On the Railway
As the constable's eyes travelled round the audience watching Amos
Shirley's conjuring performance, and finally alighted on the stage, Jack
felt as if he would have given anything if the rough boards beneath his
feet would open. He sat in a chair, holding in his hand a handkerchief,
in which his employer had, a moment or so before, wrapped a silver
dollar, before the eyes of the gazer.
"You are sure it is there, ain't yer, friends?" said the little man,
stepping to the front of the stage, and wagging his head in a peculiar
way he had. "Did I hear someone say it was not there? Yes, I guess so.
Then will you please to open the handkerchief, sir, and show the
audience whether it contains something or nothing."
He tripped up to Jack, tapped the handkerchief with his wand, and
displayed to the eyes of all the dollar he had placed there.
"And now to proceed with the feat," he cried, in his most pompous
manner. "We wrap the coin so, and thar ain't no mistake about it. That
dollar's thar solid. Yer can hear the tap of the wand. It's thar, and
in a moment I'll transfer it to the audience. Now, one, two, three.
There she goes."
He waved the wand again, and then caught the handkerchief from Jack's
fingers.
"Say, did yer feel it fly?" he asked.
Simpkins's eyes were now on our hero, and for the moment the latter felt
as if the constable were a snake whose gaze fascinated him. Jack was
almost trembling. In his mind's eye he saw the cell from which he had so
recently escaped, that sombre court in which the trial had proceeded,
and in the near distance the prison to which he would be sent to spend
ten solitary, hopeless years of his life. He could only shake his head
to the question.
"Yer didn't feel it fly. But it's gone. Ye're sure of that?"
Jack nodded his head vigorously, while for one brief second he looked
squarely into Simpkins's eyes. Did he see suspicion there? Or was that
only a morbid fancy? The doubt was terrifying, and to speak the truth
Jack Kingsley was at that moment as near to acting foolishly as ever in
his life. The impulse was with him to leap to his feet, to jump from the
platform, and race away for his life. For there was suspicion in
Simpkins's eyes. Every man he regarded while on this special journey
upon which the officials had sent him was a suspect, the prisoner who
had escaped from Hopeville. Even the same man with the black beard and
moustaches who had clambered on to the stage at the call of the conjuror
might be the man he was searching for. And in consequence the constable
regarded him with a fixed stare, and struck by something, the height
perhaps, or some unconscious pose of Jack's, moved a trifle closer. A
moment later a movement on the part of Amos arrested further advance.
"Ah, there is no mistake, my friends! That coin is gone, flown, as I
said it would. And already I can see it. Pardon me, sir, but you have
it."
The wand pointed direct at Simpkins, much to the latter's annoyance. He
attempted to move away, but the crowd wedged him in, and, moreover, all
eyes were on him. A chorus of laughter greeted his attempt.
"He never made a dollar easier in all his life," cried one of the
audience. "Stop him! That ain't his money."
The sally drew another roar from the crowd, and set Simpkins scowling.
Amos, with all his showman's instincts, made the most of the occasion.
"Say, sir," he called out, "if I may trouble yer. That money ain't yours
altogether, though yer happen to have it on you. Would you jest mind
stepping along this way and handin' it over? I wouldn't trouble yer, but
then, if I was to come down myself, the gentlemen here might think there
was some faking, and that I'd jest dropped the coin right where it is.
Jest a moment, sir, and thank ye."
Simpkins could not draw back, and, finding that his scowls only made
merriment for the crowd, he came forward unwillingly, shaking his head
all the while.
"Ye're mistook," he called out. "There's not a stray dollar about me.
Yer can hunt if yer like."
He mounted to the platform, and stood there awkwardly, within three feet
of Jack, and directly facing him. Would he stretch out his hand and take
the prisoner? Did he actually recognize the young man sitting there
apparently so cool, and yet in reality quaking?
