THE WRONG MAN.
The masked stranger tore through the shrubbery in mad ♦pursuit after
Carlos, uttering the most fearful imprecations.
He strained every nerve to increase his speed, and groaned in
desperation as he saw Carlos jump into his buggy and drive off. He ran
on to the spot where his horse was stationed, and, once mounted, there
was a chance that he might overtake the object of his pursuit.
But Carlos drove rapidly, and, by the time the assassin was mounted,
was out of sight.
The man applied the spurs and whip, and his horse galloped along
swiftly, making the dirt and stones fly far behind him.
On they flew, swifter and swifter. Like an arrow they shot by the road
where Carlos had turned. It was well that the latter adopted this ruse,
or he would inevitably have been overtaken, for his pursuer’s horse was
a fleet one.
Soon the rider began to grow uneasy.
“I should have come up with him by this time,” he thought. “There’s no
horse in the Dalton livery-stable that mine ought not to have run down
before this.”
He strained his eyes to look ahead, but the gathering clouds prevented
him from discerning objects at any distance. Then he halted and
listened. A faint rumbling of wheels greeted his ear, but it was not
sufficiently distinct for him to determine from what direction it came.
He concluded that it must be toward the village, and again lashed his
horse and urged him ahead.
Illustration: HE STRAINED HIS EYES TO LOOK AHEAD, BUT COULD NOT
DISCERN OBJECTS AT ANY DISTANCE.
As he entered the streets of Dalton he began to feel a misgiving that
he had been outwitted. But not a single chance must be cast aside, and
he neither turned nor slackened his pace. Down the main thoroughfare,
and around the corner of a street which led to the livery-stable, he
proceeded, and there he saw a horse trotting briskly along, drawing a
buggy containing a single occupant.
“Ha! my man,” he thought, “you’re too sure! You thought you were so far
ahead that I couldn’t come up with you, but I’ll show you in a moment
your mistake!”
Speaking a word to his horse, he dashed on with renewed speed, and
was soon but a rod or two behind the buggy. He thought it strange that
his approach was apparently not noticed, that there was no attempt to
distance him, or avoid him in any way. He whom he supposed to be Carlos
Conrad simply looked around once, and then drove on, neither slackening
nor increasing his speed.
“Ah, I have it,” thought the pursuer. “He doesn’t know I have a horse.
He didn’t see him under the shade of the trees. He thinks I am a mile
off, and that some innocent cove is following him. I’ll tackle him now.”
Acting promptly on this theory, he galloped up to the side of the buggy
supposed to contain Carlos.
The clouds by this time were quite thick, and rendered everything
indistinct to the vision. The pursuer hailed his man:
“Hallo, stranger, hold on!”
The stranger looked around, and said:
“What do you want?”
His apparent unconcern startled the murderer, who, with a sudden
impulse, leaped from his horse’s back into the buggy. The action was
so quick as to meet with no repulse. The lines were jerked from the
driver’s hands, his neck was encircled with a strong arm, and he was
quickly chocked into submissiveness. The horse was reined in and stood
still. The murderer’s horse, a well-trained animal, also halted and
stood motionless.
“Now,” said the assailant, “if you’ll give up that piece of paper, I’ll
let you go.”
“What do you mean?” gasped the victim, whose throat was firmly held.
“No fooling,” was the reply, given in an angry tone. “Just hand it over,
or it will be the worse for you.”
“Hand what over?”
“The paper.”
“What paper?”
“You know as well as I,” was the reply, accompanied with a curse. “I
saw you take it out of his hand.”
“I do not understand you.”
And the victim struggled to free himself. It was in vain. He was held
in a vise-like grip.
“Are you not Colonel Conrad’s nephew?” asked the assailant, beginning
to cherish doubts as to having hold of the right man.
“Yes, I am Colonel Conrad’s nephew,” was the reply.
“Then do as I wish, or you’ll be murdered, too.”
“I murdered, too! Please explain yourself. And I’ll thank you to
give me a clear idea of what you want. If it is my watch, take it. I
am helpless; and to have my throat in the embrace of your arm is far
from comfortable. You can have my pocket-book, too, although there is
precious little in it. At all events, I wish you would transact your
business, whatever it is, and then release me.”
Further words were cut short by a blow on the head from a small bag of
shot, and Leonard Lester sank back on the seat of the buggy unconscious.
For it was he. He had started to return from his fishing excursion
at Rocky Beach past midnight, and had arrived in Dalton just in time
to fall in with the villain who was in pursuit of Carlos, and to be
mistaken for his cousin.
When he first noticed the horseman approaching, he thought it rather
strange that he should be out at such an hour, and, of course, did
not suspect his object. And when he accosted him, and leaped into
the buggy, and made the strange demand for that “piece of paper,” of
course Leonard was bewildered. He dared not struggle violently, for the
ruffian had him in such a manner that he could, by a contraction of his
powerful arm, have easily broken or dislocated his neck. Consequently
he was powerless to resist.
On the other hand, the murderer of Colonel Conrad did not dare risk
a prolonged struggle in the public street, even at that late hour, to
obtain the fragment of paper he so coveted. There was too much danger
of making a noise and rousing the dwellers in the neighborhood.
