PURSUED AND PURSUERS
"He that fleeth from the fear shall fall into the pit; and he that
getteth up out of the pit shall be taken in the snare."--Jer. xlviii,
44
At the door of the bank Harris Wayne paused. Someone was calling to
him. He turned to perceive the Chief's car pulling up to the curb
just beyond his own.
"Wait a minute, Mr. Wayne," called the Chief. "Don't draw that
money, yet. I want to speak to you first."
Wayne stepped back to the curb and, after hearing what the Chief had
to say, dismissed his own car and stepped into the one in which the
Chief and several of his men were seated. The man at the wheel threw
in the clutch and the car shot ahead, making for the hill country
where lay the Craddock farm.
"The message came right after you left," said the Chief. "The boy's
conscious. Weak but perfectly rational and eager to talk. I gave
orders that he was to be kept quiet and do no talking until we got
there. They're giving him nourishment and getting him ready. That
Craddock woman is a good nurse. She can break up a fever, they say,
quicker than most doctors."
It was fortunate for Stephen that he had fallen into such kind and
capable hands. He was lying, pale and emaciated, against the pillows
that Mrs. Craddock prided herself upon possessing, and looked up with
something like a smile when the Chief and Wayne entered. That
mistake--that dreadful mistake that had landed him at the Grimes farm
instead of the school for which he had yearned, was at last to be
rectified.
But it was not of himself, nor of the school that the boy wished to
talk. He had escaped just when escape, for him, seemed impossible
and he had resigned himself to die. Yet here he was, lying in a real
bed for the first time in all those long years--he didn't know how
many--enjoying comforts that he had forgotten existed and feeling
that he never, never wanted to move his thin, wasted limbs from the
cool, comforting linen on which they now rested.
And back on the farm Mollie, his little companion in misery, even
though she had now outgrown him, who had saved his life from the
hands of the ogre, was every day still risking her life for others,
not knowing at what moment the ogre's wrath would turn against her.
It was of Mollie, that Splutters wanted to talk. Mollie must be
saved.
There was so much to tell. The lad was not naturally talkative, but
the pent up thoughts of years were released when the flood-gates
opened. The hill language which had been so foreign to him and
which, by silence, he had struggled not to acquire, seemed to slip
away from him with the fever, leaving the pure diction of his
childhood that he had learned from his beloved books.
Softly, gently, steadily he told his story. Twice they made him
pause to rest. Several times Mrs. Craddock administered some
medicinal preparation or held water to the pale lips. He knew
nothing, however, of Mr. Wayne's little girl.
"Show him that picture."
Wayne looked up in surprise at the Chief's words. They were
addressed to Burke, the detective who had been engaged in running
down clues at the hotel and who now accompanied the party to the
farmhouse. The latter reached into his pocket and drew forth a sheet
of hotel stationery on which appeared a rough pencil sketch of a
man's face. This he held where the boy could observe it closely.
"Did you ever see anyone who looked like that come to the Grimes
place?" the Chief asked.
"No, sir," answered the boy. "He didn't come to the farm. He met us
at a place where two roads cross. I was walking beside Mr. Grimes
when the buggy came along and he was sitting in it with the little
girl beside him--Mollie, you know--and he asked Mr. Grimes where he
lived and if he was paid enough money would he keep the little girl.
And Mr. Grimes said if the money came he'd keep her and if it didn't
he get rid of her. And this man told him the money would come
regular as long as she lived and so Mr. Grimes said all right. So
they took her out of the buggy and told her to walk along with me and
I didn't hear what they said after that. She was a good little girl
and didn't cry or anything. I think I told you about it, didn't I?
I forgot. But I didn't know you had his picture."
The Chief was on his feet. Everyone present was alert. The moment
was pregnant with action. That picture--the rough sketch which an
idle night clerk had made to amuse himself, just because he had not
liked the peculiar smile which Bailey bestowed upon him when he gave
him his mail,--now proved beyond a doubt that Grimes was known to
Bailey and that it must have been Bailey with whom Grimes had been in
communication the day he was seen leaving the hotel. But the Chief
had another idea.
"Have you got an eraser, Burke? Sub out that mustache. Be careful.
Don't spoil the likeness."
The slight change was quickly made and the Chief, taking the picture
from Burke, handed it to Wayne.
"Any resemblance to that fellow you told about over in France?" he
asked.
Wayne had almost forgotten having told the Chief about the old threat
that had been made against him. He looked at the picture first with
some impatience, then with perplexity and finally with amazed
interest. The Chief, noting the rapid changes of expression on
Wayne's face, did not wait for a reply.
"We've got our men," he remarked succinctly. "If we hurry we can
catch them all at the Grimes place. That's where they've taken the
child. This boy was already gone. They'll have seen the morning
papers and be going there to fetch her away." He started toward the
door.
