DICK STANTON.
"You treacherous hound!" I angrily and indignantly exclaimed, as I gave
Stanton a hearty shaking when I learned to a certainty that he had
given a signal to call a crowd of desperadoes to his assistance.
As the roughs began to pile out of the darkened saloon, the false
detective gave vent to a nervous laugh. He was afraid he would not be
rescued, and yet did not see how it could be possible for me to retain
him as a prisoner in the face of these friends of his.
I was, however, determined to do so.
I was considerably riled up just about then, and could have laid down
my life rather than have let him escape.
I set my teeth.
Through them I hissed:
"Stanton, you cannot escape me! You know me well in private life, and
know that I am a determined man--a man of my word. Now, then, I place
the muzzle of my revolver to your head, and by all that is holy I swear
to shoot you rather than let you escape."
Stanton gasped.
A hollow moan followed, and he became paler than a corpse.
He knew me for a man of my word, and when I had thus spoken he was
positive that any attempt at rescue would cause me to keep my word good.
Suddenly he brightened.
His tone was hopeful.
"How can I help it now?" he said; "I am helpless now, either one way or
the other."
There was a ring of something like triumph in his tone.
"Not so," I said sternly. "Order them back. You can do that, and must
do it! You know the alternative."
Stanton quivered and shook in his boots.
He was in a bad fix.
Instead of having the upper-hand of me, as he expected, he was
precisely under my thumb.
He saw all the ins and outs of his predicament at a glance.
He looked up at me in an uneasy, scared manner, and then at the help he
had summoned by that secret cry of distress.
He knew not what to do.
But decide he must, and that without further delay.
By this time the villainous gang he had summoned were beginning to
close in on me.
I pressed the muzzle more firmly against his temple, and I heard his
teeth chatter.
"Go back, boys!"
So he implored them.
"And furthermore, do not reveal your identity," I sternly ordered him.
The gang halted in surprise.
They were stumped by his pleading with them not to make any attempt at
rescuing him.
"What in thunder did you give the secret cry for, then?" demanded a
gruff and angry voice. "Who are you, anyhow? Give your number."
"Do it at your peril!" I hissed in Stanton's ear.
He understood the significance of the slightly harder pressure of the
deadly weapon against his temple.
I grimly maintained silence, save when I whispered a few threatening
words in the ear of the false detective.
It was a moment of quiet, yet intense excitement.
Bound by a terrible oath to answer that signal of distress, the
villains had rushed out to the rescue. Yet here was the man who gave it
now begging them not to interfere.
They were puzzled, and knew not what to do.
"Give your number," was again called out by the same gruff voice as
before.
"At your peril!"
So I again breathed into the false detective's ear, and he made no
reply.
"Now, then, let's get away from this spot," I said, in a low tone; and
still holding firmly to my prisoner, I began slowly retreating, taking
good care always to have an eye on the gang, who were undecided what to
do.
I quickly put a different aspect on the state of affairs when I got a
chance, and I gave the night-call for a policeman.
The gang continued to follow.
Had Stanton given his number, they were ready to rush in and rescue him.
But for a good reason he did not give his number, and when two
blue-coats, having heard my summons, swiftly approached the spot, the
villainous crew's indecision vanished as well as themselves.
Again warning Stanton not to reveal his identity, I met and satisfied
the guardians of the peace as to who I was.
They offered to accompany me to the station with my prisoner.
I declined their proffered services.
Having been assured that I considered all danger past, they saluted and
returned to their respective beats, and I resumed my course with my
prisoner.
Stanton was very chopfallen.
I had nipped his scheme of rescue in the bud, and he knew that he was
now in for it. His action, he felt sure, would kill all sympathy I
might have previously had for him.
Since his plan had failed, he knew it would have been better for him
had he never attempted to put it into execution.
I kept silence.
And Stanton never said a word.
I reached the place at last where I wanted to keep him in confinement.
It was at the house of a deputy sheriff, who had built several strong
cells in his cellar, for occasions similar to the present. And it not
infrequently happens that when a detective has captured a particular
prisoner it is a decided benefit to be able to keep the capture a
profound secret for a while.
The place afforded the means of keeping the capture a secret.
Fortunately the deputy was at home, and I soon had Stanton locked up in
one of the cells.
"Well," said I, as I entered the cell with the false detective, "here
you are, in a safe place, where the dogs won't bite you."
"What do you intend doing with me?" the rascal tremblingly asked me.
"Whatever I think you may deserve having done with you," was the grim
reply.
"Howard, I--I--didn't think any one was in that saloon, or may be I
wouldn't a-given that signal," he faltered.
"You know you lie!"
He winced.
He saw he could not fool or bamboozle me in the slightest degree.
"Now, then," I said, presently, "are you going to make a clean breast
of it?"
"Yes," he loathfully answered.
The Black Hole, so called, crossed my mind.
"Who did you have in the Black Hole?"
"Black Hole! What Black Hole?"
"You can't come that. I know pretty much all about the old sugar-house
and Cap, and the kind of a business you carry on there."
"How did you find out?"
"Never mind that. The Black Hole is in the cellar under the
store-house?"
"Yes," he admitted.
"You had a prisoner in it?"
"Yes."
"Who was he?"
"I don't know."
"Describe him."
"A young fellow."
"A young fellow, inside of twenty, and of a slim build."
The description tallied.
"When did you last see him?"
"Just about dark."
"He was safe then?"
"He was."
"Could he have escaped from the Black Hole, think you?"
Stanton gave a great start.
"It is possible," he said. "They thought it a mighty strong place, but
I didn't. A fellow with any grit could have dug his way out."
That settled it to my satisfaction.
Shadow had been the prisoner in the Black Hole. That he had got out
somehow I had received ample proof by the hand thrust up through the
pile of junk holding that note for me.
I pumped Stanton for all he was worth. He kept back many things, I
knew; but I pretended to believe that he had made a clean breast of it.
I had seen him glance about his cell, and knew that he hoped to be able
to make his escape.
"Ain't you a-goin' to take these irons off?" he inquired, holding up
his wrists, just as I was about to take my departure.
"Not at all."
"Why?"
"I don't intend that you shall have your hands free to dig your way
out," with which I left him, decidedly crestfallen in demeanor.
A few nights later I spent the entire period of darkness in the
neighborhood of the old sugar-house. Leaving just before dawn, I was on
my way home, when, as I drew near a corner, I was suddenly confronted
by a slenderly-built mulatto.
Gliding up before me, he extended his hand, and uttered one word:
"Shadow!"