"Excuse me," said Amos. "Yer said you hadn't got that 'ere dollar, and I
call the audience to witness as yer added that yer hadn't a stray dollar
anywheres. But if that ain't a silver dollar, why----"
"Good fer you! He's got it," came the same voice from the crowd. "Didn't
I say he was fer walkin' off. Hold on to it, siree. We're all able to
swear as it's yours."
The reader can imagine the confusion of the constable, as Amos, standing
on tiptoe, reached for his hat, and, having removed it from Simpkins's
head, showed a dollar resting in it. And still more so, when, as if not
yet satisfied, the conjuror discovered a second in the lining of the
hat, a third in his handkerchief, and others elsewhere, not to mention a
variety of objects from his pockets, such as silk neckcloths, a toy gun,
and last of all a live rabbit. Then indeed was the constable overcome.
He dashed from the stage and away from the audience, followed by their
shouts of merriment. But he left his mark behind. Never before had Amos
found his assistant so unsympathetic. His carelessness was remarkable,
and more than one trick was almost spoiled. For our unfortunate young
hero was more than perturbed. The chilling influence of the law was on
him, and, do what he could, he failed to drive from his mind that
ever-present dread that his disguise was discovered.
"I shall have to bolt again," he thought, as he sat in the chair facing
the audience. "There is nothing else for it. Simpkins will be asking
questions all round, and the instant he hears from Amos that I met him
back east on the road, he'll know that I'm his man. I must go the
instant this business is over."
It seemed an eternity before the performance was ended, and he was able
to retire to the wagon. Then, at once, he accosted his employer.
"I want to say something," he said quietly, "and I hope you won't think
badly of me. But I must leave you at once. Never mind the reason. I must
go right now without another minute's delay. I know it will put you out
a little, for you will want someone else. But I am willing to hand back
half the wages you have paid me."
Amos regarded his young helper with an expression of surprise and
concern. He had come to like his right-hand man very much, and indeed
treated him now more as if he were his son.
"Gee!" he cried. "What's this? Leave right now, but----"
"I am sorry. It must be, though," said Jack. "Here's the money. Half of
what I have earned. Shake hands and let me go."
There was a moment's pause while Amos regarded him critically and with a
kindly eye.
"Ye've acted straight and willing by me all through, yer have, Tom," he
said at last, "and if yer must go, why yer must. But you'd better by
half trust a man who's to be trusted. I ain't a fool. I've seen all
through that yer had something hard on yer mind, and I've often felt
sorry for yer. It does a chap good sometimes to find a real friend who
won't give him away, and who'll be right alongside to lend him some
advice. What's it all about, lad? Yer can trust me as you could yer own
mother. What's the trouble? If it's bad I may be able to advise, fer
after all these years I'm a knowing old bird. In any case I'm sound.
Your secret stays with me safe as if it was locked up in a bank."
He held out a friendly hand, and Jack gripped it, gulping hard all the
while at the lump which filled his throat. He, too, had become much
attached to Amos. Indeed, they had been more like father and son. And in
his employer he had long since discovered a man who lived on no bed of
roses, but who had to work hard for a living. But with it all he was a
good fellow, by no means grasping, ready always to lend a helping hand.
More than that, too, he was trustworthy, and sufficiently a man of the
world to be able to look at two sides of a question.
"I'm an escaped prisoner," he said suddenly, blurting out the words. "I
was taken at Hopeville, and broke out of my cell. The charge was one of
burglary in which a murder was concerned."
"Wall?" asked Amos coolly, still gripping his hand.
"I can't tell the whole tale here. I haven't time."
"And no need, neither," came the answer. "I've seen it in the papers,
and all about the escape. What else?"
"I swear I am innocent. As you know the whole story, you will remember
how I was taken. I swear that I had followed those men to warn the
people of the house. James was the only one to believe me--James Orring
of the smithy at Hopeville. I hadn't another friend, save his wife and
my mother. So I made up my mind to bolt, for outside a prison I have a
chance of finding those men and of clearing myself."
