THE ENGLISHMAN’S BAG.
Terry lifted the hand holding the knife as Ben approached. Doubting if
the drunken man would heed his words, and realizing that it would be
impossible to reach his side in time to prevent the meditated crime, the
boy fired at the uplifted arm. Instead of finding a lodging in flesh and
muscle the bullet struck the blade of the knife and broke it off short
at the handle.
His hand and arm temporarily paralyzed by the force of the impact, Terry
caught hold of his wrist with his left hand and looked about with a
snarl on his bloated face.
When Ben stepped within the circle of light about the fire he drew back
still, clutching his benumbed wrist.
“What’d you do that for?” he demanded.
“I didn’t want you to kill the man,” replied Ben. “Who is he, and where
did he come from?”
“He butted in!” answered Terry shortly. “He wanted to take my provisions
and my drink by force. He was too fresh, and I knocked him down. I guess
he isn’t hurt much.”
“How’d he get here?” asked Ben.
“I don’t know, and I don’t care!” was the sullen reply. “I might ask the
same about you. What do you want here, anyway?”
“Dick Sherman sent me!” was the reply.
“All right,” answered the other. “I know Dick Sherman. He’s good people!
Why didn’t he come himself?”
“He’ll be here to-morrow,” replied Ben, drawing slightly on his
imagination. “He’ll tell you all about it then.”
Ben was angry at the impertinent manner of the fellow, but he understood
that he was there to placate him if possible, so he refrained from
further conversation at that time. Turning to the man lying by the fire,
he lifted him in his arms and carried him to a more comfortable
position.
“If you’ll fetch me some whiskey,” he said, “I’ll bring this man back to
life. I guess the fellow needs something to eat more than anything
else!”
Grumbling that he had no liquor to give away, Terry reluctantly produced
a flask from his pocket, and Ben applied the same to the mouth of the
unconscious man. He opened his eyes and tried to sit up as the fiery
liquid scorched his throat.
“I say, don’t do that, you know!” he gasped.
“That’s for your own good!” Ben chuckled.
“But, I say, you know, the blawsted thing is burning clear down to me
boots, don’t ye know!”
“I’m glad of that,” Ben grinned. “It seems to be having the desired
effect! How’d you like to have something to eat about now?”
“I’m that hungry,” was the answer, “that I could eat a cat, don’t ye
know! I’ve been long without food or drink.”
Ben turned to Terry to ask if anything in the line of provisions could
be had there, but the fellow was seen wandering off in the direction of
the cavern. After assisting the stranger to an easier position, Ben
followed on after the guardian of the smuggled goods.
When he reached the cavern he found Terry lying flat on his face an
empty whiskey flask in his hand. Kicks and cuffs did no good whatever,
so the boy was obliged to leave him there to sleep off his debauch. When
he went back to the fire he found the stranger retrieving his silk hat
and hand-bag. He appeared much annoyed at the condition of both!
“The bloomin’ idiot!” he cried, “burned me luggage and mutilated me hat!
Do you happen to know,” he went on with a pleading expression, “how one
can get out of this blawsted country?”
“If you can walk about half a mile up and down hill,” Ben returned, “I
can take you out in a flying machine.”
The stranger eyed Ben dubiously.
“You’re a school-boy,” he said. “You can’t run a flying machine!”
“Do you want to go?” asked Ben impatiently.
The stranger admitted that he wanted to go, but still expressed doubts
as to Ben’s ability to handle an aeroplane.
“All right, stay here if you want to,” Ben said. “But perhaps you’d
better tell me your name so I can make a report to your friends if I’m
asked any questions.”
“My name,” answered the other, “is Claude Mercer DuBois, and I’m from
London, England. I came to this blawsted country after big game and I’ve
been made game of myself.”
“Well, Claude Mercer DuBois,” Ben went on with a grin, “if you want to
get down to camp where you can get plenty to eat and drink, you’d better
be hiking toward the machine. I came up here to talk with Terry, but
he’s pickled and I can’t get any satisfaction out of him so I’ll have to
come back some other time.”
