THE MAN FROM THE WEST.
If Guy Dudley and Mr. Taggart, the manager of the five elevators of
Elevatorville, only suspected the injury they had inflicted on their
cause by coming down to the water’s edge of that particular elevator
under which Vance Thornton happened to be concealed at the time, and
there telling all they knew to the winds, as they thought, there is
not the least doubt that they would have felt like going to some quiet
place and kicking themselves off the earth.
The dapper Mr. Dudley thought himself as smart as they make them in
Chicago, but really he had lots to learn.
He was satisfied that young Thornton could not poke his nose into the
town without he (Dudley) becoming immediately aware of the fact.
Yet Vance had already been more than twelve hours in Elevatorville
without the dapper young man’s knowledge, and had practically
accomplished the object of his visit through the indiscreet loquacity
of the gentlemen who were “laying” for him.
The only really good thing that Dudley had been guilty of was his
admission of Thornton’s cleverness.
Dudley and the manager of the elevators, having unwittingly put Vance
Thornton in possession of more information even than he had expected to
pick up in that western river town, walked back the way they had come
and parted at the corner of the street, the dapper young man returning
to his hotel.
“Well,” murmured Vance, as he emerged from his place of concealment,
“if this hasn’t been the greatest piece of luck I’ve ever heard tell
of, I don’t know what luck is. So there’s actually five million bushels
of corn in these elevators, while they are officially reported as
empty? I’m much obliged to you, Mr. Taggart, for the information,”
and he looked after the retreating figures of the manager and his
companion. “So that was a put-up job on me at Bagley’s chop-house, eh?
And I never dreamed of it. At last I am on to you, Mr. Guy Dudley,
and I think you’ve done all the damage you’re likely to do to Mr.
Whitemore. And our respectable bookkeeper, Mr. Edgar Vyce, is a snake
in the grass. I’ll have to lose no time in putting Mr. Whitemore next
to all these important facts. When he learns the real state of affairs
I guess Mr. Vyce will have to join the opposition in person as well as
in spirit. I never did like him much, and now I certainly despise him.
A sneak and a traitor ought always to be handled without gloves.”
By this time the road was clear for Vance to retire without attracting
special attention to himself, and half an hour later he was seated at a
table in the cottage writing a letter to his employer.
That afternoon he left Elevatorville by a river boat that carried him a
few miles up the Mississippi to another town that boasted of a pair of
dismantled elevators.
He had no difficulty in personally examining these buildings, and found
that the newspaper report as to their condition was strictly true.
Vance added a postscript to his letter, setting forth the facts as he
had found them, and then forwarded it by registered mail, as usual.
“I suppose Guy Dudley is watching for the train to deposit me in
Elevatorville this evening,” he grinned as he sat on the hotel veranda
after supper. “Gee! It was a lucky thought of mine not to go to the
hotel last night. Had I done so my name would probably have been mud,
so far as finding out what I came for, and then I should never have
found out those other little matters. It’s better to be born lucky than
rich.”
Next morning Vance left for a railway junction town in Missouri, the
last point he had on his list.
It is unnecessary to go into the particulars of his business at this
place.
It is enough to say that it had a direct bearing on his employer’s
plans, and the boy managed to obtain all the necessary information to
be got.
“Now for Chicago and home,” said Vance, in a happy frame of mind, after
he had boiled down his statistics in a succinct letter to Mr. Whitemore
and sent it off.
The boy uttered these words as he was coming out of the postoffice,
which was located on the corner of two streets.
Immediately preceding him was a tall and commanding man, with a swarthy
complexion and black eyes.
Vance had noticed him inside posting a letter.
He wore a soft felt hat of generous proportions, and his manner was the
free and easy way of the wide west.
The boy stopped and watched him with some curiosity as he started to
cross the street.
At that moment a noisy racket arose around the corner, and there
suddenly came into view a team of horses attached to a heavy wagon of
produce.
Evidently the animals were frightened, and were dashing about in a
blind, purposeless race.
The stranger was right in their path, and seeing his peril, he sprang
back.
But in some unaccountable way he missed his footing, slipped and fell
upon the roadway.
A dozen or more people besides Vance noticed his mishap, but only the
boy seemed to have presence of mind enough to take any action.
