Beadle's Half Dime Library No. 744 — page 10: what you’re looking at

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

* Po e- ’ * P “<4 : “— er 2 . ’ ™ ~ . mr ‘Cela a4 - * > é, P Py rd Mr, Jones laughed gleefully. ** W’ot wuz the secret?” Richard asked, '** P}) tell ye, but don’t you betray me, Maclay died and never made it known, and of course I can’t, He pledged me not to tell it, and I wou’t, But—he was married!” Dick had no means of knowing whether Gur- don Maclay had been married once or a dozen times, but he answered encouragingly: **Oh! was he?” ** Yes; to Margaret Aldridge,” The Night-W atcher’s eyes glittered, Itseemed there was more than idle babbling in the old man’s talk, ‘* Who was she ?” the boy asked. ‘* A young girl then; pretty, nice, and as fine a girl as you would meetin aday’s walk. At least, the one he married was. There were two of the name, cousins; both named Margaret Aldridge.” ** ‘What became o’ her?” **T don’t know, There was trouble and un- happiness, and Maclay died so sudden that he never mentioned the marriage, and if sbe was living, she never claimed her rights. Yes, yes; they bad trouble, and I always believed the other Margaret Aldridge was at the bottom of it, Yes, yes!” SS epson ever know Bartholomew Magoun?” 0. ** Or anybody named Slade or Goodwind?” **'They were stockholders in one of Maclay’s business ventures,” ‘* But not connected with him or the two Mar- garets, eh?” ‘*T never heard that they were,” ‘** Teil me all you kin about Maclay an’ the two arets, will yer?” ‘That isn’t much, In those days Gurdon Mac- lay was a young man, with a strict old father to please: the old gentleman being rich, and bound to be master While he lived. Young Maclay met the two Margarets, and fell in love with one, He married her, too, but dared not make the fact public, They were happy for awhile, but finally drifted apart. What the trouble was I never knew, but, as I said before, I believe the other Margaret Aldridge was the cause of it, I think she loved Maclay, too, and mude trouble between her cousin and Maclay.” ** 'W bat more?” ‘That is all I know,” ** Who kin tell more?” ** Nobody!” ‘* But where did the good Margaret live, after she married Maclay? .She must hev had a land- lady or a servant, didn’t she? Waere dre they, now?’ ‘** Dear me man named I don’t know.” ‘** How long sence you see her last?” ** Must have been nearly twenty years, I re- member she was taking care of Maclay’s child when I called there on some errand,” ‘** So there was a child?” ** Yes; a daughter,” ‘“* By his marriage ter Margaret?” **Oh! yes. If she is now living she must have grown to bea voung woman, Dear me! what an unhappy affair that was! Parents make a big mistake when they interfere with the mar- riages of their children. Who ig to marry, any- how, the child or the parent? No one picked out my wife but me, and old Stuyvesant Maclay made a big mistake when, by trying torun his son’s affairs, be was the means of the latter marrying secretly. Had the marriage been pub- lic it isn’t likely the young folks ever would have quarreled.” _ The speaker rambled on, but Dick no longer listened, The fact that the Maclays had once had a daughter put strange ideas in his mind. Where was she now? W ho was the water-waif? Was there any connection between the two? Dick was aware that be was making a surmise which might have no foundation in fact, but it was but natural, He plied the old gentleman with other questions, only to find he bad exhaust- ed the supply of information. He also learned that his daughter had never served Maclay as housekeeper after the latter’s marriage to Mar- garet, and, hence, had no knowledge of the pri- vate affairs of that day. Jones could not sug- est any one else who would be likely to give in- ormation and help, and’ so, reluctantly enough, the Nigbt-Watcher took his departure, As he disappeared down the road the old gen- tleman exclaimed: ‘*I declare! I forgot to ask why he wanted to know all] this, But it don’t matter.” Dick walked along without an idea of the route he had taken, es; there was a landlady; a wo- rs, Ray; but what became of her very clear hen once he I eee