"Guess you have," came the reply. "Guess, too, that yer did right, and
Jim Orring aer a good man to help yer."
There was a smile on his face now, and it increased as Jack regarded him
with a startled expression.
"Yer see," he explained, "Jim and me aer friends, and have been since we
were nippers together at Hopeville. That 'ere place is where I war born,
and reckon I know every man, woman, and child thar. But I've been away a
heap, and have seen so many people that I begin to forget. For instance,
I didn't quite fix that 'ere Simpkins when first I set eyes on him. Jim
Orring aer an old friend, and now that you tell me he's yours too, and
that he was one of few to believe in you, I ain't surprised he helped
yer to break out. Yer needn't get startled," he continued, for Jack
showed his concern at the last statement, for he was anxious that no
harm should come to the smith. "I've jest guessed the last part, and
reckon I'm dead right. It's the sort of handsome thing Jim would get to
doin'. But you haven't any need to admit that he helped yer. Don't say a
word. Wall, now, I suppose it is Simpkins that's disturbed you?"
Jack nodded. He was so taken up with thoughts of his escape that he
could scarcely speak, and, in spite of Amos's kindness, was anxious to
flee.
"I recognized him after a bit," went on Amos, "but I didn't connect him
with you. I thought perhaps that he meant trouble with me, for six
months ago, back there close to Hopeville, there was a ruction round my
stand one night. A rough in the audience wouldn't give me a fair show
to get on with my performance. Wall, it came to blows, and jest when I
saw Simpkins I thought he was here on that concern. Seems he ain't; but
I took the pluck out of him anyway. Now, let's think. He's a nasty
fellow is Simpkins, suspicious, and all that; and, as sure as eggs are
eggs, he'll be round here asking me where I've been, who's my man, and
where I got him; for of course he knows I always have a man to help in
the show. Yes, Tom, guess ye've got to git slippy. I won't stop yer. Yer
hop right off, and jest put that money back in yer pocket. I'll get
another man easy, and no bother. Jest remember this, ef you're in any
trouble, Amos is the one to call on. He's alongside of Jim. He believes
that you're as innocent of that 'ere crime as any baby."
He gave Jack's hand a firm and kindly squeeze, and put courage into him.
Indeed, those few seconds did a great deal for our hero. The fact that
another man believed in him put heart into the lad, braced him for the
work before him, and lifted a load from his mind. He seemed at once to
be able to look more clearly and resolutely into the future.
"Thank you, sir," he answered gratefully. "Then I'll go, and go all the
happier for what you've said."
"And how'll yer move?" asked Amos curiously.
"I don't know one bit. I want to get out of the town, and then I can
think."
"Wall, I ain't going to ask more, but a nod's as good as a wink they
say. Supposin' you was to make fer the station. We ain't at the end of
the rail yet. It runs on another hundred miles easy. Wall, supposin', I
say, yer was to make for the station, and found a train likely to leave
for the west. It ain't difficult to climb aboard when she's under weigh.
That means yer havn't booked, and no one here'll be the wiser, specially
Simpkins. Twenty miles out you get down and buy a ticket. To-morrer
you'll be as safe as a house. Goodbye, lad, I've been pleased to meet
yer."
There were tears in Jack's eyes as he bade farewell to his employer and
sped from the wagon. Somehow or other the fear of arrest, the
consciousness, ever present with him, that he was under the ban of the
law, that he was a criminal at large, had undermined his natural
resolution and courage. The feeling was so strange to him, and in course
of time had so mastered the lad, that he began almost to feel as if he
were actually guilty. But a few moments' conversation with Amos had done
wonders. Jack's head was set well back on his shoulders again. As he
left the wagon he walked like a man conscious of his own uprightness,
ready and willing to face the world frankly and courageously.
"I'll take his hint," he thought, as he threaded his way through the
streets. "But let me take one last look to see that I am not followed."
He cast his eyes down the road, and saw at the end the wagon which
sheltered Amos. A man was walking towards it from the far distance, and
our hero watched as he stopped at the wagon and finally entered. It was
Simpkins, the constable.