So he adopted the expedient of rendering Leonard insensible for the
time being.
By this time the rain-storm had come up. The thunder began to roar and
the lightning flashed through the sky.
The ruffian bound Leonard’s hands, and then, lifting him up and placing
him astride of his horse, he joined his feet by a cord, drawing it
firmly and tying it securely. All this was effected with much trouble,
as Leonard was helpless, and was by no means a light weight to handle.
His captor mounted behind him, and, placing his arms around him, held
him in position, at the same time grasping the bridle with his hands.
“Now get up, Bill,” he said, “and take us home in short order.”
And he brought his heels violently against the sides of his horse. The
animal sprang forward with a snort, and dashed through the streets of
the town, amid the driving rain and deafening thunder. The horse and
buggy used by Leonard were left behind to take care of themselves as
best they might.
On drove the strange couple, one bewildered and confounded by his
situation, and the other destined to be scarcely less so, for what
would be his emotions on discovering that his prisoner was not the
man he had pursued from the grounds of Colonel Conrad?
After a time Leonard returned to consciousness, the jolting ride and
the drenching rain arousing his nerves into action. He attempted to
struggle, but soon found that the effort was futile. He could move
neither his hands nor his feet, and, as he only maintained an upright
position by the aid of his companion, he conceived the idea that it
would be policy to remain quiet.
On recovering from the effects of the blow he had received, he had
immediately comprehended his situation, and was aware that he was being
carried rapidly out of town for some purpose――though what he could not
imagine.
“Where am I?” he asked; “and who are you?”
“Ah, you’re awake, awake, are you?” was the reply. “You’ll find out who
I am soon enough. I’ll take you to a place where you’ll come to terms,
I’ll be bound. If you had been reasonable, and given me what I wanted,
you might have been abed and asleep by this time. Now I’m afraid it
will go a little hard with you.”
“Oh, you’re still harping on that, are you?” said Leonard. “Well, I’ll
give you all the pieces of paper I’ve got, if you will leave me one
ten-dollar bill for present necessities.”
“Too late now; you ought to have made that offer when I first came up
with you. You must go with me now, and I’m thinking you won’t come back
in a hurry either.”
“Why? What do you mean?” asked Leonard, in some alarm.
“Oh, nothing, only it will be necessary to take you to a place that you
probably never dreamt of; and if we should let you go, it might be the
ruination of us.”
“If you should let me go! And don’t you mean to let me go?”
“We can tell better about that pretty soon. By the lightning, how it
does pour down! Get up, Bill!”
For as much as half an hour longer they went on their lonely road, now
through thick woods, now by open fields. At last the murmur of the sea
was faintly heard. They were approaching the shore of the ocean.
Leonard kept a sharp lookout.
Their course was now over rough places and through jagged paths. Every
moment the roar of the sea grew more distinct.
At length Leonard’s captor reined in the horse. He took a small
instrument from his pocket, placed it to his mouth, and gave three long,
shrill whistles.
After a moment’s pause, the signal was answered. Then they pushed
forward again, and after riding a short distance, halted.
Leonard could just discern in the darkness a high mass of rocks near
him, while the washing of the waves on the shore could be heard close
at hand.
“Now,” said his captor, “I’m going to take you down from the horse,
and you’ll have to walk a spell. But I warn you that there’ll be no use
in your trying to escape――you can’t do it. So look sharp and mind your
footing, and keep close to me.”
He took a knife and cut the cords that bound Leonard, for they were so
swelled with the rain that it was impossible to untie them.
Leonard leaped to the ground, and stretched his limbs, for they were
cramped and painful.
“Now walk ahead of me,” was the command, and the two proceeded forward,
Leonard’s mind being active and on the alert for some means of escape
from his strange custody.
They were walking parallel with the edge of the water, some rods
distant from it.
Suddenly, Leonard turned abruptly to the right and fled. He rushed
directly toward the murmuring waves, and stumbled across a small skiff.
A yell of warning followed him, but he leaped into the boat, seized the
oars, and rowed rapidly from the shore.
The man reached the water’s edge just too late. With an exclamation of
baffled rage, he fired two pistol shots.
Leonard rowed vigorously, and soon put quite a distance between himself
and the shore. He hoped, in the darkness, to confuse and outwit his
pursuer.
But all at once he heard a suspicious sound, and paused to listen.
It was the sound of oars.
The strokes were quick and strong, and were made by more than one pair
of arms. They came from more than one direction, too.
The conviction flashed upon Leonard’s mind that other boats were at
hand, and that he was pursued. He threw all his energy into his work,
and rowed rapidly. Even as he did so, he was conscious that the odds
were against him, but his spirits did not sink, nor did his efforts
abate. Although the bow of the little skiff cut the waves gallantly,
and shot a stream of seething foam out either side, she was rapidly
gained upon. Soon Leonard could hear the strokes of the pursuing oars
even while his own were in motion, and they gradually but surely grew
more distinct.
Even when it became a certainty that he must be overtaken, he calmly
awaited the course of events, not without fear, but still cool and
self-possessed.