The Black Cat
April 1896.
=The Mystery of the Thirty Millions=, { T. F. Anderson.
{ H. D. Umbstaetter.
=The Man at Solitaria=, Geik Turner.
=The Compass of Fortune=, Eugene Shade Bisbee.
=A Surgical Love Cure=, James Buckham.
=The Williamson Safe Mystery=, F. S. Hesseltine.
=How Small the World=, E. H. Mayde.
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The Black Cat
A Monthly Magazine of Original Short Stories.
No. 7. APRIL, 1896. 5 cents a copy,
50 cents a year.
Entered at the Post-Office at Boston, Mass., as second-class matter.
=IMPORTANT.=—The entire contents of this magazine are covered
by copyright and publishers everywhere are cautioned against
reproducing any of the stories, either wholly or in part.
Copyright, 1896, by the Shortstory Publishing Company. All rights
reserved.
The Mystery of the Thirty Millions.
BY T. F. ANDERSON AND H. D. UMBSTAETTER.
At eight o’clock on the morning of March 14, 1903, the Anglo-American
liner, the _Oklahoma_, left her dock in North River on her regular trip
to Southampton.
The fact of her departure, ordinarily of merely local interest, was
telegraphed all over the United States and Canada, and even to London
itself; for there was a significance attached to this particular trip
such as had never before marked the sailing of an ocean steamship from
these shores.
It was not because the great vessel numbered among her crowd of
passengers a well-known English duke and his young bride, the grand-niece
of a world-famous New York railroad magnate, that her sailing was
heralded by such a blowing of trumpets, nor because she also had upon her
lists the names of the august British ambassador to the United States,
returning home on a brief furlough, the noted French tragedian, fresh
from his American triumphs, and a score of other illustrious personages
whose names were household words in a dozen countries.
The presence of all these notables was merely incidental. What made this
trip of the _Oklahoma_ an event of international interest was the fact
that at this, the apparent climax of the great gold exporting movement
from the United States, now continued until it had almost drained the
national treasury of its precious yellow hoard, and had precipitated
a commercial crisis such as never before had been experienced, the
_Oklahoma_ was taking to the shores of insatiate John Bull the largest
lump amount of gold ever shipped upon a single vessel within the memory
of man.
Not even in the memorable gold exporting year of 1893, ten years
previous, had any such sum as this been sent abroad at one time.
It was not the usual paltry half million or million dollars that she was
carrying away in her great strong room of steel and teak wood, but thirty
million dollars’ worth of shining eagles and glinting bars, hastily
called across the ocean because of the adverse “balance of trade” and the
temporary mistrust of American securities by the fickle Europeans.
The mere insurance premium on this vast sum was in itself a comfortable
fortune. Business men wondered why such a large amount was intrusted to
one steamer. Suppose she should collide in the fog and sink, as one great
ship had done only a few weeks before—what would become of the insurance
companies then?
Suppose some daring Napoleon of crime should hatch a startling conspiracy
to seize the steamer, intimidate the crew and passengers, and possess
himself of the huge treasure? “It would be a stake well worth long
risks,” thought some of the police officials, as they read the headlines
in the evening papers.
The _Oklahoma_ was a fast sailer. Her five hundred feet of length and her
twelve thousand tons of displacement were made light work of by the great
clanking, triple-expansion engines when their combined force of fifteen
thousand horse power was brought to bear upon her twin screws. Under
ordinary conditions she ought to have made port on the other side in time
to let her passengers eat late dinner on the sixth day out. Incoming
steamers reported a brief spell of nasty weather in mid-ocean, however,
and so her failure to reach Southampton on the sixth and even the seventh
day was not particularly remarked.
The great American public had been busy with other weighty matters in the
interim, including a threatened secession of the silver-producing States;
and the departure of this modern argosy with her precious freight had
almost passed into history. For history in the year 1903 was anything
that had happened farther than a week back—a day, if it was not of
overwhelming importance.
If the big ship’s arrival had been cabled on the eighth day, or
even early on the ninth, it would still have found the public in a
comparatively calm state of mind, for the mid-Atlantic storm would
naturally account for a multitude of lost hours; but when the ninth
lapped over onto the tenth and the tenth onto the eleventh and twelfth,
with no tidings of the tardy steamer, surprise grew into anxiety and
anxiety into an international sensation.
Of course all sorts of plausible theories were advanced by the steamship
agents, the newspapers, and other oracles, including that of the
inevitable broken shaft; and these might have sufficed for a day or two
longer had it not been for another and much more startling theory that
suddenly came to the surface and threw two continents into a fever of
trepidation and suspense.
