NO JOKE
What more alarming summons can be imagined than that which rang from
the darkness in front of the stage, as it was slowly winding its way
through Black Bear Swamp?
The lightning which had toyed with them before seemed unwilling to do
so again, for the impenetrable night was not lit up by the first
quiver or flutter of the intense fire.
“Are you ready to shoot?” asked the driver, turning his head and
speaking in guarded tones.
“My gracious, no!” replied Wagstaff, as well as he could between his
chattering teeth; “I can’t see him.”
“He’s right there in the middle of the road; don’t hit one of the
horses—what are you trying to do?”
It was plain enough what the valiant youth was doing; he was crawling
under the seat, the difficulty of doing so being increased by the body
of Jim, who was ahead of him in seeking the refuge.
“I aint going to fire when there’s no chance of hitting him,” growled
Tom, still twisting and edging his way out of reach.
“But the lightning will show him to you in a minute.”
“Let it show and be hanged! I’ve got enough; I surrender.”
The words had been spoken hastily, and Tom and Jim did not throw away
any seconds in groping for cover, but, brief as was the time, the
terrible fellow in the middle of the road became impatient.
“Are all them hands up?” he roared, “or shall I open fire?”
“My two passengers are under the seat, but they won’t hurt you—”
The driver checked himself for a moment and then exclaimed, loud
enough for the youths to hear:
“He’s coming into the wagon!”
“Heavens! don’t let him do that,” protested Jim; “he’ll kill us all;
tell him we surrender and won’t shoot.”
“Where’s them young men that were going to fire so quick?” demanded
the fellow, hurriedly climbing into the front of the stage; “let me
have a chance at them!”
“It wasn’t us,” called back Wagstaff, “we haven’t anything against
you; take all we’ve got, only spare us; you can have our guns and
pistols and our money, and everything we have—”
He ceased his appeal, for at that moment he heard some one laugh.
A shuddering suspicion of the truth came over him, but before he could
frame an explanation, Bill Lenman and the man who had just joined the
party broke into uproarious mirth.
The youths saw how utterly they had been sold. There was no train
robber. Ethan Durrell had played the part of the heavy villain in
order to test the courage of these vaunting lads. The driver tried to
dissuade him from the trick, afraid of the risk incurred, but, as it
proved, he was never in any danger.
The boys crept back from their concealment, and, resuming their seat
in front, saw that it was useless to deny the dilemma in which they
were placed.
“I don’t see anything smart in a trick like that,” said Tom, angrily;
“some folks have queer ideas of a joke.”
“It’s lucky for you,” added Jim, “that the lightning didn’t show you
to us; I had my gun aimed and was just ready to fire, but couldn’t see
clear enough to make sure of dropping you at the first shot.”
“All that I was afeared of,” said the driver, “was that you would hit
one of the horses, and that’s what you would have done.”
“It would have served you right if I had.”
“But it would have been a costly job for you, young man.”
The team had resumed its progress and the violent flurry of the
elements began subsiding. The flashes were less frequent, though they
appeared often enough to show the course of the stage, as the animals
pressed on at a moderate walk.
The driver and the New Englander were more considerate than most
persons would have been under the circumstances, for they forebore
taunting the youths, whom they had at their mercy. Tom and Jim were
resentful enough to have used violence toward Durrell, who bad turned
the tables so cleverly on them; but the manner in which he did it gave
them a wholesome fear of the wiry fellow from down East.
“Then,” said Tom, addressing the driver, “that was all stuff that you
told us about seeing a suspicious person in these woods.”
“No, sir, it was all true,” was the unexpected reply.
This statement instantly awoke interest again in the question, for
even Durrell had supposed the driver was playing with the fears of the
boys.
“If that’s the case,” he said, “we may have trouble yet, though it
gets me how a man dare try anything like that in this part of the
world.”
“They haven’t tried it yet,” was the reminder of Lenman.
“No, and I guess they won’t; but from what I’ve read and hearn tell,
it’s just such crimes that succeed, ’cause nobody expects anybody
would dare try them.”
That night was an eventful one in the history of the occupants of the
old stage-coach plying between Belmar and Piketon. That the driver was
uneasy was shown by his silence and his close attention to his team
and matters in front. He took no part in the conversation, but let the
others do the talking while he listened and watched.