The frenzied horses were almost upon the fallen man when Vance, darting
out from the sidewalk, seized the near animal by the bridle-rein, as
well as getting a secure grip on the harness with the other hand, and
succeeded in slightly veering the team out of its course.
Off course he was instantly carried off his feet and placed in an
exceedingly dangerous situation, but he had accomplished his object.
The wheels of the heavy wagon barely grazed the stranger’s head as it
flew by, but he was saved--saved by Vance’s remarkable nerve and quick
movements.
The runaways, handicapped by his weight, and headed off by several men
who now jumped into the roadway and waved their coats and hats, lost
their speed and were presently brought to a standstill.
“Young man,” exclaimed a broad-shouldered Missourian, grasping Vance by
the hand, as with rumpled clothes and minus his hat he let go his hold
and staggered back from the restive and trembling horses, “that was one
of the pluckiest things I reckon I’ve seen for a long time.”
“That’s what it was, so help me Bob!” cried another demonstrative
individual, pressing himself to the fore. “Shake, youngster!”
A crowd quickly gathered around the boy, and everybody wanted to take
him by the hand and tell him what they thought of his feat.
“Here’s your hat!” cried some one on the outskirts of the circle.
Half a dozen willing hands were extended to grasp and restore it to its
owner.
It was really extraordinary what an interest the onlookers had suddenly
taken in the Chicago boy.
“Oh, come now,” objected Vance, trying to disengage himself from his
well-meaning admirers, “I’m really much obliged to you; but I think you
might let a fellow go now.”
“But you’ve got to drink with us before we can let you part company,”
cried one officious six-foot native.
“You must excuse me,” said Vance, moving off, “but I don’t drink.”
“You don’t drink!” exclaimed several of the men in a breath, falling
back at what seemed to them a most unheard-of statement. “Did you say
that you didn’t drink?”
“That’s exactly what I did say, and I generally mean what I say,”
answered the boy in a firm tone.
As Vance elbowed his way clear of the mob every one looked at him
with the same curiosity they might have bestowed upon some new and
extraordinary animal which had unexpectedly dropped in among them.
A fellow that did not drink was decidedly something out of the common
in Missouri.
Vance, however, was rescued from this disagreeable situation by the man
whose life he had saved.
The big fellow stepped up, and linking his arm with the lad’s, drew him
off down the street, saying, in a very pleasant and somewhat musical
voice:
“Let us get away from this mob, my young friend; I fancy their
well-meant intentions are not particularly agreeable to either of us. I
can see that you don’t care to be made a hero of, though I never knew
one who more deserved the honor.”
He spoke in such a breezy, whole-souled way that Vance was instantly
prepossessed in his favor.
Though he showed the flavor of the untrammeled West in every movement,
yet there was nothing rough about him.
He was a gentleman from heel to crown.
“I am very glad you were not injured by the runaway, sir,” said Vance
sincerely.
“Thanks to your nerve and presence of mind, I was not; but I had a
narrow call for my life. I owe my preservation to you, my brave lad,
and I wish you to understand that I am deeply grateful to you. You must
let me know your name, for I insist that we shall be better acquainted.”
“My name is Vance Thornton.”
“Thank you; and mine is William Bradhurst.”
“I am pleased to know you, Mr. Bradhurst,” said Vance heartily.
“Not more than I am to know you,” replied the man from the West. “You
are a stranger to this town, I should judge.”
“Yes, sir; I am from Chicago.”
“You interest me. I am bound for that city myself. I expect to take the
afternoon train for St. Louis, to connect with the Panhandle road.”
“I intend to leave to-day for Chicago by the same route,” said Vance,
pleased with the prospect of having so agreeable a companion.
“I am delighted to hear it, my dear fellow,” answered the westerner, in
a tone which indicated his satisfaction. “We will go together, if you
have no objection.”
“I shall be glad to have your society,” assented the boy.
“Good. I was wondering how I would relieve the monotony of the trip.
You have settled the matter in the way I should have preferred.”
By this time they were several blocks from the scene of their thrilling
adventure.
“Where are you stopping?” asked the big fellow.
“At the Planters’ House.”
“Why, that’s where I have put up. If you don’t mind we’ll go there now.
It is nearly lunch hour. Anyhow, I’d like to have a talk with you.”
To this invitation Vance offered no objection, and ten minutes later
they were ascending the hotel elevator together.