LEFT ON THE LEDGE.
The runabout came to a standstill not five feet away from the sapling
that had been thrown across the road in order to prevent him from
slipping by. It was an angry boy who jumped out and faced the man, who
seemed to enjoy his confusion, if the broad grin on his ugly face could
be taken for any indication.
“What do you mean, stopping me like this away up here in the wilderness,
and then telling me I’m exceeding the speed limit?” Gus hotly demanded.
“You say you’re a constable, but where is this village of Squeehonk, I’d
like to know? I’ve been up here several times and never ran across so
much as a cabin, let alone a village. Why, my father owns pretty near
half of this country up this way, I’d like you to know. My name is
Gustavus Merrivale, understand?”
That was just like Gusty, inclined to brag of the great possessions of
his family. Perhaps he was under the false impression that, at the mere
mention of his name, the country clodhopper would exhibit great alarm,
and begin to beg his pardon for having dared to spring his automobile
trap as he had.
Somehow the fellow failed to be dismayed at learning whom he had stopped
on the public road. The grin even widened perceptibly, and on seeing
this fact, the young driver of the roadster grew red in the face with
increased anger.
“Are you going to take that tree off the highway and allow me to go on;
or will I have to report this brazen hold-up to my father, and get you
punished?” he exclaimed hotly, pointing as he spoke to the obstruction.
Then, as he happened to glance at the shining star that decorated the
breast of the so-called constable, he discovered that it was made of
_tin_, and very crudely fashioned in the bargain, as though some
difficulty had been experienced in cutting out the insignia of office.
This fact caused Gus to look at things in a new light. He even began to
wonder whether the man who had stopped him might not be some escaped
lunatic who fancied that his sole duty in life was to hold up speed cars
and make the drivers recognize his authority.
Now that the boy took the trouble to observe the fellow more closely, he
discovered that he seemed to be rather a hard looking customer. There
was a cruel gleam in his pale eyes that gave promise of merciless
treatment, should he once become aroused and infuriated.
“Go slow, younker,” advised the man, with a noticeable sneer. “Cool your
engine off a mite while you have the chance. I’ll turn that sapling
aside when I get good and ready, and not a minute before, even if you
are in such a hurry. So, you say you’re Old Merrivale’s boy, do you? And
like as not right now you’re heading for the quarries up yonder with the
payroll money along? How about it, younker?”
His words gave Gusty a thrill. For the first time a suspicion flashed
through his brain that this hold-up might stand for something more
serious than the mad whim of an escaped lunatic; or the silly design of
a country constable to line his own pocket with graft money forced from
the owners of passing cars, whom he might threaten to arrest for
violating the speed limits.
The mention of the payroll money reminded the boy of his charge. There
were several thousand dollars in bills and silver in the stout bag that
he had placed under the seat of the runabout, enough to tempt many a
desperate man to take the chances of robbery.
He had been given a revolver by his father to carry along with him
whenever he had to take the semimonthly cash up to the quarries.
Unfortunately, the weapon happened to be under the cushion of the seat.
He wondered what the man would do if he started to try to get hold of
this little gun, and if the fellow was desperate enough to strike him on
the head with the stout stick he carried in his right hand.
Another thing gave Gusty further cause for alarm. The bushes close by
rustled, and a second fellow came into view. He was a shorter hobo than
the one who had pretended to play the part of country constable; but if
anything his face, rough with a week’s stubble beard, looked more
villainous than that of his companion.
Plainly, if anything was to be done, it was high time he started in to
make a move before the others could join forces. At least Gusty
Merrivale did not seem to be a coward, no matter if he did put on
superior airs and imagine himself above the common run of boys who went
to make up the rank and file of the scouts. His actions proved this
fact, for without waiting to ask further questions, or figure on what
the consequences might be, he made a quick whirl on his heel, and jumped
toward the road car.
Of course, his intention was simply to arm himself, so as to meet the
others on something like a fair footing. There was no way of escaping
while that tree blocked the road, and certainly these rascals would not
dream of allowing him to turn around and retire the way he had come.
Before the boy could throw back the cushion so as to seize upon the
weapon that snuggled under it, a heavy figure came down full upon him.
In vain did Gusty try to wriggle loose from the encircling arms that
held him in a fierce hug resembling the clasp of a wrestling bear. Gusty
was fully aroused and fought like a savage wildcat. All the while he was
shouting out words that voiced his indignation, and carried wild threats
as to what would happen to these scoundrels for daring to stop him on
the road and rob him of his trust.
Despite his furious exertions, the man held him until his companion
reached the spot, and more than a few heavy blows were dealt because the
flying fists of the excited boy happened to land in the fellow’s face.
“Let up on that tomfoolery, younker,” snarled the second man, scowling
blackly in the face of the prisoner, “or me an’ my pal’ll have to give
yuh some medicine that mebbe yuh won’t like. Think as how we’d let yuh
reach for a gun? Well, not any, I reckons. Pete, yuh started his nose
tuh bleedin’ lively last time yuh touched him up. Hope yuh didn’t break
it and spile his good looks for keeps. Now, stand still, I tells yuh,
’less yuh wants us tuh kick yuh out o’ your senses. We figgered on
gittin’ that bank roll, an’ there’s no way yuh kin save it, so let up
and make the most o’ a bad bargain. Reckon as how yuh dad he’s got heaps
more o’ this stuff whar it kim from. We needs it in our business, Pete
an’ me. And this here kyar’ll jest suit us tuh ride away in, see?”
