Beadle's Dime Library No. 327 — page 19: what you’re looking at

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

Terrapin Dick. Tom Staley was severely wounded, his father had an ugly hole in his left arm, Neptune: showed the scratch of a bullet, and there were several scalds among them to show the effect of Mrs. Staley’s hot water warfare. One of the Kanucks was dead there, and an- other was so badly wounded that he could not be expected to live long. ‘‘T never saw or heard of anythin’ like this afore,” said the landlord. ‘‘I thought we could live peaceable up here in the woods, with noth- in’ to bother us but the bears and wolves; but it seems that there’s two-legged beasts of prey, as ‘ well as four-legged ones.’ The dead man was covered up in a corner, to be buried in the morning, and his wounded com- rade was as well cared for as if he had been a friend, though it was evident that he was booked for another world. The rest of the night was passed in attending to Tom Staley and removing the unsightly traces of the disturbance. While they were thus employed Mrs. Staley raised an alarm of fire. She had discovered smoke and flame at a cor- ner of a shed that was used for storing hay and corn, All who were able to, rushed out there, armed with their rifles, as well as with pails of water. They did not need to use the rifles, as there was no enemy in sight, but found the corner of the shed burning briskly, the fire having evi- dently been started by an incendiary. By sharp and vigorous work they succeeded in nea, Bi the flames before any serious damage had been done. ‘That looks to me,” remarked Ben Lawson, ‘like a piece of spite work on the part of Joe Jeffard. I begin to believe that he was not drowned, and that I may get hold of him yet.” CHAPTER XXVIL. MARY PAYSON’S MISFORTUNES. Mary Payson had anything but an easy and leasant time in Cranston after the departure of her lover and her peisecutor. Agnes Muldrow, who had formerly been passably gentle and peaceably inclined, though she had mean and annoying ways, was quite a different woman when Julius had gone up into the pine woods. er redeeming quality was that she was in- tensely devoted to her brother—as women are often devoted to those who are utterly undeserv- ing of their devotion. She worried and fretted about him continual- ly, declaring that she was sure that some terri- ble accident would happen to him, and that he was certain to perish up there in the wilderness. If he should, and she knew he would, Mary would be the actual and direct cause of his death. ‘‘Tf you had married him when he asked you to,” she said to the girl, “‘or had promi to ma him, he would be here now, alive and Gat of denger. But you drove him away from Cranston, and have driven him to his death.” ‘“‘T see no cause to blame myself,” replied Mary. ‘I donot consider myself in the least degree responsible for your brother’s actions, whatever they may be. I donot believe that he really cared for me at all, and I cannot imagine why he wanted to marry me.” ee “You might as well say that Julius is a liar. He told you that he loved you, and asked you to be his wife. Would he have wanted to marry A if he did not care for you? That isnonsense. ou have broken his heart and driven him away from Cranston.” ‘‘From what I have seen of him, I would not have supposed that he had a heart.” ‘¢-You are a wicked M sae to say that. I know that he has a heart. He was always good to his r. ”? ‘“But better to himself, in my opinion,” re- plied Mary, ‘‘than to Ey else. I have good reason to believe that he has never really cared for me. He must have had some reason for wishing to marry me that I cannot yet fathom; but I have no doubt that the truth will come out in time. He knew, also, that I was as good as en ** As Sol os endnced, you had better say. ‘What sort of a man is it who has taken your fancy? An utterly unsettled man, here to-day and gone to-morrow—who came back like a bad penny, only to disappear like a shadow.” ' But I know where he is. He has gone away on a secret mission, just as your brother has, and neither of them was driven off by a broken heart. He will come back, and it is more than likely that he will bring news that will astonish somebody.” , oe ‘“Mary Payson, you are so sly and secretive that I do not know what to make of you. I suppose the trouble with you is that you are dis- appointed and angry usé my aunt did not leave you all her property, according to your most unreasonable expectations. If you and your vagabond lover are plotting mischief ulius and me, I can assure you that you come to grief.” These bickc~ings