Beadle's Half Dime Library, No. 187 — page 18: what you’re looking at

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

* - re ee ee re ee ——— tugging at the boy’s arm. “I'll know the reason why Ae won’t.”’ “I'll tell you the reason—if that’s all you want to know,” returned Fred, in his provokingly cool tone. **Maybe I’d best whisper it, though. There are some things sound better in a whisper.” The angry driver seemed to suddenly come to the same conclusion as Fred, There was that in the boy’s manner that admonished him to caution. e bent his ear, into which Fred said something in a whisper. Whatever it was, it brought about an immediate change of base. ““And will you go quietly with me?’ he asked Fred, as if to cover his sudden change of intention. **T haven’t said anything against it, as I know of,” replied the boy, with an npared air. “I told yould give you a lift, from the first time you called me “I won't keep you any longer,” said the driver to his companion. ‘‘The oy agrees to go quietly with me. Iam much obliged for your help in catching the runaway. I'll take care of this chap.”’ | “Tt looks as if he would take care of you,”’ men- tally responded the other, as he glanced at Fred's provokingly cool face. ‘‘He’s got a ring of some nd in your nose, that’s sure.” In a minute more they were va 2 away from each other, the wagon with Fred and captor jog- ging at a dog-trot along the road. **Oh, yes, if you want to drive I’d just as lieve,” said Fred, handing the reins to the driver who had reached out for them. The lad snuggled down very comfortablv beside his captor, asif perfectly satisfied with the state of airs. ‘*[T supposed you didn’t want me to tell that chap all that was behind us here,’’ remarked Fred, point- ing with his thumb over his left shoulder. ‘* There’s re hate things that folks don’t want everybody to ow.” “There’s nothing wrong with what’s there,” growled the driver. | ‘*Did I say there was?” asked Fred, with affected indignation. ‘‘ You’d best wait till I say there’s something wrong. ButIhad a sort of notion that ou didn’t want that country gawk to know your usiness.”’ ‘*‘That’s so. Ididn’t want to have him bothered with your blathering tongue.”’ “I knew it,” said Fred, laughing as if it was a at joke. ‘*“*Thst’s why I w red, I hope he id not suspect there was anything wrong—there you know,”’ with a flirt backward of his thumb, and a i A ge - “Blast your eyes, you young villain, I'll mash your head if you keep on at that string !’’ exclaimed the driver, in a sudden rage. ‘“‘l’m not done with you yet, by a jugful.”’ ‘But s’pose I took a notion to jump out of the wagon and run across the fields?’ queried I'red. " t nag of yours couldn’t follow me across fences, you know.” ‘**A bullet could,’ returned the driver, with a sav- age intonation, as he significantly touched a pocket in the rear portion of his pantaloons. ‘*No, thank you, I ain’t going to run no race with bullets,” said Fred, laughing. The driver looked at his young companion as if he was at a loss just what to make of him. Fred was as cool and unconcerned as if they were driving to- gether to a picnic. ‘*See here,’ the driver suddenly cried, ** how came you aboard my wagon? And how do you know so much about it? I never saw you before.” * Well, ain’t I good-looking enough to go alone?”’ retorted Fred. “I tell you what it is, I’ve had a longer ride with you than you think. I’m all the way from Crockettstown this morning.” “The blazes you are!” The driver let fall his reins and gazed at Fred in sheer astonishment, “Oh, yes! LIdidn’t walk either. If your old nag had spoke up he might have told you that he ha more load on him than was bargained for.” **Do you mean that you were in the wagon?”’ ask- ed the surprised driver. “Yes. Under that oil-cloth. sey bless you, man, I’ve been waiting a week at the Red Lion for Jim Bundy to send away these goods, and I wasn’t going to let them slide out without me. That’s not e kind of peanut I am,”’ The driver still sat with the reins fallen, and his hands listless on his knees. His eyes were fixed on Fred as if he fancied he had discovered a new species of animal, He was utterly dumbfoundered. “Well, if this ain’t a high old sell!” he gasped out. ‘This is Jim Bundy’s spy!” “Yes. I heard him call me that,” said Fred laughing. ‘‘When you.and him went in for that nlp. you know.”’ he driver could have struck the boy in the face for his coolinsolence. Fred looked as innocent and self-possessed asif it was his daily vocation to tell men how neatly he had outwitted them. With both hands thrust in his pockets he commenced to whistle, as if he thought some music would relieve the tedium of their yee A It was five minutes before the driver spoke, his eyes all that time flxed wonderingly on Fred. He seemed as if he was trying to make out the species of this new animal. The horse jogged on quietly, free from any interference with the reins, ‘Well, you're a coon, if there ever was one,” he atlength ejaculated, ‘*Only it’s my turn now.” “Why, yes,” said Fred. “It looks that way. Things will turn round, you krow. Of course as long as a fellow kuows how to whisper he’s all right. Somehow I don’t feel half as scared as I ought to.”’ The driver continued to observe this strange being for a minute more. Then, giving vent to a fierce oath, in which he expressed a multitude of emo- tions, he took up the reins again and turned his at- tention to his horse. He had all the information that he cared for from Fred. For a full half-hour they continued onward in perfect silence, so far as speech was concerned, though Fred kept up a low whistling accompaniment to their journey, or perhaps to quiet the nerves of his companion. The sun was now getting well upin the sky. The day had fairly setin. On the fresh morning breeze came a very evident whiff of salt air. Their road had, in fact, been at an angle toward the ocean, anc from the point which they had now reached Beach City was not more than six or eight miles dis- pe From this point the road diverged more in- and, But just ahead of them a side road appeared which led directly toward the sea. It was the con- tinuation of the causeway to Beach City. They were just opposite this when Fred suddenly ptaeuae the reins, and brought the horse to a dead alt. “You were going the wrong way,” he cried. “This is your road.” ‘““You seem to know a blamed lot about it,’’ re- turned the driver, with:an oath. ‘Just you take my advice, young man, and keep quiet, if you don’t want to get into trouble.” ‘* But this is your road,” persisted Fred. ‘“T don’t think it is then,’’ retorted the driver, starting the horse on again. ‘ “But you will only have to turn back!” remon- strated Fred. ‘‘ What's the use of going wrong when you’re told?” “You are very ready with your reasons,” said the driver, surprised at this persistence. “What is your reason for wanting to take that road?” “Of course I've got a reason,” returned Fred, drawing one hand from his pocket. “Ithink it’sa mighty convincing reason too.”’ e driver agreed with him when he turned round and saw that Fred’s hand held a pistol, aimed point- blank at his head. “Tt’s my dad’s old revolver,” explained Fred. ‘* THe was afeared I might get into trouble, you see, and thought I'd best take along the snooting- iron.” ‘‘Hang you! lower that barrel!’’ screamed the alarmed driver, dodging from Fred’s aim. ‘“‘Now don’t you make me nervous,” returned Fred. ‘You never saw anything go off easier than this old revolver. If a fellow gets nervous there's no telling what might happen.”’ ‘* Lower it, I say!’’ yelled the driver. ‘“‘ Just suppose you turn the horse round,” replied Fred. ‘I told you that you were in the wrong road, but you wouldn’t listen to reason. Best be quick about it, too, for my finger’s getting twitchy.” With a quick movement the driver threw himself back out of the range of the weapon, and put his hand in his own pistol-pocket. A look of blank amazement came upon his face on discovering that it was eh fe ‘*Weeling for your pistol?” asked Fred. ‘Why, I could have told you it wasn’t there. You told me about it, you know; and I was afeared you might hurt yourself carrying pistols in that careless way. So I just tookit out. Here it is,’’ continued the boy, withdrawing his other hand from his pocket. The same instant the alarmed driver found him- self covered with a brace of revolvers. ‘*There’s another reason that the other road’s the right one,” said the boy, with a look of cool energy in his eye. ‘*Two reasons are always better than one. And this left finger of mine always was twitchy. Maybe you'd best turn back, now. It wouldn’t be nice if one of these shooting-irons was to A off. e frightened driver seemed to be of the same opinion. He hastened to turn the horse in the road, and to take the side road to the sea. ‘*T’m glad you’ve come to the same opinion with me,’’? remarked Fred, dropping his hands on his knees, but keeping a firm grasp on his weapons. ‘“‘I live down at Beac ONY you see, and dad would be nervous if I went further away from home. That’s why I wanted you to drive me down this way.” The driver looked askance at the dangerous wea- ons. He did not fail to Rexceny that Fred kepta firm grasp upon them. It was, evidently, prudent to keep in the present road. But his emotions were too deep for utterance. To be sold in this manner by a boy! He would have choked him, if he had dared. But he could see the steel of determination within the quiet innocence of Fred’s words, and con- ors that it was wisest to act the philosopher, and rive on. It was about nine o’clock that more when the wagon with its two occupants halted in front of the Center House, at Beach City, at which establish- ment Mr. Proctor boarded. That gentleman, in fact, was standing on the porch of the hotel when the wagon drove up, and saw with surprise that one of its occupants was his yowng agent, Fred Mal- ard. he There,” exclaimed Fred, springing to the ground, ‘here is somebody for you to take care of, Mr, Proctor. Hetakes cold mighty easy, so I'd advise you to keep him out of the draft,” ‘*But, what have you in the wagon?” ‘Some dry-goods from the Red Lion,” answered Fred, a reply which was enigmatical to everybody but Mr. stor. Fred Halyard, the Life Boat Boy. CHAPTER XXII. CUT OFF BY THE SEA. PICNICKING upon the beach is not a very exciting amusement, yet a party, including several of our friends, were having a very jolly time, on a shady afternoon in these latter days of August. They had driven down in the morning to a point some five miles below Beach City, where was a broad, smooth expanse of the hardest of sands, bringing their dinners in sundry baskets and kettles, and bound to