It was the following announcement in a leading New York morning paper
that roused excitement to fever heat: “A new and most astounding phase
has come over the case of the mysteriously missing _Oklahoma_. It has
just been given out from police headquarters that ‘Gentleman Jim’
Langwood, the noted cracksman and forger, whose ten years’ sentence
at Sing Sing expired only a few weeks ago, was in the city several
days previous to the sailing of the _Oklahoma_ and went with her as a
passenger, under an assumed name. Even at that very time the central
office detectives were looking for him, as a tip had been sent around
that he was up to some new deviltry. One of those clever people whom
nothing ever escapes had seen him go aboard almost at the last minute,
and gave an accurate description of his personal appearance, which was
evidently but slightly disguised.
“Langwood is probably the only criminal in the country who would ever
conceive and try to execute such a stupendous undertaking, and it is
something more than a suspicion on the part of the New York police that
he has smuggled on board a couple of dozen well-armed desperadoes, who
could easily hold the entire crew and passengers in check and make them
do their bidding, for a time, at least. The idea is so replete with
thrilling possibilities that the entire community stands aghast at it.”
It is to be noted that the public always “stands aghast” in such a case
as this; but it is more to the point just now to say that the article
went on, through a column or more, to describe in minute detail the
circumstances attendant upon the departure of “Gentleman Jim” even to
the number and shape of the bundles he had in his arms. The famous
robber was very boyish in appearance, and one of the last persons in
the world whom a chance acquaintance would think of looking up in the
rogues’ gallery. Evidently he was “out for the stuff,” in most approved
stage villain style, with more millions in the stake than even Colonel
Sellers, of nineteenth century fame, had ever dreamed of. Of course this
theory, which was already accepted as a fact, especially in police and
newspaper circles, was quickly cabled across, and created such a profound
sensation on the other side that even the London papers had to give it
that prominent position which is usually reserved for American cyclones,
crop failures, and labor outbreaks.
Upon the phlegmatic British government it acted much like an electric
shock and nearly threw the foreign office into a panic; for was not the
British minister plenipotentiary himself a passenger on the ill-fated
_Oklahoma_, and possibly at that very hour being butchered in cold blood
by a lot of Yankee cut-throats?
The thought was too horrible for a moment’s endurance, and forthwith the
cablegrams began to flash thick and fast between the foreign office and
the British legation at Washington.
The result was that, within a few hours after the appearance of the
paragraph, one of the fastest and most powerful of her majesty’s
cruisers, quickly followed by a second and a third, hastily steamed from
Portsmouth Roads, the three spreading out north, west, and south, like a
great marine fan, as they hurried to the rescue of the _Oklahoma_ and the
British ambassador.
Meanwhile, at the Boston, Brooklyn, and League Island navy yards three or
four of Uncle Sam’s white war dogs were getting up steam for a similar
errand, and a small fleet of ocean-going steamers, specially chartered by
New York, Boston, and Chicago newspapers to go in search of the absent
leviathan, were already threading their way through the Narrows.
Not for years had there been such world-wide interest in an ocean
expedition. The newspapers commanded an unheard of sale, for everybody
was on the tiptoe of expectation concerning the fate of the missing
steamer, her six hundred passengers and her thirty millions of gold.
While the public was thus feverishly awaiting the news, certain
discoveries were being made by the New York police, which only went to
confirm their previous suspicions. Four or five other hardened graduates
from state prison were found to be absent from their accustomed haunts in
the East Side slums, although known to have been in the city just before
the _Oklahoma_ sailed, as was “Gentleman Jim,” himself.
These discoveries had their natural effect upon the public mind, and the
friends of those on board the steamer began to despair of hearing that
even human life had been respected by the piratical band.
As to the British foreign office, this cumulative evidence threw it into
a perfect frenzy, and it was only by a miracle that a declaration of war
against the United States was averted.
Three days passed by after the departure of the big searching fleets,
during which time all incoming steamers reported that they had not found
a single trace of the _Oklahoma_ either in the northern or southern
route. Vessels from the Mediterranean, the West Indies, South America,
all made the same ominous report.
The tension was terrible. Thousands could not even sleep on account of
the mental strain, and the minds of some of the weaker actually gave way
beneath it. The public by this time was convinced beyond a reasonable
shadow of doubt that the robbers had successfully carried out their
fiendish plan; but how? and when? and where?
When they opened their newspapers on the morning of the eighteenth day of
suspense, they found the answer to the question, and the greatest marine
mystery of centuries was solved.
