THE ESCAPE.
How to get the best of the highwayman was Nick Carter’s second thought.
This did not look to be easy, yet Nick’s hand instinctively went toward
his hip pocket.
“Stop! Hands up!”
The reiterated command fairly cut the air with its threatening
intensity.
Grady’s hands were already reaching after clouds.
Nick Carter’s now followed suit, and went into the air.
In the voice, eyes, and attitude of the ruffian in the road, there
was that which convinced Nick that disobedience and defiance would
certainly invite a bullet.
He saw, moreover, that the aim of the scoundrel was true to the mark,
and that the finger on the trigger of the weapon covering his own
breast was already beginning to contract, during the moment that he
showed signs of giving fight.
“If one of you move before I command it,” said the highwayman, “I will
instantly open fire upon you. And I never miss my aim!”
The threat was as calmly made as if the speaker had merely inquired
the time of day, yet the voice did not for a moment lose its terribly
convincing ring.
Nick seized the opportunity to look him over, and he felt comparatively
sure that he was up against the same man that appeared in the Badger
photograph.
The fellow was roughly clad at this time, however, with a soft felt hat
drawn over his brows.
He was a well-built, athletic man, apparently somewhere in the forties;
yet he was as quick as a cat in his movements, and evidently was
endowed with supple muscles and nerves of steel.
The rascal was heavily bearded, yet this did not figure for much with
Nick Carter. He rightly judged that the man was carefully disguised,
yet the make-up was so cleverly prepared and adjusted that Nick,
despite his experience in such artifices, could not detect it.
What Nick chiefly noted, in fact, was that the eyes of the man had
in them the piercing gleam of deadly resolution, a fixed and vicious
determination to execute the desperate deed that he had undertaken.
There was no sign of intoxication now, which plainly had been assumed
only for the purpose of holding up the travelers.
Though not lacking in courage, Nick Carter had his share of wisdom and
discretion. He saw at a glance that he was entirely helpless for the
moment, at least, and he had no idea of deliberately inviting a bullet.
Such stirring episodes occur in a very few moments, and not thirty
seconds had passed since the hold-up, when the voice of the highwayman
again cut sharply upon the morning air.
“Chauffeur, you do what I command, or worse will be yours,” he cried
sternly. “Lower one of your hands and remove your employer’s watch.”
Grady hesitated for the bare fraction of a second.
Nick saw the hand clutching one of the weapons begin to contract.
“Obey him, Grady,” said he, with ominous curtness.
“Bedad, I don’t like——”
“One more second, and I’ll——”
“Obey him!” hissed Nick, with suppressed vehemence. “Obey him, you
idiot!”
Nick saw at a glance that that one more second would have ended with
Grady’s receiving an ounce of lead.
Grady had the true grit and pugnacious characteristics of an Irishman,
but he now dropped one hand and removed Nick’s watch and chain.
The highwayman came a step nearer, until he stood barely six feet away
in the dusty road.
“Toss them to the ground at my feet,” he commanded, with his evil eye
fixed upon the chauffeur.
“Do so, Grady,” said Nick.
Grady obeyed with an ugly scowl, and the watch and chain landed in the
dust at the ruffian’s feet.
“Now, your employer’s purse.”
“In the breast pocket of my vest, Grady.”
“Look lively.”
Grady dove into Nick’s vest and drew out his pocketbook.
Nick still sat with his hands in the air, but not for a moment did his
eyes leave those of the highwayman.
Though at first inclined to send Grady into his hip pocket after his
revolver, Nick realized that the Irishman might not be quick and
accurate in using it, and also that the crook was alert to their every
move. The hazard was too great to be taken, and Nick decided to submit
to the situation for the time being, and watch for an opportunity to
turn the tables on the rascal.
Grady drew out the pocketbook, which contained about a hundred dollars
and a few unimportant papers.
“Toss it into the road,” commanded the highwayman.
“Let it go, Grady,” said Nick.
“Your employer has more wisdom than you, Grady,” said the crook, with
a threatening sneer. “Obey at once, or I’ll let daylight into you.”
Grady tossed the pocketbook after the watch and chain.
“Now, up with your hands again!”
“Bedad, mister, some day the boot’ll be on the other leg,” snarled
Grady, as he obeyed.
“It’ll not be to-day, Grady, take my word for that,” retorted the
ruffian.
“The day will come, nevertheless,” Nick Carter now said, with ominous
quietude.
“Do you think so?”
“I certainly do.”
“Well, I don’t.”
“That is because you do not know who I am,” said Nick pointedly.
“I don’t care who you are.”
“You don’t, eh?”
“I certainly don’t.”
“You will change your mind later.”
The scene was a curious one, the two men in the runabout seated with
their hands high above their heads, while the man in the road stood as
coolly intimidating them as if not the slightest danger existed for
him, either from them or the sudden approach of some intruders upon the
scene.
Nick had begun the conversation with the scamp in the hope of catching
him napping for an instant, or that some person or another automobile
might appear; but neither of them seemed probable, for the woodland
road was deserted, and the highwayman did not for a second relax his
vigilance or lower his leveled weapons.
With Nick Carter’s last remark, however, the rascal’s eyes took on an
uglier gleam, and he evidently decided that he had better not defer
making his escape. That he was clever in so doing, and foresaw that his
victims might possibly be armed, appeared in the way he accomplished it.
With both men constantly under his eyes, he said sternly:
“The slightest move by either of you will cost him his life. I warn you
that I shall instantly fire, not caution you again; so keep that in
mind, and be wise.”