Sey Oe ENE nck SE A ll ee eee el i St Pe cs ec sa SS | ee ee ee 2 ee en a _— headed for home his thoughts became centered upon what he had heard, and be believed that oe eg was beginning to fall on the mystery a ittle, If Bat Magoun could be induced to speak and tell why he bad been so anxious to plant a grave- stone to the memory of Margaret Aldridge, an- other great step would be gained, But which Margaret did Bat know of? One of the cousins bad parted with that name when she married Maclay. Had one of them really died November 28, 1886, according to the headstone? If so, which? The wife of Maclay never had claimed ber rights, Had she died and been buried under her maiden name, or was it the other Margaret? The Night-Watcher aroused as he reached a turn in the road. When going toward Mr. Jones’s he had learned that a good deal of travel could be saved by taking a path which crossed tne field, there, and he now acted accordingly. He went on with quick steps. After a few rods he entered a piece of sparse woods, The trees were large, but not so toick but that grass grew by the way, and only where there was an occasional thicket was free view obstructed, Dick, however, did not look behind him, and he missed seeing the, to bim, most important sight of all. He was not alone in the wood, As he went, a man suddenly fell in behind him, and began the task of overtaking him by means of quick, silent steps, The man was one upon whom Nature had brauded an unenviable mark. His coarse, brut- ish, evil face was that of one lost to all the nobler impulses of life, and which betrayed the habitual criminal. ln his hand he carried a long-bladed knife, and his eyes gleamed ominously as he cut down the distance between him and Dick, the soft turf deadening the sound of his footsteps. Nearer yet he came, until only a few feet separated him from the prey he coveted. othing told the Night-Watcher of his danger —nothing, until a twig suddenly snapped under his feet, At this note of alarm he sprung for- ward with uplifted nand. Then, too, Dick wheeled suddenly, The knife gleamed almost in his face, CHAPTER XIII. WHAT THE KNIFE DID. Niegut-Watca Dick recoiled. The uplifted knife was bad eaough, and tbe face back of it told of unrestrained passions, He appeared to be face to face with death, and the danger came so suddenly, so unexpectedly that he had no time for coherent thought. He was like one chained to the ground, and incapable of motion, Every instant he ex- pected to feel the touca of that murderous knife. What followed was astonishing. Tne would-be assailant uttered a yell of strange inflection, and then, as Dick saw an expression of terrer appear on his face, he turned and fled madly, his long bounds taking him rapidly away. But it seemed that it was a blind flight, for the Night-Watcher saw him plunge into a thicket, There the way was tangled, avd bis foot caught on some obstruction—he tripped and and fell heavily. Mechanically Richard watched, expecting to see him rise, but this be did not du. Instead, he lay writhing on the ground, as if suffering from some deadly injury. The observer did not grasp tne trutn for some time, but as he saw that the man’s bands, which were clasped to his breast, were gradually assuming a red hue, realization of the truth came to him, The fellow bad fallen upon his own knife and received a severe wound. Richard could not see that he need be in- terested in the fortunes of such a person, and he would have gone on his way had not the recent occurrences so excited his curiosity. Why had the unknown paused in the moment of success and.fled in terror? : Vl) bev a look at him, anyhow,” the boy de- cided, He went forward. The man bad ceased to roll about, and, groaniog dismally, lay motion- Jess upon his back, One look was enough for Dick’s face to Sot up with recognition; the fallen man was “ Jake,” the leader of the party that had consigned him to death in the bay, ‘* Hullo, general!” he exclaimed, Jake’s eyes opened. ** Kit’s his ghost!” be groaned. ** Ghost o’ Christopber Coltmbus! W’ot d’ye 7 ‘‘Tt’s said the grave gives up its dead, an’ — Dick of the Docks, the Night-Watch. Be tae > even