The Lair of the Robbers
There are times in a man's life when he has no spare moments in which to
think, and this occasion may be said to have been one of those urgent
periods in that of our hero. For he had no time to do more than move a
yard from the window of the little hut located so close to Colon when
the door was flung open, and the five ruffians within burst from their
cover. Jim had hardly shaken the dust and debris of the shattered pane
of glass from his eyes when one of the men was on him. It was Jaime de
Oteros, the leader of the gang, a dark, forbidding-looking fellow, as
agile as a cat, and a desperado accustomed to scenes of violence.
"A spy! a spy!" he bellowed, catching sight of Jim; for the lamp within
the cottage cast its rays through the window and illumined his figure.
"Kill him! Down with him to the ground! Stamp on him!"
Quick as thought a blade flashed from his belt, and while Jim was still
almost blinded by the dust which was clinging to his eyes, the man
struck savagely at him. An instant later a sharp cry escaped from Jim's
lips, while he staggered back against the hut; for the dagger had
penetrated his left arm, high up near the shoulder.
"Wounded! This is serious. I am in a hole." The thoughts came to him
like a flash, while the urgency of the situation seemed to help to clear
his eyes. He could now see the villain who had attacked him quite
plainly, while, owing to his position close to the wall of the dwelling,
his own figure was in the dusk. And it was that fact alone which saved
his life; for had the rascal standing so close to him been sure of his
bearings that formidable blade would have descended again. Jim caught
the glint of the lamplight on it, and, stung by the pain in his shoulder
and by the danger of his position, he struck out fiercely with his
clenched fist, and as fortune would have it caught the rascal neatly
beneath the chin.
Crash! The man staggered backwards, breathing deeply, and a second later
cannoned into one of his comrades who was hurrying forward to support
him. He gave a low growl of rage, pulled himself together, and flung
himself on Jim again furiously.
"Dog of a spy! You struck me. Police or not, I will kill you."
There was a snarl in his tones, while the man's whole person bristled
with anger. But Jaime de Oteros was not the ruffian to miss a chance, or
spoil his own opportunities, because he was in a passion. Beneath his
smouldering rage the rascal kept a level head, and, watching Jim as well
as the darkness would allow him, threw himself forward with startling
swiftness. Bang! Crash! That terrible knife blade just missed its mark,
and passing over our hero's shoulder buried its point deeply in the
woodwork of the hut, so deeply, in fact, that Jaime had to pull hard to
release it. That effort again helped Jim; indeed it gave him an
opportunity he was quick to pounce upon. For out shot his right fist
again, and, striking square between the eyes, it sent Jaime hurtling
backwards.
"Keep off! I warn you that any further violence will lead to severe
punishment." Jim gasped the words, for the suddenness of the attack had
taken his breath away. But he was by no means cowed, and, being one of
those sharp, shrewd lads of which America is so justly proud, he
promptly decided to make use of the few seconds respite allowed by
Jaime's downfall. It was a case where force could not greatly avail him,
he told himself, as he stood at bay before the desperadoes, his back
close to the wall; but bluff might help him.
"I warn you," he said again. "Drop your knives and stand here against
the hut with your arms up. If not, I'll whistle to my men to shoot.
Yes," he said sternly, "my men, you are surrounded. Jaime de Oteros, the
game is up."
As if to support his statement there came a call at that instant, while
men could be heard hurrying towards the scene of the conflict. As for
the band of rascals, Jaime had, to be sure, been the first to encounter
Jim, but his comrades had been quick to support him. They would have
thrown themselves on the young fellow before this had there been space;
but the hut protected him in rear, while Jaime's swinging limbs kept
them at a distance in other directions. The lamp within the hut threw
its sickly beams on the figures of the rascals, showing their features
plainly, and letting Jim recognize at once the ruffian who had, earlier
on in the evening, fired at him so deliberately.
"Come, hands up!" he repeated sharply. "The man who is found with arms
on him when my men come on the scene will wish that he had never seen
us."
"Massa Jim, Massa Jim! what dat happenin'?" came through the darkness at
this moment. "I heard shots; dere was shoutin'. What fo, I want to
know?"
"It's that nigger of his," suddenly exclaimed one of the ruffians,
hearing Tom. "It's a blind, a big bluff! Down with him! Gee! Stand
aside, and see me shoot him!"
