“MAN OVERBOARD!”
Unmindful of the jeers and jibes hurled at their heads, Dean Mercer and
Jack Carboy stopped abruptly, as they saw that their efforts were in
vain.
The _Warrior_ was already moving steadily down the lake and beyond
their recall.
“Shiver my timbers!” yelled Jack, “ye hev shipped without your crew, ye
blasted shell o’ a land-locked sea.”
While Jack was greatly disturbed over the disappointment of losing
passage on the _Warrior_, Dean felt his defeat more keenly.
Besides the mortification of having been left behind by what looked
like his own negligence, he realized that for two or three reasons it
was necessary for them to get to Springfield that evening.
They were expected to bring up the new boat, and to fail at the outset
portended failure rather than success in their undertaking.
But of even more importance to Dean was the discharge of the errand
intrusted to him by Mr. Montague. In this case a human life was at
stake. If he should fail to reach Springfield in season to deliver the
papers in his care as they should be, it was possible that an innocent
person would suffer for his neglect.
The successful man is he who can act quickly in an emergency. That is
the one great secret of success.
Fortunately Dean Mercer was prompt in his decisions. While his
companion stormed like a September gale over their disappointment as
he watched the old steamer fast disappearing from his sight, Dean
recollected that the stage for the lower towns started about the same
time as the boat.
“There is another chance for us, Jack!” he cried enthusiastically. “I
think we shall be in season to take the stage to Landlock, where we can
take the packet to Springfield, providing we can get there before the
boat.”
“Avast there, younker--I mean high admiral!” and Jack, instead of
completing his sentence, executed a salute in token of his blunder.
Hurried, impatient, excited, Dean Mercer, knowing he had no time to
waste if he would accomplish his purpose, darted swiftly along the
street, Jack following as best he could.
But the latter soon found himself unequal to the gait set him by his
young companion, and, stopping short in his laborious advance, he
bellowed at the top of his lungs:
“Ship ahoy! reef yer topsails or this ol’ craft’ll ground!”
Dean Mercer, awakened to what he was doing, quickly came to a
standstill, turning an inquiring gaze upon his companion, who was
puffing and blowing like a porpoise.
“Shiver (puff) my (puff) toplights (puff), admiral (puff-uff-ff). Ye’ve
left (puff) crew, coxswain and man at the wheel (puff) in the weather
eye.”
“Pardon me, Jack,” said Dean. “I was so anxious I forgot you could not
keep pace with me in this race. The fact is, we have got to hurry or we
shall miss the stage.”
“Then let her kite in the wind’s eye, and leave this ol’ craft ahind.
Blast my picter, lad--I mean, admiral, axin’ yeh pardin, didn’t I tell
ye to h’ist yer jib and kiter? Ol’ Jack’ll foller as soon as he gits
his bearings and his ballast in this land-lubbered v’yage.”
“Hello, Dean!” called out a familiar voice at Dean’s elbow, before he
could reply. “We’re in luck. But what’s up?”
It was Mr. Montague speaking, and as soon as he could recover his
self-composure, Dean saw the boy he had saved from the vengeance of Tim
Downey beside the latter.
“Excuse me, Mr. Montague. We have missed the _Warrior_, and we are on
our way to catch the stage for Landlock.”
“Missed the _Warrior_?” asked the lawyer incredulously. “That’s a
pretty go.”
“It is, Mr. Montague. You see, she started before we expected. But I
think we can intercept her at Landlock by cutting across the country by
the stage. That is, if the stage has not got started.”
“So you can, Dean. And if the stage has got started you must take a
team. That will do it. Excuse me. This is Marcus Ellison, the son of
Robert Ellison, whose papers I gave you. The boy is anxious about his
father, so he has come to see me. Now you and he can go to Springfield
together.”
Marcus Ellison held out his hand, saying frankly:
“I remember you, Mr. Mercer, if you do not me. I am the boy you saved
from the pummelling of that wharf bully.”
“I am glad to meet you again, and under more pleasant circumstances,
Mr. Ellison.”
“I told Marcus the papers were with you, and now I turn him over to
your care.”
“We will get to Springfield all right, Mr. Montague. I will now hand
the papers and money over to him.”
“You may keep them until we get to Springfield,” said Marcus, who was a
frank, pleasant youth for whom Dean quickly conceived a strong liking.
“I will see that you have them safely. But if Jack’s recovered his
wind, we’ll start again for the stage.”
