THE COACH ROBBERY
ONE morning Bert received a letter that caused him to emit a wild whoop
of joy, and then set off post haste to find Tom and Dick. He discovered
them at last on the campus, kicking a ball around, and rushed toward
them waving the open letter over his head.
"Say, fellows," he shouted when he got within speaking distance of them,
"whom do you suppose this letter is from? Bet you a million you can't
guess right in three guesses."
"From the way you seem to feel about it," grinned Dick, "it must contain
money from home. I don't know what else could make you feel as happy as
you appear to be."
"No, it isn't money," replied Bert, "but it's something better."
"Come off," chaffed Tom, "there 'ain't no such thing.' But tell us what
it is and get it out of your system."
"It's a letter from Mr. Melton," explained Bert, "saying he's on his way
East, and is going to visit us here. What do you know about that, eh?"
"Great!" exclaimed Dick and Tom in chorus, and Dick asked, "When does he
say he'll get here?"
"Monday or Tuesday of next week," replied Bert, consulting the letter.
"Either Monday afternoon or Tuesday morning. He's going to stop at the
'Royal,' and wants us to be on hand to meet him. He says in all
probability he'll arrive on the 7:45 Monday evening. And just make out
we won't be on hand to give him a rousing welcome, what?"
"I rather guess we will," said Tom, "and then some. I move that we hire
a brass band and do the thing up right."
"That's a good idea all right," laughed Bert, "but I rather think Mr.
Melton would prefer to dispense with the brass band. But we'll manage to
make him know he's welcome, I have no doubt of that."
"I'd deserve to be hung, drawn, and quartered if _I_ didn't," said Dick
with feeling. "He was certainly a friend in need if there ever was one."
Dick alluded to a never-to-be-forgotten time when Mr. Melton had, at the
risk of his own life, rendered timely aid to Bert and Tom in rescuing
Dick from a band of Mexican outlaws. The three comrades were not ones to
forget such a service, and from that time on Mr. Melton had always
occupied a warm place in their regard. In addition to his personal
bravery he was genial and good natured, with a heart as big as himself.
He had taken part in many enterprises, but was now a prosperous rancher
in the Northwest, calling many a fertile acre his own.
He had traveled extensively and knew much of the world. His stock of
experiences and anecdote seemed inexhaustible, and he was never at a
loss for some tale of adventure when called upon to tell one. His bluff,
hearty manner gained him friends wherever he went, and it was with
feelings of the keenest anticipation that the three comrades looked
forward to his coming. It was only Wednesday when Bert received the
letter announcing his coming, so they had several days of inevitable
waiting.
However, "all things come to him who waits," and the day to which the
boys looked forward with so much anticipation was no exception to the
rule. They were at the station long before the train was due, and it
seemed hours to them before they heard its whistle in the distance.
"The chances are though," said Tom pessimistically, "that something has
happened to delay him and he won't be on this train at all, but on the
one that comes in to-morrow morning."
"That's the way it usually works out," agreed Bert with a grin, "but
somehow I have a hunch that Mr. Melton is going to be on this train. He
said in the letter you know, that in all probability he would be on the
earlier train."
"Yes, I know," said Tom, "and I only hope that my fears are groundless.
But we won't have to wait long now to find out at any rate."
He had hardly ceased speaking when the train puffed into the station.
They scanned the long line of cars carefully, and it was Dick who first
discerned the burly form descending the narrow steps of one of the rear
Pullmans.
"There he is, fellows," he shouted and made a dash in the direction of
the approaching figure, followed closely by Bert and Tom. Mr. Melton saw
them coming and stretched out his hand. "Well, well!" he exclaimed,
after shaking hands all around. "I'm certainly glad to see you once
more, my boys. You don't look as though the grind of college work has
interfered much with your health," with a twinkle in his eyes.
"No," laughed Bert, "we're not actually wasting away under the strain.
But as far as that goes," he continued, "you look pretty fit yourself."
"Yes, and I feel it, too," replied Mr. Melton. "I'm not quite as spry as
I used to be, but I never felt better in my life. There's nothing like
an open air life to keep a man young."
While this talk was going on, the little party was making its way toward
the hotel at which Mr. Melton had said he was going to put up, and were
not long in reaching it.
"Well, boys," said Mr. Melton as they ascended the handsome flight of
steps leading up to the entrance, "I don't suppose you've had supper
yet, have you? If not I want you all to keep me company. It's on me, and
the best in the house is none too good for us."
"Well," replied Bert, "speaking for myself, nothing would give me
greater pleasure. But we're all three slaves of the training table, you
know, so I'm afraid you'll have to excuse us this time."
"That's right!" exclaimed Mr. Melton in a disappointed tone, "for the
moment I had forgotten all about that. But duty is duty, and far be it
from me to put temptation in your path."
"What I think we had better do," said Bert, "is to see you safely
installed here, and then hustle back to college and eat. Then we can
come back here and spend the evening with you."
"I guess that will be the best plan," agreed Mr. Melton, "but you must
promise me to get back soon."