In the small hours of the night there had flashed across the European
continent, and under the dark waters of the Atlantic, this startling
message from the representative of the _Union Press Association_:—
“LISBON, April 1.—The missing _Oklahoma_ is disabled at Fayal,
Azores, where she was discovered by the _Union Press_ special
expedition. Many of the half-starved crew and passengers are
on the verge of insanity. The officers tell a most astounding
story of the steamer’s exciting and almost fatal adventures. On
the third night out, the _Oklahoma_ suddenly came under some
mysterious but irresistible influence by which she was carried
rapidly out of her course towards the south. Every effort was
made by the officers to bring the ship back to her course, but
the big liner seemed drifting helplessly at the mercy of some
powerful current. The compasses were useless, and the wheel
no longer exercised the slightest control over the steamer’s
movements.
“Naturally the anxiety of the officers was in no way diminished
when on the morning of the next day, which was then the
fourth day out, another vessel,—a long low-setting craft of
shining steel,—was discovered off the _Oklahoma’s_ starboard
bow, about a mile ahead, but moving in the same direction. By
careful observations it was discovered that the course of the
two steamers was identical. Both were apparently under the
same mysterious influence. Instead of sighting a rescuer, the
_Oklahoma_ had, so it seemed, only discovered another victim of
the irresistible current!
“Time and again the _Oklahoma_ attempted to signal the
companion ship, but the latter made no reply. Close observation
revealed that she was built on the whaleback principle, with
nothing above decks save ventilators and signal mast,—but
failed to discover any sign of human being.
“By afternoon their continued failure to bring the liner back
to her course had so wrought upon the minds of her officers
that their anxiety infected the spirits of the passengers, who
were now aroused to the real danger that menaced them.
“When the fifth day dawned, with the _Oklahoma_ hundreds of
miles out of the regular transatlantic course, the gravity of
the situation could no longer be concealed. Distress signals
were kept flying, and all possible steam was put on with the
idea of overhauling the companion ship and giving or receiving
aid. To the amazement of both officers and passengers, however,
in spite of every effort, the _Oklahoma_ failed to gain a
single inch on the other vessel. Before they had time to
attempt an explanation of this remarkable fact, amazement gave
way to consternation. For just a moment a third vessel had
appeared on the horizon like a messenger of hope; but no sooner
had she been sighted than with the swiftness of lightning the
mysterious companion craft turned half around and darted away
to the southeast, with the _Oklahoma_ following as helplessly
as though she were in tow.
“In that moment the awful truth was revealed. The steel vessel
was nothing more nor less than a floating loadstone, which by
some mysterious power was dragging the great ocean monster
hither and thither as easily as a magnet draws a toy ship from
one side to the other of a mimic pond!
“Who was she, and what was her motive? Almost before those on
board had asked the question, the answer flashed upon them. The
thirty millions of gold! Beyond a doubt, it was their capture
which she was planning to accomplish, either by luring the
_Oklahoma_ from the regular path of ocean travel, and looting
her and her passengers at leisure, or by compelling her to run
aground upon some remote rock or shoal.
“With this revelation a new horror unveiled itself. Equipped
as they were only with the supplies for a short trip across
the Atlantic, the overwrought minds of many saw starvation
looming up before them. That night not a soul sought his
berth. From time to time consultations were held between the
chief officers, and many-colored rockets spit and blazed their
signals of distress incessantly across the sky.
“At length, soon after dawn of the sixth day, orders were given
to bank fires and hoist sail in the hope that the _Oklahoma_ as
a sailing vessel might free herself from the awful influence
that chained her.
“But the effort was vain. Wind and sail proved as useless as
wheel and compass against the fatal power of that mysterious
craft which drew the _Oklahoma_ after her as irresistibly as
though the two vessels were united by an unseen hawser.
“The steamer had now become a scene of indescribable horror.
Mealtime, bedtime,—all the customary routine was disorganized;
and daily prayer meetings were conducted among the more
emotional of the passengers.
“Finally, seven days after she had left New York, the officers
of the big liner united in one last desperate effort to offset
the magnetic influence of the mysterious ‘pirate.’ The fires
were revived in the engine room, the steam pressure in all the
boilers was run up to the ‘blowing off’ point; then, suddenly,
the reversing mechanism was applied and a shudder ran through
the great floating city as the twin screws began to back water.
“For a few minutes there ensued a titanic tug of war such as
the beholders had never before witnessed. The water astern
was lashed into a lather of foam, and for a brief moment the
triumph of steam over magnetism seemed assured.
“Only for a moment, however, for the cheer that had ascended
from the anxious scores on the deck of the _Oklahoma_ when
she slowly began to back had scarcely died away when with a
mighty crash a vital section of the overtaxed engines gave way,
followed by a hoarse yell of consternation from the excited
engineers and stokers—and both screws were helpless and still.
