ONCE MORE ON HAND.
The bullet intended for Skip Brodie passed within half an inch of his
head.
As has been before stated, it was midwinter, but the hardy ruffian did
not seem to be at all affected by the cold.
Instead of striking out boldly for some boats that were anchored in
midstream, he swam slowly along in the shadow of the piers, heading his
course down the river.
The call blown by Nick Carter brought half a dozen police officers to
his aid.
“Get a boat,” he said, “the villain has just this moment leaped into
the river. If he is not at the bottom, he cannot be many yards away.”
The officers obeyed, but not a trace could they find, under or about
the neighboring docks, of Skip.
At one time they were so close to the chase that the bow of the boat
came within an ace of striking the fugitive’s head.
The fellow swam nearly a mile before determining to leave the water,
and then he pulled himself on board of a low-lying canal boat, anchored
at the foot of Thirty-fourth Street.
There were several other vessels lying alongside and, clambering over
these, he soon reached the dock.
In the vicinity was a favorite place of his, “Boozing Ken” he called
it, and thither he repaired.
Like nearly all saloons resorted to by thieves, it was in the basement.
There was a motley company present--toughs, drunken longshoremen,
thieves and, that choice exotic, the young man taking in the town.
“Hello, Skip, what’s up?” said the red-faced barmaid. “Been taking a
bath? Rather cold trick, I should say.”
“Hush up! Give me a drink.”
A bottle and glass were placed before Brodie, and, each time filling
the glass to the brim, he tossed off three drinks of the fiery stuff in
rapid succession.
“What’s up?”
The woman leaned over the bar as she spoke.
“The devil is to pay!” replied Skip. “Where is Jack?”
“In the other room.”
“Anyone with him?”
“Yes.”
“Who?” asked Skip.
“That high-toned friend of yours,” replied the woman. “You know, the
kid-gloved bloke. I forget what you call him.”
“I know who you mean.”
“Come in, Crackers; come in, I say.”
Tambourine Jack and his remarkable brute walked into the place.
Skip Brodie started as one who believes he sees a ghost.
A thought struck him, and with him to think was to act.
Rushing upon the little fellow, he caught him by the hair.
“Let go!”
“Damn the dog!” yelled Brodie.
Crackers had sprung upon his master’s assailant.
“Let go, I say!” cried Tambourine Jack.
Skip did release his hold, saying:
“You are genuine; I thought it was another.”
“And has any gentleman arrived in town that resembles me?” inquired
Jack. “I should just like to set my eyes on him, I would.”
“And so would I, if I had the upper hand,” muttered the ruffian.
“Strange, you should have taken anyone for me,” said Tambourine. “You
might know me by Crackers.”
“That’s where I got taken in,” said Skip. “He had a yellow dog just the
size of yours, and he also called him Crackers.”
“Do you hear that, Crackers?” said Tambourine Jack, addressing
the mongrel with great solemnity. “There are a couple of fakirs
traveling around injuring our good name. We’ll bring an action against
them”--the speaker turned to Brodie and held out his immense hands for
inspection--“I’ll lay Crackers against a soda biscuit that this nervy
chap did not have a pair of flips like them.”
Both the barmaid and Brodie laughed at this.
“Come, Skip,” said the barmaid, leading the way to the back room.
“Can I come?” asked Jack.
“Yes,” replied Brodie; “there is no mistake about your identity this
time.”
At a table in the back room was Elmer Greer, and seated opposite him a
fellow of the bruiser type, who kept the place.
The pair professed to be glad to see the newcomers, except Crackers.
That member of the party sniffed around Greer’s legs in a manner to
make their owner very uncomfortable.
“Jack, get me some dry togs and bring in some roaring hot punch. I swam
down from the ranch.”
Skip’s hearers were surprised, and began to ply him with questions, all
of which he refused to answer until he had changed his clothing.
When he had effected a change and gulped down more than one glass of
punch, he gave them a recital of what had occurred.
They were all attention, especially Elmer Greer.
