A QUEER MISTAKE.
The aim of the would-be assassin was not good. His bullet flew wide of
the mark.
Why?
The deep growl of a dog was the disturbing cause.
As Hank Jones pulled the trigger, a shaggy object bounded through the
bushes full at the throat of the villainous murderer.
August recognized the peddler's dog. Man and dog rolled down the bank to
the water's edge. In the struggle the disguised outlaw's beard was torn
off, and Andrew Barkswell stood revealed.
"Curse you, I'll knife you for this!" grated the baffled villain.
The next instant a keen blade gleamed in the air, just as a voice called:
"Tige, come off."
The dog was used to obeying his master's voice, and so he released his
hold just in time to avoid the knife of the maddened Barkswell.
"Here, Tige."
The dog came bounding up the bank.
The single eye of the peddler glanced down at the man who struggled to
his feet at the water's edge, and sprang into a canoe.
"So, you, Tige. Why was you going for our friend in that way?"
The peddler patted his dog and talked scoldingly until the escaping
villain was well out in the stream, paddling away.
Quickly Hiram Shanks strode down to the water.
"Hey, you, man--August, what you leaving for? You'll surely get caught."
It will thus be seen that the peddler, who was hidden from the
fisherman's shanty by a line of bushes, had mistaken the fleeing man for
his patient.
The man in the boat made no response to the call of Shanks, and soon was
lost to view behind an abrupt bend.
"Well, that beats me," muttered the one-eyed man, as he gazed over the
water at the point where the canoe and its occupant had just disappeared.
Then, as he turned to ascend the bank, he noticed that Tige held
something in his teeth--a heavy black beard!
Seizing it, the peddler examined it closely, then exclaimed:
"A disguise! Well, I'm puzzled now more than ever. I thought August
Bordine a much abused man, and now it turns out that he's a villain after
all, and able to pull the wool even over _my_ eyes."
Slowly Hiram Shanks ascended the bank. His dog uttered a joyful bark, and
dashed through the bushes toward the little shanty.
"Here you, Tige," called the peddler.
"Bow-wow-wow!" was the answer from the faithful dog.
Hiram Shanks moved through the bushes, and then uttered a surprised
exclamation. Reclining on the old blanket where he had left him was
August Bordine, the young engineer.
"Bless my heart! young man, I thought I saw you just now riding away in a
canoe."
"You see your mistake now, I suppose," returned August, trying repeatedly
to smile.
"And it wasn't you, after all?"
"Certainly not."
Then August explained the situation in a few words. When he had finished
the peddler tapped him gently on the shoulder and said:
"I am greatly relieved. I know that man now. He has caused all the
mischief. You and he look as near alike as two peas. The clouds are
rolling by and I see my way clear. It won't be long before the
authorities as well as the people will be astounded with the arrest of
Victoria Vane's murderer. It will astound them because they will find in
the real murderer not the man they expect."
The peddler spoke so enthusiastically as to attract the notice of his
listener.
"Are you on the track of the assassin?" questioned Bordine.
"I am."
"Then you are a detective?"
"If I succeed, yes. You see, I am but an amateur now. Whisky and an
unfaithful woman poisoned me almost to the death. I saw that offer of
five thousand dollars reward, and it stimulated me to new life. That is a
good deal of money, my boy, especially to one in my circumstances; and so
I thought to myself, if I could only win that reward, I could tog up in
good shape and enter the business world once more. I've been aiming for
that, and I mean to gather it in."
"I sincerely hope you may Mr. Shanks."
* * * * *
The days passed; a fortnight was gone, and yet no news of the young
engineer who had so mysteriously disappeared from his home on the night
before the arrest of Mrs. Bordine.
That lady was well treated by the sheriff's family, but was not permitted
to have communication with the outside world, so that she realized that
she was a close prisoner all this time. The reader can easily imagine how
the old lady suffered, with a dark cloud hanging over the name of her
son. She, of course, firmly believed in his innocence, and would not
credit the story that he had fled to escape arrest. There was a mystery
about his continued absence for which she could not account, and which
gave the good woman no end of trouble.
"I would trust August with my life," she more than once asserted. "He
does not come because he fears arrest, but some accident has befallen
him, and it may be that we shall none of us see him again, for I fear he
is dead."
It was thus the old mother talked to the officers, and to Miss Alstine,
who, in the kindness of her heart, visited her lover's mother.
Of course that lover was as nought to the young heiress now. She believed
him to be a villain of the deepest dye, yet she could not tell her
thoughts to that trusting old mother who seemed so wrapped up in her son.
"The idea that he could harm anybody," declared Mrs. Bordine to Rose,
with both plump hands on the girl's shoulders. "Why, he never even so
much as killed a chicken without shuddering."
"We will hope that a mistake has been made, dear Mrs. Bordine."
"And you are so kind," returned the old woman with tears in her eyes. "Do
you know, Miss Alstine, I want to ask your forgiveness."
"For what, dear?"
"For unkind judgment of you."
"I am sure you never have misjudged me, dear."
"Oh, yes I have."
"How?"
"It was one day when August had been up to your house. He was dreadfully
down in the mouth when he came back from that visit. He'd been jilted he
said, by you, and I told him right for ever trying to win the heart of a
rich girl. I said some very harsh things of you, Miss, things that I know
now weren't true. Of course I can see now that you had some good reason
for not wishing to marry a poor engineer, a reason that was above
regarding his poverty. I won't ask you what it was, for if the poor boy
is dead it won't make any difference, and--and--"
Poor mother.
She broke down then completely, and fell to sobbing on the breast of the
sympathetic Rose.
Ah, yes, she knew why she had refused to see the widow's son that
eventful day, and it was not poverty that drove him out of her life.
Rose, however, would not explain now, nor ever to Mrs. Bordine. She
realized that the kindly soul had never realized the truth regarding the
dual character of August.
If he never returned it was well that she should think of him always, as
now, true and dutiful, a model man and son in every respect.
Officers were now more than ever on the alert. Everybody was anxious to
win the magnificent reward, and it now seemed very easy of attainment,
since the real murderer was known.
Would he fall finally into the hands of the law?
This was the question that Rose asked many times of herself. It would be
justice, and yet it would grind her heart to know of his dying on the
scaffold.
Was he guilty?
Another question.
Could she doubt it, remembering the scene in the garden at the house of
her lover?
One evening while Rose, unattended, was hastening along the street toward
the city prison, she suddenly became aware that a man was following her.
There was something in his walk and general appearance that seemed
familiar, but she could not see his face, since his hat was down low,
shading it completely.
She had reached the entrance to the sheriff's office, and placed her hand
on the knob, when the man sprang quickly to her side and seized her arm.
She uttered a startled cry and pushed open the door.
"One moment, Rose!" cried the man, hoarsely. He snatched the hat from his
head and bent his face close hers.
The girl uttered a great cry.
"Great Heaven, _you here, August Bordine!_"
And then Rose closed the door and leaned heavily against the wall.
[Illustration: HE SNATCHED THE HAT FROM HIS HEAD, AND BENT HIS FACE CLOSE
TO HERS.]