BAFFLED
When Jet regained consciousness he was lying on the ground alone,
feeling dizzy and suffering from a most severe pain in his head.
He raised his hand as if to relieve the anguish, and found that his
hair was matted together with a certain sticky substance, which, by aid
of a light from a near-by lamp, he discovered to be blood.
From the theater music could be heard, thus telling that the
performance had not yet been brought to a close.
It was only after the greatest difficulty that Jet rose to his feet,
looked around for an instant as if expecting another attack, and then
staggered toward the stage entrance.
He spent ten minutes covering a distance of twenty yards, and, on
opening the door, was greeted by one of the company, who had evidently
come out for a breath of fresh air.
"You had better not let the manager see you until after he cools off a
little more, for---- What is the matter, lad?"
This last question after the boy's pale and blood-stained face could be
seen.
"Somebody struck me."
"Struck you? It looks more as if they had been trying to kill you."
"Perhaps that was what they did want to do," and Jet half-seated
himself, half-fell on a trunk.
However aggrieved the members of the company may have felt because of
Jet's failure, none of them were so hard-hearted as to ignore the fact
of his suffering. Those not on the stage were immediately summoned by
the boy's questioner, and in a very few seconds a messenger had been
sent in search of a surgeon.
"Don't bother about me; I'll be all right in a little while," Jet
managed to say, and then he fainted.
It was soon found that the boy's injuries, while severe, were not
dangerous.
The scalp had been laid open to such an extent that half a dozen
stitches were necessary to close the wound, and the surgeon said,
reassuringly, as he bandaged the cut:
"He has lost considerable blood, which accounts for his weak condition.
It will be some time before he feels all right again; but he'll come
around in good shape."
"Will it do him any harm to keep on traveling with us?" the manager
asked.
"Let him be quiet, and I don't anticipate any evil results. Do you
know how it happened?"
"No. He was very anxious to see some one in the audience, and I fancy
he went out immediately after breaking down in his act."
"Then send around at once and learn if anybody left the hall just
before the assault."
This suggestion was acted upon immediately, and the doorkeeper stated
that two men, one tall and the other of medium height, went out very
soon after Jet ran off the stage.
"It must have been some fellow who had a grudge against him, and he
broke down from fright at seeing the man; but I don't fancy it will do
much good to attempt to trace the matter. Show people can't afford to
fool around a town waiting for the delays of the law when they are
billed to play in other places, therefore the whole thing had better be
dropped."
The surgeon received his fee and left the invalid after advising that
he be kept perfectly quiet.
The performers continued their efforts to amuse, and Jet, lying on a
pile of wardrobe stuff, with the music of the orchestra and the
applause of the audience ringing in his ears, tried to decide upon his
course of action.
"I'll have to leave the show here an' find them fellers," he thought to
himself, and then the pain of his wound prevented any further study of
the detective work he hoped to perform.
It so chanced, however, that he did not carry out this resolution.
When morning came he was too sick to have much choice in the matter,
and the kind-hearted manager said as he wrapped the boy in an old
overcoat:
"We'll take him along in the hope of his getting better. If he don't
improve in a day or two he can be left in some other town, for it's
certain his life isn't safe in this place. Those fellows hit to kill
last night, and on a second attempt might be more successful."
It was forty-eight hours before Jet fully realized the condition of
affairs, and then the show was nearly a hundred miles from the scene of
the attack.
"Have we passed Cooperstown Junction?" he asked of the manager as the
performers boarded a train.
"Bless your heart, lad, we left that desolate place behind us the
morning after you were hurt."
"How can I get back there?"
"I shan't allow you to try it yet awhile. In your present condition it
would be as much as your life is worth to make the attempt."
"But I must go."
"See here, Jet, why not tell me what is on your mind? I might be able
to help you."
"Some time you shall know all about it; but not now."
"Just as you please," was the impatient reply. "Will you be able to do
a turn to-night?"
"I must get off the train at the next station."
"Not much."
"That's what I've got to do. You've been mighty good to me, but I
can't go any farther from New York."
"How will you get back without money?"
"Walk, if there isn't any other way."
It was useless for the manager to make any protest. He was eager to
keep Jet with the company, for he had seen that he could please the
public; but after quite a lengthy conversation the boy's determination
was so strong that it would have been useless to oppose him further.
"Well, if I can't help myself, I suppose you must go. Here are a
couple of dollars to help out on the trip, and I hope you'll win,
whatever's in the wind."
"When does the train stop?"
"In less than ten minutes."
