THE TRAIN ROBBER LEARNS OF ROD'S ARREST.
"I tell you the man who did it all is lying back there in the road!"
screamed Rod, furious with indignation at this outrage and almost sobbing
with the bitterness of his distress. "He is a train robber, and I'm a
passenger brakeman on the New York and Western road. He made an escape and
I was chasing him."
"Just listen to that now," said one of the men jeeringly. "It's more than
likely you are the train robber yourself."
"Looks like a brakeman, doesn't he?" sneered another, "especially as they
are all obliged to wear a uniform when on duty."
"He's a nice big party of men, he is. Just such a one as the railroad
folks would collect and send in pursuit of a train robber," remarked the
leader ironically. "Oh, no, my lad, that's too thin. If you must tell
lies I'd advise you to invent some that folks might have a living chance
of believing."
"It's not a lie!" declared Rod earnestly and almost calmly; for though his
face was quite pale with suppressed excitement, he was regaining control
of his voice. "It's the solemn truth and I'm willing to swear to it."
"Oh, hush, sonny, don't swear. That would be naughty," remonstrated one of
the men, mockingly.
Without noticing him, Rod continued: "If you will only take me back about
a mile on the road I will show you the real train robber, and so prove
that part of my story. Then at Millbank I can prove the rest."
"Look here, young fellow," said the leader, harshly, "why will you persist
in such nonsense? We have just came over that part of the road and we
didn't see anything of any man lying in it."
"Because I dragged him to one side," explained Rod.
"Oh, well, you'll have a chance to show us your man if you can find him,
for we are going to take you back that way anyhow. Come on, fellows, let's
be moving. The sooner we get this young horse-thief behind bolts and bars
the sooner we'll be rid of an awkward responsibility."
So poor Rod, still bound, was placed on Juniper's back, and, with one man
on each side of him, two in front and two behind, rode unhappily back over
the road that he had traversed on an errand of mercy but a short time
before.
As the little group disappeared, the woman in whose front yard this
exciting arrest had been made turned to hasten the preparations for her
children's breakfast that she might the sooner visit her nearest neighbors
and tell them of these wonderful happenings. She was filled with the
belief that she had had a most remarkable escape, and was eager to have
her theory confirmed.
When she finally reached her neighbor's house and burst in upon them
breathless and unannounced, she was somewhat taken aback to see a strange
young man, wearing a pair of smoked glasses and having a very pale face,
sitting at breakfast with them. The woman of the house informed her in a
whisper, that he was a poor theological student making his way on foot
back to college in order to save travelling expenses, and though he had
only stopped to ask for a glass of water they had insisted upon his
taking breakfast with them.
Then the visitor unburdened herself of her budget of startling news,
ending up with: "An' I knew he was a desp'rate character the minit I set
eyes onto him, for I'm a master-hand at reading faces, I am. Why, sir,"
here she turned to the pale student by whose evident interest in her story
she was greatly flattered, "I could no more take him for the honest lad he
claimed to be than I would take you for a train robber. No, indeed. A face
is like a printed page to me every time and I'm not likely to be fooled, I
can tell you."
"It is truly a wonderful gift," murmured the young man as he rose from the
table and started to leave the house, excusing his haste on the plea of
having a long distance still to travel.
"What a saintly expression that young man has!" exclaimed the visitor,
watching him out of sight, "and what a preacher he will make!"
At the same moment he of the smoked glasses was saying to himself: "So
that is what happened while I lay there like a log by the roadside, is it?
Well, it's hard luck; but certainly I ought to be able to turn the
information furnished by that silly woman to some good account."
In the meantime poor Rod was far from enjoying a morning ride that under
other circumstances would have proved delightful. The sun shone from an
unclouded sky, the air was deliciously cool and bracing, and the crisp
autumn leaves of the forest-road rustled pleasantly beneath the horses'
feet. But the boy was thinking too intently, and his thoughts were of too
unpleasant a nature for him to take note of these things. He was wondering
what would happen in case the train robber should not be found where he
had left him.
He was not left long in suspense, for when they reached the place that he
was certain was the right one there was no man, unconscious or otherwise,
to be seen on either side or in any direction. He had simply regained his
senses soon after Rod left him, staggered to his feet, and, with ever
increasing strength, walked slowly along the road. He finally discovered
a side path through the woods that led him to the farm-house where, on
account of his readily concocted tale, he received and accepted a cordial
invitation to breakfast.
As for Rod, his disappointment at not finding the proof of which he had
been so confident was so great that he hardly uttered a protest, when
instead of carrying him to Millbank or any other station on the line where
he might have found friends, his captors turned into a cross-road from the
left and journeyed directly away from the railroad.
In about an hour they reached the village of Center where the young
brakeman, escorted by half the population of the place, was conducted
through the main street to the county jail. Here he was delivered to the
custody of the sheriff with such an account of his terrible deeds, and
strict injunctions as to his safe keeping, that the official locked him
into the very strongest of all his cells. As the heavy door clanged in
his face, and Rod realized that he was actually a prisoner, he vaguely
wondered if railroad men often got into such scrapes while attempting the
faithful discharge of their duties.