IN THE FLAMES.
Nick Carter and his little friend remained in the cabin of Sam Cole
until daybreak.
Then they sought Skip Brodie and Dick Denton, but, although they
searched the country for miles around and questioned everyone they met,
not a trace of the fleeing villains could they find.
Tired and hungry, they returned to the negro’s cabin, and, after a
short rest, Nick Carter left for New York.
Tambourine Jack had informed him that Denton said Wilbur was killed by
Elmer Greer, and the latter intended leaving the country.
It would never do to let the arch rogue escape, and Nick determined
that he should not.
The little fellow, when the detective left him alone with his
companion, Crackers, felt lonesome.
Jack could not explain satisfactorily to his own mind the depression of
spirits.
He found some liquor in the cupboard, and, although he imbibed quite
freely, the feeling of heaviness and melancholy did not leave him.
The sun was sinking behind the wood surrounding the hut, when the door
was thrown open and Dell Ladley entered.
Before going to Shea’s place, after leaving Elmer Greer, Dick
Denton had called upon the girl and given her instructions to open
negotiations with the banker’s family for his return.
He had informed her of the location of their hiding place, and,
without much difficulty, Dell was able to find it.
“Hello, Jack, you here?”
“Well, I seem to be,” replied that individual, “but I can’t say as how
I like it.”
“Where are Skip and Dick?” the girl inquired.
“I don’t know; wish I did.”
The door was flung open and Brodie and Denton entered.
Skip was in a towering passion, as was also his pal.
“Everything is all right,” said Dell, “I saw his daughter, a sweet
girl, and she promised to pay the reward and will not prosecute. She
will bring the money here or send it.”
Brodie broke into a flood of profanity.
“We can’t return the banker, worse luck,” remarked Denton.
“Why?”
“Because we have lost him, you jade,” cried Skip, “and the chances are
we will not find him again. It is all your fault, Dick.”
“I don’t see how you make that out,” said Denton. “I am sure I did not
tell the fellow to run away with him.”
“No, but you said the negro would act straight,” replied Brodie. “I did
not like the fellow’s looks from the first.”
“Admitting that I was wrong in my estimate of Sam Cole,” said Dick,
“you should have watched him more closely if you were suspicious of
him. The banker must have reached his car in some way. He did not learn
from us who or what our captive was, and you may be sure he had a
knowledge of Field’s importance before running off with him. You, and
you alone, are to blame; did I not know you so well I should think
that you and Sam had combined to dump me.”
“Dick, I was drunk,” said Skip.
“Well, it is no time for recriminations,” remarked Denton, “but I would
just like to set my eyes on Cole. You can bet the gates of the nigger
heaven would open to receive a permanent boarder.”
“Suppose we were to enlist some of the coons down at the shore in the
search?” suggested Brodie. “They would be more likely to get track of
Sam than I.”
“You couldn’t get one of them to stir or give you any information,”
answered Dick, “the fellow has so terrorized them. He knows these woods
thoroughly, and at the present moment he may be hid not a thousand
yards away.”
Sam Cole was not ten yards away.
With his eye glued to the chink before used by Nick Carter, the negro
took in all that was passing between the inmates of his cabin.
Cole grinned when Denton spoke of killing him on sight, and, indeed, he
was tempted to enter and confront the pair.
Sam was heavily armed, and, besides, he was a very daring fellow.
“I will go in,” he muttered, and he did so.
Skip’s pistol was out in a jiffy.
“You!” he roared.
“Hold on, mister.”
Cole also drew a pistol.
“Where is the old man?” Denton asked. “Speak quick, or it will go hard
with you.”
“You mean the old gent that occupied the garret?”
“Who else?” cried Dick.
“Well, he ain’t up there any more,” replied Sam. “In fact, he has
changed his residence.”
“You carried him off, you black hound!” exclaimed Brodie, toying
nervously with his weapon; “I saw you.”
“Oh, yes, I accompanied him to his new quarters.”
“You must give him up,” said Denton.
“Must?”
“Yes, must.”
“I’ll think about it,” remarked the negro; “in fact, I have been
thinking something about it, but I have not as yet made up my mind to
do so.”
“The sooner you do the better.”
Brodie took deliberate aim at Sam’s head as he spoke.
“How much will I get if I bring him back?” asked Cole.
“You’ll be killed if you don’t conduct us to where he is,” yelled Skip.
“I will see that you get at least a thousand dollars, Sam,” said Dick.
“When we first came here, I told you that you would be well taken care
of, and here you go to work and play this dirty trick upon my pal and
me.”
“It was only a joke,” muttered the negro, “only a joke, Mr. Denton.”
“Confound such jokes,” cried Brodie, “I suppose tying me up was another
joke?”
Sam laughed at this, and, had Denton not knocked the pistol out of his
hand, Skip would have shot the fellow.