Of course they all promised, and after leaving their friend to the
tender mercies of the hotel clerk, hastened back to their Alma Mater.
They were just in time for dinner, but in their excitement and hurry to
get back to the hotel ate less than usual. In reply to Reddy's query as
to "what was up," they told him of Mr. Melton's arrival. Reddy had heard
of the Mexican adventure and spoke accordingly. "He must be a good man
to know," he opined, "and I'd like to meet him. Go ahead an' make your
call now, but don't get back late. I guess, from what I hear of this
Melton that he'll see that you leave in time anyway."
"No, he's not the kind to persuade people to forget their obligations,"
said Dick. "In fact, he's just the opposite. But of course our own
well-known principles would make it impossible for us to be late," with
a grin.
"Yes, I know all about that sort of stuff," said Reddy. "See if for once
you can live up to your own 'rep.'"
"All you got to do is keep your eyes peeled, and you'll see us piking in
here right on the dot," laughed Tom. "Come on, fellows. The sooner we
get started the sooner we'll get back."
"Right you are," agreed Bert, and the three comrades swung into a brisk
stride. A twenty-minute walk brought them to the "Royal," and they were
immediately ushered up to Mr. Melton's room. In answer to their knock a
hearty voice bade them "come in," and as they opened the door Mr. Melton
met them with outstretched hand.
"Come in and make yourselves at home," he said genially. "If you want
anything and don't see it, ask for it."
"You seem to be pretty well fixed with about everything that anybody
could want, now," commented Bert, glancing about the luxuriously
appointed room. "This place certainly looks as though it had had some
thought and money expended on it."
"Yes," admitted the Westerner, "it reminds me of the so-called 'hotels'
we used to have out West in the early days--it's so different. The
height of luxury there was in having a room all to yourself. As a rule
you had to bunk in with at least two or three others. O yes, this is
quite an improvement on one of those old shacks. I remember one of the
pioneer towns where there was a fierce rivalry between the proprietors
of the only two hotels in town. They were each trying to get the better
of the other by adding some improvement, real or fancied. First the
owner of the 'Palace' had his shack painted a vivid white and green.
Then the owner of the 'Lone Star' hostelry, not to be outdone, had his
place painted also, and had a couple of extra windows cut in the wall.
So it went, and if they had kept it up long enough, probably in the end
people stopping at one of the places would have been fairly comfortable.
But before matters reached that unbelievable pitch, O'Day, owner of the
'Palace,' was killed in a shooting fracas. The man who plugged him
claimed he was playing 'crooked' poker, and I think that in all
probability he was. If he wasn't, it was about the only time in his life
that he ever played straight."
"What happened to the man who did the shooting?" asked Bert.
"Well, O'Day wasn't what you'd call a very popular character," replied
Mr. Melton, "and nobody felt very much cut up over his sudden exit from
this vale of tears. They got up an impromptu jury, but the twelve 'good
men and true' failed to find the defendant guilty."
"But how did they get around it?" asked Tom. "There was no doubt about
who did the killing, was there?"
"Not the least in the world," replied Mr. Melton with a laugh; "but as I
say, popular sentiment was with the man who did the shooting, so the
jury turned in a verdict that ran something in this fashion, if I
remember rightly: 'We find that the deceased met death while
inadvisably attempting to stop a revolver bullet in motion' or words to
that effect. I thought at the time it was a masterpiece of legal
fiction."
"I should say it was," commented Dick. "The quibbles and technicalities
that make our laws a good deal of a joke to-day have nothing much on
that."
"That's a fact," agreed Mr. Melton; "some of the results of our modern
'justice,' so called, are certainly laughable. It's all very well to
give a man every chance and the benefit of every doubt, but when a
conviction is set aside because the court clerk was an hour behind time
getting to court on the day of the trial, it begins to look as though
things were being carried too far. Mere technicalities and lawyers'
quibbles should not have the weight with judges that for some reason
they seem to possess."
"I've no doubt," remarked Bert, "that some of the rough and ready courts
such as you were just telling us about meted out a pretty fair brand of
justice at that."
"Yes, they did," replied Mr. Melton. "They got right down to the core of
the argument, and cut out all confusing side issues. If, for instance,
three witnesses all swore they saw a man steal a horse, and yet were
unable to agree on the exact time of the stealing, the chances were ten
to one that the horse thief would be strung up without further loss of
time. And there was no appeal from the findings of a frontier jury."
"It must have been an exciting life, that of the old frontier days,"
commented Bert. "I guess nobody had to complain much of the monotony of
it."
"Not so you could notice," replied Mr. Melton with a smile, "but there
wasn't half as much shooting going on all the time as you might believe
from reading the current stories in the magazines dealing with the 'wild
and woolly West.' Most everybody carried a gun, of course, but they
weren't used so very often. Every man knew that his neighbor was
probably an expert in the use of his 'shooting irons,' too, so there
wasn't much percentage in starting an argument. Most of the scraps that
did occur would never have been started, if it hadn't been for the
influence of 'red-eye,' as the boys used to call the vile brands of
whiskey served out in the frontier saloons. That whiskey bit like
vitriol, and a few glasses of it were enough to make any man take to the
war path."
