THE REAL SUBSTITUTE.
It was a clear night with a myriad of stars in the sky. The silver
crescent of a quarter moon had sunk below the wooded hills in the west.
A chill from the distant mountains was in the air, though but little
wind was stirring.
The midnight stillness of the rural country south of North Dayton, where
the lofty signal tower loomed up at the junction of the western division
of the S. & O. Railway, was broken only by the frequent croakings of
frogs in a swamp east of the tracks, or the occasional cry of some night
bird circling overhead.
The N. D. tower, as it was known on the wire, was in a lonely locality.
Trains stopped there only for water, or in response to the signal
lights, which changed from green and red to white when the night
operator, Tom Denny, worked the huge levers in the tower chamber.
He was seated at his telegraph stand shortly before twelve on that
eventful night, a compact, muscular man of middle age. A revolver was
lying near the instrument.
The murder in the K. C. tower at Shelby, the brutal killing of Karl
Glidden, also the other crimes and the outrages along the S. & O.
road—all were so fresh in the mind of every night operator during his
weary vigil, that none was taking any chances of being caught
unprepared.
Three bells suddenly broke the stillness of the tower chamber. They told
Denny that the operator in the next tower north was waiting for his
unlock, that the Southern Limited was approaching North Dayton, and
Denny pushed the plug into the box and held it for an O. K. Getting it
almost instantly, he arose and set his signals.
As he turned from the lever, he heard a step on the tower stairs. As
quick as a flash, while a hand was laid on the knob of the door, Denny
stepped to the table and seized his revolver.
The door was opened and a roughly clad, bearded man appeared on the
threshold. He looked like a track hand, or one employed on the railway.
He was a stranger to Denny, however, who covered him instantly, crying
sharply:
“Hold on! Stop right there! What do you want?”
Nick Carter smiled and said quietly:
“A few words with you, Denny, nothing more. I have a letter of
introduction from President Burdick. It will tell you who I am and why I
am here.”
Denny appeared incredulous and suspicious.
“Stay where you are!” he commanded. “Toss me the letter, then hands up
while I read it.”
Nick obeyed, remarking, with a laugh:
“You’re all right, Denny. He will be a good man, indeed, who catches you
napping.”
Denny read the brief letter, all the while with one eye upon the
intruder. He had no doubt of Nick’s identity, however, after reading the
missive and seeing the familiar handwriting of the railway president.
“By Jove, you gave me a disagreeable surprise to start with, Mr. Carter,
but this more than makes up for it,” he said heartily, placing the
letter and weapon upon the table and extending his hand.
“Good enough,” Nick replied, entering and shaking hands with him.
“I can, indeed, guess why you are here,” Denny added. “It is something
in connection with your efforts to run down the railway bandits. I at
first thought you were one of them.”
“Quite naturally, Denny, I’m sure,” smiled the detective.
“I know you are in the employ of the road, of course, since you cornered
Jim Reardon and sent him after his victim. But what’s your mission here
to-night? How can I be of any help to you?”
Nick knew that he could safely confide in him, and he then briefly
informed him of the circumstances and of the steps he was taking to
prevent the suspected robbery.
“I wish to board the express car without incurring suspicions, Denny, in
case any of the gang are on the watch during this last stop of the
train, before the job is to be attempted,” Nick proceeded to explain. “I
can do so, all right, by pretending to be a track hand and in the employ
of the road. No observer seeing me come down from the signal tower would
think it strange for me to board the car as if to ride to Shelby.”
“Surely not,” Denny quickly agreed. “That frequently occurs. You look
the part to the letter, too, Mr. Carter.”
“I wish to be with Cady in the car during the run,” Nick added. “I will,
I think, show these bandits that their knavery will be far from a
walk-over.”
“No doubt,” said Denny, smiling. “You’ll find Cady all right, too, and
game to the core. He’s one man in a thousand.”
“So Burdick informed me.”
“No one has anything on Cady.”
“Can you consistently leave the tower after the train arrives?”
“Yes, indeed, while the engine is taking water. I nearly always have
dispatches to take down.”
“Capital! Go down with me to the express car, then, and pretend that you
know me to be a track hand and that I have a right to ride with Cady. I
wish to get into the car without any display of opposition on his part.”
“I’ll fix you, Mr. Carter, as far as that goes.”
“And that is all I will require of you,” said Nick. “I will explain to
Cady after the train leaves here. How soon is it due?”
“In about five minutes,” said Denny, glancing at a clock on the wall.
“I’ll slip on my coat and be ready to go down with you.”