the deep waters o’ the bay can’t keep ‘is ghost down!” the bravo added, Light broke upon the Night-Watcher. “Say, Lain’t so much ghost ez you take me ter be. I’m the healthiest spook in New Jersey, b’jinks} Get a move on, Jacob, an’ don’t be catawaulin’ erbout any fossilized old ghost!” Jake’s eyes opened wider, and after a long stare the truth dawned upon him, ‘* Alive!” he muttered. ‘¢ An’ kickin’,” Ricburd assured. ‘* But I thought—I thought—” ‘That you could drown’d me by barrelin’ me up an’ droppin’ me in the bay? Not much, you couldn't, general; I’m all right, ye see,” ‘* An’ you’ve got the best o’ me; you, a mere child, an’Iastrong man. [ was goin’ ter rob ye; only rob ye, fer I used the kuife only ter scare ye, See? You was so wal dressed "— Dick then wore the clothes given him by Good- wind”— that I didn’t know ye. I thougbt you’s some rich man’s son, an’ I crept up ter rob ye, but when yer turned an’ I see yer face I thought it was a ghost: un’ it scared me sick, I took ter my heels, but fell, ‘Yee, I fell; an’ I’m a dead man. The knife has gone through my heart,” Richard suspected that the wound was not morta], for Jake did not seem to lose strength; but be did not say s9, ‘‘ Your conscience must troable ye,” he re- marked, insinuatingly. ‘‘Conscience I know not, but I fear/ I fear death: J fear the awful things ter foller! Ob! that I could avert thedoom which will be mine!” ‘*So you’ve been a tough one, hev you?” ‘¢ My soul is black with crime!” ‘* Like w’ot you’ve done fer Slade, eb?” ‘‘ He led me on; he was to blame. But TI did not mean ter drown’d the woman in the dock, Slade says the gal escaped, an’ I am glad of it.” ‘¢ But the woman was drownded?” ‘* T suppose so.” ‘¢ How did it all happen?” ‘‘ Slade wanted ter git the gal out o’ the way. The woman was her enemy, too, though the wo- man did not trust in Slade, and was reluctant ter help him, but he coaxed or scared her inter it. The plan was ter take the gal from New York, in a row-boat, ter Staten Island, an’ the woman went erlong so the gal would not suspect : danger.” ‘ ‘* A decoy, eh?” j ‘‘Kinder that. But when we left the car- riage, nigh the pier, the gal objected, not likin’ the look o’ the river front, We persuaded her, an’ all went wal until we was in the boat. Then the woman herself got scared. All] her sus- picion come back, an’ she vowed she would scream fer help ef we didn’t set her on the ier ag’in. I grappled with her an’ tried ter eep her still, but over the boat went, spillin’ . us all in the water.” Dick nodded sharply. That scene was very vivid to him, as he witnessed it the openin night of this story. ae ‘“Me an’ my pals was afraid o’ bein’ gobbled by the perleece,” Jake went on, ‘‘ an’ we swum away ez fast ez we could, Somehow, it seems, the gal was saved, but I reckon the woman was * Wot was their names?” ‘The Fal was Olive; her last name J don’t know, he woman was named Margaret Aldridge!” Margaret Aldridge! How the name sprung up in odd places and odd ways, ‘An’ she was drownded?’ Dick murmured, half-unconsciously. ‘‘Sbe must ’a’ been, an’! don’t see how the gal got away. Mebbe she could swim,” ‘‘ Why did Slade hate her so?” ‘IT think it was more that he wuz afraid o’ her; et looked that way. He was afraid o’ Mar- garet Aldridge, too, but be had bound ber to bim by money, yersee. Sech a hold ain’t never safe, an’ he was afraid she would turn ag’in’ him. He was right glad ter hear she was drownded, I don Jake, with a groan, ** but the affair by the pier has ha’nted me ever sence. We could hev savcd the women, but we swum away an’ left them ter drown’d, Ever sence I see them in my dreams, Their voices ring in my ears, an’ their white arms beat tho water, I reckon they will ha’nt me in the next world!” He groaned again, and closing bis eyes, lay in a species of collapse, Richard bad not changed his opinion of the fellow’s wound, Jake’s voice did not weaken, and be now and then moved his. arms freely, His manner was not that of a man wounded to his death, and the Night-Watcher did not be- lieve such was Jacob’s condition. The rough had simply been terribly alarmed | t know why et was,” added \ — 4 ms 1 Oe tue J ‘