BOB AND HIS MOTHER--CONCLUSION
The single second which followed the passage of the express train
seemed to Bob an age.
He continued to swing the red light until he heard a shrill shriek of
the whistle and saw the fire fly from the wheels of the locomotive as
the engine was reversed, and then he staggered up against the little
station.
The express train had been saved!
In less than ten seconds the conductor came running forward.
“What’s the matter, Boswell?” he cried. “Quick, we are behind time
already!”
Bob tried to speak. His voice came almost in a sob.
“Don’t go! The track--the robbers have loosened a rail and----”
“Hullo! it ain’t Boswell at all! Why, what’s the matter with you?
Rivers! Jones! Come here!”
The engineer and one of the brakemen came at the call, and all three
gazed at the young photographer, whose eyes were closed, and whose form
was gradually slipping down on the platform.
“He’s fainting!” went on the conductor. “Here, help me place him on
this baggage truck.”
“What did he stop the train for?” asked the engineer, as he assisted in
making Bob comfortable.
“I don’t know. He said something about robbers and a loosened rail.”
“Is that so? Wait till I get a bit of water and dash it into his face.”
“He’s been cut on the forehead,” put in the brakeman, “and he seems
completely exhausted. You can bet he didn’t stop the train for nothing.”
Water was procured and dashed into Bob’s face. With something of a
shudder he came to his senses.
“Is the train safe?” he asked feebly.
“So far, yes; but what’s the trouble?”
Bob was silent for a moment, as if trying to pull himself together.
Then he sat up.
“Where is the conductor?”
“I am the conductor.”
“You have an express car attached to the train?”
“Yes; but what----”
“Arrest the express agent.”
“Arrest him!” called three of the hearers.
“Yes.”
“What for?”
“He is in with a gang of robbers to rob the car of forty thousand
dollars which you are carrying.”
“How do you know that?”
“I overheard the plot.”
“Do you know the men?”
“Yes.”
“Who are they?”
Bob mentioned the names. Then in as few words as possible he related
how the deed was to be done.
“I believe the boy is right,” said the engineer. “I suspected something
was wrong by the way Mavelt acted yesterday. And, come to think of it,
he asked me the exact time we passed Gooseneck Falls.”
“Then that is the place where the gang will try to throw the train off.”
“Who are you?”
“I am Bob Alden, a travelling photographer. Mr. Maverick hired me to
take pictures along the route for a new guide book.”
“I’ve heard of you,” said the conductor. “By Jove! but this is a
rascally piece of business.”
“What’s to be done?” asked the engineer. “We can’t stay here all night.”
“I’ll tell you what to do,” said Bob. “Run back to that last station
and get a number of officers. Then run up to Gooseneck Falls and
capture the rascals.”
“That’s a good plan,” said the conductor. “And in the mean time I’ll
stay with that express agent and see that he doesn’t skip out.”
“Can I go along?” asked Bob.
“Certainly. Come, I’ll help you to the parlor car and you can go into
the lavatory and wash up. The porter will give you some court-plaster
and such stuff, if you need it.”
Bob braced up and was soon aboard the car. Then they started back, much
to the surprise of the express agent, who came out to inquire what was
up.
The conductor told him, and also ordered him to keep still. The fellow
was very much frightened, and said he knew nothing of the intended
robbery.
While the train was making fast time back to the last station of any
size Bob washed his face, bound up his wounds, and sat down to rest.
The porter offered him some whiskey, but Bob declined.
“I don’t drink liquor, but if you have any coffee----”
“Yes, sah, right away, sah,” returned the darkey, and just before the
train came to a stop the young photographer had a strong cup of coffee,
which made him feel like another person.
Word was at once sent to the nearest police station, and presently four
officers hurried to the train. Behind them came a form that looked
familiar to Bob. It was Frank Landes.
“I was out with the detectives, but I lost your trail in the storm. One
of the men thought you had come here. I was at the police station when
the order for the men came in. What’s up?”
“They are going to bag the whole crowd,” returned Bob. “Come on, if you
want to take part.”
