THE FATE OF TWO EVILDOERS.
“Are you going to let them arrest us?” whispered Pat Malone, as the
whole party moved through the woods towards a wagon road which ran
nearly parallel to the railroad tracks.
“Not if I can help it,” Caven whispered back. “We must watch our
chances.”
Half a mile was covered and they came out on the road. It was growing
dark and there were signs of a storm in the air.
“It's going to rain,” said Joe, and he was right.
“See here, I don't want to get wet to the skin,” growled Caven. “I'll
catch my death of cold.”
“There is a barn just ahead,” said Bill Badger. “Let us get inside.”
Joe was willing, and soon all were in the barn. It was now raining at a
heavy rate and they were glad to be under shelter.
“With a barn there ought to be a house,” remarked our hero. “But I don't
see any.”
It grew still darker, and the rain came down in perfect sheets. The roof
of the barn leaked, and they had to move from one spot to another, to
keep out of the drippings.
While this was going on Gaff Caven was working at the handkerchief
that bound his wrists and soon had it loose. Pat Malone also liberated
himself. Caven winked suggestively at his confederate.
“Watch me,” he whispered. “When I give the signal we'll knock 'em both
down and run for it.”
“But the pistol--” began Malone.
“I'll take care of that.”
In moving around the old barn Caven spotted a club and moved close to
it. Suddenly he snatched the weapon up and hit Bill Badger on the arm
with it. The pistol flew into a corner and went off, sending a bullet
into a board.
“Run!” yelled Caven, and leaped for the open doorway. Malone came beside
him, and both ran off through the rain as fast as their legs could carry
them.
Joe was startled and made after the pair. But at a groan from Bill
Badger he paused.
“Are you badly hurt?” he asked.
“He gave me a stiff crack on the arm,” growled the young westerner.
Joe ran for the corner and caught up the pistol. Then he leaped for the
open doorway.
“Stop, both of you!” he called out. “Stop, or I'll fire!”
“Don't you dare!” shrieked Pat Malone, and ran faster than ever, behind
the nearest of the trees. Joe aimed the weapon, but before he could pull
the trigger both of the bad men were out of sight.
“Go after them, if you want to,” said Bill Badger. “I'll go too.”
“You are not badly hurt?” queried our hero, sympathetically.
“No, but if I catch that fellow I'll give it to him good,” grumbled the
young westerner.
Both now left the barn and made after Caven and Malone. Once they caught
sight of the rascals, moving in the direction of the railroad tracks.
“They are going to catch a train if they can!” cried our hero. “I hear
one coming.”
“It's a freight most likely,” was Bill Badger's answer.
He was right, and soon the long line of freight cars hove into sight
around a bend and on an upgrade. Far in the distance they beheld Caven
and Malone scooting for the train with all speed.
“They are going to make it,” sighed Joe. “Too bad!”
They continued to run, but before they could get anywhere near the
tracks they saw Caven leap for the train and get between two of the
cars. Then Malone got aboard also, and the freight train passed out of
sight through the cut.
“That ends the chase,” said Joe, halting. “They were slick to get away.”
“If we only knew where they would get off we could send word ahead,”
suggested his companion.
“Well, we don't know, and after this they will probably keep their eyes
wide open and keep out of sight as much as possible. Anyway, I don't
think they'll bother Mr. Vane any more.”
“It's not likely. I'm a witness to what they were up to,” answered the
young westerner.
Both Joe and Bill Badger were soaked from the rain and resolved to
strike out for the nearest farmhouse or village. They kept along the
railroad tracks, and presently came to a shanty where there was a
track-walker.
“How far to the nearest village?” asked our hero.
“Half a mile.”
“Thank you.”
“How is it you are out here in the rain?” went on the track-walker.
“We got off our train and it went off without us.”
“Oh, I see. Too bad.”
Again our hero and his companion hurried on, and soon came in sight of
a small village. They inquired their way to a tavern, and there dried
their clothing and procured a good, hot meal, which made both feel much
better.
“I am going to send a telegram to Mr. Vane,” said Joe, and did so
without further delay. He was careful of the satchel and did not leave
it out of his sight.
They found they could get a train for the West that evening at seven
o'clock and at the proper time hurried to the depot.
“I'm glad I met you,” said Joe, to his newly-made friend. “Now, what do
you think I owe you for what you did?”
“As we didn't land the fellows in jail you don't owe me anything,” said
Bill Badger, promptly.
“Oh, yes, I do.”
“Well then, you can pay the extra expense, and let that fill the bill.”
“I'll certainly do that,” said Joe, promptly.
As they rode along Bill Badger told something of himself and of the mine
his father owned, and then Joe told something of his own story.
“Did you say your name is Joe Bodley?” asked the young westerner, with
deep interest.
“Yes.”
“And you are looking for a man by the name of William A. Bodley?”
“I am.”
“It seems to me I know a man by that name, although the miners all call
him Bill Bodley.”
“Where is this Bill Bodley?”
“Out in Montana somewhere. He worked for my father once, about three
years ago. He was rather a strange man, about fifty years old. He had
white hair and a white beard, and acted as if he had great trouble on
his mind.”
“You do not know where he is now?”
“No, but perhaps my father knows.”
“Then I'm going to see your father as soon as I can,” said Joe,
decidedly.
“Mind you, I don't say that this Bill Bodley is the man you are after,
Joe. I don't want to raise any false hopes.”
“Did you ever hear where the man came from?”
“I think he told somebody that he once owned a farm in Kansas or Iowa.”
“This William A. Bodley once owned a farm at Millville, Iowa.”
“Is that so! Then he may be the same man after all. To tell the truth,
he looked a little bit like you.”
“Was he a good man?” asked Joe, eagerly.
“Yes, indeed. But some of the men poked fun at him because he was so
silent and strange at times. I liked him and so did father. He left us
to go prospecting in the mountains.”
Thus the talk ran on for half an hour, when the train came to a sudden
halt.
“Are we at a station?” asked Bill Badger.
“I don't know,” said Joe.
Both looked out of the window but could see nothing except hills and
forests.
“We are in the foothills,” said the young westerner. “Something must be
wrong on the tracks.”
“More fallen trees perhaps.”
“Or a landslide. They have them sometimes, when it rains as hard as it
did to-day.”
They left the car with some others and soon learned that there had been
a freight collision ahead and that half a dozen freight cars had been
smashed to splinters.
“Do you think it can be the freight that Caven and Malone boarded?” came
from our hero, on hearing this news.
“It might be,” answered Bill Badger. “Let us take a look. Our train
won't move for hours now.”
They walked to the scene of the wreck. One of the cars had been burnt
up but the conflagration was now under control and a wrecking crew was
already at work clearing the tracks so that they might be used.
“Anybody hurt?” asked Joe of a train hand.
“Yes, two men killed. They were riding between the cars.”
“Tramps?”
“They didn't look like tramps. But they hadn't any right to ride on the
freight.”
“Where are they?”
“Over in the shanty yonder.”
With a queer sensation in his heart Joe walked to the little building,
accompanied by Bill Badger. A curious crowd was around and they had to
force their way to the front.
One look was enough. Gaff Caven and Pat Malone lay there, cold in death.
They had paid the penalty of their crimes on earth and gone to the final
judgment.