have a good time generaty And a good time they had, if laughter and jollity be any gauge of enjoyment. But there was a special reason for their having se- lected this part of the beach in preference to any other. For the ostensible object of the Be party was the gathering of sea-shells, and other spoil of the ocean, and this portion of the sands was famous for its wealth in the curiously-wrought and painted dwellings built for themselves by the cousins of the oyster and the clam. The majority of the picnickers, however, soon got a surfeit of this business, and applied themselves to the more attractive sport of singing and chatting, game-playing and general jollification. Some few continued the shell-hunt with more as- siduity, baskets swinging on their arms as they walked along the yellow sands, now picking up a pebble of more than usual brilliancy, now a pret- tily-colored shell. se Darlington and Will Howard were among these persistent shell-hunters. She had a strong love for nature, in its every form, and enjoyed this ramble on the firm sands, with its frequent discov- eries. Now a translucent, oddly-shaped jelly-fish lay stranded upon the beach, now a bunch of deli- cate sea-weed, now the sheil of some queer little crab. And the peculiar tilting motions of the sand- snipes, the swoop of the white-winged gulls, the oe- casional leap of a porpoise beyond the ever-roarin breakers, lent an animation to the scene, and prove to Rose an unending attraction, It was not so with her companion. He grumbled more than a liftle at her ridiculous devotion to sci- ence, aS he called it, and seemed to envy the sport of those whose gay laughter came freshly ‘to his ears. ‘Tsay, Rose, haven’t you got a load?” he asked, era clingy. “This fun is near about used up.”’ ‘*[ want to take a look down this way,”’ she re- puted, indicating a spit of sand which was cut off rom the general beach by a long, shallow pool of clear water, which filled a trough dug in the inner sands by some former tide. “like to walk on the very edge of the waters,” she continued. ‘‘And there may have been some- thing of interest brought in by the last tide.”’ ‘* All right,’ returned Will. *‘But I hope you won't mind if I take a rest here till you come back. I’m tired enough fortwo. And I’m not raving fond of your shells, you know.” “ Very well,” said Rose, with a slight curl of the lip. ‘I will take the sea with me for company.”’ She crossed the depression in the sands by which the waters of the last tide had run out from the pool, and walked on down the narrow stretch of sand. This widened as she advanced, the sand-hills here setting back from the beach, and leaving a broad flat reach, whose depressed inner portion was a broad expanse of water. Time fled unnoticed as she walked on, too Genny interested in the sea spoil at her feet, and in ad | to the store of treasuresin her basket, to pay hee to the encroachments of the sea. Perhaps an hour and a half had passed in this unthinking amusement ere she noticed that the pool was again approach- ing the sea, until only a narrow spit of sand afforded her footing. It was, indeed, becoming difficult to escape the stronger breakers, some of which appear- ed eager to Ro their waters across the sands into the pool. This latter, too, was deeper here than where she had entered. “T think it is the longest pool that I have ever no- ticed on the beach,” she said to herself. “ And it is getting so narrow here that I wish I was at its upper end. I shall have wet feet yet from some of those strong breakers.” She now hurried onward, paying no fui ther atten- tion to the shells. She could see the extremity of the pool, at no great distance in advance. At her quickened pace she was not long in reaching this point, but to her dismay she discovered that a nar- row channel here made connection between the pool andthe ocean. Every wave sent a surge of foaming water up this channel, which was more than three feet deep. Rose stopped, and looked around her with dilated eyes, : It might have seemed that there was nothing for it but to return to the point at which she en- tered, but there were significant indications which made her involuntarily nervous. She knew enough of the habits of the ocean to now | put another interpretation upon the narrowing of the sand spit and the deepening of the pool, The tide was rising. Ata glance she now recognized this fact. Every few miuutes some great breaker flung its seething waters to a higher level than had’ been before attained. : It had been rising ever since she had entered upon that narrow strip of beach. Yet the neck by which she entered was even then almost at the sea level. Would it not be overflowed Jong ere she could reach it? Would not this whole strip of beach be washed and drowned by the incoming tide? Accusing herself of foolish thoughtlessness in this -% And now,” said Fred, to the driver, “I think I’d | heedless venture, Rose turned to hasten back over best Bre this shooting-iron back to dad, I’ve been her course. She went not now as she had come fe ul afraid it might go off, with that twitchy fin- er of mine. And that wouldn’t have been a bit healthy for you, you know.” with a slow, devious walk, but straight forward, anc as swiftly as her feet could carry her. d none too quickly, for the breakers had already conquered | <€oim Cc IOO SS) (EO)