“With this failure hope was well-nigh extinguished; and the
_Oklahoma_, with her precious freight and her 643 human souls,
abandoned all active effort to escape. With not a sail of any
kind in sight, she passively rolled and plunged southward for
seven days after her strange and terrible pilot, from which,
to add to the horror of the situation, no human sign had yet
been given. The supply of rockets was now exhausted, and food
was doled out in minute portions as to members of a shipwrecked
crew in order to husband supplies.
“On the afternoon of the fourteenth day, when the exhausted
passengers had reached the verge of distraction, a gleam
of hope appeared on the horizon in the shape of a solitary
steamer, bearing down from the southwest. A glance through
the telescope proved her to be a fast and formidable British
cruiser, evidently en route from South America to England.
“At this news a mighty shudder, half of hope, half of fear,
seized the crowd assembled upon the deck. Would the British
cruiser come to their assistance, and if so, would she, too,
become a victim of the magnetic craft? For a moment their fate
hung in the balance; then from three hundred throats rang out
a hoarse cry of joy as the mysterious craft swerved, turned
sharply and shot away over the surface of the Atlantic due
north.
“The spell was broken. The big liner with her six hundred human
souls and thirty millions in gold was freed from the power
that had for so long held her captive. But crippled as she was
by the accident to her machinery she was unable to proceed
unaided, and was taken in tow by the British steamer, the
_Midlothian_, and a day later was brought safely into port at
Fayal.
“The _Union Press_ steamer is the first to bring the
thrilling news. The first officer of the _Oklahoma_ and the
saloon passengers, including Sir Gambrel Roufe, the British
ambassador, accompanied your correspondent to Lisbon. A relief
steamer is urgently needed, as the _Oklahoma’s_ engines are
both disabled, and she will not be able to proceed for several
weeks.
“The passenger thought to be ‘Gentleman Jim’ Langwood, proves
to be the Duke of Medfordshire, now on his wedding trip with
his young millionaire American bride.”
Hardly had the excitement caused by this startling intelligence
subsided, when it was once more aroused by a despatch from Providence,
R. I., announcing the capture in the act of robbing a jewelry store of
“Gentleman Jim” Langwood, and a gang of four other oldtimers, and by the
following even more important cablegram from the Russian representative
of the _Union Press_:—
“ST. PETERSBURG, April 2.—The identity of the mysterious craft
by which the _Oklahoma_ was drawn from her course has been
established beyond a doubt. The vessel is a Hypnotic Cruiser,
recently completed by a Russian inventor, named Slobodenski,
and possessed of an electric apparatus by which any vessel can
be brought completely under its control.
“Whether the Hypnotic Cruiser’s bedevilment of the _Oklahoma_
was merely a trial of power, or whether plunder was intended,
can only be surmised. But naval lawyers say that this marvelous
new invention will revolutionize naval warfare and necessitate
the passage of stringent laws to cover a crime for which at
present no penalty exists.”
The Man at Solitaria.
BY GEIK TURNER.
Solitaria will be found indicated on the map by a circle half as large
as that which represents Chicago. That is Solitaria as it is advertised.
In reality it consists of a side-track and watering tank on the Great
Western Railroad, and a little wooden box opposite, courteously called a
station, which is inhabited by a man whose aim in life is to watch the
side-track and telegraph along the line how it is occupied at various
hours of the day and night. Just to the east the Great Western makes
its only distinct curve for miles through a little piece of woods. To
the west it stretches straight across the face of Indiana, mottled with
a million half-burned stumps, and cut into big squares by incalculable
miles of rail fence.
The man at Solitaria got to thinking it over—he had a great deal of time
to do this—and he made up his mind that matters were going all wrong. In
the first place, he thought he ought to be allowed more than twenty-five
dollars a month for his services, and that, considering he had been
running Solitaria alone for fifteen years, they ought to give him an
assistant to talk to—to talk to and to allow him an occasional chance
to sleep. These were, of course, entirely personal matters. But finally
he made up his mind the whole thing was run wrong. It stood to reason;
they never gave it any rest. Day after day and night after night they had
sent freight trains and express trains, and express trains and freight
trains chasing each other along the road till they had got it so it was
all going to break down pretty soon,—the road, and the cars, and the men,
and he himself—especially he himself; he saw that plainly. They were all
going to stop short, one of these days, and fly to pieces.
