SAVING THE ENEMY.
“You are sure?” burst from Neka’s lips.
“Cert, boss. I would know der feller wid der red-hot mustache
anywhere.”
“Help! help!” came in frantic tones from the sinking rowboat. “Save
us! Don’t let us get in the ice-cold water!”
“We’ll save you,” called out Neka, and then he added to his friends,
in a lower tone: “Don’t let on that we know them. We’ll arrest them
without their knowing it.”
“Dat’s der cheese!” returned the bootblack, falling in with the
scheme at once.
By this time the two rowboats were close together. The despairing
ones were standing on the seats of their craft. They easily stepped
from one boat to the other.
“Thank fortune you came in time,” gasped one, a tough-looking sport.
“No ice bath for me!”
“We’ll take your boat in tow,” suggested the boatman, and got up to
do so.
“Never mind the boat, let her drift,” exclaimed one of the men,
quickly, with a suggestive glance at his companion.
“Yes, let her drift.”
“But she’s a good boat,” said the boatman. “If you don’t want her,
I’ll be glad to take her.” He glanced the craft over. “Why, it’s Hank
Paulson’s craft!”
The two men looked uncomfortable. As a matter of fact they had stolen
the boat and did not care what became of her so long as the theft was
not traced to them.
“Well, I’m in a hurry,” said Neka. “Take me over without delay,” and
he pointed toward Woolskill.
“Say, you ain’t going to Woolskill, are you?” demanded one of the
rescued ones, in quick alarm.
“Yes.”
“We want to go to Pemleton,” put in the second man. “Can’t you take
us over there first?”
“I am in a hurry to get to Woolskill,” returned Neka, coldly.
“We’ll pay you well if you’ll take us to Pemleton first,” went on the
fellow with the “red-hot” mustache.
He appeared to be the leader of the twain.
“I’ve got to take this gent where he wants to go first,” answered the
boatman, with a shrug of his shoulders.
Secretly he enjoyed the situation, as did also the bootblack.
“But we have an important engagement in Pemleton,” insisted the
tough-looking individual. “We must get there in a quarter of an hour.
Take us over, and we’ll make it right all around.”
“What will you give?” asked Neka, struck with a sudden idea.
“We’ll give you each a ten-dollar bill.”
“Gee!” murmured the bootblack.
“Show up the money,” went on Neka, as if he doubted they had the sum
mentioned.
The leader of the two men hesitated a second, then put his hand in
his inside coat pocket and brought out a flat package.
The young Fire King’s heart gave a leap of joy. It was Longfellow
Wadsworth’s packet without a doubt.
“You’re rich enough to take your time,” laughed Neka. “I would like
your money, but I can’t wait. Row for Woolskill,” he added, to the
boatman.
Scarcely had the words passed his lips when the tough whipped a
pistol from his hip pocket.
“Row for Pemleton!” he ordered, as he pointed the weapon at the
boatman’s head.
“Don’t shoot me!” howled the river man. “Don’t shoot! Put that pistol
away!”
“You’re a fine fellow to draw a pistol,” cried Neka.
“Well, I want him to take us over the river,” muttered the thief,
sullenly.
A silence followed. The boatman turned the boat around. He had no
desire to be shot.
Neka was in a quandary. How could he circumvent these rascals? He
determined to try a ruse.
“Here comes a steamboat! Look out!” he yelled, suddenly. “She’s going
to run us down!”
In wild alarm the two men and the bootblack leaped to their feet. The
boatman remained seated and turned the craft out of her course.
As quick as a flash Neka leaped to the leader of the toughs. Bang! A
blow straight from the shoulder sent the fellow reeling backward. He
lost his balance and went out with a loud splash into the river.
His companion tried to defend himself, but Neka was too quick for
him. He threw the fellow down and rolled him out over the bow.
“Don’t drown me,” yelled the big tough, despairingly. “I--I can’t
swim!”
“Save me!” bawled his companion. “I can’t swim, either.”
“Turn the boat around and let them both take hold of the stern,”
commanded Neka, as he picked up a boathook. The rowboat was turned
about as directed, and Neka saw to it that the pair in the water got
a hold. Then he sat down on the stern seat, boathook in hand.
“Now keep a hold, but don’t attempt any nasty work,” he said,
sternly. “If you do I’ll crack you over the head with this iron.”
“Don’t be hard on us!” muttered the leading thief, with chattering
teeth. “We’ll be frozen stiff in this icy water!”
“It’s your own fault. Hand over that packet of money.”
“Do you mean to rob us?”
“We mean to get back some stolen property,” replied Neka.
This reply almost made the two rascals collapse. They tried to speak,
but between the cold and their mental confusion, could scarcely utter
a word. Neka threatened to shove the leading thief off, and then the
man gave up the precious packet without further delay. The boy’s
heart was a thousand times lighter as he placed the money in his
inside pocket. It was wet, but this he did not mind.
“You ought to let us go, now you have that money back,” whined the
younger of the pair of evildoers. “I didn’t do the stealing.”
“You shall both go to prison, if I know anything about it.”
“He drugged the gent,” put in the leader, who did not appreciate his
companion’s remark.
“So you drugged Mr. Wadsworth first, eh?” said Neka, half to himself.
He was glad to learn that the elocutionist’s condition was not due to
his fondness for liquor.
The thieves continued to beg, but Neka would not listen to a word.
He ordered the boatman on, and soon they were back to the landing at
Woolskill.
Here the rascals tried to sneak off, but a policeman was called, and
all hands assisted in lodging the evildoers in jail. Neka paid the
boatman and the bootblack five dollars each for their extra trouble,
and they promised to appear at court whenever wanted.
This business finished, Neka made his way with all possible speed to
the theatre. It was after nine o’clock, and instead of finding the
performance in full swing, all was dark outside.
In the green room he found Bindley and Joe Windom. Longfellow
Wadsworth lay on a couch, a towel tied about his forehead.
The elocutionist started up as the boy came in.
“The money, Neka! The money!” he fairly sobbed.
“I have it.”
“Thank Heaven!”
“What of the rascals?” questioned Bindley.
“Safe in jail.”
And sitting down, Neka told his story.
Longfellow Wadsworth was hardly yet in condition to listen. Yet he
understood most of what was said. He wrung Neka’s hand silently.
“I’ve taken my last drink,” he whispered, hoarsely. “Before I take
another I’ll kill myself.”
“Tell me that when you are perfectly sober,” replied Neka, and he
turned away.
Bindley told him that a good audience had assembled at the box office
and been turned away. He hoped they would have a good house on their
second and final night in the town.
Longfellow Wadsworth was taken to the hotel. He passed a restless
night. When Neka arose at seven o’clock the elocutionist came in at
once to see him.
“Neka, there is no use in my offering any excuse,” he said, in a
shamefaced way. “I drank more than was good for me, and that was my
fault. Those fellows drugged me, but had I been perfectly sober they
wouldn’t have gotten the chance. From this time on I’m going not only
to take the pledge, but I’m going to keep it.”
He held out his hand. Without hesitation Neka grasped it warmly.
“Good for you, Wadsworth,” he said. “Drink is your one enemy. Leave
it alone and you’ll be all right in every way.”
“I’ve given you my promise, Neka; I won’t break it,” replied
Longfellow Wadsworth.