IMPRISONED AT THE FENCE.
"This is a fine beginning to a city career--short but brilliant," said
young Randolph to himself, bitterly, as he mused upon his deplorable
situation.
"Fool that I was! It's all plain enough to me now," he continued, after
a half hour's deep thought, in which he traced back, step by step, his
experiences since landing in the big city. "I ought to have recognized
him at once--the villain! He is the very fellow I saw across the street
with his pal, as I left the bank. I thought he looked familiar, but
I've seen so many people in this great town that I'm not surprised at my
miss. Mighty bad miss, though; one that has placed me in a box trap, and
under ground at that."
Herbert was right in his conclusions. The fellow who had so cleverly
played the confidence game upon him was the same one who awaited his
appearance in Wall Street, and afterwards shadowed him up Broadway.
"This must all be the work of that young villain Mortimer," continued
Herbert, still reasoning on the subject. "I ought to have been sharper;
Bob told me to look out for him. If I had had any sense, I could have
seen that he meant to be revenged upon me. I knew it, and yet I didn't
want to admit, even to myself, that I was at all uneasy. He must have
been the same one that pointed me out to this confidence fellow on Wall
Street. He was probably made up with false side whiskers and mustache,
so that I wouldn't recognize him.
"Well," said he, starting up suddenly from his reverie, "how is all this
reasoning about how I came to get into this trap going to help me to get
out of it? That is what I want to know;" and he commenced exploring his
dark, damp cell, in search of some clew that would aid him in solving
the problem.
He was not alarmed about his personal safety. Up to this time, happily,
no such thought had entered his mind. He sanguinely looked upon his
imprisonment as merely temporary.
In this opinion, however, he erred greatly. The same rural credulity
that made him the victim of Peter Smartweed, now led him to suppose
that the unscrupulous rascals who held him a prisoner would soon release
him. He looked upon the matter as simply one of revenge on the part of
Mortimer. He little realized his true situation, and did not even dream
of the actual significance of his imprisonment. He therefore felt a
sense of genuine consolation when he thought of the well deserved blow
he had delivered upon his enemy's jaw; and several times, as he prowled
around the cell, he laughed heartily, thinking of Mortimer's ridiculous
appearance as he lay stretched upon the floor.
Herbert Randolph was full of human nature, and human nature of the best
sort--warm blooded, natural, sensible. There was nothing pale and
attenuated about him. He was full of spirits, was manly, kind and
generous, and yet he could appreciate heartily a point honorably gained
on the enemy. Thus instead of giving himself up to despair and grief, he
tried to derive all the comfort possible out of his situation.
His cell was dark as night. He could not see his own hands, and the
dampness and musty odor, often noticeable in old cellars, added much to
his discomfort. He found that the cell was made of strong three inch
slats, securely bolted to thick timbers. These strips, or slats, were
about three inches apart. The door was made in the same manner, and was
fastened with a padlock. Altogether his cell was more like a cage than
anything else; however, it seemed designed to hold him securely against
all efforts to escape from his captors.
The door, as previously stated, was fastened by a padlock. Herbert
learned this by putting his hands through the slats, and carefully going
over every part of the fastening arrangement.
This discovery gave him slight hopes. The lock he judged to be one of
the ordinary cheap ones such as his father always used on his cornhouse
and barn doors. Now he had on several occasions opened these locks by
means of a stiff wire, properly bent. Therefore, should this lock prove
to be one of the same kind, and should fortune place within his reach a
suitable piece of wire, or even a nail of the right sort, he felt that
he could make good his escape from this cell.
"But should I succeed in this," he very prudently reasoned, "would I be
any better off? That heavy trap door is undoubtedly fastened down, and,
so far as I know, that is the only means of exit; but---- What is that?"
he suddenly said to himself, as he felt the cold shivers creep over him.
The sound continues. It seems like rasping or grating. Louder and more
distinct it grows, as Herbert's imagination becomes more active.
Every sound to one in his situation, in that dark, lonesome cellar,
could easily be interpreted to mean many forms of danger to him. But at
length he reasons, from the irregular rasping, and from other slight
evidences, that this noise is the gnawing of hungry rats.