Frank hopped aboard. In a second more they were off. The officers, with
Bob, Frank, and the conductor, occupied the express car, so that very
few of the passengers on the train knew that anything unusual was going
on, although they wondered why the run backward had been made.
The engineer crowded on the steam, and they went spinning along at
the rate of sixty miles an hour. On the way all hands talked over the
prospects ahead.
Suddenly a whistle was heard and the train slowed up.
“Here we are,” said the conductor. “Gooseneck Falls are not over a
hundred yards ahead.”
Bob, Frank, and the officers jumped at once to the ground. Then they
separated, the officers on one side of the track and Bob and Frank on
the other.
“We ought to get some distance away from the track,” said Bob. “It
isn’t likely the gang will remain close at hand when they expect the
train to run off.”
“That’s so, Bob,” returned the young man. “Come, here is a path. Let us
take that.”
The path led to a spot fully a hundred feet back of the track. They
pursued it in silence until Bob caught Frank by the sleeve as a signal
to stop.
“What is it?” whispered the young man.
“They are just ahead.”
“You are sure?”
“Yes. I heard Grogan talking.”
“Hark!”
They listened. This time it was Barker who was speaking.
“Why is the train halting down there? I don’t see anything of Rankin.”
“That’s what I would like to know,” came in Casco’s tones. “Something
is wrong.”
“Sure, an’ that is phat Oi’m afther thinkin’,” put in Grogan.
“I’ve a good mind to go down and see,” said Raymond. “If there is
anything wrong, the sooner we find out the better.”
“Oh, it’s all right,” put in a strange voice, which Bob supposed must
be that of Mavelt. “Don’t get alarmed the first thing.”
“That storm upset me completely,” said Barker. “Hullo, the train is
coming on again!”
“Yes, but awfully slow.”
“They are watching the tracks!” cried Casco. “They must----”
He broke off short. Bob had given a signal to the officers on the other
side of the track. In a second the signal was returned. The gang heard
it as well as Frank and Bob.
“Something is amiss!” cried Raymond.
“An’ we had betther git out,” added Grogan.
He turned to run, but found himself confronted by the young
photographer.
“Sure an’ it’s a ghost!” he shrieked. “Let me go!”
Before he could say a word more Bob struck him in the head, and down
went Grogan in a heap.
“What, Bob?” cried Barker, rushing forward. “How did you escape?”
“That’s my business, Bill Dix. Hold up your hands!”
The man addressed was dumfounded.
“Did you hear?” went on Bob.
“Who told you I was Bill Dix?” cried the robber, savagely, as soon as
he could recover.
“Never mind now. Up with your hands!”
“Never!”
Dix, for that was really Barker’s name, attempted to draw his pistol.
Now came a rush from the other side of the track, and suddenly a pot of
burning red fire lit up the scene.
“Surrender, in the name of the law!”
“Trapped!” yelled Casco. “Boys, we must fight for it.”
“But _you_ sha’n’t do any fighting,” added Frank, and, rushing up
behind the scar-faced man, the young man wrenched the pistol from his
hand and knocked him down.
Raymond turned to flee, but one of the officers caught him, while
Mavelt was also secured, and in five minutes more the entire gang was
under arrest.
“Who gave us away?” demanded Dix, while he was being taken to the train.
“I had that pleasure,” returned Bob. “I told you I would come out on
top, Dix.”
“Just wait till I get out of this scrape, I’ll----”
“You won’t get out of it for a good many years,” put in one of the
officers. “So you might as well keep your temper to yourself.”
The burning of the red fire and the pistol-shots had aroused all the
passengers, and they crowded around when the prisoners were brought to
the train.
A loosened and misplaced rail was found on the track a hundred feet
farther ahead. It was quickly adjusted and fastened down, and then the
express proceeded to the next large station.
At the depot there was a perfect jam, including many women, who had
been passengers on the express. They watched the transferring of the
prisoners to the platform with deep interest.
“William Dix!” suddenly cried a woman from out of the crowd.
Everybody, including Bob, turned toward the woman. She was a person
apparently forty years of age and dressed in black.
