THE CAPTURE.
Fred was panting, his clothes were torn, and his manner that of one
overwrought with tremendous excitement. He had come from the deeper
woods to the north of Turkey Hill, and was plainly hurrying homeward as
fast as his feet would carry him.
Crouching behind the fallen tree, the two boys gazed in astonishment at
Sage as he passed them. They could hear his panting breath and see his
breast heaving, and into the minds of both leaped the strange thought
that only for his exertions his face would have been ghastly pale. There
was a wild expression in his eyes, like that of a person in great fear.
Hooker remained kneeling, petrified, but Piper partly rose, his lips
open, as if he thought of shouting to the running lad. If this was his
intention, however, he changed his mind, not uttering as much as a
whisper, and stood staring after the hurrying boy, the crashing sounds
of whose movements could be heard for some moments following his
disappearance. Presently those sounds died out and silence fell upon the
woods.
Shaking off his lethargy, Hooker rose. “Well,” he breathed, “what have
you got to say about that, Pipe?”
Sleuth’s forehead was puckered in a momentary frown. Before answering,
he climbed to the bole of the tree and stepped down on the other side,
Roy following.
“It simply confirms my theory,” announced Piper. “Fred is badly scared.
Somewhere yonder in these woods he lately parted from his brother, who
is wounded and a fugitive from justice. That’s quite enough to put
Fred’s nerves on the blink.”
“But why is he running for home that fashion?”
“For one reason, he doesn’t wish to be seen here in the woods by anyone
searching for the bank robbers. For another reason, he must remember
that there is a telltale pool of blood on the floor of his father’s
stable, every trace of which I’ll guarantee will soon be removed after
Fred gets home.”
“I guess you’re right,” admitted Roy regretfully. “I’m sorry about this
business—mighty sorry.”
“I, too, am sorry for Sage,” nodded Piper; “but in matters like this,
where justice and the rights of peaceable citizens are involved,
sentiment must be put aside.”
“Fred’s a good fellow,” muttered Hooker. “We’ve been pretty chummy.”
“Of course he’s a good fellow; nobody disputes that.”
“But to think he has such a brother!”
“That’s his misfortune, not his fault.”
“And he’s trying to help the fellow escape.”
“You’d do the same under similar circumstances, so don’t condemn him.
But while we’re gabbing here the fugitive is getting farther away. Of
course, if he’s badly hurt, as it seems he must be, he can’t cover
ground as fast as he otherwise might.”
“We can’t find him in these woods; we might as well give up that idea.”
“And give up all hope of copping the reward!” exclaimed Sleuth. “Not I.
The slope of Turkey Hill isn’t far away, and from it we can get a good
view of the swamp and the woods. Perhaps we’ll see something of the
fellow by climbing up there. Anyhow, it won’t take us far out of our
course, if we’re going to make for that old camp in the swamp, in which
I fancy our man, at Fred’s suggestion, may try to hide. Don’t quit. Come
on.”
For a short distance Sleuth sought to retrace the trail made by Fred
Sage while hurrying homeward, but this was so slow and exasperating that
presently he abandoned the effort and made straight for Turkey Hill.
There the boys pantingly climbed the first steep slope, soon arriving at
a clearing upon the hillside where the timber had been cut away, leaving
an expanse of unsightly stumps.
“From this spot,” reminded Piper, “Spotty Davis was seen when he shot
Berlin Barker’s hound. Use your eyes, Hooker. See if you can discover
anyone moving in the woods or the open places down yonder.”
For some moments they searched the lower expanse of woods and clearings
with their eyes.
“I don’t see a thing,” muttered Roy presently. “I don’t believe we’ll be
able to——”
“Look at those crows yonder,” interrupted Sleuth, flinging out his hand.
Some distance away, near the base of the hill to the westward, a number
of crows had suddenly risen into the air, cawing wildly.
“We’re not hunting for crows,” reminded Hooker.
“I’ve studied the habits of those birds,” asserted the amateur
detective, “and I’ll guarantee they’ve been suddenly alarmed by
something moving in the woods near by. Hear them cawing? Take it from
me, they are shouting in crow language: ‘Man! man! Here’s a man!’”
“Oh, rot, Piper! You may be pretty wise about some things, but——”
“_There he is!_” rasped Sleuth, suddenly seizing his companion’s arm and
pointing with the other hand. “I saw him—I saw him run across a little
opening! He’s coming back this way, too!”
“Why—why should he do that?” wondered the bewildered Hooker.