Shouts came from all five now, and as if by common impulse they cast
themselves in Jim's direction. And if he had remained in his old
position there is little doubt but that the gang would quickly have
crushed the life out of his body; but Jim was fully alive on this
eventful night. There was no drowsiness about him, as may be imagined,
seeing the danger in which he stood. The lamplight showed him the
staring faces of the villains in front of him, and their changing
expressions immediately after Tom had called. He saw their hands dive
down for knife or revolver, and quick as thought he darted to one side;
but, quick as he was, one of the gang was too swift for him. A hand fell
on his shoulder, fingers closed on his coat, while the ruffian made
frantic efforts to detain him.
"He is here! Here!" he shouted. "I have the slippery dog! Quick, one of
you, slit his throat, and have done with it!"
"Take that! Back with you! Tom, Tom!" Jim shouted for the negro, and a
second later struck at the rascal with both fists, sending him
staggering backwards; but the blows, sturdy and strong though they
were, could not keep off the other desperadoes. They closed round our
hero in an instant, and there began at once a conflict the severity of
which can hardly be described. The sallow rascal, who had so
deliberately attempted to murder him that same night, thrust his
comrades aside in his own anxiety to complete the work in which he had
so signally failed, and, raising his arm, fired his revolver at
point-blank range. However, close shots are not always the ones to kill.
The struggling men at the rascal's elbow disturbed his aim, while the
bullet buried itself harmlessly in the wall of the tumbledown dwelling
close to which the conflict was taking place. Then Jim did a clever
thing. He had dodged swiftly to avoid the shot; but an instant later he
darted forward, swung his right fist into the villain's ribs with such
force that the breath was driven out of his body, and immediately
afterwards wrenched the smoking weapon from his hand. It was his turn
now, and right well he took advantage of the opportunity.
"Hands up!" he commanded again, levelling the muzzle at Jaime de
Oteros's head. "Hands up instantly!"
They fell back from him as if he were infected with the plague, and the
same uncertain, flickering lamplight which had helped our hero before
now showed hesitation in their scowling faces; but it was only for the
moment. Let it be remembered that this gang was composed of men who had
been in many a scuffle and come out of them successfully, that one and
all were unscrupulous, and would as soon and as easily kill a man as
take the life of a fly. Was it wonderful that, seeing one youth alone
opposed to them, they regained some measure of courage? Jaime's lips
receded from his teeth in an ugly snarl, and, as if shot from a gun, he
darted at Jim, ducked beneath the levelled muzzle, and closed with him.
"Now you shall pay with your life, dog of a policeman!" he growled.
"This to end our quarrel."
He gripped Jim's right arm as if with a vice, pushing it upward. Then
the fingers of his left hand fell upon his chin and forced it backwards.
"Strike with your knife! Strike, fool!" he shouted to one of his
comrades. "He is helpless."
And helpless, in fact, Jim was, for a second villain had gripped him
from behind. He was just like a sheep held for the slaughter, and though
he struggled frantically he could make no impression on those who held
him; but Tom could. The lusty negro was not the one to be frightened by
a gang of double the strength, and coming upon the scene at this moment
he fell upon the men with the ferocity of a tiger. His first charge
scattered them, setting Jim free; then a dive to one side allowed him to
grip one of the rascals. In a trice he had him swinging at his full
arm's length above his head.
"By de poker, but dis fun!" he shouted, waving the man to and fro as if
he were merely a package. "Yo's tried to kill Massa Jim, heh? Yo go dere
den." He swished round as if he were poised on a pivot, his arms went
back, and in an instant he had thrown his burden against the wall of the
hut. That done, he dashed forward on the heels of Jim, and helped the
latter to secure Jaime de Oteros. As for the others, they melted away
into the darkness, and the last that was heard of them was the sound of
their quickly moving feet. But Ching reported that he had encountered
one of the rascals. Indeed, a minute later he came into the narrow
circle of light dragging one of the wretches with him, and giggling with
suppressed amusement.
"Him not see Ching," he explained with a guffaw. "Him comee runnin' ever
so fast. But Ching knowe him not a good man, and send him silly wid a
blow from dis stick. Oh, him hab a velly bad head to-mollow. Him so
velly solly him meet Ching."
