STARTLING ADVENTURES.
Tim Downey was full of schemes, and his present confident manner
indicated that he had one that promised more than ordinary results, to
his way of thinking.
“I’ve got a good one,” he said. “I’ve thought it all out.”
“What is it?” queried the eager Daley.
“I go quietly to Springfield.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
“Necessary?”
“Particularly so. I keep very shady, for that Mercer may have the
police looking for me; so I dare not venture to Millville. In the first
place, I must have a quiet and safe room for a day or two.”
“Take mine.”
“At Boyer’s Hotel?”
“Yes.”
“Got the key?”
“Here it is, and rent paid ahead for a month.”
“Good! That just suits me. What’s the matter?”
Daley looked somewhat troubled, as, after producing the key, he
continued to grope in his pockets.
“I’ve lost something,” he muttered.
“What?”
“My little change-wallet. In the cave, I guess.”
“Much in it?”
“No; a few dollars. Go on.”
“Well, I get the room and write a letter to Colonel Darringford, at
Millville, or to the steamer, in Springfield.”
“Yes, yes!”
“I tell him if he is wise and wishes to save trouble he will come at
once to Boyer’s Hotel.”
“Will he do it?”
“I’ll give him a hint that will make him.”
“And Spofford and I?”
“Stay here.”
“And Rodney?”
“Keep him with you, at all hazards. If he gets restive and wants to
leave, tie him up; but keep him, for his being here is a part of my
plot.”
“I see.”
“Tell him that I’ve gone to get some money you had in bank in the city.”
“All right.”
“When Colonel Darringford comes to my room I tell him that I’m in
trouble, all on account of him; make up a great story about Rodney
being a forger and the like, and say that unless I can get money to
leave the country, I shall go to the police and turn State’s evidence,
and swear that he hired me to burn the _Spray_, and that Rodney stole
the eight thousand dollars.”
“Capital!” cried Daley enthusiastically.
“Then I shall demand----”
“How much?”
“Ten thousand dollars.”
“Will he pay it?”
“If he don’t, I’ll tell him that a villain----”
“Meaning me?” grinned Daley.
“Exactly.”
“Well, what then?”
“I’ll tell him that you have Rodney locked up in a horrible dungeon,
and that you will never release him except to hand him over to the
police as a forger, unless he pays me the ten thousand dollars.”
“Tim, you’re a genius!” exclaimed Daley admiringly.
“I guess that will fetch the colonel.”
“Without a doubt.”
“You can wait here, and maybe yet find the money.”
“We’ll try it.”
“And keep Rodney?”
“Never fear.”
“I must have some money.”
“I’ll give you a hundred.”
Just then Dean Mercer, peering from the cave opening, made a discovery.
Some distance down the valley he saw two forms.
Spofford and Rodney were returning to the camp in the hollow.
Marcus was so engrossed in listening to the conversation of the two
plotters, and so situated that he did not see their returning allies.
Dean wished to warn him, but he feared that if he whistled as agreed
upon, it might attract Daley’s attention.
He groped about for a piece of loose stone to throw at Marcus.
As he did so, his fingers clutched at something soft and yielding lying
on the floor of the cave.
“A purse!” he murmured surprisedly.
It was Daley’s lost purse.
Dean pocketed it, and picked up a small stone.
This he flung with such accuracy at Marcus that the latter turned in
his crouching attitude and looked at him.
Dean made violent motions, indicating trouble, and Marcus crept back to
the cave.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Spofford and Rodney are coming.”
“Glad you warned me. Oh, yes, I see them. Wait; we are safe to watch
them for a time.”
Dean could see by Marcus’ face that he had discovered something
unfavorable to their plans.
On the arrival of Spofford and Rodney there was a conference and then
Tim left them, and the other three came toward the cave as if intending
to take up their quarters there, Daley glancing all about him in
evident quest of the lost purse.
“Come, Dean,” said Marcus hurriedly, “we must retreat. They are coming
this way.”
The boys did not talk as they hastened back the way they had come.
It was only when they had gone clear through the cave again and come
out at its other exit that Marcus spoke.
He led the way to a thicket and sat down on a fallen tree, with a
gloomy sigh.
“You look discouraged, Marcus,” said Dean anxiously.
“I am.”
“Bad news?”
“The very worst.”
“Oh, I hope not.”
“Yes, Meg is dead.”
“Dead! oh, that cannot be!” cried the startled Dean.
“Yes, drowned.”
“Then our hopes----”
“Of ever recovering the lost papers and money die with her. Those
scoundrels pursued her and drove her to her death. They have searched
for the money in the cave and could not find it, and no more might we,
even if they did not intend to remain there for several days. No, Meg’s
body is probably beyond recovering, and the papers and money hidden in
some out-of-the-way place, never to be found again.”
“It’s terrible!” gasped Dean.
