RESCUED FROM THE MOB.
The great farm wagon was going along toward Brooklyn slowly, the lights
in the distance were growing brighter as the party approached the city.
Suddenly Nick turned to the farmer, and said: “I didn’t suppose for a
moment that you would tell me anything that I wanted to know about Jack
Weeden, or any of his gang, but I thought it best to ask you before I
decided on my course of action. I will give you another chance to tell
me the truth, and I can assure you that it will be to your interest to
tell me all that you know. I will be fair with you, and I intend that
you shall be honest with me.”
The only reply that he received was a muttered oath from Block.
“Go on!” commanded Nick.
“What the devil are you driving at?” finally asked the farmer.
“I want to know what you know about this man Weeden and his gang, and I
want the truth.”
“Anybody would think that you thought that I was in league with the band
of outlaws!” cried the farmer, in alarm.
“How do you know that there is a band of outlaws here?” asked Nick
suddenly.
The farmer was confused.
He turned to the woman and said: “Sallie, you are a she-devil. This is
all your fault, and you have got to take the consequences. I will never
forgive you for what you have done, drat you.”
“You must not blame the lady,” said Nick quietly; “she has done the
thing that will be the best for you, and she has shown very good
judgment. I am going to have the truth from you before we part at the
Brooklyn police headquarters.”
“You don’t mean to say that you are going to arrest me, do you?”
“That will depend largely upon yourself,” replied Nick.
“I like your gall, to talk to me like that, and especially as you are
riding in my rig; I have half a mind to throw you out.”
“I would not do that if I were you,” Nick calmly replied.
“Then you get off my wagon right away!”
“I don’t think that I shall.”
Block leaped to his feet and aimed a heavy blow with his whip at Nick.
“Don’t do that. Stop it, I say!” came in terrified tones from Sallie.
Swish!
The whip cut through the air where Nick a moment before had been.
He had stepped to one side as he saw the farmer prepare to strike.
The farmer, overbalanced by his savage move, had fallen out after the
whip.
“My heavens! He is killed!” screamed Sallie.
“No, he is not; it would take a harder fall than that to kill your
worthy cousin,” said Nick reassuringly.
Nick leaped lightly to the ground, and, gathering the farmer in his
arms, he tossed him back into the wagon.
It was as pretty a piece of athletic work as Nick had ever done.
Sallie sat with her mouth open. When she recovered from her surprise,
she said:
“No wonder my cousin could not hold you down when he was on top of you
in the road.”
As soon as the farmer was able to get his breath, he sat up and looked
at Nick as if that worthy were a creature from some other planet.
Finally he managed to say:
“You are a wonder. Tell me how you did it, and I will give you ten
dollars.”
“You will tell me all that I want to know before we discuss the other
matter,” said Nick.
“You can’t make me talk unless I want to,” growled Block.
“No; but I can lock you up, and keep you there until you will.”
“Oh, no, you can’t.”
“Consider yourself my prisoner, then,” Nick said sternly.
“What am I charged with?” demanded the farmer.
“Of being an accomplice of Jack Weeden and his gang.”
“Of what are they guilty?”
“Murder.”
“You had better tell the man all that you know about that gang,” said
Sallie. “I told you that you had better keep away from that crowd, but
you would persist in mixing up with them; now you see what is the
result; you will be dragged off to jail, and I won’t have anybody to
fuss with.”
“There will be one grain of comfort in that, to say the least,” remarked
the farmer grimly.
Block thought a moment, and then, at the urgent solicitation of Sallie,
told Nick all that he knew about Weeden and the beggar.
The wagon had gotten to the ferry, when it was compelled to stop. A
great crowd of people blocked the street. They were shouting and
struggling.
What was the trouble?
Nick jumped off of the wagon and dashed into the crowd; he was followed
by the farmer.
As he reached the center of the crowd, he saw the body of a woman lying
on the ground. She was dying from a pistol wound that had been inflicted
by her jealous husband.
The husband stood near, looking at her unconcernedly as she lay there,
the blood flowing from her wounds.
“Lynch the brute!” came from a voice in the crowd.
“Burn him!” cried another.
“Shoot the demon!”
“Somebody get a rope!”
“I’ve got one here,” came from a voice in the crowd. “Let me get
through!”
Nick Carter started back as if he had been struck by lightning.
The voice was that of Jack Weeden!
Nick looked at the man a minute, and then sprang at him like a tiger.
“Jack Weeden, you are my prisoner!” he cried.
“What do you mean, sir?” gasped the man. “My name is not Weeden; it is
Wright.”
The mob, thinking that it was a ruse to keep them from getting their
prey, turned angrily on Nick.
“He is an accomplice!” they shouted. “Lynch him, too!”
With frenzied cries, they turned upon Nick, who still hung on to his
prisoner.
The farmer fought by Nick’s side, and did splendid work in holding back
the crowd.
There were too many for the two men, strong as they were, and one of the
leaders of the mob had thrown a rope over Nick’s head, when a patrol
wagon filled with policemen dashed around the corner.
“Let the police deal with them,” said one or two of the cooler heads in
the crowd.
Some of the mob, angered at the loss of a chance to lynch somebody,
tried to reach the detective, but were driven back.
One of the officers recognized Nick, and, swinging his club, shouted:
“I know this man; he is all right; fall back!”
The officer also recognized Wright as being a crockery dealer on Maple
Street.
Nick could not understand it. The features, the voice, the actions, and
the build were those of Jack Weeden.
Nick Carter had never made a mistake in the identification of a man.
Could it be possible that he was wrong now?