn by a horse of considerable speed. One of the men from theinn occupied the carriage with the driver. Fred continued to whip up, hoping to reach some town, or obtain assistance of some kind ere he was overtaken. But the road was here lonely, and ere he had made a mile and a half from the inn the pur- suers were immediately behind him. ‘** Hold up there, you hound!” sung out the wrath- fuldriver. “If you don't want to be whipped with- in an inch of your life.”’ ‘Hallo! stranger, what’s up?’’ replied Fred, checking his horse. ‘‘ Want to take a ride? I don’t care if I do give you a lift, being’s it’s you.”’ CHAPTER XXII, AN INTERVIEW. But we must leave Fred Halyard for awhile in his somewhat critical situation, and return to Beach City, where the movements of certain other friends demand attention. Mr. Darlington was slowly feeling his way toward & plan for disconcerting Amos Yarnall, whom he so thoroughly despised and hated that the imminent risk of losing his fortune in another direction trou- bled him less than it would have done. Two strong feelings in the mind must limit each other’s et ye — the hope of revenge diminished the drea of Oss. He had heard of the incident recorded in a former chapter, of the loss of a vessel called the Monsoon, and of the knowledge of it possessed by the sailor, Jack Bunce. It was principally through Mr. Dar- lington’s wishes that the handsome tar remained at Beach City, enjoying being made a lion of, and closeted in long interviews with his rich patron who, in consequence of these interviews, sent out aa letters in quest of some desirable informa- on. Amos Yarnall was on needles during these days. He did not dare to act. The peculiar indifference shown him by Mr. Dar ington, and the apparition of the familiar face which he had lately seen in con- versation with the latter person, made him pause in his movements. He was too shrewd to act rashly. He must first learn more about this boy. But the latter had somehow disappeared. Yarnall sought the city for him in vain. It was during this period that Mr. Darlington was honored by a visit from Will Howard, of whom he had seen nothing for several days. The fact was that Will had been keeping very close quarters. His face was in no very presentable condition, and he preferred to keep himself the little adventure which,he had experienced on Turtle Island. It was an incident which would not tell very well in his autobiography. His retirement, in fact, made a less ripple in the circle of his friends than was quite complimentary. Rose Darlington was rather pleased than otherwise with his absence, betrothed as they were. The fact is that Will’s behavior had been anything but agree- able to her of late, and a change was coming over the spirit of her dreams. It might be, also, that other thoughts had intruded themselves into her mind. Her engagement with Will Howard had been more a question of management between the old folks than of love between the young folks. It had been assented to on her part from lack of any heart- pull in other directions. But she was not quite so gure now that she was heart-free. Not that she took any cold-blooded and mathe- matical view of the case, but ome d that a hardness of feeling toward her betrothed, and a softness of sentiment in another direction, had taken involun- tarv possession of her mind. As for Will Howard, the truth is that he did uot ow ee oe te eee SSeS ee 1 love anybody very ardently but bimself, and he had not the skill possessed by some very ordinary folks in poncenting this fact. But he had no idea of losing Rose Darlington. She was the only daughter of a very wealthy man, which was, to him, a feature of the case of very great im- portance, It was for this reason that he asked for an inter- view with Mr. Darlington as soon as he wassure that his face had Porn Dial ab He felt that he had shown the cloven foot too freely to bis betrothed. He must try and retrace his lost ground. “*T ought to have been looking you up, Will,”’ ob- served Mr. Darlington. ‘But I have been very much occupied, and I did not fancy that you were seriously under the weather. Got a little too much sun-scorched, did you not?”’ “Something of that kind,” replied Will, whose face had regained its normal condition. “ There are some days here in which the sun does burn furi- ously. Iam all right now, though.” **l perceive that,”’ returned Mr. Darlington. “*T wished to see you,” continued Will, witha slight hesitation, “in regard to Rose. I fancy we are both old enough to marry.” **T imagine so,’ rejcined Mr. Darlington, mental deciding that Will was looking rather too old for years. **But I cannot get her to see it in that light. She continues to put off the period of our marriage—I do not see why. There is no reason why we should delay itformonths or years vet. I wish you would use your influence with Rose in this matter, She is unpleasantly indifferent about it,”’ “Why certainly, Will,” replied Mr. Darlington, ‘Not that 1am in the habit of using my influence with Rose, in anything that may affect her happi- ness. But, if you wish it, I shall certainly speak to her.’ **T think “IT would be great! we are waiting ridiculously long.’ The young man was fearing, that there might be a slip between the cup and the lip, of his hopes. “There is one thing which 1 should mention to ou in this connection,” said Mr. Darlington, hesi- tingly. “Itis nota pleasant subject to me but it is no more than just. You will keep what I say a secret, Will?” ‘“*Certainly,’’ replied Will, witb an unpleasant men- tal start. What could this ominous beginning mean? ‘*T wish you to rest under no wrong impression in regard to my wealth,” continued Mr. Darlington. ‘*My property came to me by will, you may know. But there are other claimants who have lately ap- If their claims are made good, Will, which very much fear they may be, I shall have to com- mence life over again.” Will sat in open-mouthed surprise. He could not muster a word in reply. **T feel it my sh Ay acquaint you with this," re- sumed Mr. Darlington. ‘It is between you and me, you know. Of course, it is of no vital importance to you. You have wealth enough of your own. And when I give you Rose I give you a fortune.” “Certainly, certainly!’ exclaimed Will, with forced enthusiasm. ‘Of course Rose is worth mil- lions in herself. But you did give me a start, Mr, arlington The start, indeed, was so great that Will Howard did not recover from its effects during the remainder of this interview, which he brought to an end as soon as he politely could. Mr. Darlington looked after him curiously as he walked away. ‘It isan experiment worth trying,’ he murmur- ed, shaking hishead. ‘I fear Will Howard's faith will not stand the fire. I have mistrusted him for some time, and I begin to think that his defection will not break Rose’s heart. We shall soon see if I have misjudged him.” obliged,”’ said Will. 9 CHAPTER XXII. A SLIGHT SURPRISE. Wr left Fred Halyard in a somewhat critical situa- tion. He had just answered the imperious demand of the driver to stop, with a response full of cool as- surance, but which enraged that individual still more. **Get out of thers, you infernal young thief!’’ he yelled. ‘* Blame you, you shall find thatit is not a trifling matter to s a man’s horse and wagon. Get out, I say!” **Don’t make so much noise about it, now," re- plied Fred, in a tone of disgust. “I thought you wanted a lift, or I wouldn’t have stopped. There's no use toraise the roof off the flelds about nothing.” ‘* Listen to the insolent young hound,” said the driver to his companion. ‘ By all that’s good, he shall be lodged in jail for this. Will you take him back and hand him over, as a thief?"’ . “T think not,”’ was the decided reply. ‘‘Iam not in that line.” “Then, uy thunder, I'll take him myself, if you will not. Help me tie the slippery villain,” He had leaped on the shafts and caught Fred by thearm. The latter sat docilely, without the slight- est effort to escape. ‘*T wouldn’t be bothered with the young rascal, if I were you,” replied the driver’s comrade. “He ought to be punished, to be sure. Let’s tie him to the fence here and leave him. He will have two or three hours to reflect on his sins before any early traveler is astir on this road.”’ ~ ” cried the driver. ‘‘And shoot me if J won't give him a horsewhip damce to boot. Come! out with you, jackanapes! te st I'll get out just now,”’ drawled Pred. “It’s comfortable here.’ “You won't, hey?” exclaimed the portly driver | O)ONO) €olm (S Ss (E@)