“I came here to take you to the place where the old man is,” said Cole,
not in the least upset by Brodie’s effort to kill him. “I would not go
back on you, Mr. Denton, but I would advise your friend to be a little
more careful with that shooter of his, or I may be compelled to hurt
him.”
Sam led the way into the wood, and the pair followed, leaving
Tambourine Jack and Dell behind in the cabin.
They had not penetrated far into the woods when, with a loud laugh, the
negro sprang away.
He dodged about the trees, and none of the bullets directed at him
reached the mark; neither were Dick nor Skip able to overtake the
fleet-footed fellow.
It was late when the chagrined pair returned to the hut and found Dell
Ladley alone.
Tambourine Jack was absent, but he could not have gone far, because
Crackers was left behind.
“What luck?” the girl asked.
“None,” replied Denton; “the black fiend was conning us. I’ll come
across him yet.”
Skip Brodie was beside himself with rage, and he paced the floor,
growling like a wild beast.
After all his work he found himself without a cent and in danger of his
life for the murders he had committed.
“Elmer Greer first,” Brodie said, “then the negro, and I shall feel
somewhat resigned when the hangman eventually places the noose about my
neck.”
Both he and Denton had agreed to go to the city on the following night
and make an effort to find Greer.
A light was made and supper prepared by Dell Ladley.
The turbulence of their passions did not prevent the pair from making a
hearty meal of the rough food which the cabin afforded.
Dick Denton made a smoking bowl of punch, and he was about to fill out
glasses for himself and his pal, when the door was thrown violently
open.
Rusty Owens and five companions entered the room.
At the advent of the newcomers, Skip was on his feet in an instant.
“Don’t let me disturb you,” remarked Rusty; “finish your supper; I can
wait.”
“How did you find us out?” Denton asked, greatly surprised.
“You chaps talked pretty loud when you got into your boat over on our
side, and a friend of mine overheard you say you were coming here.”
“And what the devil do you want?” asked Brodie.
“Well, in the first place, I wish to introduce my friends here to the
old gent,” replied Rusty; “they wants to make his acquaintance.”
“I hope you may find him,” remarked Denton; “he is not here.”
“That’s gammon,” said Rusty Owens.
He sent two of his friends to search the premises, but, of course, they
were not successful in discovering Hilton Field.
“Where have you stowed his nibs?” asked Owens.
“He has been stolen from us,” answered Denton. “I don’t know why I
should tell you even that much; it is none of your business where he
is.”
“You are wrong there, my friend,” remarked Owens; “we have as much
right in this business as you have.”
“Put up that pistol!” yelled one of Rusty’s companions.
Denton had drawn his weapon, but when he saw that each of the newcomers
covered him with revolvers, he replaced it in his pocket.
Brodie was standing at the table, and the girl was seated at his side.
“I want you and your mob to leave here,” he said angrily, addressing
Owens.
“Not quite yet,” Rusty replied. “I have a little matter to settle with
you before I go.”
The speaker walked to where Skip was standing, and, catching that
gentleman by the ears, spat in his face.
With an infuriated cry, Brodie threw himself upon the other, and the
pair fell to the floor.
Rusty seemed to be possessed of prodigious strength.
Very easily did he shake himself free of his powerful antagonist and
rise to his feet.
“I guess there is really only one way to settle such carrion as you.”
Saying this, Owens drew a pistol and cocked it.
He emptied the revolver into the body of the prostrate man.
The others threw themselves upon Dick Denton and bound him with a rope
they found upon the floor--the one Sam Cole had bound Skip Brodie with.
A cry of agony escaped Dell Ladley when Owens fired upon her husband.
Skip’s pistol lay upon the table; grasping it, she rushed upon Rusty,
and when but a few feet from him, fired.
The fellow rolled over upon the body of his victim, dead.
One of the ruffians picked up a chair, and brought it down with such
crushing force upon Dell Ladley’s head that she sank to the floor
insensible.
Dick Denton raved and swore, struggling the while to free himself, but
unsuccessfully.
The ruffians examined their leader and found that he was dead.
“Shoot that fellow,” suggested one, pointing to Dick Denton.
“Yes, kill him,” added another, who was about to do so.
“Let him stay where he is; we’ll burn the house,” cried a third.
This was agreed to by the fellow’s companion demons.
They dragged several straw mattresses outside, and, closing the door,
set fire to them.
The hut was old and as dry as a chip.
With fearful rapidity the fire grew until in a few minutes Sam’s cabin
was wrapped in a shroud of flame.
No Indian ever died at the stake with more courage than did
Denton--not a cry escaped him, even when the flames reached him.
A little figure dashed into the clearing and rushed toward the burning
hut.
Strong arms grasped him and prevented him from entering.
“Poor Crackers!” and the creature threw himself on the ground and began
to cry.