“Very good,” Nick said approvingly. “Pay no attention to any persons who
may be on the platform, or step from the train during the stop. An
inquisitive stare might cause misgivings.”
“I’m wise, Mr. Carter,” Denny assured him. “I’ll do precisely as if I
knew nothing about this deviltry. I’m over seven, you know, and——”
He was interrupted by the sudden, rapid ticking of the telegraph
instrument. It proved to be a dispatch for the engineer of the coming
train, and Denny scarce had transcribed it when the whistle of the
locomotive sounded in the near distance.
Half a minute later the glare of its headlight appeared amid the
scattered lights of the town, from which it emerged at high speed and
immediately began slowing down to make the junction.
“Come on!” Denny cried, leading the way. “She stops only five minutes.”
Nick followed him from the chamber and down the long flight of stairs
from the tower. He could feel the structure trembling under the
vibrations caused by the heavy train, which then was approaching the
long platform and coming to a stop, amid the clanging of the locomotive
bell, the furious hissing of steam, and the grinding of the brakes.
Only a solitary man was pacing the platform, carrying a traveler’s grip
and a light overcoat. Nick saw at a glance that he was a commercial
drummer and not worthy of suspicion.
Several men stepped from the train, obviously to break the monotony of a
night journey, but neither the looks or actions of any appeared
suspicious. Nick quickly noted the make-up of the train, a baggage car,
the express car, a smoker, an ordinary passenger car, and two Pullman
sleepers in the rear. He knew that Chick was on the train, but he did
not know just where, nor particularly care at that moment.
Denny ran to the locomotive and gave the engineer the dispatch, then
hurriedly rejoined Nick and led the way to the express car.
The sliding side door was thrown open from within while they approached,
and Denny quickly greeted the man who appeared in the brightly lighted
car.
“Hello, Cady, old chap!” he exclaimed. “You’re right on time to-night,
all right. Here’s Jack Dakin, track hand, who will ride with you to
Shelby. He missed the last local. You don’t know him, I reckon, but he’s
all right.”
“Ride with me?” questioned Cady, sharply regarding both.
He was a well-built man of middle age, of sandy complexion, and wearing
a full beard. He was clad in blouse and overalls, with a woolen cap
pulled over his brow.
Nick did not wait for him to make any objections. He grasped the edge of
the door and drew himself up from the platform, saying quietly, while he
entered the car:
“It’s all right, Cady. I’ve got a letter to you from President Burdick.
Don’t oppose me. Pretend this is nothing unusual.”
Cady seemed to grasp the situation. A fiery gleam appeared for a moment
in the depths of his gray eyes, but he drew back to make room for Nick,
replying, in quick whispers:
“What’s up? There’s nothing wrong, is there?”
“Wait until we leave here. Don’t question,” cautioned Nick.
“It’s all right, Cady,” Denny quickly assured him, leaning in through
the open door.
“Good enough, then,” Cady nodded. “I’ll take your word for it, Tom.”
Nick had strode across the car and seated himself on a packing case, one
of several that evidently had been shipped by express and which occupied
one side of the car. He noticed that the door of a safe in one corner
was closed, and the handle indicated that the safe was properly locked
and the combination scattered. He felt reasonably sure that he could,
with the help of Dan Cady and Chick, foil and arrest any gang that would
attempt the robbery.
The clanging of the locomotive bell told that the train was about to
start.
Passengers on the platform scampered toward the cars from which they had
emerged.
“So long, Cady!” cried Denny, while he hastened toward the tower stairs.
Cady responded with a gesture and then closed and secured the door of
the express car.
A backward jolt, a jangling of bumpers and couplings, a furious hissing
of steam, followed by the labored puffing of the locomotive, and the
train made way and the lonely junction with its platform and the signal
tower were quickly left behind, grim and silent in the twilight of the
starry night.
Nick Carter then lost no time in explaining the situation, the outcome
of which was far from what he expected, yet what no mortal man could
have anticipated.
“Now, Cady, I’ll put you wise to what’s in the wind,” said he, rising
from the case on which he was seated. “Here is the letter from President
Burdick that will tell you who I am, and a word will explain why I am
here.”
Cady opened the letter and read it, then gazed more sharply at the
detective.
“Well, say, this is some surprise,” he said bluntly. “I did not dream
that you were Nick Carter, though I knew you were in the employ of the
road. Do you suspect something wrong to-night, Mr. Carter, that you have
boarded my car in this way?”
