AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE
The crowd, which was a good-natured one, gathered around cheering its
champion and laughing at Jim's fall. But James was thoroughly aroused by
the fall, which had added insult to an injury, and exerting part of his
unusual strength he struggled to his feet, and caught his opponent at
arms' length from him, and then turning him over gave him a few hearty
spanks while the crowd roared.
Naturally the man was furious when Jim turned him loose with a shove
that sent him staggering back for a number of feet, and he picked up a
good sized rock. He came on to demolish Jim with it, but some of his
comrades collared him so that he could not do any mischief and the
attention of the crowd was diverted to some more visitors to the shrine
of the wonderful Rocky Mountain Bat. One was a tall and angular
Englishman dressed in some rough looking suiting and his good lady who
had on a long ulster and a hat with a green veil accompanied him.
"Aw, and what is that?" he questioned, standing and looking at the
curtained box.
"Why, Charles, it says on the box, that it contains 'The famous Rocky
Mountain Bat,'" said his wife with a show of her prominent teeth.
"Bah Jove, we'll have a look into that."
They did and viewed it with closer and closer scrutiny.
"Why d'ye know the beast has escaped. That bit of brick wouldn't hold
him. I daresay the villagers will be surprised when they find it has
gone."
"It certainly is astonishing," exclaimed the lady. "Do you suppose it
can be a joke?"
"Impossible. How quite absurd you are."
Jim who was standing near by looking on with deepest interest, grinned
audibly while the overwrought "villagers" could stand no more. They
regarded the Englishman solemnly, shook their heads sadly and adjourned
to the nearest public house, to discuss the awful density of some
foreigners.
"Most extraordinary people," commented the Englishman; "sometimes
awfully jolly, and then take to drink because they lose something like a
bloomin' bat."
Jim moved away lest he, too, should be driven to drink. He walked
towards the train, which was due to start in a short time, taking no
notice of anyone. But there was one individual who was keeping an eye
on Jim. He had been standing in front of a saloon just across from the
station watching all that was going on.
This man was short like a dwarf, and was evidently a Mexican, and the
proud possessor of one glass eye. But his other eye was fixed upon the
tall young fellow in the blue suit, and the dark sombrero. When Jim was
safely on the sleeper, the Mexican did not attempt to follow him but
went into the smoker, and puffed at a cigarette; meantime he was doing
some thinking and planning.
Jim was soon to find that his old pirate friend, Captain Bill Broome,
had a long arm. A dry word of explanation is necessary here. Frontier
Boys on the Coast served to introduce this redoubtable man to the
readers of this series. The Frontier Boys though badly beaten by the
captain at first, finally under the leadership of Jim, out-maneuvered
him and captured his ship.
The Mexican who was watching Jim was one of Bill Broome's trusted
agents, and the most vicious, if not the most skillful that he made use
of in his nefarious business. Jim might have recognized him, though he
was much changed by a short, curly black beard that he had purposely
allowed to grow and which did not make his personal appearance the more
attractive.
However, Jim did not dream of anyone being on his trail at such a
distance from San Francisco, though he knew from the letter that he
carried that there was trouble to be expected when he arrived there. But
for the present he was just content to take things easy and to enjoy his
trip, which he was certainly doing. Moreover, Jim was naturally of a
frank and straightforward nature and unsuspicious, unless something put
him on his guard and then he was not to be easily fooled.
How was it that Captain Broome knew of Jim's exact whereabouts. He was
certainly not a confidante in regard to his plans and had no direct
means of knowing that James was on his way West. The explanation is
simple enough. The news of the train robbery or rather the attempt at it
was telegraphed to San Francisco and printed in the usual flamboyant
style.
True, Jim's name appeared in the account as Mr. James Damington, but
that was pretty accurate for a newspaper and a brief reference to some
of his former exploits made identification very simple to the shrewd
eyes of old Bill Broome, who was naturally interested in an account of
a robbery even if he did not have a hand in it. It was evident that Jim
was likely to become as famous as Kit Carson, who performed many of his
wonderful exploits by the time that he was seventeen. So it behoves
James to be careful. No sooner did Captain Broome's eagle eye see this
plum of information about "Mr. Damington," whom he heartily hated, than
he set things in motion by sending his greaser scout, with certain
specific instructions, to meet and trail Jim.
Once Jim passed through the smoker, but the Mexican pretended to be fast
asleep with his hat pulled well down and his head half buried in his
overcoat. Jim noticed the reclining figure casually, but thought no more
about the man, though his interest might have been aroused if he had
chanced to turn quickly for the desperado had raised his head with the
quickness of a rattlesnake and his beady eye was fixed with malevolent
intentness on Jim's every movement.
That night Jim slept with great soundness as was usual with him, unless
there was something to watch out for. As it happened there was, though
Jim did not know it. As a link in the chain of what was to occur, I must
mention the negro porter of Jim's car. He was an undersized, grumpy
person, and Jim had earned his ill will by giving him a call down for
his impudence to a lady who had the section across from him.
The darky had vowed to do him dirt, and, though he was afraid of Jim,
the opportunity soon came for him to get even. At one of the stations
the Mexican got acquainted with the porter and soon insinuated himself
into his good graces, and it did not take him long to find out that this
colored person had it in for the tall young gringo, which was sugar to
his coffee.
It was a simple matter for him to find out the number and location of
Jim's berth, and to make arrangements to get into the car about
midnight, so as to carry out his plans. It was shortly after twelve that
night, that the porter unlocked the door of the Pullman, and admitted an
undersized Mexican.
It was a sinister figure that crouched in the corner of the deserted
smoking-room, like a black spider lurking for his prey. At that moment
the porter rushed in, and collared the Mexican. The reason was not far
to seek. Looking out from the door of the car, he had chanced to see the
conductor coming with his lantern; the latter was just opening the door
to step out on the platform between the two sleepers.
It would not do for him to discover the interloper in the car, for there
would be a riot call immediately if not sooner as the Frontier Boys used
to say. The porter hustled the Mexican through the narrow aisle and shut
him into the tall thin closet where a supply of bedding was wont to be
kept, just as the conductor looked into the smoking-room.
"Somebody in here with a cigarette, Porter?"
"No sah," replied the porter. "Not a living pusson in this heah car
but's sleepin'!"
"What's the matter with you?" asked the conductor "you look pale."
"A niggah look pale?" laughed the porter but with mock mirth; "you must
be joking, sah."
"Yaller then," replied the conductor brusquely.
He was not entirely satisfied with the negro's reply, and with his round
lantern, protected by the steel wires held high on his arm he looked
through the smoking-and drawing-rooms which were unoccupied but found
nothing. Then he went along the car aisle and into the next sleeper
banging the door. Immediately the porter let out the imprisoned Mexican
who crouched back into the smoking-room, where he lingered for only a
moment.
Then he glided into the dusky aisle of the car, between the heavy
curtains with their hanging decorations of velvet bands with large steel
figures on them indicating the number of the section. There was the
constant roar of the train, and the swaying of the big brass lamps, and
from all sides came the loud snores of the sleeping citizens.
Once there came a loud cry of a person frightened by some dream, just
where the Mexican was passing and he stopped, crouching low in the
aisle. Then as nothing further came of it, he glided along until he
reached section No. 9, where James Darlington lay asleep.