"And him sorrier still when him come before de police bosses," exclaimed
Tom, gripping the arm of the leader of the gang so firmly that the man
howled. "What fo you make that to-do?" asked Tom, shaking Jaime as if he
were a rat. "Yo no cause to complain. Me hold yo tight, eh? Me hold yo
tighter still if yo not stop dat blather. By de poker, but dis fine,
Massa Jim! We've caught jest three of de ruffians, and see dem hanged,
strung up by de neck, dance tattoo in de air. Eh? Dat good for rascals."
Again he shook the unfortunate Jaime till the ruffian's teeth chattered
together, while the man was unable to retain his feet. That he was cowed
by the size and strength of his captor there was no doubt, for he made
no effort to retaliate or to escape. Instead, he hung listless, his
knife fallen at his feet, his left hand clutching at the fingers which
compressed his other arm with such painful tenacity.
"Put him there in the hut," said Jim, beginning now to breathe a little
more easily. "Ching, take your captive in too. Tom will watch him; if
they attempt an escape----"
[Illustration: JIM IN A TIGHT CORNER]
"Ha, ha! I like to see dat," cried the lusty negro, lifting Jaime from
his feet as if he were a child and beginning to carry him within the
hut. "By de poker, but I hope him will try to 'scape. Den yo see; Tom
smash um into a jelly. Tom make mincemeat of dis bag ob bones. Yo see;
Tom lob to kill um."
He swung the ruffian round till their faces were close together, and,
bending closer, bared his teeth and glared at the unfortunate fellow
till Jaime recoiled; for, when he liked, Tom could adopt the expression
of a demon.
"There; see him safely in the hut, and watch the two of them," cried
Jim, smiling even at such a moment, for he could not help but contrast
Tom's unusual exhibition of ferocity with his usual self. It was an
eye-opener even to him to see this mild-mannered negro so transformed;
and Jim, knowing the faithful fellow so well, realized that all his
anger and ferocity were assumed.
"Just to scare the ruffian," he thought, "and very thoroughly he has
done it, I guess. Now, let's see this other fellow."
He and Ching between them rolled the man whom Tom had cast against the
hut on to his back, and then carried him within the dwelling, where the
lamp gave them an opportunity of inspecting him.
"Bad luck!" cried Jim at once. "Neither of our prisoners is the one I
wished above all to capture. Still, we have accounted for three, and the
police will deal with the others. How long will it take them to arrive?"
"Anoder hour, sah," came from Tom immediately. "Me know de road. Dey
here about den. But no need to worry; dese blackguard son ob guns not
try any little game. Tom make himself happy."
To prove his coolness he dragged a pipe from his coat, filled it with
loose chippings which he carried in a pocket, and, stepping to the lamp,
held the bowl of the pipe over the flame. Then he puffed big clouds of
smoke into the air contained within the hovel, which, to be sure,
already reeked with the nauseous fumes of the cigarettes the gang of
ruffians had been smoking. Later Tom sat himself comfortably in a chair,
crossed one leg over the other, folded his arms, and regarded his
prisoners with an air of severity which caused them to cower, though
Jim, looking up at him, could distinguish the old twinkle in the negro's
eyes.
"By lummy! But s'pose we not wait fo de police," suggested Tom, removing
his pipe from his capacious mouth, and baring his fine white teeth in
the process. He leered at the two cowering men, and then looked round at
our hero. "S'pose save de time and labour ob de police, sah. Hang um
now. Plenty room in here, and dat beam jest in nice position. Gee! Fine
ting to watch dis scum dance de tatoo in de air. S'pose we get to wid
it."
There was an amiable smile on his lips now. He popped the pipe back
between his teeth, causing the latter to fasten upon the stem with a
click, and stared up at the blackened roof of the cottage. "Him bear de
weight ob both together, sah," he laughed. "But not be too fast. One at
time plenty much, so as have heap to laugh at. I'm gwine ter commence
wid dis blackguard."
He glowered upon Jaime de Oteros, the hardened villain who had led the
gang, and who, if the information of the Commission police were correct,
had more than once robbed his victims with unusual violence. "Him
biggest of de blackguards," said Tom reflectively. "Him gwine ter dance
on air fust of de lot."
