"LOVE YOUR ENEMIES"--CONCLUSION
It was a thrilling scene, the brawny men, their intended victim, the
would-be rescuers, all in confusion.
One of the masked men attempted to pull Mr. Felix Gray to the ground,
but the tool manufacturer held fast to the front seat.
"Stop that!" roared Farmer Farrell.
"We want that man!" called out a person in the mob.
"No, no! Save me! save me!" cried Mr. Gray, frantically.
"We will not give him up," exclaimed Jack. "It's a shame to treat a dog
in this fashion!"
"He threw us out of work. He won't give us our money. He wants to
starve us and our families," called out several.
"Listen!" yelled Jack, as loud as he could. "Some of you know me. I
work in the tool works; I haven't got my money, and need it as badly as
any of you. But I say you'll never gain anything by acting this way.
Let Mr. Gray go."
"We want him and we're going to have him," exclaimed the man at the
wagon, grimly, and he renewed his efforts to pull the tool manufacturer
from the seat.
"You shall not," replied Jack, determinedly, and raising the gun, he hit
the man a sharp blow upon the hand, which made him instantly release his
hold.
"Go for 'em, fellows!" the man howled out, shaking the injured member in
evident pain.
The crowd began instantly to close in upon the wagon. Mosey, in the
excitement, tried his best to gain the ground, but Farmer Farrell had
taken the precaution to tie the Irishman's feet fast to the iron foot
rest, and he was unable to stir.
"We must get out of this!" exclaimed Jack to the farmer. "Start up the
horses. Quick!"
Farmer Farrell needed no further urging. Reaching over Mr. Gray's body,
he pulled up the reins, and struck first one and then the other of the
horses with his whip.
With a bound the animals leaped forward. The man who had held a grip
upon the tool manufacturer's foot lost it, and slipped under the
vehicle--the hind wheel passing over his leg.
The crowd uttered a loud cry, but were too late to stop the sudden
movement. One of the men caught hold of the tailboard of the wagon, but
a threatening shake from the young machinist's gun made him drop to the
ground.
On they went, Farmer Farrell making the horses do their very best.
Suddenly a pistol shot rang out, and Mosey gave a cry of pain.
"Oi'm shot!" he cried, falling backward upon Jack. "They've murdered
me, so they have!"
"Where are you hit?" asked the young machinist anxiously.
"In the soide. Oi'm dy--in'----"
Another pistol shot interrupted his speech.
"Gitting kinder hot," cried the farmer. "Let me have the gun. Here,
hold the reins," and he gave them to Jack and took the weapon. "We'll
see what a dose of buckshot will do."
Bang!
The report was followed by several cries from behind.
"That'll teach the pesky critters a lesson," observed the farmer, as he
resumed the reins.
Even as he spoke, they saw a flash in the darkness to one side of the
road, followed instantly by the crack of a revolver.
"I'm struck!" exclaimed Mr. Gray. "The villain has hit me in the
shoulder!"
"Is it bad?" asked Jack in horror.
"No, only a flesh wound, I guess," and the tool manufacturer drew a
sharp breath. "Drive on, don't stop!"
The command was not needed. The team was now in full gallop, and three
minutes brought them into the heart of the town.
"Straight home," replied Mr. Gray, in return to a question from Jack as
to where he should be taken. "And bring Mosey along, the doctor can
attend us both."
This was done, and the family physician pronounced the Irishman's wound
quite serious.
"Yours will heal rapidly," he said to the tool manufacturer. "But your
right arm will never be as good as it was. That workman may recover,
but it will take months."
The sun was just rising when Jack, after a breakfast that Farmer
Farrell's wife had compelled him to eat, took the boat and rowed over to
Blackbird Island.
Deb saw him coming and rushed out of the cottage to meet him.
"Oh, Jack, such a time as we've had!" she sobbed. "The doctor is here,
and that Pooler just died."
"Pooler dead?" ejaculated the young machinist, in amazement.
