JACK BENSON’S REVENGE.
Frank Alden’s face was resolute and set as he announced his bold
intention to rebel against the tyranny of a cruel stepfather. His
brother Will’s face was fairly white with fear and surprise.
“Run away!” gasped the latter.
“Exactly.”
“You don’t mean it?”
“I do.”
“But----”
“Don’t be afraid, Will. You are more scared at the idea than you will
be at the reality,” said Frank. “Stop and think for a moment. Can we
stand the life at the house any more?”
“N--no.”
“Then now is the time to end it. We owe our stepfather nothing. He
hates us, and will probably be glad to get rid of us. I’ve been
thinking of this for a long time, and seriously, too, and I’m going
to leave Parkdale. If you go with me, well and good. If not, I’ll go
alone.”
Will looked bewildered.
“Where shall we go to?” he asked.
“To the city. Nick is going there. He will join us. I’ve got a package
in the grove back of the house hidden in the big oak tree. I made it
up to-day. It contains all we have, and a dollar I have saved besides.
We’ll go and get it and come back here and wait for Nick, and then
start out together.”
“Will Nick go?”
“Certainly he will.”
“We may starve or get arrested----” began the timid Will.
“No, we won’t. Come along, if you are with me.”
“Yes, I’m with you,” replied Will faintly. His manner certainly was not
very enthusiastic.
The two boys left the spot with a last look at Captain Eccles’ cabin.
It was dark and still, as before. As they walked toward the common a
strange thing occurred at the place where they had just been talking so
earnestly.
Plainly revealed in the moonlight, from behind a fallen log, a human
face, and then a boy’s form came into view.
He was a low-browed, bold-eyed youth, and his eyes twinkled with some
secret satisfaction as he looked after the retreating boys.
“That’s how it is, eh!” he chuckled. “I heard all they said. Going to
run away. Well, smarties, I’ll get even with you more than ever now, or
my name ain’t Jack Benson!”
Only for a moment did the sneaking fellow remain where he was.
“I’ll hurry to the house,” he said to himself, “and tell old Towns all
about it.”
He started on a run as he spoke, but halted abruptly a few feet farther
on.
“Better still!” muttered Jack gleefully, as a new idea struck him.
“They’ve hidden some clothes and money in the oak tree in the grove. I
can get there afore they do. I’ll get the package, pocket the money,
and carry the clothes to Towns.”
A rapid detour made him master of the situation over his unsuspecting
enemies, who went on more slowly and cautiously.
Jack had no difficulty in finding the oak tree. As he drew out a
package from its hollow, he hastened to a copse some distance away,
coolly ransacked the bundle, secured a dollar tied in a handkerchief,
and then sat silently awaiting developments.
In a few moments a form came toward the tree. It was that of Frank
Alden. Jack saw him go through all the pantomime of search, surprise,
disappointment, and dismay. Then he retreated, and the chuckling,
malignant watcher could observe him and Will at the edge of the thicket
engaged in anxious talk.
“They may think that Towns found the bundle and may start away,”
thought Jack. “Now is my time to act. They licked me once too often,
but I’m even with them.”
He abandoned the scattered clothing, and started at once for the house.
Just inside the gate he paused, and fell to thinking. It occurred to
his malicious mind that he owed Ahab Towns a grudge as well as his
stepsons. He was still smarting under the punishment the man had given
him for stealing the apples. The more he thought of this beating the
more spiteful he felt against Towns.
“If I tell on the boys,” Jack reflected, “I’ll be helping that mean old
bear. I won’t do it. I know what I’ll do. I’ll kill two birds with one
stone. I’ll wipe out old scores to-night, and settle with Towns for
that whipping. And I’ll do both at the same time.”
Whatever Jack’s crafty plan might be, it required some time to put into
execution. He went to where the moonlight fell full upon a flat-topped
board fence. Then he ransacked his pockets.