“Because, in all probability, he has discovered a posse of searchers
over yonder. He has been compelled to double back on his tracks. We may
be able to cut him off if we hustle.”
Without waiting to see if Roy followed, Piper ran down across the
clearing, dodging hither and thither to avoid the stumps, and plunged
once more into the woods, setting a course calculated to intercept the
fleeing man. Once more he had drawn his revolver, which he carried in
his hand as he ran.
Roy followed instinctively, although it must be confessed that he had
little relish for an encounter with a desperate criminal fleeing from
man-hunters. Sleuth was buoyed by excitement and a sort of fictitious
courage, which, possibly, might desert him in a twinkling when the
decisive moment came. On through the woods he darted, turning hither and
thither to avoid the denser thickets. His ears told him that Roy was
coming, and that was sufficient. Dead branches snapped beneath their
flying feet; in places fallen leaves were scattered with a swish and a
rustle; once or twice both lads felt their heart-strings tug as they
glimpsed black tree trunks, any one of which for a moment might have
been mistaken for a man.
Suddenly they burst out into a rocky bit of pasture land, through which
ran a deep gully. And there, not thirty rods away, was the man!
Evidently warned by the sounds they had made while running through the
woods, he was looking toward them when they appeared, and in every
respect his bearing was that of a creature hunted and nearly cornered.
“Stop!” cried Sleuth, lifting the revolver and halting so suddenly that
Hooker nearly bumped against him. “Throw up your hands!”
Instead of obeying, the man turned toward the gully and made a desperate
attempt to leap across it. Beneath his feet the ground gave way, and the
boys saw him disappear with one arm outflung, as if he had fruitlessly
clutched at the empty air.
“Jerusalem!” burst from Roy’s lips. “He’s gone!”
“And if that tumble doesn’t bump him some, I’m mistaken,” said Sleuth.
“We can get him before he recovers.”
Nevertheless, he exhibited a certain amount of caution and apprehension
as he reached the gully and peered into it.
“He may shoot,” called Hooker, holding back discreetly.
“Not he,” exulted Sleuth. “Here he is! Come on; we’ve got him!”
With seeming recklessness, Piper slid down into the gully, still
gripping his revolver in his right hand.
“I never thought it of him,” said Roy, aghast—“never!”
A moment later, peering downward, he saw the other boy bending over the
body of a man who lay amid some rocks at the bottom of the gully.
“Come down,” called Piper chokingly, his voice husky and shaking with
excitement. “We’ve got him cold! He was knocked out, stunned by that
fall.”
[Illustration:
“HERE HE IS! COME ON; WE’VE GOT HIM!”—Page 242.]
Hooker, his courage reviving, descended into the gully, bringing down
with him a small mass of loose earth and stones. He found Piper going
through the pockets of the unconscious man.
“Here,” said Sleuth, passing over an automatic pistol, “take this thing,
Hook. We’ll render him helpless by disarming him so that he can’t do
much when he comes round.”
“Hadn’t—hadn’t we better tie his hands behind his back?” faltered
Hooker.
“If we have to, we will,” assured Sleuth; “but it will be liable to
cause him a great deal of suffering. You can see that he was shot in the
right arm and shoulder. That’s where old Quinn plugged him. His coat
sleeve is all bloody. The coat was removed while his wound was bandaged,
and his arm is hanging loose inside of it now. Certainly he couldn’t run
very fast that way. No wonder he didn’t get away.”
“He isn’t—dead—is he?” whispered Roy, staring at the pale face of the
unfortunate wretch and noting a little trickle of blood which was
running down across the man’s temple from a cut higher up in the edge of
his scalp.
“Oh, I guess not,” answered Piper, with an hysterical little gulp of
laughter. “He struck his head on the rocks down here when he fell, and
that put him to sleep for fair; but I’ll wager he’ll come round all
right pretty soon. This is a big piece of work for us, Hook, old pal.
Five hundred dollars for the capture of Mr. James Wilson, _alias_
Gentleman Jim, won’t divvy up so bad between us. Eh? What?”
“But is he—is he Gentleman Jim?” muttered Roy, staring at the man’s
face. “Have we got the right man?”
“The right man?” echoed Piper. “He must be the right one, or Fred Sage
never would have tried to help him get away. Isn’t he the man you saw
and talked with in the woods beyond Culver’s Bridge?”
“No, he’s not,” answered Roy positively.
“Gee!” gasped Sleuth in dismay. “That’s queer!”