Now, take himself, for instance: was it right that they should have kept
running their trains by his door twenty-four hours out of the day, and
365 days a year, for fifteen years, disturbing him and depriving him of
what little sleep belonged to him? Yet all night long they persisted in
sending their freights jarring and clanking by and their express trains
shrieking and making up time along the level grade. He got so he knew
those whistles by name—he could hear them shriek for miles and miles in
either direction—coming nearer and nearer, till the train rushed by in a
cloud of yellow light. Then the next one came. It was bad enough at that,
but when they got to calling him names it was more than he could bear.
Besides, there was the electricity those trains kept making and storing
up in his station, faster than he could ever hope to get rid of it. It
was taking his life away. He went out and watched the wheels of the
freight trains crunching, and grinding, and squealing by, and he could
see it just rolling off and running into the station. Then nights it came
stealing over him, and numbing him, just as soon as he tried to get a
little sleep, which, heaven knew, he was entitled to. Anybody knows that
trains running by like that, day and night, store up more electricity
in a station than a man can bear, especially if he is all alone. But
they paid no attention to that. He often thought he would write to the
division superintendent, who had been a telegraph operator himself, and
ought to think of such things, and tell him to stop it. But this plan he
never carried out; he had asked for things before.
Now, whatever might be said, no one could accuse the Man at Solitaria of
not giving the matter sufficient thought. For months during the summer
he sat out on the platform of his box, in the baking sun daytimes, and
through the close, airless Indiana nights, looking down the tracks
between train times, and considering the question. He saw clearly they
did not recognize the power and importance of the man they were wronging.
He knew perfectly well, for instance, that any time he chose he could
turn the switch to the side-track and stand an express train on its head
in the ditch. That would be fascinating, certainly. Indeed, he considered
the proposal seriously for a number of weeks, and figured carefully on
what train he would better take; but finally thought better of this plan,
too. It would only stop one train, which wasn’t what he wanted at all.
The Man at Solitaria felt the responsibility of his position; he decided
to run the whole railroad himself.
Of course, he recognized that there would be opposition to this scheme
on the part of the president and directors of the road, and the division
superintendent,—especially the superintendent,—the Man knew the division
superintendent. But that railroad must be run right. As a first step
in that direction the Man saved up money and laid in a large supply of
canned meats; he also secured two forty-four caliber revolvers and half a
dozen boxes of cartridges.
Of course, the management of the Great Western Railroad didn’t know what
was going on in the mind of the Man—especially as he carried on most of
his communication with human beings by telegraph. It didn’t care much,
either, as long as he kept awake eighteen hours a day and watched the
side-track and told them how it was occupied. Consequently, no one knew
of his intention of operating the road, and no one knew or probably ever
will know why he chose such an unpleasant day for starting it.
It wasn’t unpleasant in the sense that it was rainy—it was merely hot.
Along down the track the heat rose in great zigzags, where the yellow sun
beat down and baked a crust over the surface of Indiana. There was not
a breeze in the air, not a sound except the occasional call of a quail
from some distant rail fence, or the cry of a seventeen-year locust in a
dead tree. On the sunny side of the station at Solitaria the thermometer
took its stand at 118 degrees, and refused to be moved, and the air was a
semi-solid mass of cinders.
The Man at Solitaria made up his mind he would shut down his railroad
at six o’clock. He laid in a good supply of water and loaded up his
revolvers; then he shut up the station and made a kind of barricade of
old ties around his telegraph instrument, and sat down inside and waited.
No. 64, the fast freight from the West, was due at 6.10 o’clock to draw
up on the siding. No. 24, the fast express from the East, was due at
6.17. At 6.03 the Man telegraphed the station east that the freight was
on the side-track and the main line was clear. The freight was not yet in
sight. At 6.13 it reached the station, hurrying to make up lost time,
and ran off the track; some one had turned the switch half way. The big
engine jumped the rails, crashed up on the station platform, and stopped,
without being overturned; three cars went off with it. The brakemen came
running up along the train, and the engineer and fireman climbed down
out of the cab, swearing and looking for the operator. Just then the
express could be heard rushing along from the east, and two brakemen
started up the track to head it off, on the dead run. At 6.16 the train
appeared in sight. When she came around the curve and saw the freight she
just stiffened right out and slid. It wasn’t quite soon enough, however.
She struck the freight cars just before she came to a stop, smashing a
cylinder and nearly jerking the heads off the passengers. All the windows
and doors of the coaches flew open with a slam, and the train hands and
passengers began to swarm out like hornets out of a hornets’ nest. The
trainmen started forward on the run to see what was the matter and to
look up the operator and find out what he was trying to do.