“Are you sure, Skip,” he said, “that Hilton Field is safe?”
“Of course.”
“But those fellows may go back on us,” suggested Greer; “money is
tempting, and in the course of a day or two a large sum will be offered
for information of his whereabouts. Then, too, the detectives may
discover the hand we had in it.”
“Nick Carter already knows that. Dell Ladley, you may be sure, once she
began to talk, kept nothing from him.”
“Where have they taken the banker?” asked Greer.
“To the old house up at Sands Point, on Long Island,” was the reply.
“You need not fear for his safety. Mackrell is with them, and he is as
true as steel.”
The owner of the face pressed against the glass window that gave light
and sometimes ventilation to the room, drank in this last speech of
Brodie’s with great satisfaction.
And when the ruffian had finished the face disappeared.
“Our friend here,” said Jack Shea, the proprietor of the den,
addressing Skip and nodding toward Elmer, “has a nice lay for the boys.”
“Carrying off another old bloke, I suppose,” remarked Brodie.
“No, something in the bank-cracking line. It’s a soft thing.”
“Yes,” added Greer, “there will not be the slightest trouble.”
“Well, count me out,” said Skip. “New York is getting too hot for me; I
guess I’ll rusticate for a while.”
“If you are going to Florida for the good of your health,” remarked
Tambourine Jack, crossing one leg over the other, “count me in; my
lungs ain’t very strong, and as for Crackers, he has consumption very
bad. Haven’t you, old boy?”
There was a knock on the room door and, without waiting to be invited
in, the barmaid entered.
“Skip,” she said, “a young woman outside wants to see you.”
The ruffian followed the barmaid and found himself face to face with
Dell Ladley.
“You here!” he exclaimed. “You have nerve, at any rate. Don’t you know
I will kill you?”
“I care not,” she said, placing her hand tenderly on his shoulder.
With an angry motion he removed it and caught her by the throat.
“I said I would kill you!” he hoarsely cried, his grip becoming tighter
and tighter.
The poor girl grew black in the face; she tried to speak, but the
sounds were lost in gurgles.
“Don’t kill her,” said one of the roughs who crowded the place.
“What is the matter?” cried Shea, Greer and Tambourine Jack, who came
into the outer room, attracted by the noise.
“Matter enough. I have the traitress; she shall not escape me this
time,” exclaimed the ruffian.
The dog Crackers seemed to be a natural defender of everybody in
trouble.
He fastened his teeth in Skip’s thigh, causing that gentleman to yell
with pain.
“Down, Crackers, down,” cried Tambourine Jack, but the dog for once did
not obey.
“Do not murder her,” said Elmer Greer.
“Don’t you interfere.”
“I will, though,” exclaimed a man, making his way through the crowd
that surrounded the villain.
“Nick Carter!” shouted some one, in the crowd, and everybody rushed
from the place, except the barmaid, Brodie and his intended victim.
“Demon or whatever you are!” cried Skip, as he allowed the now
senseless girl to drop from his grasp, “is it possible you can read
tracks in the water as Indians read them on land?”
“You are my prisoner,” said the detective, drawing a pair of handcuffs
from his pocket.
Once again that night he had saved Dell Ladley’s life.
He was as much surprised to see the girl there as was Skip Brodie, when
the latter met her face to face.
Poor girl! She knew the detective would come hunting for Skip, and she
had determined to warn him.
Dell was not, as the ruffian thought, a traitress.
Old Man Moses deliberately lied when he said so.
“I’ll not go with you,” exclaimed Skip, making a dash for the door.
“Oh, yes, you will.”
The detective struck out with his fist and the ruffian fell like a log.
It was the work of a minute for Nick to fix the bracelets.
While he was doing so, the barmaid approached from behind with a heavy
pitcher in her hand, intending to lay him out.
A warning growl from Crackers, who, strange to say, had not left the
place, caught Nick’s attention.
He turned quickly on the woman, who ran behind the bar.
Without further interference he led his prisoner from the house.