Carson was evidently quite unsuspecting. Possibly he did not see the
two figures that waited at the roadside. At all events his car rolled
slowly past the smithy, and, as it came opposite to their waiting
place, Clancy nudged Billy and leaped forth.
He believed in doing a thing thoroughly, when he _was_ doing it.
Consequently, as he saw Bully twist around in his seat with a start of
alarm, Clancy gave him no chance to increase his speed, but put all his
energies into a flying leap.
A cry broke from Carson, but he was too late. Clancy rose in the air
like a bird and struck full against him, driving him down at once. The
two fell in a confused tangle under the steering wheel, while the car
went slowly along the road.
Meantime, Billy Mac jumped to the running board and piled into the
tonneau. He leaned over the back of the front seat. Before he could
lend assistance, the two figures came erect, and Clancy shoved Carson
bodily over into the tonneau.
“Keep him there, Mac,” he ordered.
“What you going to do?” gasped Billy.
“No time to talk,” said Clancy, jumping to the steering wheel. “Throw
a robe over that fellow’s head! Sit on him, you chump!”
Carson, indeed, was rising to the occasion. He had landed in the
tonneau on his head and shoulders, and was squirming upright, letting
out wild yells as he did so. The peace of the Sabbath was being
terribly shattered.
Billy Mac saved the day by adopting Clan’s suggestion. Seizing the
heavy blanket that did duty for an auto robe, he threw it over Carson’s
head, managed to evade the waving fists, and plumped himself on top of
the big fellow.
Carson was forced to the floor of the car, which had leaped into speed
under Clancy’s touch. Billy McQuade being a chunky fellow for his age,
made no light weight, and Carson’s bellows for help were stifled.
So quickly had it all occurred, that, while Bully Carson must have
recognized his assailants, he had been too startled to propound any
questions. In fact, he had been hustled about so rapidly that when
Billy came down on him he had no more breath left with which to shout.
After a moment Clancy stopped the car on a lonely stretch of road,
and told Billy to shove their prisoner out. Billy did not stand on
ceremony, but opened one of the side doors and sent Carson tumbling out
like a bag of flour.
The big fellow landed in the dust, came to his feet, flung off the
robe, and emerged, spluttering with rage.
“What’s this mean!” he exclaimed hotly. “I’ll have you dubs pinched fer
this!”
Clancy grinned.
“No, you won’t, Bully. You’re liable to get pinched yourself for what
took place last night. Where’s Chip Merriwell?”
“How do I know?” demanded Carson, working himself up into a rage.
“You’d better clear out, and do it quick, or I’ll smash your carrot
head in about----”
“No more of that talk,” said Clancy. “You’re a coward, my friend. If
you try fighting, you’ll get the worst of it by a good deal. Where’s
Chip Merriwell?”
Clancy gave no sign of his inward perturbation. He had conducted this
assault absolutely without evidence, and on a momentary impulse. If
he failed to extract any information, he was apt to find himself up
against the law.
“I don’t know anythin’ about him,” said Carson sullenly.
“Don’t lie,” said Clancy angrily. “You sent him a fake telegram that
got him over to Orton this morning. Where is he?”
Carson went white.
“How’d you know that----” he began, then checked himself and tried to
bluster it off. “You’re crazy, you boobs! I ain’t seen the feller----”
“You make me sick,” said Clancy, with renewed self-confidence. “You
gave yourself away right there, Bully. Now come across, or take the
consequences.”
Carson glared at him out of his one good optic.
“I’ll show you!” he bellowed. “You ain’t a-goin’ to get clear with this
kind o’ doin’s around here----”
And turning swiftly, he shoved Billy Mac aside and made a break down
the road. Clancy grinned inwardly. Carson was not only scared, but he
was extremely anxious to get away.
Clancy caught the big fellow within fifty feet. Carson showed fight,
but the red-haired chap decided to waste no further time. Catching the
arm of Carson, he twisted it behind the other’s back, and had him at
his mercy.
“Take his arm, Billy,” he commanded. “Put him into the machine and keep
him quiet. If he yells for help, twist his arm and it’ll break just
below the elbow.”
Carson went green.
“Hey, what you fellers tryin’ to do?” he whimpered. “Ouch! I’ll go
along--don’t twist that arm, Billy! We allus been friends, ain’t we?”
“Not much,” retorted Billy Mac, with unconcealed contempt. “I always
knew you were a coward, Bully, but I thought you’d show a little
fight! Get along with you.”
