Beadle's Half Dime Library, No. 513 — page 8: what you’re looking at

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

— eee _-_ ? save for the light that streamed through the doorway from her own room. ‘* Well, what do you want?” asked the gruff voice of Barney Driver. Lucette started and moved a step toward the cabin she had just left. Then she looked back and saw a man lying on a rude bench, whom even in the semi-darkness she recognized as Barney Driver. ‘* Now, don’t commence to ask me why I am keep- ing you here, and what I intend to do with you, be- cause you won't get any answer that will satisfy ah and it will only make me mad,” said Barney the lacksheep, as he sat up on his bench ana glared at Lucette, “Don’t talk to her like that, Barney, dear. You frighten the child,” said a timid voice, and Lucette involuntarily looked toward the corner from which it proceeded. . Her eyes had become somewhat accustomed to the gloom, and she managed to discern a moving something that might have been a big dog, for any- thing she could tell. ‘*Shut up!’’ was Barney’s reply to the timid voice, ** When I want your advice I wiltaak for it. Open the shutter and get some breakfast. 1l’ve got work to do to-night.”’ The something in the corner came forth, and Lu- cette saw thatit was a woman in a ragged calico dress. The woman opened a wooden shutter at a window te a Barney Driver’s head, and let in a flood of ight. As she paused for an instant in front of the win- dow, with the sun fullin her face, the woman stood revealed as a pale, delicate girl, not much older than Lucette herself. ‘*Now, then, burry up there,” growled Barney, “and get breakfast, or I'll find a way to make you.’ The girl heaved a sigh that went straight to Lu- cette’s sympathetic heart. Sadly she weut about her work, kindling a fire in a queer little stove, with scraps of wood that had evidently drifted down the river, and preparing coffve for the mea! for her lord. For this poor young girl, with the pale, wan face and the ragged calico dress, was the devoted wife of Barney the Blacksheep. The man eyed her sulkily but keenly, as she moved about the little cabin, and once, when she went close to Lucette, as if to speak to her, he hurl- ed one of his heavy hob-nailed shoes, that he wore in the mill, full in her face. She put up her hand quickly and caught it on her wrist, a great red lump, that would soon turn black, rising angrily on her slender arm. EE —— . ra eee mas el TD Lucette’s eyes flashed fire as she saw the brutal , act, but the young wife, with a gesture that indicat- ed that she was used to such performances, only said, quietly: ‘‘There was no need for that, Barney. going to do any harm.” ‘I don’t know about that,”’ was the reply. “I don't trust you very much. Just keep away from that girl for the present. I shall want you to talk to her presently, perhaps, but not now.” I was not | Lucette had gone into her own cabin and shut the | door. She felt asif she could not bear the loath- some presence of the uncouth fellow who had so | strangely become her jailer. She sat down on the broken chair and tried to look her situation in the face. She understood thoroughly what purpose Barney Driver had in making her prisoner. The secret he had, or pretended to have, he was determined to sell to her father, and he intended to consummate the bargain by making her liberty part of the con- eee for the money he hoped to extort from m. That he should never accomplish bis purpose she was determined. She would escape from his cluteh- | es somehow, and he should pay the penalty of his misdeeds according to the provisions of the law. ‘*Come in and have some breakfast,” said Barney Driver's gruff voice outside the door. She knew that she would need all her strength, and therefore accepted the invitation, distasteful as it was. Bread and butter, eggs and coffee constitut- ed the meal. Barney Driver ate his portion in silence, but keep- ing a wary eye on his wife and Lucette all the while, and scowling savagely at the former occasionally, apparently from simple force of habit. s soon as she ha returned to ber room. She stood at the barred window, revolving plans of oe but without arriving at any definite conclu- sion. ° 7 “ em RE ee eR _— ——w - Se sr et FE —- The Demon Doctor. ‘The wretch!” said Lucette, indignantly. Then, when she saw the look of pain on the face of her com on, she was sorry that she had permitted her feelings to gain the better of her. He was this poor woman’s husband, after all. ‘* Has he gone out?” asked Lucette, “Yes. He says*he has business to attend to, and he will not be home till late. I don’t know what business he can have, when he is not at work at the mill, and he has not been there to-day.” ¥ =o is your name?” asked Lucette, suddenly. oes ara.’ “A pretty name! Clara, will you help me?” ‘‘In what way? Don’t ask metoletyougo. Bar- ney would kill me.”’ * That’s what I was going to ask you. But, never mind. I won't say any more about it. But—could you not deliver a message for me?”’ The woman hesitated. ‘Tt would not take you very long,’’ suggested Lu- cette. ‘It is only to go to my father and tell him that I am safe. e lives on Mount Washingtepn.”’ ‘‘ And have him bring the police down on Parney? Oh, no. I know Barney is not good to me, but I couldn’t get him into trouble, sodon’t ask me. I have taken a fancy to you, and I'll do my best to keep you from harm; but I can’t do anything to hurt Barney.”’ “ Very well, Clara,” said Lucette, resignedly. ‘I suppose, if Iam a prisoner, I can have the privilege of being by myself?” Clara looked hurt at this very strong hint, but a without a word, shutting the door behind Ler, Lucette felt sorry for the girl, but did not regret the fact that she had gone away. Some means of escape must be devised promptly, and Lucette realized that she could not expect any assistance from the wife of Barney Driver, badly as he evidently treated her. She shook the bars of the window, but they were immovable. She could never get out that way. She thought of the door; but it led only into the outer room, where Barney’s wife, Clara, was mak- ing the place as tidy as she could. Suddenly a thought struck her from which her gentle nature recoiled instinctively. ‘‘No, I could not do that,” she murmured, ‘‘ And yet, perbaps it is my only chance.” She walked up and down, thinking—thinking. Then she tossed her head with an air of resolve. She had the means of escape in her pocket, and the time had ar: ived wheh she must use it. She had always taken a deep interest in the studies of her father, and had learned from him the uses and effects of many potent drugs, as well as many of the possibilities of electricity. She drew from her pocket a small bottle, filled with a colorless liquid. ‘‘Yes, here it is. A strange chance that I should have slipped it in my pocket yesterday. I will use it, and I hope it will enable me to get out of this ter- rible predicament.”’ ‘*Olara,”’ she called. “Yes,” said the young wife, as she opened the door and came in. ‘Will you give me a glass of water?”’ “ Certainly,” said Clara, apparently pleased to be asked for anne. In another minute she had filled a glassfrom a pail of water and handed it to Lucette. The latter sipped it, and then, unseen by Clara, Rearen the contents of the little bottle into the ass. ‘*Clara. do you think this water is good?”’ she said, holding out the glass. ‘ Yes, I think so.” ‘* Taste it.” ** Certainly. Clara took a draught of the water, and Lucette, who had anticipated the effect, caught the girl in her arms asshe staggered forward unconscious. “Tt seems terrible,” murmured Lucette, *‘ but it was my only course. Poor girl! She wi'l awake in about an hour as well as ever, I know, but still I feel almost like a murderess.”’ She laid Clara on the cot-bed and then hastily scught a means of exit. Ah, here was the door, but of stout wood and carefully bolted and locked The bolts she easily slid back, but the large lock _ still opposed her. satisfied her hunger, Lucette | Where was the key? She did not stop to ask herself the question more than once, but going into the other room, searched through the clothing of the inanimate Clara, who | _— a corpse on the small cot-bed. Even if it were possible to get through the window | she would only drop into the river. She did not know how deep it might be, though she knew the shanty-boat was, like all its neighbors, moored close to the wharf, She took out her watch, which she had fortunately wound up the night before, and to her surprise saw that it was twelve o'clock. All the morning had passed while she had been asleep. She sat still for some time, paying no attention to the movements of the two persons in the next room, when she was startled by a soft knock at the door, and the voice of Barney Driver's young wife, asking if she might come in. Lucette, for answer, threw open the door. ture. can’t helpit. Barne about his business. He brought you here last night, and told me I was to take cre o you, and not to let you get out, but to make you as comfortable as I does not consult me | | determined when thrown u She soon found the great brass key, and returned with it triumphantly to the outer door, Delicate as she was, Lucette could be brave and n her own resources. The brass key turned with difficulty, but she man- aged to move it, and the next instant the door swung open and she stood on a small deck or plat- form outside the cabin. A gang-plank stretched from the Ceck to a coal barge, and from thence another plank led to the muddy shore, Lucette put her foot on the first plank with an elated feeling, as she thought how soon she would be home, perhaps without her father being even aware of her absence, when she felt the plank shake, | and looking up saw that a man with a big beard and | n air of good-natured d ination was comin “s nape you won’t blame me,” said the poor crea- | ¢ etermi x toward her. ‘Stay there,” he commanded, ‘I want to go through that boat of yours.” ) ‘ Mine—it is not mine,” said Lucette, hardly know- ing what she was saying. “ That’s all right,” said the man, with a knowing re smile. ‘“‘Of course it isn’t yours. I know you shanty-boat people. You can’t fool me. Let me get past you. ere is some property somewhere that I want to find, and I am going through this place of — first thing,” He pushed past Lucette into the inner room. Almost before the girl realized her situation the man came out again, fastened a pair of handcuffs on her wrists, and exclaimed: ‘*T am a detective, and | arrest you om a charge of murder!”’ ‘* Murder?” shrieked Lucette, and she fell at his feet, insensible. CHAPTER IX. THE CASHIER’S UNLOOKED-FOR FRIEND. Wuen Barney Driver left his sbanty-boat home, after eating his breakfast and giving his wife strict orders to guard the prisoner vigilantly until his re- turn, he crossed the river by way of the two bridgegy that span the head-waters of the Ohio. ‘ As he crossed he continually looked back suspi- ciously at the. boat, as if to watch that his orders were not disobeyed by the feeble young girl who,a short year ago, had joined her fate to his. and never resented the brutal treatment that was her portion every day. He walked through several streets in Allegheny City until he reached the tracks of the Fort Wayne Railroad. He had changed his dress somewhat, and now wore a fur cap, with a peak; a short sack coat, with capacious pockets inside aud out; while on his feet were light, well-made shoes, in which he would be able to run easily; if necessary. He walked slowly along the track, but as one with a purpose in view. He did not hurry, because the place he was going to was near enough for bim to reach before dark, had he desired it. But he did not desire it. Night was the time dur- ing which he must accomplish the business of which he had spoken vaguely to his wife, and he could walk leisurely along, as he was doing, and still have several hours to spare when he reached his destination. He glanced carelessly at the Ohio running merrily along by his side, and noted that the waters of La Belle Riviere were pretty high. Occasionally his gaze wandered to the verdure- crowned rocks on the other side of the track, an he wondered which way he would run if be found himself suddenly beset by the police—his natural enemies for years past. More often, however, he did not think of anything Save the job he had in hand, and the scheme he was trying to bring toa successful issue with the Demon Doctor. ‘* Let me get poset this night’s work safely and sell that secret to old Le Fevre,”’ he thought. “ and I'll quit crooked business for good. I’m getting tired of = hunted down by the cops all the time, and I should like to lead a quiet life if | had enough money to keep the pot boiling. | shall have enough, too, if my plans work all right this time.”’ Barney Driver was like most wrongdoers, always making up his mind to reform after he had com- mitted one more sin. He walked slowly down the track of the Fort Wayne road until, when it was quite dark, the roar of the water at Davis Island Dam fell upon his ear. “Here we are,” he muttered, “several hours ahead of time. I wonder if those fellows are there et.”’ He plodded on until at last he stood on the edge of the lock—the largest in the world—at Davis Island Dam. The water was rushing over the wickets, looking in the moonlight like dancing silver. Everything else about the place was as Silent as the grave. , “The moon will be down in about two hours. Osear and Curly wouldn’t be likely to show them- selves in this light. I'll wait. He walked back, crossed the railroad track, and ascended the winding road, overshadowed by im- rhense hemlocks and oaks, that lead to the small, at , SCC borough of Bellevue, on the ay may as well look around,” he thought, “and see that everything is all right. Besides, there is the dog to be fixed. The road, which on one side was bounded by a sloping bank, thickly overgrown with blackberry bushes and prickly shrubbery, while the other was a deep chasm, with a iailing to protect the wooden sidewalk, led up to a small bridge across the gorge, that gave access to the grounds of the stately man- sion. * Ah! there’s the place,” said Barney. “Anda mighty nice place itis. It is almost a pleasure to be going to work a bigh-toned house like this, It is too good for the cashier cf @ bank, seems to me. ButT’ll relieve him of a little of the bank’s hard-earned wealth to-night if I have luck, and per- haps he won’t feel quite so big after it.”’ He crossed the wooden bridge and walked tbrough the park that surrounded the little eminence upon which stood the house. He reached a small glade surrounded by large- spreading maple trees. and paused for breath. A large white bulldog came bounding through the trees, with its white teeth glistening dangerously in the moonlight. Without uttering a sound, it sprung savagely at Barney Driver A quick movement enabled Barney to avoid the attack, and then—a strange thing happened. The man waved his hand two or three times as the dog crouched in readiness to spring again, and the ani- boo — al »~ °< - ~*~ 7 ae < ~ « 4 , « gs - ~ Ss ~ 4 FS i om Ome Oa ee — a = . ~ ' ’ — > ~—_* e . - -