TOM MAKES AN UNEXPECTED CAPTURE
For an unearthly scream pierced the air. There was a wrench, a bounding
figure---and then Tom Reade felt a jolt near his solar plexus that made
him gasp.
"Stop that!" gasped the young chief engineer.
"You, Senor?" demanded an incredible, drowsy voice.
"Yes; it's I---Reade."
"A thousand pardons, Senor!"
"So this is you, Nicolas?"
"Yes, Senor."
"What are you doing here?"
"The negro got away from me."
"I know that, but---"
"I could not help it, Senor. I assure you I was not careless."
"I never knew you to be careless, Nicolas."
"Thank you, Senor. But I stood over that black scoundrel, watching for
the slightest move on his part. I had my forefinger ready, and he did not
dare move."
"I can quite believe that," agreed Tom, dryly, "after the poke you just
gave me."
"Again a thousand pardons, Senor, but in the dark, and awaking so suddenly,
I did not see you or know you."
"I can quite believe that, Nicolas."
"As I was saying, Senor, I was watching over the black man when some one
came up behind me---so softly that I did not hear. But I felt. _Ah!_ What
I felt! It was a fist that seemed to break in the top of my head. Down I
went, and I heard a voice. I knew that voice, too. So would you have
known it, Senor!"
"Whose voice was it?" asked Tom, curiously.
"The voice of Evarts."
"The discharged foreman?"
"Yes, Senor. But I am delaying my story. While Evarts was speaking I
heard another sound. At one effort the negro snapped the cords that held
him. Ah, he is a powerful brute."
"He is," Tom affirmed solemnly.
"I knew it was my task to keep the negro from getting away," continued the
little Mexican excitedly. "So I leaped up, extended my forefinger and
rushed at him. But thees Evarts---hees feest catch me between the eyes.
I do not have to guess the spot where he struck me, Senor, for I can
feel it yet. Down I went, and knew no more. When next I opened my
eyes I found myself lying in the middle of a theecket of bushes. I theenk,
perhaps, the scoundrels believed they had killed me, and so they hid my
body. But I have fool' them. I am still alive---much alive!"
"What did you do when you came to, Nicolas?"
"Senor," protested the Mexican, "there was no more need of me. You had
gone after men. Eef you came back, you have many men with you, so you do
not need me. For that reason I come home."
Even in the dark the young engineer could "feel" Nicolas's shudder. Tom
could not repress a smile that threatened to become a chuckle.
"I was varee sleepy," continued Nicolas, "and so I lay down. I forgot to
undress, or even to take off my shoes. I fall asleep, and I dream much.
I see the big negro again, and I dream that I have more fight with heem.
Then, when you pull my foot, I wake up in one gr-rand sweat, for I theenk
the big black attack me once more. I am glad---so glad that it is not
true."
"Nicolas," cried Tom, "you have done fighting enough for one night. Yet
tell me, how did you happen to be at hand to-night in time to save me from
Mr. Sambo Ebony?"
"Because I see you start away to-night," replied Nicolas, "an' I see that
you go alone. I know that you mos' likely run into trouble, an' so I
follow you. Sure enough, Senor, you find trouble---and I heet heem with
my finger!"
"You surely did 'hit him with your finger,' Nicolas," laughed Tom, grasping
the little Mexican's hand and wringing it. "But now come outside. I had
sent for the police to find you, and now I must show them that you are
already found."
Together they went out on the porch. Tom explained the situation.
"Then you don't need us, after all?" asked one of the policemen.
"Not to find Nicolas," Tom Reade admitted. "But do you know Evarts?"
"Used to be your foreman?"
"Yes."
"We know him," nodded the policeman.
"Then," Reade continued, "I wish you would search through Blixton for
him. If you find him, be good enough to lock him up and notify me."
"Is there a warrant out against him?" asked one of the policemen,
cautiously.
"You don't need one," Tom replied. "I will make a charge of felony
against Evarts, to the effect that he is concerned in the outrages
against our wall. On a felony charge you don't need a warrant. Then,
too, try to find the big negro."
"What's his name?"
"I don't know his name," Tom answered. "I've dubbed him 'Sambo Ebony.'
You have the description of him that I wrote out. Arrest Sambo, by all
means, if you can find him, and I'll make a felony charge against him,
too. The negro is the one who has been blowing up the sea wall."
"We'll look for the pair all through the town, Mr. Reade," promised the
officers.
"Do! And, on behalf of the company, I'll offer a two-hundred dollar reward
for the arrest of each man!"
With that prospect to spur them on the policemen hastened away, followed
by the young man with the bloodhound.
"Now, Nicolas," pressed Reade, turning around at the faithful little brown
man, "you tumble back into bed."
"But you, Senor?"
"Don't worry about me. I've probably done all I need to do to-night. I
shall probably sit here on the porch and think until daylight. Then I'll
call Hazelton, and go to bed for a few hours' sleep before I appear in
court against the gamblers and the bootleggers. Go to bed, Nicolas, and
sleep! That's an order, remember!"
The Mexican therefore went to his bedroom without protest. Presently Reade
became aware of the fact that his clothing had not by any means fully
dried. He went to his room, took a vigorous rub-down, donned dry clothing,
and then went out on the porch.
Though the night was dark the air was delicious. The combined odors of
many flowers came in on the faintly stirring breeze.
Tom leaned back in a chair, his feet on the porch railing. His senses
lulled by the quiet and repose of the night he was in danger of falling
asleep.
Of a sudden he came to with a start. Off among the trees to the eastward,
near the road, a human being was stirring.
Reade rose, moving swiftly back more into the shadow. Then he watched,
every sense alert. Yes; some one was moving, out there amid the trees.
What he could not see, Tom discovered by his acute sense of hearing.
"I'll put a hot pebble in that fellow's bonnet, whoever he is!" Tom
muttered vengefully. Entering the house, he left at the rear, then made
a stealthy, roundabout trip that brought him at the farther edge of the
litte grove of trees.
Now the young engineer crouched close to the ground as he listened. Once
more he heard that some one moving, not many yards away. It was
pitch-black in there amid the trees. Guided by his ears, Tom moved closer
and closer without making a betraying sound. Suddenly he found the tall
figure looming up almost in his path.
"Now, I've got you!" cried Tom exultantly, making a bound that should have
carried his hands to the throat of the prowler.
But the other, like a flash, went on the defensive. Tom felt himself
parried, then clutched at. The next instant the prowler had the young
engineer in a tackle that carried Tom Reade back to the good old high
school days at home. The young engineer was dumped on the ground as though
he had been a sack of flour.
"Great Scott!" quivered Tom Reade. "No one but Dick Prescott ever had
that tackle down fine!"
"Well, you blithering idiot!" came the indignant answer. "That's who I
am---Prescott!"