continued from day to day, and grew worse as Agnes Muldrow got no word eee eee : from her brother, who probably did not care to write to her, and was not in a position to send a letter if he had wished to. It was a consolation to Mary Payson to feel that Julius was not there to persecute her; but his sister’s accusations and innuendoes were mak- ing life at the old place insupportable to her. At last the trouble came to a crisis. Agnes Muldrow informed the girl that her presence there was no longer desirable—in fact, that her room would be preferable to her com- ny. Pe The truth is, Miss Payson,” she said, severe- ly, *‘ that there are damaging reports in circula- tion about you. There is a suspicion in the vil- lage that you know more about the manner and cause of my aunt’s death than you are willing to tell. You were so thick, as the people say, with Nick Sanders, her murderer, that there is ground for the suspicion. Some of my friends object to visiting here on that account, and they blame me for harboring you.” Mary’s face was crimson with mortification and anger; but she kept her temper remarkably < ell. **T don’t know what you mean by ing of harboring me, Miss Muldrow,” said she. “I supposed that Thad a right here. If 1 have not Ido not care to stay. As for the reports anc suspicions you speak of, I know something about them. I know who originated them and are re- sponsible for them. ey were set afloat by your brother and that lawyer who acts as his tool, and you have done as much as anybody to spread them.” ‘You wicked girl! As if I could stop the ed of the people who talk about you.’ ‘You can set them going, though, Miss Mul- drow, and then it is no wonder that you fail to to stop them. The talk will not hurt me in the end, as the truth must’ come out. In the mean time I can stand it, and can keep a clearer conscience than those who strive to estroy my name.” ‘“‘ What do you mean by the truth? and how is it to come out? I am convinced that you and that fellow Lawson are plotting against Julius and me, and the sooner you leave here the bet- ter I will be pleased.” ‘And so will I. You have for some time made it very somone to me here, Miss Mul- drow, and I will be glad to get away from your presence.” Meaty Payson was not without a place of re ; She went direct from the house which she had believed was to be always her home to the cottage of Ben Lawson’s widowed mother. , indeed, was the arrangement that Ben had made for her before he left Cranston, and she had promised him that she would seek a home with his mother when circumstances should require her to do so. But she wished to remain in the Jardine residence as long as was reasonably possible, in order to assert her right there. Indeed, she were to be ordered away, and was glad when the matter took that shape. As for the reports and suspicions that had been so carefully and widely circulated they had troubled her greatly, although she carried a stout heart in her breast, and tried to bear her- self boldly before the world. They were.not open and definite, charges or accusations, such as could be met and faced, but vague insinuations and innuendoes which could not be made to assume shape, and which were on that account the more provoking. The conclusion to which they pointed was that she was the accomplice of a murderer, of the murderer of her benefactress, who had been a mother to her, and whom she had loved asa mother. Their effect was to isolate her from the world in which she had moved. Her former friends fell off from her, and some people shunned her, while others treated her coldly. This was hard to bear, but she tried to bear it eaten believing that her wrongs would yet be ri ‘ in taking up her residence with the widow Lawson she did not go there as a dependent, as she was well able to take care of herself; but Ben was to marry her when he returned from the pine woods, and in the mean time he desired that his home should be hers, A very pleasant home it proved to be, as she was wekeky welcomed by Mrs. Lawson,who was joyful in the belief that her son’s marriag would cause him to settle down, no more roam in far and wild regions. The old lady was more than kind to her pros- pective daughter-in-law, and Ma was so oe and companionable, and wi so use- ul, that she was a great comfort to Ben’s mother. She had been there but a short time when she received a letter from Ben, which had been quite a while on the way, as it was written when he touched at Staley’s tavern on his way into the woods. Mary ye a great deal of consolation from this letter, though it contained little matter of interest beyond the