He entered the back room. The doctor and Meg were there, the girl's
eyes swollen from crying.
"Where is Mont?" he asked.
Meg pointed to the other door.
"He's in there too," she said, in a quivering voice.
Jack entered the front chamber. Max Pooler's body lay on the cot,
covered with a white sheet. Beside it, on a low stool, with his face
buried in his hands, sat Mont.
The young man's countenance was full of emotion. He took the young
machinist's hand in his own, and pulled the covering from the dead face
before them.
"Listen, Jack," he said in a low voice, "I want to tell you an awful
secret. Before this man died, he confessed that he murdered my father.
He was very penitent, and he--he asked me to forgive him."
"And you----" began Jack.
"I did forgive him. It was hard, but how could I refuse a dying man?"
"You did right," returned the young machinist. "But, oh, Mont, I'm so
sorry for you! Did he tell you how it came about?"
"Yes. He used to be my father's clerk, and avarice led him to steal.
By some means he imagined my father knew of his doings, and was about to
have him arrested. Half crazed by this fear, he went on board my
father's yacht one night and cast her adrift while my father was
sleeping in the stateroom. The yacht went over the falls, and turned up
where we found her."
"And your father?"
"Was found dead in the cabin. He said my uncle suspected him, but as
Mr. Felix Gray was trying to rob me of my share of the tool works
property, he turned the tables, and threatened not only to expose him,
but to implicate him in the murder as well. My uncle has been paying
him money for years to keep him quiet, but part of this went to Mosey
and Corrigan as 'hush money,' so Pooler said.
"It's a strange story," mused Jack.
"But that isn't all," continued Mont. "Before he died Pooler proved to
me that about one-half of his treasure belonged really to you."
"To me!" ejaculated the young machinist, in utter astonishment.
Mont nodded.
"Yes, to you," he said. "Pooler said my father held it in trust for
your father, who was not a good hand at investing money. The amounts
were the proceeds of several valuable inventions."
"Then we are both rich," returned Jack, with a broad smile. "I am glad
of it, for Deb's sake!" he added, brightly.
A little later the young machinist related what had happened on the
river road the night before.
"And now we'll have the whole affair straightened out," he concluded.
"I believe your uncle has had all the ups and downs he cares for, and
will let you have your own without much opposition."
"I trust so," replied Mont. "I do not care, as I said before, to make
the thing public, but it has gone far enough, and both of us must have
our rights."
"And then I must get the fire and the model matters squared up and go to
work on a bigger scale," added Jack. "I declare I've had adventures
enough in the past four days to last me a lifetime!"
Five years have passed since the above words were spoken. Mont is now
the sole owner of the Corney Tool Works, and the Mechanics' Savings Bank
is once again a flourishing institution. Mr. Felix Gray has relinquished
all rights to both, and is content to pass the remainder of his days in
helping his nephew along the road to fortune.
Mosey recovered, and is now a steady workman. He has signed the pledge,
and intends to stick to it. Corrigan was never heard of after his jump
from the wagon, and no one has ever taken the trouble to find out what
became of him.
Jack is now superintendent at the tool works, and besides his salary,
draws a handsome royalty from his father's and his own inventions.
Through Mr. Benton--who was profuse in his offers of help when he
learned the true state of affairs--the patent of the improved planer was
sold for four thousand dollars, of which half came to the young
machinist.
Deb--Jack's best girl--is now Mrs. Monterey Gray, and though she lives
in one of the finest mansions of the town, is still the true and
faithful little housekeeper she always was. Meg, upon whom Mont has
settled a neat sum, lives with her, and Miss Parks is a frequent and
welcome visitor at the place.
A few weeks ago, while visiting at Corney, I met Deb driving out to
Farmer Farrell's place, and asked her how her brother was getting on.
"Jack? Why, I declare you'd hardly know him, he's so awfully tall! And
he's got a beard all over his face. Business is splendid, but then Jack
always said that any one who did right, and stuck to his work, would get
along!"
And Deb is right. Do you not think so, gentle reader?