It took a long time for Claude Mercer DuBois to climb the steep gully,
wade through the snow on the summit, and pass down to the landing where
the _Louise_ was expected to pick the two up. The journey was completed
at length, however, and soon Ben saw the aeroplane off to the south. He
signaled with his electric and directly the machine dropped down almost
at the feet of the disgusted Englishman.
“I say,” he said, “this is quite remarkable, you know. Here I find
school-boys running machines our army officers fail to handle.”
“We do a good many things on this side of the pond,” laughed Ben, “which
you Englishmen will never be able to accomplish!”
“If you want to get down to our camp, hop in,” Jimmie urged.
As the Englishman took his seat, Jimmie leaned over and whispered in the
ear of his chum:
“Where did you find it, and what are you going to do with it?”
“Just at present,” Ben answered, “I’m a life saving station. I’m taking
this fellow down where he can get something to eat and drink. There’s no
telling how long he’s been wandering about the mountains, but there’s no
doubt that he’s about all in!”
Ben handed DuBois his bag and climbed into the seat with Jimmie. When
the machine was well under way, cutting the freezing air of the
mountaintop like a knife, the Englishman began begging to be lowered to
the earth. He actually trembled every time the machine tipped in a
current of air. Once or twice Ben steadied him with his hand.
“Let me out!” DuBois pleaded, his voice rising shrill above the din of
the motors. “If I fall when I’m walking, don’t you know,” he went on,
“I’m there on the ground, but if I fall when I’m riding on one of these
blawsted airships, I’m there in the ground, don’t you know!”
“You’ll be all right as soon as you get your second wind!” exclaimed
Ben. “It’s always a little shock at first!”
“Me second wind?” demanded the Englishman. “I got more than me second
wind climbing the slope when I saw the embers of the fire you picked me
out of.”
“Well, you’ll soon be at the camp,” Ben consoled, “and then you can tell
us the story of your life if you want to.”
Carl and Mr. Havens were rather astonished at seeing the boys return
with another stranger, a man who appeared to be both weak and
discouraged.
“Now, I wonder what bush they picked that off from?” asked Carl as
DuBois almost fell out of the seat. “Looks to me like they went and
picked it before it was ripe.”
“I never saw anything like it,” replied Mr. Havens. “You boys find
strangers at every turn of the road. You’ll go above clouds some day and
find a couple of boys sitting on a fog bank!”
“Come, get a move on, here!” cried Ben, giving DuBois a seat on a
blanket by the fire. “My friend is hungry and wants a few dozen eggs and
about a quart of coffee!”
As Ben spoke he lifted the hand-bag from the place where it had fallen
and started toward the tent with it.
“Here, you cawn’t take that away, don’t you know,” DuBois exclaimed.
“That’s me luggage!”
“All right, wear it for a watch-charm if you want to,” Ben declared,
throwing the hand-bag down by the Englishman’s side.
In the meantime Jimmie and Carl busied themselves preparing a meal for
the wanderer. When it was quite ready he insisted on going to the stream
which ran through the valley not far away and bathing his hands and face
in the clear water. When he returned he took the key to the hand-bag
from his pocket and threw back the bolt.
“There’s a bawth towel in here,” he said in a moment, “and I’ll be
obliged to use it until I get to me boxes, don’t ye know! Do you think,”
he went on with a wistful look, “that we’ll soon come to a place where I
can get me morning tub?”
“You can get a tub in the brook!” laughed Jimmie. “There’s plenty of
rattlesnakes and lizards along the edges of the stream, but after you
get out into the middle you won’t find anything more dangerous than
alligators!”
“Don’t ye know,” grinned the Englishman, “I think you’re spoofing me!”
“He’s great fun, ain’t he?” whispered Jimmie, as DuBois shot back the
bolt and opened his hand-bag. He took out first a comb, a brush, and a
hand mirror. Then followed a bath towel of goodly size.
“And me ’andkerchiefs,” mused the Englishman. “I don’t see anything of
the blawsted ’andkerchiefs!”
He kept digging away at the hand-bag, drawing out one article after
another, until at last he came to a garment which brought something more
than surprise and excitement to the faces of the boys. It was a sporty
sack coat, the pattern being according to latest Bowery cut, the
material coarse, and the markings of the cloth loud in the extreme.