He rose from his seat, laid his pipe on the table, and approached his
prisoner. And Jaime shrunk before him. From being a well-nurtured man, a
rascal who, by means of his depredations had been enabled to live on the
fat of the land and batten on other people's riches, the wretch, when
punishment faced him, shrivelled visibly, till his very stature seemed
to be dwarfed, his cheeks shrunken and hollow, and his rounded limbs but
half their former size. He grovelled upon the floor, whining for mercy.
"Stop!" cried Jim at once, thinking that Tom's fun had gone far enough.
"We will wait for the police, and let them do as they like. But it jest
about shows you the cravens these fellows are. Under the same sort of
circumstances this Jaime would not hesitate to bully his prisoners, I
guess; even to hang them outright. However, it is not our job to give
punishment; we'll leave that to the judges. Sit down and watch them."
"Watch dem! By lummy! but dat not necessary; not at all, sah," came the
answer from the negro. "Yo dere, yo blackguard. Yo go very careful, or
Tom do as him say, massa or no massa. Yo sabbey?"
He scowled at his prisoners till they crouched still lower, and then,
turning to Jim, leered again at him, cocking one eye wide open, while
the other closed. He was actually grinning, but the next instant, when
he reseated himself, and again pulled at his pipe, the eyes which
regarded the rascals cowering against the wall were savage.
"Now," said Jim, "lend a hand here, Ching. This fellow is badly knocked
about. Bruised all over and stunned I should say: not dead."
The Chinaman wrapped his pigtail round his head, and secured it in
position with a pointed piece of stick which he carried about his person
for that very purpose. Then he bent over the man whom Tom had dealt so
harshly with, and, chuckling all the while, proceeded to examine him
minutely.
"Not one little bone ob him brokee, sah," he said. "But plenty fine
upset. Got de headachee velly badly. To-mollow, when him wake up, oh him
so velly ill. Him groan ever so much. Him giddy and velly sick, and him
wish eber so much him neber been a rascal, and neber met dat great big
nigger dere. Him tink him one big black debil. Him hate Tom."
"He! he! he! Ho! ho! ho!" came in uproarious tones from the huge negro
seated at the table, smoking so comfortably. Then Tom suddenly became
very serious.
"Yo Chinee boy," he cried, "yo son ob yellow gun, yo listen here. Tom
not like serve a man same as dat always. Him very gentle as a rule. But,
by de poker, when a villain try to shoot and cut de throat of Massa Jim,
den time to do tings! Not time to talk. Dat come afterwards. De man dere
sorry in course dat he met me; but dat altogether his fault, I guess.
He shouldn't hab laid a hand on de young massa. Now yo dere, in de
corner, what yo squintin' outer de door for? You tink get away. By de
poker, show you dat! Beat you into squash and jelly!"
He switched the conversation round to his prisoner, for Jaime was
staring out through the door of the hut, as if he had intentions of
making a dash for liberty. But Tom's voice brought him to his senses.
The man--a Spaniard by his appearance, but one evidently long departed
from his own country, and well able to speak and understand
English--shrivelled up into his corner, while into his black, beady eyes
there came a hopeless expression, the expression to be met with on the
face of a condemned criminal who knows he is past relief. It seemed
evident, too, that Jaime was in that position, for a little while after,
while Jim was bathing the face of the man who lay unconscious on the
floor, a force of Colon police arrived, and quickly took affairs into
their own hands. A smart officer entered the hut without ceremony.
"Huh!" he exclaimed, when he had taken a swift glance round. "The
watchin' ended in a ruction, that's evident. Who's that?"
He stepped to the table, leaned both hands on it, and stared into the
corner where the prisoners cowered. Tom coolly removed his pipe from
between his lips, nodded to the officer, and then turned on Jaime.
"Dat?" he asked, pointing with the stem of his pipe. "Oh, dat a very
brave prisoner dat try to kill Massa Jim, and now very sorry! Stand up
dere, yo in de corner. Stand up, or, by lummy, Tom want to know what fo!
"Now den," continued Tom, when the wretch had risen to his feet,
shivering with fright. "Who am yo?"
"That don't matter one single brass pin ter me," ejaculated the officer
suddenly, his colour heightening, his voice taking on a tone of
exultation. "Reckon it's my business to know who every criminal is.
Jaime de Oteros, you're badly wanted. Guess there's a score of charges
up against you. Boys, jest come in here."
He put his fingers to his lips and sent forth a shrill whistle, which
instantly brought a couple of policemen into the hut.