"I suppose you carried a gun in those days, too, didn't you, Mr.
Melton?" questioned Dick.
"Yes, I carried a pair of Colt's .45s with me for years," replied the
Westerner, with a reminiscent look in his eyes. "Why, a couple of guns
were as much a part of a man's dress in those days as a pair of shoes.
Every one carried them as a matter of course."
"Did you ever have to use them?" asked Bert.
"Only once," replied Mr. Melton. "I never went looking for trouble, and
it has been my experience, when you don't look for trouble, trouble
seldom looks for you. But the one time I did have use for my arsenal
made up for lost time."
"Tell us about it, please," chorused the boys, and Mr. Melton smiled at
their eagerness as he lit another perfecto.
"Well," he began, "it was back in the old days before the time of the
railroads, when stage coaches were the only carriers known. I was
traveling to Fort Worth on business, and was finding the journey
anything but a pleasant one. The coach was old and rickety, and the way
it lurched and rolled reminded me of a small boat in a rough sea. It was
a terrifically hot day, too, and the stinging alkali dust got down your
throat and in your eyes until life seemed an unbearable burden. We had
traveled steadily all the morning, and along toward afternoon most of
the passengers began to feel pretty sleepy, and dozed off. I was among
the number. Suddenly I was awakened by a shout of 'hands up!' and found
myself looking full into the muzzle of a blue barreled Colt, held in the
hand of a masked man.
"There was nothing for it but to obey, seeing he had the drop on us, so
up went our hands over our heads. There were six other passengers in the
coach, but if we had been sixteen we would have been no better off.
"As we gazed in a sort of fascination at the ugly-looking revolver,
another masked man entered the coach and commenced systematically to
relieve the passengers of their valuables. I happened to be nearest the
front of the coach, and so did not receive the benefit of his attentions
at first. He had almost reached me when there was a commotion outside,
and he straightened up to listen, all his senses on the alert.
"He was between me and the door in which his companion was standing. For
the moment the man in the door could not get at me except through his
comrade, and I resolved to grasp the opportunity. In a flash I had
reached down into the breast of my coat and grasped the butt of my
revolver. Before the desperado in front of me could get his gun in
action, I had fired. At the first shot he dropped to the ground and, as
he fell, a bullet from the man in the doorway took my hat off. I pulled
the trigger as fast as my fingers could work, and he did the same. I
have only a confused recollection of smoke, flashes of flame, shouts and
a dull shock in my left arm. In what must have been but a few seconds it
was all over. With my own gun empty, I waited to see what would happen.
I knew that if by that time I hadn't killed the bandit, he had me at his
mercy. And even with him disposed of, I fully expected to be plugged by
the man outside who was holding the driver under guard.
"But he must have had a streak of yellow in him, for when he failed to
see either of his comrades come out of the coach he concluded that they
were either dead or prisoners, and made off as fast as his pony could
carry him. By that time we passengers had rushed out of the coach, and
some of us began firing at the fugitive. But a revolver is not very
accurate over two or three hundred feet, and I doubt if the desperado
was even grazed. I was unable to shoot for, as I had realized by this
time, my left arm was broken just above the elbow, and I was unable to
load my gun.
"Well, finding that we could not hope to harm the fugitive, we returned
to the coach. An examination of the two hold-ups showed that one, the
man I had shot first, was dead. The other, who had guarded the door, was
badly wounded and unconscious. One of the passengers had been bored
through the shoulder by a stray bullet, but was not hurt seriously.
"The driver bound up my arm after a fashion, and whipped up his horses.
It was after dark before we reached Fort Worth though, and by that time
my arm was giving me a foretaste of what Hades must be. But there was a
good doctor in the town, fortunately for me, and he fixed the arm up in
fine fashion. And, believe me, I felt lucky to get off as easy as that."
"I should think you would," said Bert admiringly. "It must have taken
nerve to pull a gun under those conditions."
"Well," replied Mr. Melton, "it was all on account of a watch I carried
at that time. It was one I had had for years, and thought a lot of. The
idea of losing that watch just made me desperate. I think if it hadn't
been for that I would never have taken the chance."
"And what happened to the man you wounded?" asked Dick.
"He gradually recovered," replied Mr. Melton. "The boys were going to
hang him when he got well enough, but one night he broke jail and got
away. They made up a posse and chased him through three counties, but
never caught him. I imagine, though, that his liking for hold-ups
suffered a severe check."
"Very likely," agreed Bert, "but I'm glad you saved the watch, anyway."
"So am I," said Mr. Melton with a smile. "Here it is now, if you'd care
to see it."
He passed a handsome gold timepiece over to the boys, who admired it
greatly. Then the talk turned to other subjects, and before they
realized it, it was time for them to go.
Before leaving, however, they made Mr. Melton promise to visit the
college the following afternoon. This he readily did, and the boys took
their departure after saying a hearty good night to their Western
friend.