“Yes, for my father. But I must not despair. That man, Manseur, has
fled. I believe him to be the real murderer of James Conroyd. The
trial comes off in two weeks. Dean, we must separate. You must go to
Springfield at once. There is nothing but heroic measures left to us
now. I must do alone what I can to aid my father. Failing, I shall
appear in court on the day of the trial, tell my story, and hope to
have some effect upon the decision of the jury.”
“And me, Marcus?”
“You must now think only of proving your own innocence and baffling
the villains who have robbed and disgraced you,” and then, to Dean’s
astonishment, Marcus told of Tim Downey’s latest scheme to secure money.
He told Dean what he must do--go to the city and keep track of Tim, day
and night, until he saw Colonel Darringford.
At any moment that he thought propitious he was to have Tim
arrested--if possible, when he got the money from Colonel Darringford.
He was also to send officers to arrest Daley and the others at the cave.
“Arrested, some one of them will confess the truth to save himself,”
said Marcus confidently, “and circumstances will make your claims
plausible.”
“But I myself will be arrested!”
“Never fear if you are. I will be on hand later to add my evidence
to yours to convict these villains. You, at least, will come out
triumphant.”
“And you, Marcus?”
“If I save you and my father, I don’t care if they send me back to the
reform school for life!” cried Marcus doughtily.
They walked on for over a mile. Dean told of the purse he had found. It
contained nearly twenty dollars in silver.
“We need it, and we won’t hesitate to use it,” said Marcus as they
divided its contents. “Now then, Dean, you to the city, I to the quest
of Manseur. Be wary, and act just at the right minute.”
“I’ll try.”
They passed some boys quarreling over some stolen pears in a field,
ascended a hill, and at its summit Marcus said:
“There’s your road to Springfield, I shall return to Portsmouth.”
“Hold on!” exclaimed Dean as they were about to say adieu. “Look over
yonder, Marcus!”
“Hello! that boy is in trouble.”
“I should say so!”
“Shall we help him?”
“I guess we had better.”
At the edge of a cliff they discovered a strange and startling scene.
Four boys had attempted to reach an eagle’s nest by lowering a rope
over the ledge.
They had lowered one of their number and he had just reached the nest
when the mother bird came flying to the spot and attacked him.
The boys above threw sticks and stones at the bird, and Dean and
Marcus, reaching the spot, helped to draw the imperilled adventurer,
badly frightened, to the top of the cliff.
“Couldn’t hold on to the young eagle, the old one pecked at me so!” he
said.
“I guess you won’t try again, youngster,” laughed Dean.
“Yes, I will. I saw something else down there.”
“What was that?”
“A lot of money.”
“Nonsense!”
“I tell you, I did.”
“Money?”
“Yes.”
“Gold, you mean?”
“No, greenbacks.”
Marcus looked curious and incredulous.
He peered over the ledge of the cliff:
“Dean,” he said, “there is certainly a package down there that looks
like money.”
“But it can’t be.”
“I’ve a mind to climb down and see.”
“Take care of the eagle.”
Marcus grasped a short cudgel in one hand and descended the rope.
He uttered a startled cry as he saw lying among the litter about the
rock, a package secured in manilla paper.
One end had been pecked out so as to show the ends of bank notes.
Near it lay a large envelope, discolored and torn, but he made out on
it the address:
“Mr. Durand, Attorney, Springfield.”
Near it lay a lot of pieces of paper, evidently its inclosure, but the
eagles had so picked it to pieces that only fragments of the original
papers remained.
Marcus Ellison gathered up every scrap of paper and secured them, the
envelope and the money package, in his coat.
He was very pale as he again reached the cliff.
He gave one of the boys a silver coin, and said to Dean:
“Come on!”
At a safe distance from the boys, Marcus took out pieces of paper. Dean
watched him in wonderment.
“Dean,” spoke Marcus huskily at last, “I have found the papers that
prove my father’s innocence.”
“What?” cried Dean.
“Yes, but torn to pieces. Here a word, there a letter. They are
useless. That proof has gone forever, for the eagles have eaten away
whole portions of it, but from the envelope I know that I must be
right.”
Yes, Marcus was right, but the discovery was of no avail, for the
fragments could not be connected, and with a sigh of despair Marcus
threw them away.
“The eagle must have carried the package here from some of Meg’s hiding
places,” theorized Dean.
This was true. In the crevice near the exit from the cave Meg kept a
lot of dried meat. In this she had placed the package for safe-keeping,
and the eagle had rifled it, and strangely brought it to the nest where
Marcus had found it.
The money was safe, only a few bills being torn. They counted it--seven
thousand two hundred and fifty dollars.
Then they discussed new plans. Dean secured the money in his coat, bade
Marcus an unwilling adieu, and the next day reached Springfield, on the
track of Tim Downey.