The Man opened a window in front of the station, with a revolver in his
hand, and told them that what he was trying to do was none of their
business. He was operating this damned road now, and he wanted them to
understand it. Besides, he didn’t want them on his platform. By way of
emphasis, he fired a couple of shots as close to their feet as he could
without hitting them. They got off, and he shut down the window with a
bang. Somebody went around and tried a window in the rear, and he fired
two shots through the glass. It was just as well they didn’t try it
again, for he would have nailed them the next time.
Then the trainmen went off to a respectful distance and discussed the
situation, and the passengers retreated behind the coaches. The Man sat
down and telegraphed that the express had gone by, but that No. 64 had
a hot box on the side-track, which might keep it there for some time,
so that No. 31, the westbound freight, had better be sent along. He
would hold No. 64 for it. So No. 31 came along. It nearly paralyzed the
passengers of the express train when they heard it on the line, but the
brakemen stopped it all right in time to prevent it from landing on the
back of the coaches.
By this time the station at Solitaria presented an unwonted and active
scene. Three trains were huddled up around the place, two of them tangled
together in a heap. The engine of No. 64 stood up inquiringly on the
station platform, like a big dog waiting to be let in. The trainmen
and the passengers still stood around and discussed ways and means and
swore at the Man and the infernal heat. Several times they had tried
to approach the Man, but the Man at Solitaria was unapproachable. A
big passenger from the West had declared he would go up, anyway, as a
little thing like that had a comparatively mild effect on his nerves,
and a small passenger from the East had tried the effect of kind words
and moral suasion; but the big six-shooters of the Man had an equally
discouraging effect on both.
In fact, the exhilaration of running a railroad was beginning to exercise
a strange fascination on the Man at Solitaria. This was only natural,
after all. The way he ran things was a good deal like firing railroad
trains at a mark, with the certainty of hitting it, if nobody interfered.
He recognized, however, that there was need of great discretion and
intelligence in the matter. The train despatcher was already making the
telegraph instrument chatter like a sewing-machine, asking the station to
the west what had become of the express, which, of course, the station
west didn’t know.
The Man sent word down the line that a brakeman had come into the station
and said there was a big wreck at a culvert three miles west. It was a
bad wreck, with a great many killed, and the wrecking train should be
sent at once. The train could run right by his station to the place, as
the line was clear. In fifteen minutes the wrecking train was drawing out
of the Centerville station, seventeen miles east, with all the doctors
that could be raised in the vicinity, and coming down the line sixty
miles an hour in a halo of hot cinders. If it hadn’t been for a line of
brakemen stationed up above the curve, there would have been a great
opening for young doctors in Centerville. As it was, the train stopped so
short on the curve that the front trucks of the engine ran off and the
one passenger coach was jolted full of a mixture of frightened doctors
and medicine vials.
By this time the Man had been operating the road for an hour and a half,
and the excitement of the thing was growing intense, especially among
the disgruntled officials he had superseded. Trains were beginning to
stack up at the stations east and west, waiting for developments, and the
train despatcher was beating such a devil’s tattoo on his instrument,
trying to find out what was going on, anyhow, that the Man used up a
great deal of patience and ingenuity trying to shoot him. As for the
division superintendent, who had come on the wrecking train, his hair was
rapidly growing white. But, as long as he could not effect a compromise
with the Man, there was nothing he could do. The Man was engaged at
present furnishing information on Solitaria to the outside world, and
it was futile to try to conceive what his rich imagination would prompt
him to do next. On the other hand, the freight engine on one side and
the engine of the wrecker on the other cooped up the only able engine on
the track, and made advance or retreat impossible as long as the wrecker
couldn’t turn to and haul itself up on the track. But the Man refused to
compromise. The division superintendent finally gave it up and started
overland for the next telegraph station, ten miles away.
In the meanwhile matters were coming to a desperate crisis in the
parade before the station at Solitaria. It was growing dark. Under the
circumstances there was cause for excitement, although there was a line
of brakemen, armed with lanterns, stretched out half a mile either
way. It was generally agreed that the lamps in the cars should be left
unlighted in deference to the opinion of the women, who thought lights
would afford too good a mark, supposing the Man should decide to turn
his attention to a little target practise. The engineers and express
messengers lit theirs, however, and the headlights on the two middle
engines were started, and threw a yellow glare on the cars before them.
The Man paid no attention to matters of this kind, so long as he saw they
did not interfere with his plans for operating his road.
