LUCK IN DISGUISE
But it was not Jerry's way to bide at home when such a dangerous
adventure was afoot. The more he thought of it the more he was convinced
he might be needed.
"Suppose there should be three of them burglars instead of two, and one
of our men was to get hurt; it would be a battle with odds and maybe
escape for the rogues. No--I won't get shoved aside; I'll disobey
orders, and play a game of my own."
Then the little man stationed himself behind the window-blind, although
it was a good two hours before the time set by the thieves. It was well
he did so, for at half-past four a man with a bundle rang the door-bell
at the side entrance of the Morton house.
"He's ahead of time," said Jerry. "I wonder if them p'lices are behind
the convent gate?"
The nurse-girl opened the door so quickly that she had evidently been
on the watch. The man slipped in, and Jerry noted that he was big and
brawny.
"It's going to be a mean job to tackle that fellow," he thought. Then
he went to a pile of things in a corner, and selected a stout hickory
stick.
He watched awhile longer, but nothing else happened. It grew dark. He
kissed Peggy, who held him tight a moment, looked into his eyes
lovingly, but did not protest or cry, as some wives would have done. He
waved his hand as he left the door, and, keeping close to the convent
wall, crossed the common. Into the Mortons' gate he slipped, and before
anyone could say "Jack Robinson" he had crept under the steps of the
side entrance.
He carried his good stick.
"They'll have pistols sure, and knives maybe, but give me a good whack
with this at close range, and I'll beat 'em, pistols and all."
His position was cramped and uncomfortable, but he did not care. He
crouched into as small a space as possible. The time seemed long, but
he never thought of giving up; he was there to stay.
The convent bell tolled the hours: eight, nine, ten. Then a step, soft
and slow on the pavement, and he saw two feet. Another step as noiseless
as a wild beast's; and he saw two more feet.
Jerry was right. There were three men instead of two--one inside, two
out.
Presently came whispered words too low for him to catch, and he heard a
bolt cautiously slipped.
One pair of feet disappeared; the other pair remained. This fellow on
the outside would prevent the police from surprising the two within.
Should Jerry tackle the watching burglar now or wait?
"I wonder how many more of them there are?" thought Jerry, as he took
firm hold of his club, and eyed the waiting feet, scarcely daring to
breathe.
In the meantime, the police stationed back and front had seen the two
men arrive and one enter; but, not having reached the convent gate early
enough, they did not know that a third man was within. They kept guard
and thought they had a sure thing of nabbing the burglars as they
emerged with their spoils.
Then suddenly the stillness of the hour was broken by the loud report
of a pistol not half a square away. All the policemen rushed in the
direction of the sound, and saw a man fleeing in the distance. Two of
them pursued him, blowing their whistles as they ran. The other two
stopped to argue whether they had better help their comrades or return
to their former hiding-place.
But while they talked an exciting scene had occurred. As soon as the
shot was fired the thief on the outside made a break for the gate. Jerry
started after him, but the rogue jumped the fence, and ran off, so, not
to waste time in a fruitless chase, the crooked little old man turned
back to find himself confronted by two more fugitives. For the shot on
the outside was a prearranged warning of danger, and as soon as the
burglars on the inside heard it, they rushed from the house with their
booty.
They, too, were about to jump the fence when Jerry, wondering what the
police were doing, and desperate at the idea of all three of the
rascals eluding them, sprang at them brandishing his club and yelling
like a dozen Comanche Indians.
At the same time Mr. Morton appeared at the door with a shot-gun, and
the burglars, thinking they had twenty foes instead of two, began a
fight for life.
Mr. Morton stood framed in the doorway with a bright light behind him.
The man nearest Jerry, the same strapping fellow who had entered in the
afternoon, raised his arm, and there was a flash of metal as he took
steady aim at Mr. Morton's breast. Another instant, and ten little
children would have been fatherless; but a resounding whack from a
hickory stick sent a shot into the air, and the hand that held the
pistol dropped, nerveless. The would-be murderer tottered a few steps,
then fell in a heap on the grass.
The remaining burglar, seeing that the game was up, dropped his plunder,
and started to run. But, as luck would have it, he ran straight into the
arms of the two policemen, who were returning to the spot they ought
never to have quitted; and the policemen, not being able to get away,
could not help making him their prisoner.
The same luck befriended the other two officers; for, coming back from
a fruitless chase of the man who had fired the decoying shot, they
fortunately were in time to capture the man who had jumped the fence,
and were heroes among their fellows for nine days after.
The commotion had roused the whole neighbourhood. Windows were raised by
frightened women, and half-dressed men ran into the street. Lights were
quickly brought, and an excited crowd gathered round the prisoners,
talking and asking a thousand questions.
The two men were handcuffed, and were about being carried off when a
dark object on the grass attracted attention. A man, alive but unable to
move. "Who is he?" "How did he get there?" Everybody surprised excepting
Jerry.
"I beg your pardon, sirs," said the old fellow. "Please excuse me,
sirs,"--turning humbly from one to another,--"but I had to do it. He was
going to shoot, and I couldn't stand that, sirs, so I just tapped him a
bit with my friendly stick."
"And that isn't half," interrupted Mr. Morton. "If it had not been for
the stout arm of this brave old man I would be dead. See that pistol on
the ground? It was aimed at me when Jerry's club knocked the breath out
of the scoundrel lying beside it."
[Illustration]
While her husband was speaking, Mrs. Morton had appeared, and, on
hearing his words, she went up to the crooked little man. Around his
tanned and wrinkled neck went her white arms, and with the tears
streaming she sobbed:
"You brave, brave soldier! His children and their mother will love and
bless you as long as they live!"
Jerry was so ashamed that he knew not where to look when, fortunately,
the patrol wagon drove up, and the public attention was diverted by the
removal of the wounded man and the prisoners to jail. He seized the
opportunity to escape, and hurried across the common to his little
cottage.
There his Peggy awaited him. In those arms he was never ashamed; to her
he was always a hero; and as, listening to his story, she gazed at him
with eyes overflowing with tenderness, he felt that the earth could not
contain a happier man than Jerry Myer.