DuBois poked the coat over and over on the ground with one disdainful
finger. He seemed surprised at finding it in his bag.
“Now, where did you come from?” he asked, addressing the garment.
“Holy Mackinaw!” exclaimed Jimmie. “Don’t you know where you got the
coat? You surely must know where you got it!”
“I got it out of the bag!” was the answer.
“But who put it in the bag?” demanded Ben.
“Believe me,” replied the Englishman, “I never saw the blawsted thing
before this minute! It’s the most unaccountable thing, don’t you know!”
“Go on!” advised Jimmie. “Go on digging into the bag and see what else
you find. You might find a bushel of pearls!”
While the Englishman continued his investigation of the bag, Jimmie
nudged Ben in the side and whispered, pointing at the coat:
“That’s just about the kind of a garment the doped man wore out of
Colleton’s room, isn’t it?”
“You just wait a minute!” exclaimed Ben. “I want to know how that
Englishman got hold of that coat!”
The next moment the boys’ amazement changed to actual unbelief in the
accuracy of their vision. DuBois drew from the bag a false beard, and a
crumpled white dickey topped by a wing collar and a sporty red tie.
“Say!” Ben exclaimed. “You’ve got to tell us where you got that bag! We
want to know where that coat, those whiskers, and that dickey came
from!”
“That’s what I want to know meself!” exclaimed the Englishman.
“That’s your bag, isn’t it?” demanded Carl.
“It’s my bag, right enough, don’t you know, but I never saw these things
before! Some one must have stuffed them in!”
“Come on in here and tell us where you got the bag, and who packed it,
and how many hands it has passed through since you owned it,” suggested
Ben, leading the way to Mr. Havens’ tent.
With the sporty coat, the beard, and dickey lying on the blanket at his
side, Mr. Havens turned to Jimmie with a sly smile.
“Was it you,” he asked, “who told us just how the villains in the Kuro
case disposed of the disguise, or was it Ben?”
“You just wait,” Jimmie exclaimed. “Let’s find out about this hand-bag
before we reach any conclusions.”
“Well,” the Englishman began, seeing that an explanation was expected,
“I bought this hand-bag of a Pullman porter on a limited train which
left Washington for San Francisco three weeks ago. I lost me own bag
with most of me toilet articles out of the window, and the porter sold
me this for a sovereign. He didn’t tell me that it had anything in it.”
“Where’d the porter get it?” asked Jimmie.
“He didn’t say, don’t you know.”
“Where was the train when you bought the bag?”
“Nearing the Pacific coast.”
“I presume,” Mr. Havens suggested, “that you occupied a stateroom on
that Pullman train? You never traveled in the day-coach!”
“The stateroom in my car was occupied by a sick man!” was the reply.
Jimmie bounded into the air with a loud whoop.
“Talk about dream-books!” he cried. “I’m going to get out a new edition
with my name on the title page. This sick man didn’t appear during the
trip, did he?” he asked of the Englishman.
“He did not!” was the reply. “And no one on board the train saw him
except the man who had charge of him.”
Jimmie gave another whoop and sat down flat on the ground.
“And you lost your bag, and bought one of the porter, and he brought you
this? That’s all there is to it, is it?”
“What’s the mystery about the garments in the bag?” asked the Englishman
without answering the question.
“Look here,” Ben explained, “if we should climb that peak to the east at
sunrise to-morrow morning, and find Noah’s ark resting there, with all
the animals wearing white aprons and cooking breakfasts for each other,
and Noah listening to a talking machine which was invented only last
year, that wouldn’t be any stranger than is the appearance of that coat,
those whiskers, and the dickey in this camp!”
The Englishman eyed the boy as if rather inclined to doubt his sanity.
“I don’t understand what you’re talking about, don’t you know,” he said.
Before Ben could make any explanation, Carl, who had passed out of the
tent to look after the supper, came rushing in, declaring that a strange
flying machine was hovering over the valley.
“She’s headed toward the shelf where the signals were shown last night,”
the boy added, “and she’s making signals of some kind herself!”
“Perhaps they’ve got Colleton up in the air!” grinned Jimmie.