Quivering with indignation, sore from his bruises, and almost out of
breath after the furious struggle with his tall captor, young Merrivale
realized that they intended to make a complete job of it.
“Do you mean that you’ll steal my car as well as that bag of cash?” he
demanded, aghast.
“Sure thing,” replied the tall hobo yeggman, still holding him fast.
“We’d be a nice pair of chumps now, wouldn’t we, to give you a chance to
make hot time up to the quarry, and start all that crowd of wild
Italians after us? I happen to know something about running a gas wagon,
so I guess we c’n make out to keep clear of ditches and jump-offs. Bill,
get that rope we had in the bushes.”
“What are you going to do with a rope?” asked Gus, turning a trifle pale
as he noticed that there was a straight limb growing out from the trunk
of the nearest tree close by, which would offer a very fine chance for
raising any one off the ground, did lawless persons feel inclined that
way.
“Just wait and see,” the tall hobo replied; “but we ain’t agoin’ to risk
our precious necks adoing anything that’d call for capital punishment.
We draw the line there, me’nd Bill. And hark to me, young Merrivale, all
the kicking on earth won’t help you a mite, and’ll only cause us to bang
you up some more. So if you’re half as sensible as I take you to be,
you’ll just hold tight, and let us work our will. It’s all planned out,
and nothing’ll make us change things the least bit. Let that soak in,
and it’ll pay you lots better than trying to fight back when you ain’t
got no chance at all. See?”
Gus only gave a groan of despair. Yes, he realized that it would be the
utmost folly for him to try and fight two strong men. He could not hope
to escape, and in their anger they would be apt to do him more bodily
injury. The mention made of a broken nose rather tamed his aggressive
spirit because Gus was very vain of his good looks, and would almost as
soon die as be maimed in such a way as to render him hideous in the eyes
of others.
Bill quickly reappeared from the bushes. He was carrying a stout rope
that might have been twenty feet or so in length, and which these rogues
had doubtless stolen from some person’s backyard where it had served as
a clothes line.
Perhaps it had originally been their design to make use of the rope in
order to stop the pay car. The discovery of an overturned sapling
however had suggested an easier method of proceeding. Bill hastened to
arrange a loop at one end of the rope. This he passed over the head of
the boy, and the touch of the noose on his face sent a cold chill all
through the body of the helpless prisoner.
“Fix it just under his arms, Bill,” commanded the tall man. “I warn you
to keep still, younker, if you know what’s best for you. No matter what
you say, or try to do, you can’t change our plans. We mean to keep you
here, so as to hold back the alarm as long as we can, which’ll give us a
chance to cover many miles, if your dinky old car holds out. Now, walk
over here with us, and you’ll grip on what the scheme is.”
With one on either side Gusty was compelled to advance, and he noted
with considerable trepidation that it was directly toward the precipice
that they led him.
“You wouldn’t hang me over there like this, would you?” he ejaculated,
as a terrible thought flashed into his mind. “Why, before long this rope
would cut into me so I’d be crazy with pain. Tie me to a tree if you
want, so I can’t get away, but don’t put me over there, please!”
It would have to be something beyond the common that could make a proud
boy like Gusty Merrivale plead with anyone; but for the time being he
forgot his haughty spirit, nor was it to be wondered at, considering the
peril he faced.
“No use wastin’ yer breath, kid,” snarled the shorter hobo. “We laid out
our plans an’ we means tuh kerry the same through, don’t we, Pete?”
“It ain’t quite as bad as you thinks, younker,” added the other man, who
seemed to have just a grain of pity in his nature. “’Bout twelve or
fifteen feet down the face of the precipice there’s a ledge that runs
along a little ways. No goat could ever get up or down from that same
place. We’re meaning to land you there, drop the short rope, and leave
you till somebody happens to come along, which might be in one hour, and
mebbe not till night sets in. The rope is ten times too short for you to
use it in lowering yourself down, so you’ve just got to hold the fort.
Now, lay back, and no kicking remember, because you might make us let
go, and that’d mean a tumble on the rocks two hundred feet below here.
Steady now, Bill, wait till I give the word, and lower away slow like.
Make the best of a bad bargain, younker. Remember, we might a done worse
by you.”
Afraid to struggle, and holding his very breath with dreadful suspense,
the boy felt himself being lowered through empty space. He could look
far down toward the winding road, and a wave of horror chilled him to
the core as he contemplated his fate should the men let the rope slip
through their hands, or should some weak spot in the line develop that
would cause it to part.
Foot by foot he was lowered, until he felt his feet strike the rock. He
had reached the ledge spoken of, and eagerly he endeavored to secure a
firm footing there, even sinking to his hands and knees and holding on.
The rope fell beside him, proving that the men had done as they had said
they intended to. A minute or two later, the wretched youth heard the
rapid working of the runabout’s exhaust, telling him that the robbers
had started off.