THE MISER'S TREASURE
As he stood in the cave on Blackbird Island, Jack thought he must be
dreaming--the smoke and shining gold and silver all dancing before his
eyes.
Mechanically he moved forward and grasped hold of the pistol in Mosey's
hand. The Irishman was so astonished that he relinquished the weapon
without an effort.
"Stand right where you are!" commanded Jack, and he pointed the pistol
so that it was nearly in range of both men.
"Cornered!" cried Corrigan, as he looked toward the cave entrance, now
blocked by Farmer Farrell and his hired man, "and at the last minute,
too."
Meanwhile, Mont had gone down on his knees, and was bending over the
prostrate form of Max Pooler, who was bleeding profusely from the wound
in his shoulder.
Picking up one of the heavy cloth bags that had contained a part of the
scattered coin, the young man clapped it hastily over the bleeding spot,
tying it in position with his handkerchief--an action which checked the
flow considerably.
"My gold! My precious gold and silver," shrieked Pooler, never deigning
to notice the effect of Mosey's hasty shot. "Put it back; put it back
in the bags! Oh, don't let them take it! It's mine! All mine!" he
whined.
"Never mind," put in Jack. "Don't worry. What's yours shall remain
yours. Guess we have them safe, eh, Mr. Farrell?" he continued.
"Looks so," replied the sturdy farmer. "Anyway, I reckon I can keep 'em
from going through this door--the pesky critters!" and, with his gun
ready for use, the farmer stationed himself in the middle of the
passageway, with Deb, Meg and the hired man behind him.
"What's the cause of this row?" asked Jack, hardly knowing how to
proceed, the whole affair having happened so unexpectedly.
He looked at Corrigan and then at Mosey, but both of these discomfited
individuals remained silent.
"They were trying to rob me of my gold and silver," cried Pooler, "But
they sha'n't do it!" he added, vehemently. "It's mine, all mine."
With his restless eyes rolling wildly, the miser--for Max Pooler was
naught else--reached out his uninjured arm, and clutching the pieces of
money within reach, stowed them away in his bosom.
"Better keep quiet," suggested Mont, placing his hand on the bandaged
shoulder. "Your wound may be more serious than you think."
Max Pooler started.
"Do you--you think so?" he asked in a hoarse whisper.
"Not being a doctor, I can't say anything certain. It depends on what
direction the bullet took."
"Can I do anything?" put in Deb at this juncture. She had pushed her
way past the farmer, and now stood by the young man's side.
"I guess not, Deb," Mont replied. "We haven't much at hand in the shape
of hospital supplies," he added, soberly.
"Suppose we try to get him up to the house," suggested Farmer Farrell,
without removing his eyes from the two who had caused all the mischief.
"I won't leave my gold and silver!" howled the miser. "Leave me here.
Never mind my arm; it will soon get well. Only take those two men
away."
Max Pooler struggled to his feet. The movement caused him intense pain,
and he uttered a sharp groan.
"We can't do as he wishes," said Jack to Mont. "He might die, and we
would never forgive ourselves."
"I know it," replied the other. "But it will be a hard matter to
separate him from his money. Besides what shall we do with Mosey and
Corrigan?"
"That's a sticker. If we had a rope I 'd bind them tighter than they
ever bound me."
"There's a rope in that chest," put in the miser, who overheard the last
remark. "Tie 'em up--don't let 'em get away."
"It's sorry ye'll be for sayin' that," exclaimed Mosey. "Oi'll
tell--hic--all----"
Corrigan caught him by the arm.
"Shut up!" he whispered in his ear. "Can't you see Max is excited? Let
him cool down. You will be getting us into a heap of trouble presently."
The rope in the chest was long and heavy, and Jack picked it up with
considerable satisfaction.
"You first, Mosey," he said, "and none of your fooling, mind."
"That's all roight, Jack, me b'y. Oi'll not run a shtep.
