THE SILVER BULLETS.
“Look out!” exclaimed Bertie; “it’s loaded.”
Dick held the queer old pistol in his hand, turning it slowly and
looking at it with a puzzled expression on his face.
“This is mighty queer,” he muttered. “I don’t understand it. Did you see
Lynch with this weapon in his hand?”
“He dropped it when he was knocked out by the ball,” persisted Bertie.
“He was sneaking up behind you with that pistol, Dick.”
Merriwell shook his head.
“Why should Mike Lynch, or any one else for that matter, carry a weapon
like this?” speculated Dick. “It’s an ancient relic.”
“You know Mike has been rotten queer lately.”
“Yes, I know,” nodded Dick. “He’s been troubled with hallucinations. Of
course, you know about the running down of Buckhart’s boat in the
harbor. At that time Lynch and his friends fancied I was drowned.
Strangely enough, Mike was the one most affected by this belief. It
seemed to upset him mentally, and no one could convince him that I was
not dead. On other things he appeared rational enough, but he certainly
was queer on that point. Whenever he met me he refused to look at me.
They told me he invariably flew into a passion if any one spoke of my
escape from drowning. After being hit by that baseball to-day Lynch
seemed rational for the first time in many days. You know I did what I
could to restore him to consciousness. When he came round he stated that
he seemed to have dreamed that I was dead. I fancied the shock had
knocked the delusion out of his head and restored him to his normal
condition.”
“Well, I don’t know what sort of condition he was in,” said Bertie; “but
I do know he was sneaking up behind you with this loaded pistol in his
hand. You can imagine what he meant to do. I don’t like to think of it.”
“If he meant to shoot me,” muttered Dick, “the fellow was certainly
crazy. There’s no other explanation. No chap in his right mind would
attempt such a deed.”
“Probably he meant to plead brain storm as an excuse,” said Lee.
Dick shook his head decisively.
“I must refuse to believe that Lynch contemplated any such dastardly
act. Perhaps there’s nothing but powder in this pistol. Perhaps he had
some freakish scheme in his befogged mind. Lee, I’m going to find out
whether there’s anything more than powder in this pistol. I haven’t
anything to draw the charge, but there’s another way to settle the
point. Come down into the back yard with me.”
They descended the stairs and passed through the kitchen into the back
yard. Finding a heavy block of wood, Merriwell placed it close to the
fence, retreated a few feet, and leveled the pistol at it. When he
pulled the trigger there was an explosion like the report of a shotgun.
Springing forward to the block of wood, Dick examined it.
“Great Scott!” he cried, his face paling. “Look here!”
His finger pointed to the spot where two bullets had entered the wood
close to each other.
“I see it! I see it!” spluttered Lee. “That settles it! Now you know the
old thing was loaded with something more than powder.”
Dick took out his handkerchief and wiped beads of perspiration from his
forehead.
“Mike Lynch must have been crazy,” he said huskily. “Only a crazy man
would think of using such a weapon as this, anyhow. Any one in his right
senses would have chosen an up-to-date revolver. Kid, I wish you’d ask
the kitchen girl for a hatchet. I’m going to get those bullets or slugs
out of this block.”
But Maggie herself was on hand, having been brought out by the report of
the pistol.
“Heavings save us!” she gasped, holding up her hands. “What air you
doing, Mr. Merriwell? You nearly scat me to death a-shootin’ out here in
the yard.”
“Bring me the hatchet, Maggie!” called Dick. “I want to use it right
away.”
The girl reëntered the house and reappeared with a heavy, broad-bladed
hatchet in her hand. Seizing this implement, Dick split off a piece of
the bullet-pierced block.
“Say, but there was a heavy charge of powder in that old thing,”
observed Lee. “Look how deep the bullets went in.”
Merriwell hacked at the block until finally one of the bullets was
uncovered. Cutting away around it, he pried it out with a corner of the
hatchet.
“Fresh-molded,” he muttered, holding it up. “See how bright it is.”
Lee seized the hatchet and hacked away at the block to bring the other
bullet to light. While Bertie was doing this, Dick produced his
jackknife and tried the blade on the bullet he had secured.
“This is not lead,” he announced. “It’s too hard and too bright. If it
were lead, it would have flattened out. By Jove, Kid, this looks like
silver to me!”
“Here’s the other one!” cried Lee. “They’re mates, Dick. Say, if you’d
ever got those through your head, it would have been your everlasting
finish.”
Dick took the second bullet, inspected it, compared it with the first,
and dropped them both into his pocket.
“Bertie,” he said, “I want you to keep a close mouth about this
business. Don’t mention it to any one—at least, don’t mention it until I
give you permission.”
“I’m not liable to mention it,” said Bertie quickly. “I don’t want Mike
Lynch on my neck. I don’t know what you think about it, Dick, but it
seems to me that Lynch had something mighty nasty in his mind when he
was sneaking up behind you. If he’s daffy, he should be placed in
confinement where he’ll do no injury to any one. It isn’t right to let a
crazy fellow run loose. I’m afraid of him. If they don’t take care of
Lynch, I’m liable to get out of New Haven myself, I tell you that.”
“Don’t hurry, Kid. If Mike Lynch is crazy enough to attempt murder, I’m
going to see that he is taken care of. But first I think I shall talk
with Lynch myself.”
Having arrived at such a decision, Dick wasted little time. He proceeded
straight to the room occupied by Lynch and unhesitatingly knocked for
admission.
A voice called, “Come in!”
Lynch was sitting in a morris chair with a bandage around his head. He
was wearing a dressing gown and looked pale and listless.
“Hello, Merriwell!” he said, with an intonation of surprise as Dick
appeared. “I didn’t suppose it was you. Thought it might be some of my
friends, but they don’t seem to be in any hurry about calling to find
out whether I’m seriously injured or not. Won’t you sit down?”
“I’m not going to make a long call,” said Dick. “I dropped in to ask you
about this queer old pistol. Have you ever seen it before?”
He produced the weapon and held it up before Lynch as he spoke.