Then he slipped one of his revolvers into his coat pocket.
With the other weapon constantly covering his victims, with his gaze
never leaving them, he slowly crouched down and groped over the ground
till he had secured the plunder lying there, which he also dropped into
his pocket.
Then he rose erect again, and drew his other weapon.
Nick was mentally praying for an opportunity to get just one shot at
the knave when he resorted to flight.
The flight of the rascal, however, was as original and unexpected as
his every other move had been.
“Now, Grady,” said he, with threatening austerity, “you do just what I
tell you, neither more nor less.”
“Begorra! it looks as if I’d have to.”
“You bet you will!”
“What is it?”
“You start that machine of yours slowly, and turn it into the shrubbery
at that side of the road.”
“How am I going to start it with me hands in the air,” snarled Grady,
who had really seen Nick’s desire to delay matters.
The voice of the highwayman again took on that vicious ring which had
warned Nick not to oppose him then and there.
“Don’t you speak again, Grady, or this gun will drown the sound of
your voice,” he cried quickly. “You start that machine and turn it
into the shrubbery—and don’t forget, either of you, that I shall keep
you constantly covered. Start her up, Grady, and turn sharp out of the
road!”
With the ugliest kind of a scowl, Grady gripped the steering-bar and
slowly started the runabout, turning toward the shrubbery that lined
the road in that locality.
Just as the Irishman did so, however, there suddenly sounded from up
the road the warning toot of an automobile-horn.
“Steady!—not a move!” yelled the robber warningly. “If you drop your
hands, mister, I’ll fire!”
Nick could not then see the scoundrel, for he had darted back of the
runabout when Grady turned it from the road.
Glancing quickly in the direction from which the horn had sounded,
however, Nick now beheld a large touring-car come sweeping around a
sharp curve of the road, some thirty yards away.
It was driven by a man with a beard, who was the one occupant of the
car, and whose eyes and features were almost entirely masked with a
pair of huge dust-glasses.
Nick now thought he could see a favorable finish to this unexpected
hold-up, for the touring-car was approaching at a high rate of speed,
and the escape of the thief appeared next to impossible.
Yet the latter, while reiterating his threatening commands, only backed
a few paces toward the middle of the road.
The man in the approaching car evidently saw what was going on, and he
began to slow down.
The rear of the runabout was now toward the road, with the machine
half-hidden in the shrubbery.
“Stop her!” whispered Nick, not yet venturing to turn about on the
seat. “Stop her at once!”
He did not wish to go too far in from the road.
Grady felt that he was taking his life in his hand—yet he promptly
obeyed.
Instantly two sharp reports of a revolver rang out on the morning air.
The reports were followed by others, nearly as loud, occasioned by the
bursting of the two rear tires of the runabout.
The highwayman had sent a bullet through each rubber tire, obviously
bent upon partly disabling the runabout and thus preventing pursuit.
Then, just as the huge touring-car arrived upon the scene, the daring
rascal darted back through the veil of smoke from his weapons and
leaped aboard the car.
“Let her go!” he yelled commandingly.
The driver instantly gave her full speed, and the car swept on down the
road with the velocity of an express-train.
Already upon his feet in the runabout, Nick Carter whipped out his
revolver and fired twice at the occupants of the departing car. His aim
was ruined by Grady, however, who excitedly began backing the runabout
into the road, and Nick’s bullets went wide of their mark.
In ten seconds the touring-car was vanishing in a cloud of dust around
a distant curve of the road.
“Hold on!” roared Grady, thinking Nick was about to alight in the road.
“I’ll follow them divils, sir, tires or no tires!”
“Follow nothing!” growled Nick, thrusting his revolver back into his
pocket. “You might as well try to follow a streak of lightning.”
“Will you let that blackguard escape?”
“Let him escape!” exclaimed Nick derisively. “I should say, Grady, that
he has already escaped. You could not overtake him with this machine if
your life depended upon it.”
“Bedad, that’s right, sir,” Grady now admitted, more calmly. “Yet the
man in that car may try to do the rascal——”
“Bosh!” interrupted Nick, with a growl. “The driver of that car was the
robber’s confederate.”
“D’ye think so?”
“I know so, Grady,” declared Nick, now plainly seeing how the entire
job, which had taken less than five minutes, had been planned and
executed.
“I suspected as much when the man slowed down only enough to let the
crook aboard,” added Nick. “His approach was timed to a nicety. It’s
odds that he was watching the hold-up from beyond the curve of the
road, and that he knew just when the other wanted him to approach.”
“Bedad, sir, I reckon you’re right.”
“Oh, we have much the worse of it for the present, Grady, and have been
held up by two of the gang of crooks now at work in these parts,” added
Nick. “But I will yet break even with them, I give you my word for
that.”
“Me tires——”
“I will see that you are paid for them,” interrupted Nick, much to
Grady’s satisfaction. “Can you run the machine back to town as it is?”
“Sure, sir, I can.”
“Well, I don’t wish to return quite yet.”
“All right, sir.”
“Keep on, Grady, and take me to Badger’s house,” Nick bruskly
commanded. “Look lively, too! This does settle it, Grady, as far as I
am concerned.”
“What d’ye mean, sir?”
“I mean that I will land this gang of highway robbers, every man and
woman of them, or lose a leg in the attempt,” cried Nick, with Chief
Weston’s request then in his mind. “That’s what I mean, Grady. Let her
go lively, my man, and head straight for Amos Badger’s house.”