Jet made his preparations for leaving by removing the coat which one of
the company had contributed for his comfort, but the manager insisted
that he keep it, and when he stepped upon the platform of a small
station while the train continued on, it was with a very decided sense
of loneliness.
His first care was to buy a new hat.
His messenger's cap was too conspicuous, and afforded positive means of
identification in case he met with any one who had read the
advertisement.
Then came the question as to whether he should return by the train at
the expense of his small capital, or walk at the expense of time.
"It ain't certain they stayed in that town after knockin' me down, an'
I stand as good a chance of meetin' 'em on the road as anywhere else,
so I'll tramp it."
After investing twenty cents in crackers and cheese, and consulting
with the station master as to whether it would be advisable for him to
follow the track or the carriage road, Jet set out on his journey.
"Counting ties" was not as easy a job as he had fancied, and after an
hour's steady walking he sat down to rest a short distance from the
road, in the shelter of a shanty which looked as if it might originally
have been intended for a tool-house when that portion of the road was
being built.
He had not yet fully recovered from the effects of the murderous blow,
and the steady traveling tired him to such an extent that it became
necessary to lie down.
The natural result of this indulgence was that he soon fell asleep, and
even the rumbling of the trains as they passed failed to awaken him,
until after some time, when he became aware of a tugging and pulling at
his coat.
Opening his eyes, he saw crouching by his side about as villainous a
looking tramp as one would care to meet.
"What are you up to?" Jet cried angrily, as he attempted to rise to his
feet, but was prevented by the man, who threw one arm around the boy's
body.
"Lay still, sonny, an' nobody shan't hurt you."
"Take your hand out of my pocket!" and Jet cautiously drew up his legs
ready for a sudden dash.
"Now don't get into a fidget; I'm only tryin' to find out if you've got
a license to travel over this 'ere road."
The fellow was now doing his utmost to get at the contents of his
prisoner's pockets, and although the special one on which he was
working contained nothing of value, Jet did not intend to submit to the
indignity.
He had drawn his feet up as far as possible, and was ready for the
struggle.
Striking the man a blow in the eye with his disengaged hand, he kicked
upward an instant later, hitting the tramp fairly on the back of the
head as he involuntarily sprang backwards from the effects of the pain.
This vigorous treatment sufficed to break the hold, and Jet sprang to
his feet just in time to avoid a vicious blow.
"Try to get the best of me will you?" the man cried, savagely, as he
picked up a heavy cane which lay near by, keeping his eye meanwhile on
the boy.
Jet knew he must do his best, or suffer for what had been done.
He could see nothing which would serve as a weapon, and was thinking it
might be best to make a break for freedom, when the man sprang upon him.
Luckily he succeeded in avoiding a blow from the cane, by seizing with
both hands the tramp's right arm, and then came a desperate struggle.
Not for a moment did he dare to release his hold lest the fellow should
be able to use his weapon, and in the meanwhile he was pummeled soundly.
The man's left hand was at liberty, and with it he showered blow after
blow on the boy's body.
Jet managed to screen his face by using the tramp's arm as a shield,
and, finding that he was getting the worst of it darted forward at the
same time he kicked with all his strength.
This sudden attack sent the man to the ground, and as he fell Jet
wrested the cane from his grasp.
"It's my turn now!" he cried, as the fellow scrambled to his feet in a
rage. "Make tracks out of this mighty fast or I'll break every bone in
your body!"
The man glared at him fiercely for an instant, and then, stepping back
a few paces, shouted loudly in a peculiar tone.
"Stop that!" and Jet ran forward with the stick uplifted. "Don't you
dare to bring your friends here."
"You spoke a leetle too late, sonny, for they're coming."
Jet glanced quickly down the track, where could be seen two others of
the same sort as his adversary, running at full speed.
"I reckon we won't have any trouble about huntin' for your license
now," the fellow said with a grin as he retreated to a safe distance.
Jet hesitated an instant.
He knew that it would be useless to make a stand-up fight against all
three, but yet at the same time flight was impossible, because of his
exhaustion, caused by the struggle with the tramp.
Looking quickly around, he observed that the door of the shanty was
open, hanging by one hinge.
The hut might serve as a place of refuge until some of the section
hands should come that way and he leaped into the building.
Wrenching the door from its fastening, he pulled it inside, and set it
up lengthwise as a sort of a barrier.
"They'll have to come within reach of this cane before getting at me,
an' it'll be hard luck if I don't give a good account of myself for a
little while," he said, as with compressed lips, he waited for the
battle which he knew must soon begin.