BOB FORMS A RESOLUTION
The attack was so sudden and unexpected that Bob had all he could do to
hold on with the remaining hand.
“Let up!” he cried.
“Not much! Off you go, Alden!”
“Help! help!” cried Bob.
He attempted to draw back on the platform, but Casco held him fast by
the arm, while at the same time trying to push him away from his hold.
“What’s up?” cried the train-hand from the other car.
“Here he is! Help me!” returned Bob.
“I will.”
Casco’s face fell when he heard that Bob had help close at hand. He
made another effort to push the young photographer off, and had almost
succeeded when the train-hand appeared.
“By hookey!” cried the man. “Stop that, you villain!”
Just then Casco succeeded in making Bob let go his hold. But now the
train-hand caught the youth by the arm, and drew him back in safety to
the platform.
“There you are. It was a narrow escape.”
“Thank you!” gasped Bob. “Indeed it was.”
“So he’s safe in that car.”
“Yes.”
“Just wait till I call Jack, and we’ll bag him.”
“All right. But be careful.”
The train-hand ran off over the cars, while Bob, pistol in hand, sat
down to watch for any movement Casco might make.
It was a novel situation, but it cannot be said that Bob enjoyed it.
Five minutes passed. Bob wondered how long the train-hand expected to
be gone. Every second seemed ten to the young photographer.
Suddenly with a shriek of the whistle the freight train slowed up, and
came very nearly to a stop. The train-hand appeared, but, instead of
helping Bob, began to put on brakes as fast as possible.
“Better watch your man,” he cried. “I’ve got to obey the whistle.”
Bob did watch, and almost instantly saw Casco spring from the open car
into a patch of brushwood. The scar-faced man tumbled over, but at once
arose, and ran off through the darkness.
The young photographer’s first impulse was to follow. But then he
reasoned that the darkness was against him, and the district was one
entirely unknown to him.
“He’s gone,” he said to the train-hand as the whistle came to loosen
brakes again.
“Skipped, did he?”
“Yes. What neighborhood is this?”
“We are just coming into Kentown. Here is the station.”
As the man spoke, they rolled into a long, narrow milk depot. Without
waiting to see if the train would come to a stop, Bob called out a
good-night and sprang off.
He met but three men at the depot, and all of these were so busy
handling milk-cans that they could spare no time to hear what he might
have to say.
Finally the young photographer asked if there was a constable in town,
and he was directed to one Aaron Dimler, who lived but a few rods from
the depot.
Bob had a hard time arousing Dimler, but once aroused the constable was
eager to join the youth in a search for the scar-faced man.
“We had better walk up the track to where he jumped off the freight,”
said the constable. “Then I’ll be better able to judge of the direction
he took.”
So the two half-walked, half-ran up the track until Bob called a halt.
“Is this the spot?” asked the constable.
“As near as I can judge it is,” returned Bob.
“There’s a hat. Was that his?”
“Yes.”
“Then you’re right about the spot. Did he start off in that direction?”
“I believe he did.”
“Then the place he would be likely to strike would be Raymond’s
cross-road hotel.”
“How far is that from here?”
“Not over five minutes’ walk. If he’s reached that place, you might as
well give up the hunt.”
“Why?”
“You will never learn anything from Raymond. He is a bad one, and has
been in court half a dozen times.”
“I would like to know if Casco knows him?” mused Bob.
“Even if he didn’t, Raymond would befriend him, if he knew the sort of
chap the man you are after was. He has sheltered more criminals than I
can mention.”
“I am quite interested,” said Bob. “Come on!”
But the constable held back. The fact of the matter was that Raymond
was down on him, and had threatened to make matters warm if he found
Dimler around his hotel.
“We can go in the morning,” said the constable, by way of excuse.
“Casco may be gone by that time, if he is there.”
“I have no papers to search Raymond’s place. I don’t want to get into
trouble.”
“I believe you are afraid,” cried Bob, somewhat angrily. “I will go
alone.”
He turned on his heel at once. Dimler’s brow contracted.
“Well, go on, if you’re so headstrong,” he said, and, as Bob passed out
of hearing, he added: “He’ll have a fine time if he riles Raymond up,
see if he don’t.”
The road was a perfectly straight one, and Bob had but little
difficulty in finding the cross-road hotel Dimler had mentioned.
On the way the young photographer kept his eyes wide open for Casco,
but saw nothing of the scar-faced man. Arriving at Raymond’s hotel,
he found the place to consist of a long, two-story building, with an
addition in the rear running down to the edge of a brook. A dim lamp,
swinging from a post by the stepping-block, lit up the exterior of the
hotel. A light also shone from the bar-room, and sounds of boisterous
laughing reached the youth’s ears.
“They must keep the place wide open all night,” thought Bob. “I think I
will take a look around before I go in.”
Having inspected the front part of the hotel, Bob passed around one
side and then to the back.
Here was situated the kitchen, and, coming closer, Bob heard two
persons conversing in low tones.
One was a man, evidently a stable-hand, and the other a woman-of-all-work.
“What kept you so long, Ike?” asked the woman of the man, who had
evidently just come in.
“The boss wanted me to look out for the billiard-room for a while.”
“Why, where is Dick?”
“Tendin’ bar. He had to do it cos the boss had a visitor just now, an’
he had to show the feller a room.”
“A visitor this time of night? Who was it, any of the old ones?”
“That fellow was here a couple of times last week. He came in a
tremendous hurry, he did.”
“Say, there is something up between the boss an’ that feller,”
commented the woman, as she lit a hand-lamp and moved toward a door.
“What makes you think that, Sadie?”
“Cos he an’ the boss did a pile of whisperin’ the other night, an’ when
the boss does that why----” and the woman finished with a low laugh.
“Well, it ain’t none of our affairs, Sadie.”
“That’s so, so long as we git our wages. But come on to bed.”
“I’m ready. This bein’ up half the night makes me dead tired.”
The woman passed through the door, and, after extinguishing the large
lamp which hung from a bracket, the man followed her.
Bob had listened with keen interest to the conversation between the
pair. One thing was settled. Jim Casco was in the house.
Now what was best to do? Bob knew of no officer whom he could summon
save Dimler, and after the way that individual had acted, the young
photographer did not feel disposed to ask anything further at his hands.
Bob passed back as far as the brook, and here sat down to think matters
over. Several things were quite clear to him.
One was that Casco, Barker, and Grogan were in the vicinity for no good
purpose.
The second was that Casco was acquainted with Raymond, and that he had
called there before. This would tend to the idea that Raymond’s place
was to be a sort of headquarters for the crowd of evildoers.
“I’ll shadow them, and find out what they are up to,” was Bob’s resolve.
And, when Bob made a resolution, he always stuck to it.
Presently, as Bob sat thinking, he saw a light flash from one of the
upper windows of the hotel. Then a curtain was drawn down, and for a
second a profile stood out on the white surface.
The profile was perfect, so perfect, in fact, that the young
photographer had no difficulty in guessing its original.
The profile was that of Casco.