“Heave ahead, ol’ lad--I mean admiral!” said Jack Carboy, bowing and
scraping in true nautical politeness to his companions. “This ol’
craft’s got its bearings ag’in; square the yards for a fresh breeze.”
Dean, hastily bidding adieu to Mr. Montague, resumed his way, Marcus
keeping close beside him, while old Jack did his level best to keep
along.
The Landlock stage left the stable of an old-time hostelry standing
a little south of the main street running away from the shore, and
thither Dean hastened.
“There’s the stage just starting!” he cried.
Marcus Ellison saw a lumbering vehicle drawn by a pair of horses
coming out of the yard in front of the dilapidated old stable.
“Here, driver! hold up a moment,” shouted Dean.
The grizzled stage driver was in the act of taking his whip from its
socket to swing the long lash in the air, as was his custom, winding
up with a terrific cracking of the lash, for which he was famous, when
Dean’s voice rang on his ears.
The horses seemed to know as well as their master what was wanted, and
they came to an immediate stop, while old Jim Dolittle looked askance
upon the approaching trio.
“We want passage to Landlock, Jim,” explained Dean.
“The hull of you?” asked the driver, as he ran his eye over the
approaching three.
“Yes, Jim. You can take us?”
“Not more’n one on ye. Stage full to running over now.”
From a hasty survey Dean saw that he had four passengers, which left
room for at least three more.
“You surely can take us all, Jim? We must all go.”
“Hang yer ‘musts’! I ain’t obleeged to take more passengers ’n I
wanter.”
“This is a public conveyance and you----”
“Drat the public. I reckon I ain’t obleeged to over-load my hosses jess
co’s’ there’s a public. Get up there, boys! Show a light heel, old
Thunderbolt! Rattle yer hoofs, Spotted Dan!”
Finding that the driver was not inclined to stop for him, Dean Mercer
sprang nimbly upon the crossbar of the whiffle-tree, and the next
moment took a seat beside Jim Dolittle, the old stager.
Marcus Ellison showed that he was not a whit less prompt or nimble than
his companion, for by this time he had gained a perch upon the top of
the vehicle.
In the midst of this scene, which called forth the wondering
exclamations of the regular passengers, to say nothing of the
ejaculations of the old driver, the stentorian call of Jack Carboy
could be heard for half a mile:
“Ahoy! lay to, yer land lubbers.”
“Stop, Jim!” called out Dean smartly. “My friend has got to get to
Landlock with us. You can take us as well as not.”
Seeing that he was dealing with one who would not be stopped, muttering
over something about “hot-headed boys!” the stager pulled up his
horses to wait for the old sailor.
Puffing and snorting his rage over the race he had had, Jack Carboy
soon reached the side of the coach.
“Throw the life line,” he cried. “Blast yer picters, how’s a-one going
to get aboard this craft?”
Jack quickly swung himself upward to a seat beside Dean, when Jim
Dolittle whirled his long blacksnake whip with some avail, the horses
snorted after a manner which was music to his ears, and the old coach
went rattling and bouncing along the country road at a merry pace.
“This seems like business,” declared Dean. “Here we go, Jack.”
Jack Carboy, clinging to his seat with both hands, made no reply.
The road along which the old stage was drawn by the stout horses proved
rough and hilly, so that at times the coach was given fearful jolts.
Occasionally a cry would come from one of those within the vehicle
calling for moderation in speed where the condition of the highway was
worst, but the grim old driver, aroused by the addition of his late
passengers, no doubt, seemed determined to get his revenge, proof of
which was given in his muttered words:
“I’ll gin ’em ’nough on’t. As if I didn’t know when I had load ’nough.”
“Ho! reef yer topsails!” roared Jack, as they thundered down a long,
sharp descent. “By the harpoon o’ Neptune! these seas be the roughest I
ever sailed. Hi!”
They were turning an angle in the road, while the horses were pounding
furiously forward, when the old spring on the off side snapped like
rotten twine, and the body of the coach suddenly lurched in that
direction, as if it was going to collapse entirely.
A chorus of cries from the passengers inside rang above the furious
sounds, while the startled group was thrown into a struggling body of
men and women.
But it fared worst than this with Marcus Ellison, who was riding on top
of the reeling stage. The violence of the mishap caused him to lose his
hold upon the railing of the coach top, and before he could recover
himself he was flung through the air into the dense bushes fringing the
highway.
Seeing his doubled-up form flying through the space, Jack Carboy bawled:
“Hi, there, skipper! man overboard!”