"And likely to hear a tale which will put him off the scent," said Jack,
now by no means dismayed. "Here's the station. I'll get into a corner
and wait till it's dark."
There were a number of men lounging about the place, for the station was
a sort of no-man's land where the idlers and curious gathered. There
was no platform to be seen. Only a wooden flooring under a barnlike
roof, while the train lying in the station was composed of rough
carriages, which bore no resemblance to the magnificent vehicles now
plying to and fro on American railways. At the tail of the train was an
open truck with deep sides. Jack looked at it longingly.
"When does she start?" he asked one of the idlers.
"Sevin, sharp," was the curt answer. "Goin' west."
"Then she'll suit me," thought Jack. "I'll go along the line and look
out for a spot from which I can board her."
It was already getting dusk, and by the time he had walked half a mile
it was almost dark. He had traversed a level stretch of rail till now,
but was delighted to find that he had reached a steep up gradient.
"It is a heavy train," he thought, "and will be sure to slow down here.
I must manage to get aboard."
He sat down and waited patiently, wondering the while what Amos was
doing, and what had happened during his interview with Simpkins. If only
he had known it, that interview had been more than humorous. For the
astute little showman had been suddenly afflicted with forgetfulness. He
could hardly even remember Simpkins, much less the fact that he was a
constable. As to his man, well, he might be wandering in the town. In
any case Simpkins might see him when he cared to call. Yes, he was a
good young chap, had been with the van quite a time, but how long he
wasn't altogether certain. In fact, Amos threw abundance of dust in the
eyes of the constable. But he did not smother his natural suspicions.
"I believe the old hound knows a heap more than he will say," growled
Simpkins as he walked away. "And I can't help thinking that thar was
something about that man on the stage which struck me as being sort of
familiar. Ef it was young Jack Kingsley, whew!"
He whistled loudly, for he realized that re-arrest of the prisoner would
mean commendation for the constable, and promotion to a certainty. The
very thought stimulated him in his efforts. He went straight off to the
station, and was just in time to inspect the train about to leave, from
the engine right back to the truck trailing at the end.
"Not here," he said as he walked away, having seen the train run out of
the station. "He'll be in the town, I expect. Now that I come to think
about it, that fellow on the stage was jest about the right size for the
prisoner, and, in spite of the beard he wore, about the same age. Gee!"
There was something else which struck him, something again to do with
the pose of the man he had in his mind's eye. And now he remembered that
he had often and often watched Jack as he sat in the court under trial.
His pose there was precisely that of the man he had so lately seen on
the conjurer's stage. In a flash it occurred to him that this must be
the prisoner he sought, and he went off at a run to speak again with
Amos. Meanwhile the train had run from the town at a smart pace, which,
however, dropped as it ascended the rise.
"It will be a job to clamber aboard, all the same," thought Jack, as he
saw it coming. "I suppose it is doing seventeen miles an hour. But I
have got to get aboard somehow, if I have to dive for it."
He stood back from the rails, so that the engine lamps should not show
him to the drivers. But the instant it thundered past he stepped briskly
forward. Yes, the long line of heavy vehicles was pounding along at a
smart pace, and, more than that, their height above the rails was
greater than he had reckoned for. He watched the carriages like a cat,
seeking for a handy rail. But one after another they swung past till the
last was near at hand. It was a species of conductor's van, and the step
descended close to the ground. There was a strong rail beside it, and to
this Jack clutched as it came level with him. In spite of the fact that
he had begun to run with the train, he was jerked off his feet; for the
vehicles were gathering pace every second. But Jack was not to be easily
beaten. He clung desperately with one hand to the rail, while he gripped
the step with his other. Then he managed to swing his body till it
leaned on the step, and, later, to lift himself clean on to it.
"So far so good," he thought. "Now I make back for the truck behind.