Stephen, realizing their purpose, strove to raise himself in bed.
"Go quietly," he warned, fear again lighting his large, sunken eyes.
"Just all break down the gate and go in together or he'll throw the
baby into the bog. He will. He's terrible."
The Chief, even in his haste, managed to call back to Mrs. Craddock
to reassure the little fellow. "Tell him not to worry," he said.
"That's our business--saving children. I'll send somebody to tell
him about it."
And Splutters, feeling that he had done all he could and that Mollie
and the children were going to be saved, went tranquilly to sleep.
Craddock was sitting on the rail fence by the side of the road
talking to the driver of the police car as Wayne and the detectives
hurried toward it. He descended as they approached and came around
to meet them.
"How's the quickest way to get to the Grimes place?" the Chief asked.
"Is there any short cut--any back way we can get in?"
The farmer shook his head. "Not as I knows on," he said. "But
yo'-all kin git over ter th' river road less'n no time ef yo' jist
foller this road es fur es Murphy's place, then cut acrost thet
stretch o' timber-land o' his'n--Mike'll let yo' take down th' bars
an' go through. Hit's a good road--an' thet'll fotch yo' ter th' top
o' th' knob whar hit runs inter th' hill road thet goes down ter
Simpkins' dock. Thet's whar hit jines th' river road. Frum thar on
ter th' ole pike yo'll hev th' river on one side an' th' swamps on
t'other, so yo' wanter drive keerful like--an' th' same arter yo'
turn off onto th' Grimes road, thet runs inter th' pike 'bout a whoop
an' a holler further."
The farmers in this section had once been wont to measure distance by
sound and the expression still lingered, even though meaningless to a
modern generation.
The route was more direct than it sounded. It was not a waste of
time to listen to the directions for they ensured a through journey
once the car started, which it did with a suddenness and swiftness
that left the farmer gazing with amazement. One statement he had
made impressed every man in the car. From the top of that knob to
which the timber-land route would lead them, they would descend
almost direct to the Simpkins' dock--the place designated by the
kidnappers for Wayne to bring the money demanded for the ransom of
his child.
Wayne and the Chief simultaneously looked at their watches.
"We'll just about make it," said the latter.
"God grant we may be in time," groaned Wayne.
And in that other automobile, tearing away from the Grimes place and
along the pike and river roads, coming directly toward them, Bailey
looked at his watch and made the same remark. His object was to
reach the cross-roads in time to head off the children, get
possession of the Wayne baby and park his car, with engine throttled
down, in the position he had already described to Swazey to cover
their escape after the ransom was paid.
The sun was mounting higher in the heavens and Mollie was growing
tired. Her back ached with the heavy load she was carrying and her
body was one mass of scratches, bruises and mud. The children were
in even worse condition. She looked back along the struggling line,
and her brave heart ached for the little creatures. Not one had made
a complaint; not one had been fretful or impatient. The boys were
even making jokes and doing their utmost to celebrate their freedom.
Then from behind them sounded the baying of a dog. Tige was
unloosed! Maria was urging him to brave the swamp and come after
them. The children called to Mollie.
"Poor Tige!" she exclaimed. "He'd hev ben a good dawg ef Pete hed
gi'n him a chanst. Ef he goes inter th' bog he'll die."
Tige, however, combined his strength with his intelligence. He
seemed to sense that the bog would drag him down to death and, by an
almost impossible leap, succeeded in landing close to the foot of the
first tree at which the children had halted. From there he
alternately plunged and plowed his way, his loud bays echoing through
the swamps in a manner to strike terror to the ears of anyone who
chanced to be fleeing before him.
For the first time the children manifested some degree of
nervousness. They had for so long lived in fear of everyone and
everything connected with the Grimes establishment that the thought
of pursuit from that quarter was in itself alarming.
Mollie strove to reassure the frightened little ones. Tige, she
reminded them, had kept singularly quiet all during their departure
that morning. Once she had even heard him whine, as if he would like
to come with them.
"I reckon he's sick o' bein' cooped up in thet leetle dog house an'
not' lowed ter run no furder'n th' rope he's tied with," she said,
cheerfully. "I s'pose he thinks now she's gi'n him a chanst he wants
ter run away with we-uns. He's jist hollerin' thet-a-way ter let
we-uns know he's a-comin'. Mebbe 'twould be better ef us h'isted
ourselfs up inter this hyar tree an' set a spell ter wait fer him."
Mollie was not quite sure just how Tige would behave. It would be
wise, she thought, to get the children out of harm's way. But before
they could act upon her suggestion, she glanced down into the
sluggish water that lay beyond and almost swooned at the fearful
object which loomed directly ahead.