Beadle's Half Dime Library, No. 429 — page 9: what you’re looking at

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

So the three mounted their horses and rode to Dare homestead, the squire having left his daughter in the care of competent nurses and the village doctor. As the trio rode up to the door of the pleas- ant home and dismounted, they were met by ’Liza, and her appearance showed them that some one had been before them, for bad news travels fast. ‘‘Oh! squire, mistis hab heerd some awful bad news, and she am almcst dead, sah; but I see if you can see her, sah,” and leaving the visitors to find seats upon the piazza, ’Liza dis- appeared within the house. he squire was a man of large stature, with a kindly, benevolent face, though he was very proud of his aristocratic blood and riches, it was said. Still he was a stern-looking man, and looked very serious as he sat there upon the piazza, awaiting the return of the negress. Barney Bolls looked sinister and triumphant, his cunning face seeming to gloat in the misery of the mother over the act of her son. The constable was a sun-browned man of for- ty, rough-looking, big-hearted, brave as a lion, and who loved the widow and had been greatly attached to Duncan, for he kept muttering to himself: ‘‘T never could have believed it of that boy, squire.” ‘¢ Nor I,” returned the squire each time. ‘“‘ There’s no telling what he would do,” Bar- ney Bolls had each time put in, but he had met only a scowl from Constable Kane, To the surprise of the three visitors, Mrs. Dare came to meet them with perfect calm- ness. Her face showed how she suffered, and her eyes were red with weeping, but she was com- posure itself, and she greeted them quietly and pleasantly, excepting Barney Bolls, to whom she merely bowed coldly. ‘‘Gentlemen, be seated, please,” she said, and then she continued: ‘*T believe I can say that I know the nature of your call, for you have found Master Silas Finn murdered in his school-house, and you are here to arrest my boy as the murderer.” ‘“You have then already heard of the sad tidings, widow Dare?” said the squire. ‘« Evil tidings travel fast, sir,” was the reply. ‘‘And what do you think of the affair?” “T know not what to think, but [ am con- vinced that my son did not kill the master.” ‘*T wish we could think so, madam; but as Master Duncan has fled the country, I fear it is too true, especially after putting together all that we have heard from the children of the occurrences of the past two days,” said Consta- ble Nat Kane. ‘‘This letter was left by Duncan for my little daughter Jessie, and was found in her desk, and this gives proof that your son was at the school- house in the night, and with this chain of evi- dence, the threat he made against the school- master—as Mr. Bolls here heard him—the thrash- ing he received, and his flight, all go to prove poor Duncan the slayer of Silas Finn,” the squire remarked, sadly. “T would not believe you, Barney Bolls, on oath about the most trivial matter,” the widow said, in a tone that made Barney flinch, and the constable smile. ‘‘ But,” she continued, ‘‘I cannot do other than admit that the evidence against my son is very strong. . “It is circumstantial, I admit, and this letter to Jessie is the eee clew against him. ‘Still, gentlemen, [am sure Duncan is not a cowardly murderer.” ‘* When did you see your son last, widow?” asked the constable. ‘‘T dressed his wounds, inflicted by the man now dead, and who beat him most cruelly in- deed, and then left him in his room to go to _ sleep.” ‘And you have not seen him since?” ¢é No.” ‘¢ At what hour was this, widow?” ‘‘ Shortly after dark.” ‘* When did you discover his absence?” ‘* He did not come down when breakfast was ready, and I sent up for him, and ’Liza returned with word that he was not there, that the room looked disturbed, and handing me a note she had found on the bureau. ‘*T opened the note, and here it is.” She gave it to the squire, who read aloud: ‘‘My DEAR MotHER:— ‘* cannot longer remain here to face my fellow stu/4+nts, who saw me so cruelly disgraced by old SildP Finn, whom you have told me you intended to marry. : Duncan Dare, the Boy Refugee. 9 ‘*T cannot stand such a creature taking the place of my father, and so I go away. ** Where I go, it matters not, bui I shall not forget be Vaeg teachings and I will not disgrace you. ‘, en we meet again, if we ever do, mother, may it be under far happier circumstances than our parting. **T will let you hear from me now and then, that you may not mourn me as dead. ‘*Say good-by to all for me, and pray for your un- happy son. ‘** DuNCAN DARE.”’ ‘* My theory is, widow,” said the constable, after listening to the letter, ‘‘ that Master Dun- can went to the school-house, to leave the letter for Miss Jessie, and was tempted, in brooding over his flogging, to go up and see the teacher, and thus it was he shot him.” ‘* I do not believe him guilty, sir.” ‘* Well, widow, it is my duty to capture him if I can, so tell me how he left the farm?” ‘* No horse was missing, sir.” ‘** He took his clothes?” ** Only a small bundle.” ‘** And is any boat missing?” ‘** None, sir, all the boats are in the inlet, for I sent Dan to see,” ‘* This is strange, and leads me to suspect that he is in hiding here.” ‘You are at liberty to search, sir.” ‘* It is my duty, widow, painful though it be. ‘* What say you, squire? ‘¢ Tt would be better to make the search, though I do not believe Duncan is here.” ‘*‘ Nor do I, as he would be foolish to remain where he could be discovered, if he was guilty of the murder,” said Mrs, Dare. ‘* He says he is going away, that is certain, but how has he gone?’ the constable remarked in a puzzled way. ‘¢ Well, sir, you can search the house, the farm and the forest, but my word for it, you do not find my boy. _ ‘‘He has disappeared just at the time the dominie is killed, and, after all that has oc- curred, it is natural to suspect him, but he is innocent, I feel.” ‘* May I ask, widow Dare, if you were engaged to marry Dominie Finn?” ** Yes, Squire