BART ON THE ROAD
"Get up!"
The rig that Bart was driving sped along the dusty country road at a
good sharp pace.
The young express agent was undergoing the most vivid mental
perturbation of his career.
He kept whistling a jolly air, with a sidelong glance observed that his
recent companions had turned back towards their camp in the clearing,
and then, dropping his assumption of the reckless young adventurer,
stared seriously ahead and began to figure out the situation in all its
details.
What had come about was quite natural and ordinary: the Tollivers were
anxious to get further away from the scene of their recent crime, to a
safer and more obscure haunt than the open camp in the woods.
They dared not take the journey in the day time, as they did not wish to
be seen by anyone and Bart coming along, they had caught at the idea of
sending him on with the wagon and its load.
If Bart got through in safety, they could assume that the hunt for the
missing trunk was not very active, or had been started in some other
direction.
Bart had comprehended that they could take a short cut to the old mill.
He had actually laughed to himself at the ease with which he had
obtained possession of the trunk, until they had mentioned that ominous
name: Lem Wacker.
"They are going to wait for Wacker!" murmured Bart, as he urged on the
horse. "That means that they expect him soon, for they calculate on
being at the old mill as soon as I can make it by road. When he does
come, and they tell him about me, he's sure to guess the truth. Then
it's three to one--get up!"
Bart did not allow the horse to lag, but his best pace was a poor
shambling trot. All the time Bart thought deeply and practically.
"I have decided," he spoke definitely after a quarter of an hour. "I
shall turn to my left the first road I come to. The B. & M. does not
touch short of eight miles from here, but somewhere to the southeast is
Clyde Station. Once there, I'll risk the rest."
The road was not an easy one. It was not very smooth, and grew more
stony and rutty as he proceeded, and there was a sharp climb for the
horse as they reached a hilly landscape.
Bart halted finally. A road branched to the left. It did not look very
inviting, nor did it seem to be much in use, but as it led away from the
main highway, it broke the trail, and without hesitation he turned the
horse's head in the direction of Clyde Station.
The country was open here, all rocks, gullies and pits. He was surprised
to observe how little distance he had really put between himself and the
Tolliver camp as the road wound out along the crest of a hill.
He jumped out to lighten the load and coax up the horse. Then he stood
stock-still, straining his eyes across the valley.
"I declare!" said Bart in a tone of profound concern, "I got away just
in time, but if that is Lem Wacker, he has appeared on the scene just
ten minutes too soon to suit me."
Over at the break in the woods a man had appeared from the direction of
Millville. He was waving a hand, and then placing it to his mouth as
though hailing someone, probably the Tollivers at the camp.
Then he turned straight around. If Bart could read anything at that
distance, he could certainly trace that the man was looking fixedly at
the red wagon, and the white horse, and himself.
If it was Lem Wacker--and Bart believed that it was--just one thing was
in order: to get that trunk to some town, to some station, to some
friendly farmhouse, in hiding anywhere, before the pursuit, sure to
follow, was started.
Bart ran on, with a last glance at the lone distant figure. He could not
afford to wait to see if the Tollivers joined it. Every minute was
precious.
"Where is the horse?" exclaimed Bart.
Dobbin had "got up." While Bart was surveying the landscape, the old
animal had plodded on, and was now out of sight.
Bart ran along the road. It turned between two walls of slate. Then came
the open again. Here the road descended somewhat. The horse stood at a
halt. He had run easily a few rods, one wheel had struck a deep rut, and
the wagon had broken down. It lay tilted over on one side, one wheel
completely caved in.
Bart was dismayed. He reflected for a moment, and then followed the road
ahead for about a hundred feet.
It turned through some slate heaps, lined the side of a deep
excavation, and came to an abrupt end where some boards, placed
crosswise, barred the sheer descent.
Just such a valley spread out beyond the barrier as on the other edge of
the hill whence Bart had seen the man he believed to be Lem Wacker.
Here, however, the landscape was barren in the extreme. There was not a
house visible.
Bart was in a dilemma, but he decided how he would act. He first ran
back to the spot whence he had last viewed the break in the woods.
A glance stirred him up to prompt and decisive action.
Three men were now in view. They were running at their top bent of speed
up the road he had taken.
"Lem Wacker and the Tollivers, sure!" murmured Bart. "They know the
wagon is up here somewhere, and they will be here in less than half an
hour."
Bart's one idea now was to locate some pit or cranny where he could stow
the trunk where it could not be readily found.
This done, he would start on foot in the direction of Clyde Station to
get assistance and return before his enemies discovered it.
There were all kinds of holes and heaps around him, but too open and
public to his way of thinking. Exploring, he came to the board barrier
again, climbed over it, and more critically than before scanned the
fifty-foot descent, and what lay at the bottom.
"Why!" said Bart, in some astonishment, "there's a railroad track--"
He leaned over, and scrutinizingly ran his eye along the dull brown
stretch of raised rails.
"And a hand car!" shouted the young express agent joyfully.