What a frightful and alarming discovery this is to him! It strikes
terror to his brave young heart, and makes cold beads of perspiration
stand out upon his brow. And as these silent drops--the evidence of
suffering--trickle down his face one by one, chilly and dispiriting, he
grows sick to the very core.
Alone in a dark, damp cellar, with no means of defense--not even a
stick, a knife, or any sort of implement to protect himself from the
hordes of rats that now surround him.
This indeed is a night of terror to our young hero. He does not dare to
throw himself upon the bench, lest he should sleep, and, sleeping, be
attacked by these dreadful rats.
Accordingly, he commenced walking back and forth in his cell, as a caged
tiger walks hour after hour from one end to the other of his narrow
confines.
"This will keep me awake," said he to himself, with an attempt to rouse
his spirits; "and it will also keep the rats away."
After he had paced thus for a time, he heard steps above him, and
instantly he called out for aid. He called again and again, but the
inhuman ear of old Gunwagner was deaf to his imploring cries.
The sound of footsteps was soon lost, and all was still save the gnawing
of the rats. Herbert listened quietly for a time, to study their
movements. Soon he heard them scampering about in all parts of the
cellar. From the noise they made he judged them to be very large;
and they were certainly bold, for now they were running about in
contemptuous disregard of young Randolph's presence. Occasionally he
would yell at them, and kick vigorously upon the framework of his cell.
By this means he kept them at a somewhat respectful distance.
And now his mind reverted again to the cause of his imprisonment. As the
long, weary hours dragged by, he studied the matter with the utmost
care, giving painstaking thought to the slightest details and the most
trivial acts. His points were, consequently, well made. They were
reasonable, logical, probable. The scheme broadened as he progressed.
What he had supposed to be a mere matter of revenge now loomed up
clearly and distinctly before him as a bold plot against himself--a
piece of outrageous villainy that fairly appalled him.
He saw Felix Mortimer in his place in the bank; saw himself looked upon
by Mr. Goldwin with suspicion and disgust. And this feeling, he knew,
would extend to his daughter--bright, winsome Ray.
It was odd that Herbert should think of her in this connection, while
in such mental agony. He had seen her but once, and then only for a
minute. True, she was wonderfully pretty, and her manner was irresistibly
attractive, but young Randolph was of a serious turn of mind. No, he was
not one to become infatuated with any girl, however charming; he never
had been, and, to use his own language, he did not propose to become so.
But he could not help thinking of Ray in connection with this matter. He
recalled how her sunny presence lighted up the bank that very afternoon,
and in imagination he saw her bright, mischievous blue eyes, brimful of
fun and merriment, as he handed her into her carriage.
"She did look sweet, confounded if she didn't," said Herbert to himself,
forgetting for the time his sorrow; "sweet and pretty as a peach, and
her cheeks had the same rich, delicate tint. Her hair---- Great Scott!"
ejaculated young Randolph, suddenly awaking to what he had been saying.
"Another evidence of my being a fool. I'd better have stayed on the
farm," he continued, more or less severely.
[Illustration: YOUNG RANDOLPH AT LAST FALLS ASLEEP EXHAUSTED.]
"Well, I'm a prisoner," he said, sadly, after a thoughtful pause. "It
doesn't matter much what I think or say. But, somehow or other, I wish I
had never seen her," he continued, meditatively. "Now she will think of
me only with contempt, just as her father will. Of course she will; it
would be only natural."
Exhausted, weary, and even overburdened with oppressive thought, he
sat down on the wooden bench in his cell. The rats still gnawed and
frolicked, and prowled at will. Herbert listened to them for a moment;
then he thought of his dear mother and father, of his home, his own
comfortable bed.
A stray tear now stole down his cheeks, and then another. The poor boy
was overcome, and he gave way to a sudden outburst of grief. Then he
rested his head in his hand, and tried to think again. But his mind was
wearied to exhaustion.
"My mother, my mother and father! Oh, how I wish I could see them! What
would they do if they only knew where I am?"
He paused after this utterance; and now his thoughts suddenly ceased
their weary wanderings. All was quiet, and the long measured breathing
gave evidence that our young hero slept.