“Bill Dix! I must see that man!” went on the woman, and she tried to
push her way forward.
“Do you know the man?” questioned one of the officers.
“Yes, yes! I have been hunting for him for a long time! Oh, let me
speak to him!”
“You may do so at the station-house.”
“Thank you! So he is one of the robbers? I knew he was a bad man, but
he is worse than I supposed.”
The woman followed the crowd to the station-house, where Bob and Frank,
as well as the chief of the officers, made a formal complaint against
the gang.
After this, two of the officers, accompanied by Frank, set out to
recover what they could of the money and other things which had been
stolen.
For some reason he could not explain, Bob was deeply interested in the
woman in black. Presently, seeing a good chance, he spoke to her.
“You say you know this Dix?” he began.
“Yes, I have known him for years.”
“I am very anxious to learn something about him,” went on Bob.
“And I am very anxious to make him tell me something,” returned the
woman. “He did me a wrong, and I want him to do what he can to right
it.”
“He did me a wrong also.”
“Indeed? May I ask your name?”
“I am known as Bob Alden. But my right name is Bob Perry.”
The woman started back and grew as pale as death.
“Robert Perry!” she gasped.
“Yes. But why----”
“Were you the son of Thomas Perry, an army officer?”
“I was, and still am, but----”
“Thank Heavens!” and the woman caught Bob in her arms.
“I don’t understand,” began Bob, with a curious sensation stealing over
him.
“I am your mother, Bob!”
“My mother!”
“Yes, your mother! Oh, how glad I am that I have found you!”
“I’m glad, too,” said Bob, brokenly. His heart was jumping so much he
could not say a great deal. “But it’s all so wonderful,” he added,
after a moment.
“So it is.”
“Where have you been all these years? Why didn’t you come to my Uncle
Robert’s house?”
“It’s a long story. When your father was killed, I nearly lost my mind.
When I recovered, I was told by a man, who I afterward found out was
Dix’s tool, that you had been stolen by the Indians. I made a long
search, lasting years. Then I was coming to your uncle’s home here in
the East, when I learned that he was dead. It was quite by accident
that I discovered the trick which had been played on me, and I at once
set out to find you.”
“And I have been hunting for you,” replied Bob, with a beaming face. “I
understand it all now. Dix was playing a double game--trying to keep me
out of the way at one end and you out of the way at the other. But he
has been foiled, just as he deserved.”
When Dix was confronted by Bob and his newly-found parent, he could not
say a word. He had played a desperate game to the finish and lost.
Bob conducted his mother to a hotel, and here the two spent a happy
night.
One of the first callers in the morning was Frank. He was astonished
when Bob introduced Mrs. Perry.
“So you won’t be a nobody any longer, Bob, eh?” he smiled.
Frank had glorious news. Aided by a confession made by Mavelt, he and
the officers had recovered everything stolen by the gang, including
John Wright’s money and plate, Blake’s package, and Frank’s eighteen
hundred dollars.
“It’s a great haul,” said Bob, “and I believe it will settle this crowd
for good.”
And he was right.
But here we must leave Bob the photographer and pass over a period of
several years.
Bill Dix was tried and sentenced to twenty years in the State prison.
After this sentence is finished he will be sent to Virginia to answer
to a charge involving murder. The other evildoers are also suffering
the penalty of the law.
Old Blake recovered from the attack made upon him by Casco, and
completely reformed. He now lives with his daughter, who is well
settled in life.
Frank Landes is a partner in the firm for which he formerly worked, and
is getting rich rapidly.
Bob and his mother live in an elegant mansion in Stampton. The young
photographer has taken sweet Grace Maverick for a wife.
“And she couldn’t do better, even though the young man isn’t a
millionaire,” says Gregory Maverick, for he is more than pleased over
Bob’s show of bravery.
But Bob is doing well in life, having at present not only the finest
studio in Stampton, but also an interest in one of the largest
photographic supply houses in the country. And so we will leave him,
wishing him continued success.
THE END.
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.
Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.