A greasy pack of cards, some cigar stumps, and other articles about
as valuable, were transferred from one pocket to another. Finally he
produced a lead pencil and a not overclean strip of paper.
Placing the paper flat against the fence, Jack proceeded with no small
difficulty to outline what bore some resemblance to a placard. He
twisted his fingers first this way, then that, in his efforts to write.
The spelling of the words did not bother him much. He just spelled
them any old way. When at last he had finished, he looked upon his work
with pride.
It read:
To ower stepfother and Jerry Steele--surs. you aboused us, and we tak
ower revenj on you both, you will see in the barn.
NICK COLLINS,
FRANK ALDEN,
WILL ALDEN.
This fine piece of literary work Jack stood and admired for some
time. He decided that he had done a smart thing in putting Jerry
Steele’s name on the notice as well as addressing it to the other
boys’ stepfather, for this would tell Nick’s unfair taskmaster that
his victim was one of the conspirators--at least, one of those whom he
wished to make out as conspirators. When Jack had filled himself with
admiration for his miserable attempt at writing and spelling, he stole
toward the house, mounted the front steps, and paused at the door.
With a pin he fastened the written paper on a panel of the door, then
sneaked away to the garden, scudding through the shrubbery with a
quicker pace when he saw somebody passing by on the walk outside.
A moment he halted when he reached the barn; then he darted inside. For
not more than two minutes he remained there, but when he came out his
face was pale and his manner that of a badly frightened boy. He broke
into a brisk run and never lessened his speed until he was well on the
other side of the common.
Meantime Frank and Will Alden had gone through several experiences that
were none too happy. The visit to the oak tree had proved a severe
disappointment to Frank. In vain he felt for the package he had placed
there. It was gone. He tried to account for its disappearance, but
without success. After searching again, to no purpose, he decided to
return with Will to the vicinity of Captain Eccles’ cabin.
“Who could have taken it?” murmured Will, completely mystified.
“I cannot imagine.”
“Have you any suspicion?”
“Yes.”
“Who do you suspect?”
“Well, maybe Towns took it.”
“Perhaps. Look! Who is that?”
A form had passed hurriedly across a level stretch of ground beyond
them. It was the figure of a boy.
“It’s Jack Benson!” exclaimed Will.
“And coming from the direction of the house, too.”
“So he is.”
“Wonder what he is in such a hurry about?”
They followed the fleeting figure, but Jack was out of sight before
they could overtake him. To Frank the incident kindled suspicion in a
new direction. He and Will went on until they came to the neighborhood
of the Eccles cabin. There they halted and looked around in search of
Nick Collins. But he was nowhere in sight. They sat down patiently to
wait for him. Frank was serious and thoughtful, and Will plagued with
fears and uncertainties. Thus it happened that neither paid attention
to a deepening glow in the sky over a point from which they had come
not long before, until of a sudden the illumination became strikingly
bright. A flash seemed to shoot athwart the hilltop.
“Frank! Did you see that?”
“What?”
“It’s a fire!”
“That glow? By jiminy, it does look like one.”
“And in the direction of home.”
They sprang to their feet and gazed intently at the lurid glare. A
moment or two and they heard the discordant, confused shouts of many
persons in the distance. These sounds came nearer and nearer, and
the boys set off at a run for the crest of the hill. They had hardly
reached it when they heard some one just beyond them, shouting:
“Fire, fire!”
A man running toward the village was crying the word at the top of his
voice.
Another man, coming from the village, asked him excitedly:
“What’s burning?”
“Towns’ barn,” replied the other breathlessly.
“Are you going for the fire engine?”
“Yes. We must get it out quick or the house will go.”
The man ran on, but the other called after him:
“How did it catch?”
“Set afire.”
“Tramps?”
“No,” came the reply as the man ceased running and turned around, more
eager to repeat some gossip he had heard than to call out the engine.
“His own boys did it. They fired the barn because he whipped them. They
ran away this evening, and left a note saying they set the fire out of
revenge.”