"Handcuffs for 'em both," said the officer shortly. "Search 'em for
weapons. Now then, siree?"
He turned on Jim serenely, and extended a hand. "Tell me all about it.
Of course the darkie you sent along got to work and poured a whole heap
of stuff into my ear as we ran here. Guess I know who you are, where you
come from, and the very first day you ever had measles. There ain't many
young chaps around same as Massa Jim."
There was a broad smile on his face, and the grip he gave our hero was
unusually cordial. "Gee!" he went on; "a real good coloured servant is a
thing to be proud of. Reckon you've two. You're jest about lucky. Those
boys think all the world of you, and I've been too long amongst them not
to have learned that there's always a good reason when things are like
that. You've got to be extra good and plucky and all that. But let's get
to business. What happened?"
Jim told him abruptly. "It was precious near a case with me," he smiled.
"This fellow Jaime did his best to kill me. That's a reminder; he stuck
his knife through my shoulder."
Strange to say he had forgotten the matter, and till now had had but
little pain. But now he recollected, and, slipping off his jacket,
exposed his arm high up near the shoulder. The officer at once inspected
the wound, while Tom, and Sam, who had now arrived upon the scene, bent
over him anxiously.
"Not enough to stop you enjoying a single meal," declared the officer.
"Little more than skin deep, and made by a knife that had cleaned itself
as it passed through your clothing. A dressing put there right away will
fix the matter for good. Thomas," he sang out. Then, as another man
appeared, dressed in Commission uniform: "see here, my lad, we want that
first-aid case of yours. Get to work at this gentleman's shoulder. Now,
sir," he went on, "you can continue the tale while Thomas is busy. These
fellows tried to murder you. You had surrounded the place, I understand,
and had sent Sam there back into Colon. Wall, now, what next?"
In a few words Jim described how one of the rascals had detected him as
he looked in through the window. How the ruffian, the same who had fired
at him earlier in the evening, had again narrowly missed striking him
with a bullet, and how the whole five had then thrown themselves on him.
"Here's the result of it all," he ended. "I should have been killed but
for Tom. But he arrived just in the nick of time. We took three
prisoners between us; two have managed to get away."
"And that man who fired at you?" asked the officer.
"He is one of the two escaped."
"Then there's a chase before us. You'll come right along to the office,
sir, where we can talk matters over. Wait while I see these rascals
handcuffed to my men. But let me congratulate you and your men, sir. You
did as well as any police could have done, and you showed no end of
pluck. Boys, get to with those prisoners. Four of you can carry the man
who's insensible. Two each to the others will be enough. Bring 'em
along, boys. This is a fine evening for the police of Colon."
That the capture of three of these notorious ruffians was indeed a
matter for congratulation was brought still more forcibly to Jim's mind
some little time later; for, having trudged into Colon, the whole party
entered the offices of the Police Commissioner there, and came face to
face with that gentleman. He had been hurriedly aroused, and had at once
turned out of his bed to learn what had happened. His eyes lit up with a
smile as the officer who had gone to the scene of the capture introduced
Jim.
"Very glad to meet you, sir," said the Commissioner. "Now tell me all
about it. This, of course, will be only a preliminary enquiry; I shall
remand the prisoners to the cells, and their case will be taken later.
Then, of course, I shall require your evidence, and that of your men.
Please state who you are?"
"James Partington, sir; from New York."
"Lately arrived, eh?"
"No, sir. Been cruising in the Caribbean with a salvage plant. Then took
a passage to New York. There was a collision, and a number of Spaniards
aboard the ship fought for the boats. I--er--I helped the----"
"Pardon, I recollect. Shake hands, sir."
The officer leaned over his desk and gripped Jim's fingers, while a most
friendly smile played across his lips. "Of course, I recollect," he
said. "The matter was published in the paper. Seen the article?"
Jim shook his head. "I haven't had much time," he said. "There have been
so many things to do since I arrived in the zone."
"Then your ears will burn, my lad. The man who wrote that account put
the plain truth forward. He had interviewed the captain and his men. Mr.
James Partington seems to have been the hero of the occasion."
He laughed outright, seeing Jim flush to the roots of his hair, and then
became serious again.
"There, forgive my chaff," he said. "But you behaved handsomely, Mr.