About this time a couple of brakemen put their heads together and,
getting in back of the tender of the express engine, began to fire chunks
of coal through the window at the Man when he was telegraphing. They
figured that it would make the Man mad and that he might exhaust his
ammunition upon the tender. It did set him going for awhile, and the
sound of smashing glass, the crack of the revolver, and the spat of the
bullets up against the tender roused considerable interest, especially
among the women. Then the Man made up his mind not to shoot any more;
they couldn’t do him much harm, anyway, from behind the tender, and he
decided to devote no more of his official time to them. So they knew no
more about his supply of ammunition than before. Besides, the thing was
beginning to be too much for the women in the cars, who got an idea from
the noise that something was going on or was about to, and the conductors
called the brakemen off. They were afraid they might get the Man too much
excited.
As it got darker, however, the ideas of the men on the outside began
to crystalize. About everything possible had been tried and failed. At
8.30 o’clock a determined minority decided to go gunning for the Man. It
seemed a rather inhuman thing to do, but there was no knowing what was
going to turn up. It was really a case of self-defense. Accordingly a
messenger was sent across the fields to a farmhouse for a shotgun.
At this time a ridiculous thing happened. The Man went to sleep. This
seems incredible until it is remembered that he had been up very late
the night before arranging the schedule for his road. As for the men
on the outside, they thought at first he was merely leaning forward
over his instrument; then some one suggested that he might be asleep,
but the crowd was against him, the popular theory being that he was
probably playing some trick. The beams of one of the headlights streamed
in the front window of the station and showed him very plainly. He
made an interesting, if not entirely charming picture in the yellow
light,—especially his white face and his straggly black hair. If he had
made the slightest move the crowd would have seen it; but he didn’t. So
after he had lain perfectly still for ten minutes many said that they
were comfortably sure that he was really asleep. A young physician who
watched him awhile said they couldn’t wake him with a club,—it was one
of the peculiar symptoms of what ailed him,—and suggested that now was
the golden opportunity for those whose business it was, to gather him
in without the slightest danger to themselves. There was a long and
unanimous silence, during which the theory of subterfuge on the part of
the Man gained ground. Finally the doctor said he would be one of two men
to go in after him; a freight brakeman said he would be the other. They
went to the rear of the station and opened a catch in a window where a
piece of coal had broken out a light, raised the sash, and crawled in.
The crowd kept watch of the Man, prepared to yell if he stirred. But he
didn’t stir. The two men crawled up behind the barricade, around in front
where the headlight streamed in and jumped. Then the crowd came through
the front windows, and the Man was gathered in.
Now this is the plain and unvarnished tale of how the Man at Solitaria
ran the Great Western Road. There is no probability that he will resume
the management. Nevertheless he inaugurated one improvement for which
the traveling public should be grateful. The new Man at Solitaria has an
assistant.
[Illustration]
The Compass of Fortune.
BY EUGENE SHADE BISBEE.
A few days after his return to New York from twenty years’ prospecting in
South America, Alfred Leighton found the following letter at his hotel:—
“BUENA VISTA, TARRYVILLE-ON-THE-HUDSON,
April 26, 189—.
“_Dear Alfred_: A moment ago, to my astonishment and delight,
I ran across your name among yesterday’s hotel arrivals. I
won’t waste words in telling you what pleasure this news gives
me, but write at once to ask you to come up here with bag and
baggage, so that we may talk over old times and compare notes
as to how the world has used us since we parted thirty years
ago.
“Telegraph when you are coming, and I will meet you at the
train.
“Yours, as of yore,
“MELVILLE BARRETT.”
For a moment after finishing the letter Leighton stood dumfounded, his
mind swiftly gathering up the threads of long-forgotten experiences and
friendships. It was now almost thirty years since he and Melville Barrett
had chummed together at college, but the letter and the signature were
enough to recall the brilliant, luckless fellow who had been Leighton’s
roommate during the latter’s senior year. As nearly as he could remember,
Barrett, in spite of his mental gifts, had never got on in the world,
and, at last accounts, had gone West where he had dropped out of sight
apparently for good and all. And now, behold, he had turned up again in
the character of a landed proprietor! Had Barrett at last struck it rich?
Five hours later when, after a drive in a well-appointed landau through
a winding avenue, the carriage stopped at a big colonial mansion, and
Leighton was ushered into an imposing hallway, carpeted with oriental
rugs and decorated with tropical plants and curios from many lands, his
mind recurred to the same question. And during the dinner that followed,
served by well-trained servants, in a tapestry-hung dining-room, and
the hour spent examining the rare plants in the adjoining conservatory,
Leighton found himself varying the question by the mental inquiry,—“How
had Barrett struck it rich?”
For an answer to this question he had not long to wait. As the two men
sat together before the open fire in the library, over their Havanas and
after-dinner, coffee, reviving the experiences of years ago, Barrett
suddenly exclaimed, turning to his companion:—
“I suppose you are surprised to find me, at last, a property holder,
instead of the luckless, poverty-stricken chap you used to know. Very
likely, you’ve been wondering whether I have fallen heir to a fortune.”