Hampton, I was, and it seemed to distress Duncan deeply; but I could rot break my pledged word, and had Silas Finn lived, I should have become his wife; but, thank God! I am free,” she said in a low voice, which only the squire’s ears caught, for the constable and Barney Bolls were getting ready to search the premises. The widow, with haggard, sorrowing face, led the way from room to room, from cellar to gar- ret, and a thorough search was made, It was found that Duncan had taken only a change of clothing and his money; all else he had left in his room. At last the constable said: ‘* He is certainly not in the house, but now to search the out-houses and farm.” This was done, the widow still going with the three men, and a like result followed—the boy could nowhere be found, Returning to her desolate home, the widow threw herself down upon the sofa in the parlor, and murmured: ‘Thank God my boy has gotten safely away! ‘“Thank God I do not have to be bound to Silas Finn! ‘* But Heaven have mercy upon my poor child, bearing as he does in his wanderings the brand of murderer—and great God! he may indeed be the murderer |” CHAPTER XV. ON THE TRACK, | THERE was the wildest excitement in the little community, where so long had dwelt the mur- dered schoolmaster. The funeral was attended by hundreds, from long miles around, and he was buried in the lit- tle graveyard surrounding his school-house home, The virtues of the man, if he had any, were alone discussed; and, as is usual with departed Ones, the vices were whitewashed over. The scholars of the dead dominie knew him as he was, for children are excellent readers of human nature, and they shook their nice little heads when they heard Silas Finn called almost a Saint. They gave all their sympathy to the living boy. rather than the dead master, hat Duncan Dare was the murderer, hardly any one, even among the scholars, doubted. is mother still doubted, against all seeming procts of his guilt, and Squire Hampton had his oubts, along with the constable, perhaps; but all else looked upon Duncan as the murderer. To add to the misfortune pretty Jessie Hamp- ton lay at home dangerously ill of brain fever, and in her delirium she was constantly begging: ‘*Good Master Finn, don’t beat poor Duncan any more! ‘** See, master, you arte making the blood show through his clothes! ‘Spare him, Dominie Finn, for he has done nothing wrong!” It was pitiful to hear the poor child’s pleading with one who was dead, for one who was living. The constable had gotten his deputies together, and the whole island had ‘been searched for the Boy Refugee, as he was called. ord was sent up to New York and Brooklyn, of the murder, and a correct description of Dun- can was given, and sent broadcast. How he had escaped no one knew, and no one could surmise. So mysterious was his departure, that man believed be was still in hiding on the island, and the coolness of the widow added to this opin- ion, for she seemed perfectly composed, though her face showed that she suffered deeply. Thus the days passed by, and the mystery was not cleared up, either of the death or Duncan’s escape. Had a boat been missing it would have solved his mode of flight. But along the whole coast not a boat was mis- sing. It was remembered what a fearful storm had come on that night, and had he put off ina boat, certain death would have followed, It was recalled that a schooner, an armed vessel, had been seen off the coast at anchor the evening before the fatal night, and Dan had told him he had been sent to tell the villagers of the danger the craft was in, and afterward had met his young master. This showed that he had left the house cer- tainly, and at that hour. The storm had effaced all tracks on the road and on the beach, and this threw the searchers at fault. Learning of the schooner, and that she was armed, and floated the United States flag at her peak, the constable visited the seaport towns from Philadelphia to Portland, to discover what vessel-of-war was cruising along the Long Is- land shores, and if he found the one, he felt con- fident he would discover Duncan Dare on board, for he said to Squire Hampton: ‘‘ Squire, my idea is that the boy went off to this schooner-of-war in a boat before the storm broke, and then escaped.” ‘* Rut what boat, Kane?” ‘*That makes little difference, squire, for he was taken off by some one !” és Ah!” ‘** And the boat was brought back.” ‘*T see, Kane, and it looks plausible; but what carried him out?” ** T suspect some one, sir.” * The negro, Dan?” ‘* No, squire.” ‘* Who, then?” ‘* His mother.” ; “A ha! she is a good boat-woman, I believe, sir. ‘‘The best on the island, sir, for you remem- ber she went out and saved her husband, Cap- tain Dare, from a wreck.” ‘Well, that mighe be, for she is a daring wo- man, for all her gentleness and beauty, and your idea may be correct, while her self-posses- sion certainly aids the belief that you are right.” cy Now, squire, I shall yo to the different sea- ports to find this schooner-of-war, and on board of her ’U find Master Duncan,” ‘¢T almost hope not.” “So do I, sir; but duty is business with me, squire, and T’ve got to do all I can_to discover and capture the murderer of Silas Finn, even if it was my own brother that did it.” ‘‘T know it, constable: but if Duncan was taken, I fear my poor little Jessie would have a relapse that would cost her life. ‘*The fact is, she is improving rapidly now, and knowing that Duncan is accused of the murder she stoutly denies his guilt, yet is glad that he is away.” ‘*T cannot make up my mind, sir, that he is really guilty, still it looks black against him. ‘‘Now I must be off, squire, and I'll search the harbors from Philadelphia to Portland. ‘*In the mean time, if anything should turn up, write me to the directions I will give you,” Before departing Constabie Kane went over to have a talk with the widow. , He found her calm, and still believing in her son’s innocence, but he could get nothing from her to aid him in his search, aA © = a 900 = S.CO m