Partington. Now tell me how this other matter cropped up."
Jim told him in as few words as possible. "You see," he said lamely, "I
couldn't very well help myself. I stayed on in the zone, and Mr. Phineas
B. Barton promised to obtain work for me. I had a turn with one of the
steam diggers, and it was arranged that I should be appointed to work
one. I went back to Mr. Barton's quarters this evening----"
"Last night, you mean," interrupted the officer with a smile. "It is now
2.30 in the morning."
Jim was startled. The hours had simply flown, and he could hardly
realize that so much time had elapsed since he set off from his
quarters. "I had no idea," he murmured. "But yesterday evening, to be
accurate, I was sitting in the parlour with Mr. Barton when a man shot
at me through the gauze window."
"At you? How do you know that?" The question came like a pistol shot.
"I guess it. I am not absolutely sure. I may be wrong, but you will hear
my reasons. We set out in pursuit. Sam there," and he nodded to the
little negro who was following the interrogation with shining eyes and
wide-open ears--"Sam tracked the fellow. He took us to a hut in which a
light was burning. We surrounded it. I went to the window, and
recognized one of the men as a Spaniard who had been aboard the ship,
and whom I had knocked down in the fight. He had, apparently, just
joined his fellows. There were five in all."
"Points to his being the man who shot at you, and to you being the one
at whom he fired. To-morrow we'll settle it. Sam there will follow the
tracks if he can."
It was amusing to see the little negro's eyes open wide. There was an
expression almost of a feeling of injury about them.
"What dat, sah?" he demanded. "Sam not able to follow track? I like dat,
I do. Sam start tracking when him so high." And he placed a hand a
couple of feet from the floor, much to the amusement of all. "Sam larn
to track way down in de south. Dat rubbish villain leave heap of mark.
Plenty soft ground. To-morrow--to-day, sah, I tink, 'cos it's past
midnight--to-day Sam pick up de mark and tell you plenty quick who it am
and what happened."
"Then that'll fix the matter. What next?" asked the officer.
"I recognized one of the gang as a man whose photograph had been
published; in fact, I recognized them all. I remembered the name, Jaime
de Oteros. Then I reckoned we had made a find and that you would like to
hear. I sent Sam away, and--and there you are."
"Pardon, there we are certainly not yet awhile. I was asleep at the
time. Kindly proceed, sir."
Jim answered the officer's encouraging smile by giving him an account of
the fight, while the eager Tom burst in with an interruption from time
to time.
"Me wanted to hang um quick," he explained. "But Massa Jim angry, scowl
at Tom, say tings beneath him breath."
It was pure invention; Jim swung round upon the negro with flashing
eyes. But who could be angry with Tom? The fellow's face was wreathed in
smiles. His merry features were divided by a wide seven-foot rift,
extending from ear to ear, and displayed a double set of teeth which
would have been a paying advertisement for a dentist.
"The long and the short of it is this, sir," said the officer. "You and
your very eager friends have done the police a great service, for which
we are deeply grateful. Now, I will take formal evidence of identity,
and send the prisoners to the cells. I advise that you all go back to
your quarters by a roundabout route, so as not to spoil tracks. I will
send a couple of men to the hut to keep people away. At eight o'clock I
will call upon you, when we will go into the question of the tracks and
discuss what is to be done. The escape of those two rascals means a
chase. We cannot afford to lose them now that we have captured three."
He leaned over and shook hands with Jim. Then, with a pleasant nod, he
banished the party to bed. Taking the lamp, Sam lit it and led the way,
and very soon they were back at their quarters, there to meet with
Phineas's eager questions. At eight o'clock that morning, when Jim
imagined that he had hardly enjoyed half an hour's sleep, the Police
Commissioner appeared, and very soon it became evident that the canal
works would not see our hero yet awhile. In fact, there was another
adventure before him.
"We're going to follow those rascals," said the officer. "I'd like you
to come along, for you can recognize them. Of course it'll be dangerous.
The fellows are armed; I'm not disguising that from you. Are you game to
come?"
Was Jim game? He laughed at the officer's caution.
"See here, sir," he said with a smile, "guess I'm not one of the police,
and thief catching isn't in my work, but I've a personal stake here. If
this man ain't apprehended I stand to be shot at any time. Besides,
every American citizen wants to help the police. It's a duty; of course
I'm game."