All noticed the rapid clearing of the sky. The disturbance of the air
was peculiar, for, while it threatened a severe rainfall, nothing of
the kind took place, not a drop pattering on the leaves. The electric
conditions changed back again to something like a normal state, the
lightning ceasing, the wind falling, and the clouds dissolving to such
an extent that, before Black Bear Swamp was crossed enough moonlight
penetrated the woods to reveal their course.
It was a singular sight when the party in the stage found themselves
able to see the ears of the horses, and, soon after, the trees at the
side of the road, and by and by could make them out for several paces
in front of the team.
This was a vast relief, but the boys, instead of resuming their places
at the rear of the coach, kept the second seat in front, while Durrell
put himself beside the driver, where both had the best opportunity for
discovering any peril the instant it presented itself.
“Do you think there will be any trouble?” asked the New Englander,
after being silent a minute or two.
“I don’t know what to think,” was the discomforting reply.
“But we are getting pretty well through the plaguey place; it can’t be
fur from t’other side.”
“That don’t make any difference; one spot in these woods is as bad as
another.”
“I’m sorry I haven’t a pistol,” said Durrell.
“I aint, for I tell you it won’t do to try to use anything like that
on them chaps.”
“If there were several it might be different, but the idea of two of
us surrendering to one man—it galls me, Bill. I was going to get one
of them boys to let me have a revolver, but I don’t want to do it as
long as you feel this way.”
“I wouldn’t have it for the world; if I was sure there was but the
one, I don’t know as I would object—that is, if you wanted to fight
purty bad.”
“You seen only one man, you told me.”
“But that’s no sign there isn’t others near.”
“True. By gracious, Bill!” whispered the New Englander, peering
forward and to one side in the gloom; “I believe I _did_ see a
person in front of us just then.”
“I didn’t notice him,” replied the driver, trying hard to pierce the
gloom; “where is he?”
“Not in the middle of the road, but on the left.”
That was the side on which Durrell was sitting, so that he had a
better opportunity than the driver. He believed something moved, but
the shadows among the trees were too dense to make sure. The fact that
the horses had shown no sign of fear was good reason to suspect
Durrell was mistaken, but enough doubt remained to cause misgiving.
They talked so low that the boys behind them could only catch the
murmur of their voices, without being able to understand their words.
They were in such trepidation themselves that they forgot their recent
farce, and, speaking only now and then in whispers, used their eyes
and ears for all they were worth.
“_If any one stirs, he’ll be shot!_”
Some one at the side of the road uttered these words in a low but
distinct voice, adding in the same terrible tones:
“Stop that team! There are three of us here, and we’ve got you
covered; each one of you get down and stand at the side of the road
and hold up your hands! Do as you are told and you won’t get hurt! Try
any of your tricks and you’ll be riddled!”
Ethan Durrell was the only one in the stage who spoke. His voice
trembled, so that his words were hardly understood.
“Don’t shoot, please, we’ll get down; we won’t do anything if you’ll
be easy with us; be keerful them guns don’t go off—”
“Shut up!” commanded the angry criminal; “we don’t want any talking.
Dick, keep your eye on ’em as they come out and don’t stand any
nonsense.”
“Do you want me down there, too?” asked the driver, who fancied he
ought to be excused.
“You can sit where you are, but don’t forget you’re covered, too, and
don’t stir. Come, hurry down, old chap!”
The last remark was addressed to Ethan Durrell, who showed some
reluctance to obeying the stern order.
The fact was the New Englander was straining his eyes to the utmost.
He saw the tall figure at the side of the highway, just abreast of the
horses’ shoulders, but he could not detect any one else. That might
not signify anything, as nothing was easier than for several persons
to conceal themselves among the trees.
The question the plucky Durrell was asking himself was whether they
had been held up by one man or more. If there were more than one it
was madness for him to resist, but if there was but one he meant to
make a fight, even though he had nothing more formidable than his
jack-knife about him.
He hesitated on the step in front, one hand resting on the haunch of
the horse and the other grasping the front support of the cover of the
coach.
“Don’t wait,” whispered Lenman, “or you’ll make him mad.”
“Hurry up,” added Tom Wagstaff, “and we’ll follow you.”
“Come, I reckon you’d better hurry,” added the figure at the side of
the road.
“All right, here I come!”
The New Englander sprang outward, and as he did so he flung both arms
about the neck of the rogue and bore him to the earth.