“More than suspect,” Nick replied. “You are carrying a money package of
sixty thousand dollars, aren’t you?”
“Yes, Mr. Carter, I am.”
“Where is it?”
“Locked in the safe, sir, of course.”
“Very good,” Nick nodded. “It will be up to you and me, Cady, to prevent
a bunch of bandits from removing it from the safe. Not only to prevent
them, Cady, but also to corner and arrest them. Are you game for such an
undertaking?”
Cady continued to look Nick straight in the eye.
“Game, sir!” he exclaimed. “You bet I’m game. If they get that money,
Mr. Carter, they’ll get it over my dead body. But why do you suspect
anything of the kind?”
Nick briefly informed him, and the bearded face of the express-car man
took on a more serious expression.
“So you got wise to all that from the two telegrams?” he said
inquiringly.
“Exactly,” Nick nodded.
“You’re a keen man, Mr. Carter.”
“Not at all, Mr. Cady. It’s a part of my business to detect such things
when they come my way.”
“What other steps have you taken to prevent this job?”
“None of importance,” Nick said evasively. “I think that you and I,
Cady, will be able to prevent it.”
“Sure, sir, as far as that goes,” Cady quickly agreed. “Do you know just
where and how it is to be attempted?”
“Not how, Cady, but somewhere between here and Shelby.”
“We have not long to wait, then,” Cady declared. “We make the run from
North Dayton in twenty-six minutes.”
“Where are we now?”
“We have covered about eight miles. We are in Willow Creek section, a
mighty lonely locality, and the next place near which we pass is Benton
Corners.”
“Benton Corners!” Nick echoed. “That’s where I rounded up Jim Reardon,
and where Jake Hanlon, Link Magee, and Dick Bryan live. I suspected them
of having been Reardon’s confederates, but we could not convict them. It
may be, by Jove, that they are engaged in this job.”
“Quite likely. They certainly are bad eggs.”
“You know them, then?”
“By name and sight,” Cady nodded. “But we’ll be ready for them. You are
armed, sir, of course, and I have a revolver in the safe. I’ll get it
and——”
“No, no, don’t unlock the safe,” Nick quickly objected. “The job may be
attempted at any moment. I have two revolvers. Take one of them and be
ready to hold up the rascals.”
“I’ll be ready,” Cady declared, taking the weapon. “Throw up your hands,
Carter, and be darned quick about it, or you’ll get a slug of lead from
your own weapon.”
Nick Carter was never more surprised in his life.
Cady had turned the revolver squarely upon the detective, and there was
a gleam in his eyes, a vicious ring in his voice, denoting that he meant
what he said.
No sane man would have ignored them, and Nick threw up his hands. They
stood confronting one another in the swaying car, these two men, Cady
with a murderous look on his bearded face, the detective with an
expression of sudden terrible sternness, mingled with surprise.
“What’s this, Cady?” he demanded. “I was told that you were true blue
and a man of courage.”
“You don’t want to believe all you’re told,” Cady snarled back at him.
“Don’t drop your hands, Carter, or I’ll drop you.”
“Are you in with this gang?” Nick sternly questioned.
“You bet I’m in with it. I’m out to get this coin—and to get you, now,
since you know so much about——”
The car lurched suddenly on a curve.
The revolver covering the detective’s breast deviated for a moment, as
Cady swayed under the sudden lurch.
It was the moment for which Nick Carter was watching. He was as quick as
a flash in seeing and seizing the opportunity. His left hand shot
downward and grasped the miscreant’s wrist, turning the revolver aside,
while his right shot out and closed with a viselike grip around Cady’s
neck.
“In with this gang, are you?” he shouted. “You shall pay the price,
then.”
But again the unexpected occurred. Another lurch of the car threw both
men, then engaged in the terrible struggle, against the wall of the car.
Cady’s beard was torn off and the truth revealed—the man was not Cady.
It was not a substitute package to which the telegram had referred,
but—a substitute man!
Something like a half-smothered oath broke from the detective. He swung
the struggling ruffian around and forced him against the wall of the
swaying car. He could have overcome him and crushed him within half a
minute—if help had not been at hand.
All transpired, in fact, in far less time than half a minute.
The covers of two of the packing cases flew upward.
Out of each case leaped a man.
A bludgeon in the hand of one fell squarely on Nick’s head.
The fist of the other caught him on the jaw.
A blow from the supposed Cady landed over his heart.
And under this combined assault, made with all the vicious energy of
utter desperation, Nick Carter sank to the floor of the reeling car,
bleeding and insensible, with every muscle relaxed.