Clancy climbed into the driver’s seat, feeling highly satisfied with
himself. He had forced a practical admission from Carson that his
suspicions were correct, and he grimly made up his mind to force a good
deal more from the fellow.
“Where you goin’, Clan?” inquired Billy, with some anxiety.
He had shoved Carson into the tonneau and followed him, still grasping
his arm.
“Well,” said Clancy, with a wink that Bully did not catch, “I think
we’d better take him to that deserted house you pointed out, as we came
into town. Then we can torture him until he confesses.”
“Fine!” grinned Billy. “We’ll do some fancy branding on him, and if
that don’t work, we can hang him up by the thumbs and roast his feet,
eh?”
Unfortunately, perhaps, he overdid the matter. Carson’s evil conscience
had turned him into an arrant coward, but it had not destroyed his
judgment by any means. He perceived that the two were trying to
frighten him, and he relapsed into a sullen silence.
“You’d better tell us where Merry is,” stated Clancy, turning to look
into the heavy, surly features. “I’ll warn you, Bully, that we’re not
inclined to show you any mercy.”
“Go to thunder!” growled the captive, and followed it with a string of
curses. Clancy flushed angrily and threw in the clutch.
“All right, my friend,” he grated. “You’ll get yours!”
Ten minutes later they drew up at the deserted house outside town.
Clancy drove around to the side, installed the machine in the
half-ruined barn, and reconnoitered the house. A door was swinging on
its hinges, but the place in general was in tolerable condition. He
returned to the barn and took out his handkerchief.
“Put his wrists together,” he ordered.
“Give him a chance to talk,” pleaded Billy. Clancy nodded.
Carson, however, merely poured out a string of curses and began to
plunge in a furious attempt to escape. His twisted arm soon made him
quiet.
“Take him up to the house,” said Clancy, when he had been bound. “I’ll
get some stuff to make a fire with.”
Billy obeyed. He deposited Carson in an empty room, tied his ankles
securely, then returned to Clancy with an anxious face.
“See here, Clan, how far are you goin’? You don’t mean to torture him?”
“I should hope not,” said Clancy, with a grin. “I feel like it, but
I don’t believe I’d go that far. I’m goin’ to walk back and get the
_Hornet_. We’ll have something to eat, and maybe you can scare him
into talking before I get back.”
Clancy’s hope was vain. When he returned with the _Hornet_ and their
provisions, he found that Carson had absolutely refused to say a word
on the subject. Billy was not a little anxious, but Clancy stood firm.
“Billy, I’m goin’ to make that fellow talk if I have to bust every law
on earth. Just stop to think--he’s done something to Chip, and knows
where he is. He seems to have a notion that we’re throwing a bluff into
him about torture and----”
“So we are,” interjected Billy. “You know it blamed well.”
“Sure,” admitted Clancy, with a grimace. “But I’m goin’ to make him
think he’s wrong, if I can.”
There ensued a series of bluffs at torture on Clancy’s part, but they
had not the slightest effect on Carson.
But Bully Carson stood pat. The first shock of alarm over, he resisted
all of Clancy’s efforts with a grim silence that could not be broken.
He knew that he was helpless, but he also knew that despite Clancy’s
talk the red-haired chap would not dare to proceed to extremities. And
as long as he could hold silence, he intended to do so. Merriwell must
be kept out of that Franklin game. He knew that his father had gone to
Fardale and would doubtless plunge heavily on the result of the game.
Since money meant more than anything else to the Carson family, Bully
intended making a hard fight of it.
He did so. Clancy and Billy built a roaring fire in the old fireplace
when darkness came on. This took the damp from the main room of
the farmhouse, and rendered it habitable. They ate some of their
provisions, refusing to give Carson anything to eat or drink. Finally
Clancy gave up in disgust.
“All right,” he said grimly to the prisoner. “You’ll stay here a month
if you don’t loosen up, old scout. Billy, we’ll take turns keeping him
awake to-night. He must have been on the go most of last night and
to-day, and that’ll bring him to terms.”
When morning dawned, Bully Carson was haggard and drawn, but still
refused to open his lips. Clancy was desperate. Thirsty and hungry
though their captive was, nothing seemed to have any effect. Yet their
only hope of rescuing Chip Merriwell lay in making him talk.
“I’ve had enough of this,” said Clancy, when the morning was half gone.
“Billy, we’re up against it. Right or wrong, that fellow’s going to
talk.”
“You’re not going to really torture him?” asked the white-lipped Billy.
“I am.”