Then, hardly noticing his friend’s evasive answer, he continued: “I have
come into a fortune, but not through the death of friend or relative. In
fact, the manner in which it was gained was so extraordinary that neither
I nor the friend who shared the adventure have cared to speak about it.
And people simply know that, like so many others, we struck it rich in
the land of gold. But you, who were the companion of my college days, and
so know that I never took any stock in the supernatural, will, I am sure,
believe what I have to tell you, especially as I hold the proof. If its
duplicate can be produced by human hands, then I am ready to accept any
commonplace explanation that the maker may offer.
“The whole thing is as great a mystery to me to-day as when it happened,
eighteen years ago. My friend Mitchell and I had been hunting in the
mountains of Southern California for a couple of weeks, and were
returning by easy stages to the stock ranch where we both were employed.
One evening, about the third day of our journey, we made camp in one of
the most picturesque spots in all that beautiful country. A deep green
valley stretched before us, high, snow-crowned mountains on either side,
while far away down the silver stream that flowed through the valley
could be seen the undulating country of the grape and orange—a full
hundred miles away.
“Mitchell had finished his duties as cook, and we had despatched a
delicious supper of broiled venison, potatoes, and coffee, just as the
sun was sinking beyond our vision. The camp fire gave forth a cheery glow
as we sat and smoked our pipes, recounting the day’s sport; while every
now and then the stillness was broken by the deep howl of a gray mountain
wolf,—a blood-chilling sound even to an old hunter, and thus altogether
different from the bark and yelp of the coyote of the plains. Twenty
years ago the Sierra Nevadas were alive with game, and many a time have
I sat by the ashes of our fire on a morning early, and thrown stones at
an inquisitive black-tail deer, undismayed by his first sight of man. On
this evening, however, after we had finished our smoke and looked after
our horses and pack-mules, we rolled in our blankets, and, with saddles
for pillows and our heavy sombreros covering our faces, were soon asleep.
“My next conscious thoughts were of warmth on my face, and I sat up
suddenly to find the sun just above the treetops. Giving Mitchell a
rousing slap on the back, I set about getting a fire, at which task he
joined me a moment later. Soon we had started a tiny blaze, but the
dew-damp wood would not catch according to my fancy and I stooped to blow
it. It caught, and I raised my head. As I did so I saw the strangest
figure that ever met my eyes.
“At first Mitchell did not see it, for, though near, it stood just behind
him. But as my look of amazement caught Mitchell’s eye, with a ‘What the
devil is the matter with—?’ he turned his head; and the words died on
his lips. What had so astonished me was nothing more nor less than the
form of a man, but a man whose like I had never seen nor imagined. In
the first place he seemed to be at the very least seven feet high, and,
even shrouded as he was by the folds of his odd costume, magnificently
proportioned. He was garbed in a flowing gown of white, wound around
by a broad crimson sash, into which were stuck two daggers and a long
curved sword with a handle of gold set with jewels; while a huge turban
of oriental fashion, snow-white like his gown, crowned his head. Beneath
the turban gleamed two eyes, small, but piercingly brilliant, while the
lower part of the dark oval face was half hidden by his most remarkable
feature, a moustache, jet black, and as long as the horns of a big
steer—a comparison which its graceful curves still further suggested.
What finally riveted our attention, however, was neither the man’s garb
nor his features, but an object that he held in the curve of his right
arm.”
“And that was—?”
“Nothing more nor less than a human skull, of a size that seemed to
indicate a man of even larger stature than the one before us. All these
details flashed upon my mind like an image on the sensitive plate of a
camera, but before I could have counted twenty with deliberation, he
placed the skull upon the ground, and then, straightening himself up,
pointed with one outstretched hand over my head, as though indicating
something in the distance. Naturally, we both turned in the direction
of that gesture, but seeing nothing unusual in the landscape, faced
about again towards the figure. Then we looked at each other in blank
astonishment. The man had vanished as completely as a soap bubble
bursting in air!”
“Hidden?” said Leighton, laconically.
“Impossible; our camp stood in a perfectly open glade, at least two
hundred yards from the nearest tree, so he could not possibly have
reached a hiding place in the ten seconds our heads had been turned.
“As we stood there dumfounded, our eyes scrutinizing each other, the
plain, the sky overhead, and finally the ground, Mitchell gave a cry of
astonishment.
“‘Why, there’s the skull!’ he exclaimed. ‘The man was real after all.’