DICK HALLIARD
The conversation was not of a nature to improve the courage of the
occupants of the stagecoach, for, when children spend an evening in
exchanging ghost stories, they find the darkness of their bed-rooms
more fearful than before.
Since the young gentlemen on the rear seat began to believe that a
meeting with a stage robber was quite certain to take place before
reaching Piketon, they saw the need of an understanding all round.
The driver repeated that he never carried firearms, for, if he did, he
would be tempted to use them with the surety of getting himself into
trouble.
“If a man orders you to hold up your hands and you do it, why he aint
going to hurt you,” was the philosophy of the old man; “all he’ll do
is just to go through you; but if you have a gun or pistol, you’ll
bang away with it, miss the chap, and then he’ll bore you; so it’s my
rule, when them scamps come along, to do just as they tell me; a man’s
life is worth more to him than all his money, and that’s me every
time.”
“But you might be quick enough to drop him first,” suggested Wagstaff,
who would have preferred the driver to be not quite so convincing in
his arguments.
“Mighty little chance of that! You see the feller among the trees is
all ready and waiting; he can take his aim afore you know he is there;
now when you fellers fire at him it won’t do for you to miss—remember
_that_!”
“We don’t intend to,” replied McGovern.
“Of course you don’t intend to, but the chances are that you will, and
then it will be the last of you!”
“But won’t you be apt to catch it on the front seat?”
[Illustration: THE MEETING WITH DICK HALLIARD]
“Not a bit of it, for them chaps are quick to know where a shot comes
from, and they always go for the one that fires; they know, too, that
a stage driver never fights—helloa!”
At that moment, a bicycle guided by a boy glided silently along the
right of the stage, turning out just enough to pass the vehicle. The
youth whose shapely legs were propelling it, slackened his gait so
that for a few minutes he held his place beside the front wheels of
the coach.
He was a handsome, bright-faced youth about sixteen years old, who
greeted the driver pleasantly, and, turning his head, saluted the
others, without waiting for an introduction.
“I’m afraid a storm is coming, and I shall have to travel fast to get
home ahead of it; do you want to run a race with me, Bill?”
“Not with _this_ team,” replied the driver, “for we couldn’t hold
a candle to you.”
“I don’t know about that,” replied the boy, with a laugh; “there are
plenty who can beat me on a bicycle.”
“But there aint any of ’em in this part of the country, for I’ve seen
too many of ’em try it. Bob Budd bragged that he would leave you out
of sight, but you walked right away from him.”
The boy blushed modestly and said:
“Bob don’t practice as much as he ought; he’s a good wheelman, but
he’s fonder of camping out in the woods, and I shouldn’t be surprised
if there’s a good deal more fun in it. I believe he expects some
friends to go into camp with him.”
“Them’s the chaps,” remarked the driver, jerking the butt of his whip
toward the rear seat.
The bicyclist bowed pleasantly to the young men, who were staring
curiously at him and listening to the conversation. They nodded rather
coldly in turn, for they had already begun to suspect the identity of
this graceful, muscular lad, of whom they had heard much from Bob
Budd.
Their country friend had spoken of a certain Dick Halliard who was
employed in the store of Mr. Hunter, the leading merchant in Piketon,
and who was so well liked by the merchant that he had presented him
with an excellent bicycle, on which he occasionally took a spin when
he could gain the time.
Bob, who detested young Halliard, had said enough to prove that he had
taken the lead in all his studies at school and surpassed every boy in
the section in running, swimming, ’cycling, and indeed, in all kinds
of athletic sports. This was one reason for Bob’s dislike, but the
chief cause was the integrity and manliness of young Halliard, who not
only held no fear of the bully, but did not hesitate to condemn him to
his face when he did wrong.
“I hope you will have a good time in camp,” said Dick (for it was he),
addressing the two city youths.
“That’s what we’re out for,” replied Wagstaff, “and it won’t be our
fault if we don’t; will you join us?” asked the speaker, producing his
flask.
“I’m obliged to you, but must decline.”
“Maybe you think it isn’t good enough for you,” was the mean remark of
Wagstaff.
“I prefer water.”
“Ah, you’re one of the good boys who don’t do anything naughty.”
It was a mean remark on the part of Wagstaff, who was seeking a
quarrel, but Dick Halliard showed his manliness by paying no heed to
the slur.
“Well,” said he, addressing the driver, “since you won’t run me a
race, I shall have to try to reach home ahead of the storm. Good-bye
all!”
The muscular legs began moving faster, the big, skeleton-like wheel
shot ahead of the stage, coming back into the middle of the highway,
and the lad, with his shoulders bent forward, spun down the road with
a speed that would have forced the fastest trotting horse to
considerable effort.
“By gracious!” exclaimed the New Englander, with his chin high in air,
as he peered over the head of the driver, “that youngster beats
anything of the kind I ever seen.”
“I don’t s’pose they have those sort of playthings in your part of the
world,” remarked Jim, with a sneer.
“Yes, we have enough to send a few of ’em down your way for you folks
to learn on. Bill, who is that chap?”
“Dick Halliard, and there aint a finer boy in Piketon.”
“He’s got a mighty fine face and figure.”
“You’re right about that; I want to give you chaps a little advice,”
added the driver, turning his head, so as to look into the countenance
of the city youths; “I heerd what you said to him and he had sense
enough not to notice it, but you’ll be wise if you let Dick Halliard
alone.”
“Is he dangerous?” asked Wagstaff, with a grin.
“You will find him so, if you undertake to put onto him; mebbe he
isn’t quite so old as you and mebbe he don’t smoke cigarettes and
drink whisky, but I’ll bet this whole team that if either or both of
you ever tackles him, you’ll think five minutes later that you’ve been
run through a thrashing mill.”
The youths were not disturbed by this bold statement, which neither
believed.
“You’re very kind,” said Tom, “and we won’t forget what you’ve said;
when we see him coming ’long the road, we’ll climb a tree to get out
of the way, or else run into the first house and lock the door.”
Bill had said all he wished, and now gave his attention to his team.
The thunder was rumbling almost continuously, and now and then a vivid
streak of lightning zigzagged across the rapidly darkening sky. No
rain fell, but the wind blew blinding clouds of dust across the
highway and into the stage, where the occupants at times had to
protect their eyes from it.
A short distance from the road on the left was a low, old-fashioned
stone house, but no other dwelling was in sight between the stage and
Black Bear Swamp, which was no more than half a mile ahead, appearing
dark and forbidding in the gathering gloom. The trees at the side of
the highway swayed in the gusty wind, and, when the flying dust
allowed them to see, Dick Halliard was observed far in advance like a
speck in the distance. He was traveling with great speed, and the
stage seemed to have gone no more than a hundred yards after the
interview when the young wheelman disappeared.
It was as if he had plunged under full headway right among the trees.
Piketon lay about two miles beyond Black Bear Swamp, but since the
width of the dense forest through which the public road wound its way
was fully a fourth of a mile, it will be seen that a considerable
drive was still before the stage.
The passengers would have viewed their approach to the woods with
relief, but for the fear of the highwayman. Its dense growth and
abundant vegetation offered a partial protection from the storm, which
promised to be violent; but the youths would have much preferred (had
they dared to speak their sentiments) to stand bareheaded in the
coming storm than to encounter that “suspicious” party, who they
believed was awaiting their coming.