I'll wait till I have gained my breath, for there is no hurry, and no
bridges likely to strike me. The train does not stop for twenty miles,
and, as it has to ascend a long gradient, it takes a time to do the work
and cover the distance. Gee! That dragging knocked my boots about."
Five minutes later he felt able to undertake the remainder of the task
before him, by no means an easy one, namely to clamber along the outside
of the coach, and cross to the truck trailing behind the train. It was
getting chilly on the step, and he felt that if he did not move soon he
would perhaps become too cramped. Clambering to his feet, he gripped the
rail overhead, which ran horizontally to the back of the coach, and felt
his way along the footboard with his toes. Presently he discovered that,
whereas the rail continued to the end, the boards did not. They were cut
off abruptly.
"Which makes it a trifle more difficult," he thought. "I shall have to
swing my way along."
But to cling to a rail and swing one's way along it when a train is
tearing away at thirty-five miles an hour, and swaying horribly, is no
easy matter; for the wind tears and grips at one dangerously. Jack found
it required all his strength to maintain a grip, and presently drew his
legs up and felt desperately for some foothold.
"I'm still a couple of yards from the end," he thought grimly, casting
his eyes over his shoulder, "and I'm dead sure I can't hold on like this
all the way. I must try--ah, here's something!"
His toes lit upon a beading of the carriage work, and the support he
thus obtained helped him wonderfully. Then, in the gloom above, he
discerned a second rail, and reaching up with one hand managed to grasp
it and haul himself a little higher, with his toes still on the bead.
And now his head was on a level with the windows of the coach.
"Three men," he said to himself, withdrawing his head, for a hasty
glance told him that the coach was occupied. "No, four. Whew!"
A second glance told him that there was a fourth person; and once he had
seen him our hero dropped down again, and gave vent to a low whistle.
Surprises seemed to be ever in store for him. The fourth individual he
had seen was huddled in a corner of the coach, and the glimpse Jack had
caught of him showed that he was bound hand and foot.
"Gee! Now what on earth is the meaning of that?" he asked himself.
"Three men sitting at the far end, with a lantern at their feet, and the
fourth a prisoner!"
It was not the most comfortable place in the world in which to puzzle
about such a knotty question, and, think as he might, our hero could
come no nearer a solution. Obviously he must reach some point of safety
and then cogitate.
"I'll get along this beading somehow," he thought, "and then take a look
round. There's queer doings in that coach."
Inch by inch he wormed his way along the coach, his feet on the beading
and his hands on the rail; and in course of time he gained the end.
Swinging round it, as the vehicle gave a tremendous lurch, almost
tearing his grip away, he found himself close to the buffers. A moment
later he was seated on an iron step secured to the coach.
"So far so good," he said to himself. "Now, up I go. There's a lantern
on top, and through it I'll be able to see what's happening."
It required very little energy to reach the roof of the coach, so that
in a couple of minutes he was spread out on it, the air sweeping past
him in a perfect hurricane. But he had a firm hold of the lantern, while
his face was pressed closely to it. And once more the shrill, low
whistle escaped him. For one of the three men below had moved. He had
dragged the individual who was bound, into a sitting position, and had
placed the lamp so that it threw its light full upon him. As our hero
stared down into the interior of the coach, the man pulled a revolver
from his belt and levelled it at the head of the prisoner, while his two
comrades approached nearer, and, taking up their stands close at hand,
began to question the unfortunate man they had bound.
Jack ran his fingers over the lantern, and pulled gently at the framing
nearest him. It moved noiselessly, though a little sound made no
difference, for the roar of the train drowned anything. Little by little
he contrived to open the lantern, till the window provided in it was
standing at right angles from the main framework. Then he dragged
himself forward, and slowly inserted his head. In two minutes he was in
such a position that he could see the interior of the coach clearly,
while he was directly above the four men. More than that, once his head
was through the window the roar of the wind ceased entirely, while the
rumble of the train was no greater than those below had to contend with.
They were shouting at the prisoner, and Jack opened his ears wide to
listen.