assurance of his enduring affection, of his continued health and safety, 19 and of his firm determination to do everything that he was able to do to clear up the mystery of Mrs. Jardine’s murder and to set his darling girl right before the world in every particular. He had learned, he said, that Julius Muldrow and his party had got into that region ahead of him, and he had reason to believe that they were seeking Nick Sanders, and he was then on the point of going on to look them up. There was something he had just seen, he went on to say, which induced him to believe that he had struck the trail which he wished to find; but he could not follow it up just then, as he was anxious to see the other party and learn what they had accomplished. Mrs. Lawson enjoyed the letter with Mary, and they were reading it again and commenting upon it, when a visitor for the young lady was announ ’ CHAPTER XXVIIL. A FRIEND IN NEED. Mary’s visitor was ushered into the sitting- room which — wn wr a reir po were ewe occupying, the parlor or room ing, sore x bem to the old New England style, 5 tightly closed that it might as well have been hermetically sealed. He proved to bea dignified and fine-looking elderly gentleman, who introduced himself as ‘* Leander Meacham, commonly known as Judge Meacham.” wow? 5 Payson had heard of him, and expressed herself as being highly honored by his visit. ‘Of course you wonder what has brought me here,” said he. ‘‘It is no harm, I assure you. wish to ak with you, Miss Payson, of some matters—Il may call them business matters—in which you are interested. I have just returned from aie woods, far up the Penobscot.” ‘* Indeed!” exclaimed Mary. ‘“‘ We have just received a letter from that om pamestine a friend of mine, this lady’s son, Ben Lawson.” ‘‘T have not met him, Miss Payson, but have heard of him. Though we are few and scattered in that country, we generally manage to hear of each other. met another acquaintance of “ Julius Muldrow?” ‘*Not that man, though I heard of him, too. Before I tell you anything more I had better introduce myself a little further. Being an inquisitive old fellow, I have been asking some uestions since I reached Cranston, and I believe that Iam a relative of yours. Was not your mother’s maiden name Burwell?” ° és Yes, sir.” ‘Jane Burwell—I thought so. She was my half-sister. I lost sight of her after she quit A and married against her father’s — and did not know that she had left a child. Bu circumstances have caused me to discover you, and now you are to understand that lam your uncle Leander, and that I have a right to take an interest in your affairs.” Mary was very glad to learn of this relation- ship, as she was more than favorably impressed by the old tleman. ‘Through my inquisitiveness,” he continued ““T have arti f much of your history, and there are some matters which I may help you to straighten out, if you will allow me to ” "Y. I will be only too thankful,” she answered. ‘*T need help, and such help as Judge Meacham = give is more than I could ever have hoped or. ‘* Well, then, the person I spoke of havin met up there was Nick Sanders, who is acc of being the murderer of Mrs. Jardine. He as- sured me that he was innocent, and I am inclined to believe that he spoke the truth. Whatdo you. think about it?” ‘‘ That is my belief.” ‘‘ Have you any evidence to sustain it?” “None at all. They fastened the crime upon him, and all the circumstances were against hi and he ran away.” ‘‘ Yes; that gives the case a bad look. Still I doubt his guilt. I can see no sufficient motive, and it occurs to me that there may have been a motive elsewhere. It may be hard to show his innocence; but I mean to look into this matter and the chapter of accidents may bring forw. some strange developments.” | ‘“* How did you find him?” inquired Mary. ‘“T will tell you. Itisa long story, but you must hear it all.” Judge Meacham related his adventure with the hurricane on the shore of the lake, telling of the death of his guide, the arrival of Abner - ders, his visit to the home of the Sanders family, and his final return to civilization. , ‘‘ As soon as I got back down the river,” he continued, ‘‘I saw the mother of peer Steve Hollis, told her the sad news, and did what I could to console her and make her comfort- able. ‘‘Then I came on to Cranston to look into the Nick Sanders affair, and here I found you. ‘* Now, my dear, as that murder is necessarily connected with some matters that intimately concern you, I want you to tell me all about yourself, and particularly about your relations. —_ Jardine up to the time of her dea Gpoo Eom SEO