Never--hic--moind the rope," returned the Irishman in his oiliest tones.
"I won't trust you, Mosey," returned the young machinist firmly; and,
assisted by Mont, he tied the man's hands behind him, and his feet in
such a manner that he could barely take a walking step.
"Now your turn," said Jack to Corrigan.
"What are you going to tie me for?" asked that individual in pretended
surprise. "I didn't shoot him."
"Perhaps not, but you were perfectly willing to have him shot. Come,
quick. I'm not going to argue all night."
Corrigan saw that Jack's patience was exhausted, and that the young
machinist was not to be trifled with. He submitted without another
word.
"Well, what's to do now," asked Farmer Farrell, when the job was
finished.
"Suppose we row them over to the mainland and march them to Corney,"
suggested Jack. "It's half-past eight now. We can reach there by ten."
"I'll get my wagon, and we can drive over," returned the farmer. "But
what of this man here? We can't leave him."
"Carry him up to the cottage," put in Meg, who had thus far been a
silent spectator of what was passing. "There's medicine there, lots of
it. It came from----"
Max Pooler glared at the girl.
"Shut up, will you?" he snarled. "How many times have I got to tell you
to make you mind?"
"You can say what you please," replied the girl boldly, "and I will,
too. I've left the island for good, and don't care what you do."
The miser turned pale with rage.
"What!" he cried, harshly. "Leave me! Why, you good for nothin'----"
In his anger he raised his wounded arm as if to strike. Jack sprang
forward to defend the young girl.
But his caution was unnecessary, for at the same instant Max Pooler gave
a sharp gasp of pain, and wavering backward and forward for a second,
fell heavily to the floor.
Deb and Meg both gave a shriek, Jack and Mont turned the wounded man
over on his back.
"Is he--he dead?" asked Deb. She was white, and trembled all over.
"No, only exhausted," replied Mont, after applying his ear to the
miser's breast. "His passions hold him completely under control."
"Then he is to be more pitied than blamed," said the girl,
sympathetically.
The wound had again commenced to bleed. Mont adjusted the bandage that
had become displaced, but this seemed to do little good.
"I will run to the cottage, and get anything you want," put in Meg,
gazing with softened features at the unconscious form.
"All right," replied Mont, and he named several things which he thought
might be used to advantage. "And don't forget plenty of linen, and some
cotton if you have it," he added.
The young girl started off at once, and soon disappeared in the
darkness.
Meanwhile the two prisoners were growing restless.
"Guess me and the man can march the pesky critters down to the boat,"
said Farmer Farrell, who was weary of watching the pair. "That is, if
you don't mind going through the woods with us," he continued to Jack.
"Certainly, I'll go," answered the young machinist. "Will you stay
here, Deb?"
"Yes, I may be needed," replied the girl. "We'll have to dress the
shoulder when Meg returns."
A moment later the party started off, Mosey and Corrigan in the center,
with the hired man behind.
Hardly had they left ere Max Pooler returned to his senses, and sitting
up, suddenly looked around.
"Gone?" he ejaculated. "Did they leave my money? Did they leave me my
shining gold and silver?"
"Yes, it's all there, so don't worry," replied Mont gently. "You must
keep quiet; it is bad for your shoulder when you move."
Max Pooler lay back, and eyed the young man suspiciously.
"You talk as if you meant well," he said, "but no one can be trusted
nowadays. Who are you?"
"Oh, never mind that," replied the young man, "just keep quiet."
"But I want to know your name," persisted the wounded man.
"My name is Monterey Gray."
The miser leaped to his feet, his teeth clenched, and his eyes rolling
frightfully.
"It's a lie!" he shrieked. "Monterey Gray is dead!--died years ago! He
died on the yacht! I saw him. Oh, you can't fool me! His ghost is in
the falls, but he is dead; and his gold and silver--oh, you can't fool
me! This ain't his; it's mine, all mine!"