WHAT HAPPENED TO ABE.
“Abe,” said the sailor, as they reached the street, “I entertain
palpitating fears that I shall never place my lily-white hands on the
balance due me from William. I am afraid he will not settle. I shall
have to charge it up to profit and loss.”
“Why, cap’n,” said the boy wonderingly, “I believe he expected you to
give him something. I think he was disappointed.”
"Haven’t a doubt of it, my boy; but this world is full of bitter
disappointments. I have encountered a number of them in my time. A
person gets used to it after a while. Disappointments roll from me like
water off a duck’s back. Once on a time they filled me with bitterness,
and heartburning, and other painful emotions too numerous to mention.
Once on a time I had a girl who threw me down for a homelier chap. Abe,
it then seemed that for me the sun had eternally set and Stygian night
lay spread before me for all time. I even thought of taking a shotgun
and discharging it into that vacuum where my brains are supposed to be.
I longed to rest in my cold, cold grave, where all would be peace, and
silence, and relief. In my mind’s eye I saw above me a little mound of
earth, with daisies, forget-me-nots, hollyhocks, cowslips, and other
aristocratic flowers growing all over it. I saw the cruel, cruel girl
weeping above that mound, and it gave me untold satisfaction.
“The only thing that saved me from destruction was my thirst. I was
seized by an awful thirst, and when I had quenched it I felt a great
deal better. What I drank helped me to forget my sorrows, and the next
day I had another girl. As I inspected this other girl with my critical
eye, I arrived at the conclusion that she just about knocked the spots
off number one. And ever since that time I have faced disappointments
with philosophical complaisance, firm in my belief that every
disappointment and fizzle I made is simply a blessing in disguise.
That’s why I stroll through life with such serene urbanity. That’s why I
smile in the face of the finger of scorn and the tongue of gossip.
Excuse me if my metaphor is slightly mixed.”
“What are you talking about, anyway, captain?”
“I don’t know, Abe. I often wonder what I am talking about. At one time
I engaged a cultured person to translate my language for me. But when he
explained it to me, some of the things I said so shocked me that I
immediately discharged him. I concluded that it was better for me to
pass through life in blissful ignorance of the real meaning of my own
fluent conversation. But stay, Abe, stay! Methinks I have forgotten
something. Even so, I have left my hundred-dollar meerschaum pipe in
that restaurant. I placed it on the table at my elbow, and came away
without it. It’s ten chances to one that the waiter has already gathered
it unto his person, and is now chortling with glee over his good
fortune. Pause here a moment, while I hasten back to recover my
property. I will return before any elongated amount of time has
evaporated.” Saying which, Wiley quickly dashed back into the
restaurant, leaving the boy waiting upon the sidewalk.
Barely had the sailor disappeared when a closed cab stopped at the curb,
and from it sprang two black-bearded men, whose slouch hats were pulled
low down over their eyes. Before Abe could dream that he was in the
slightest danger, these men seized him. One of them clapped a broad hand
over his mouth, to prevent him from making an outcry, and in a most
astonishing manner he was snapped up, carried to the cab, and lifted
into it. If passing pedestrians observed this daring piece of work it
was completed before one of them thought of interfering. The cab door
closed with a bang. The driver whipped up his horses, and the astonished
and frightened hunchback was borne swiftly away.
“Keep still, boy!” growled one of the bearded men. “If you raise a yell
you’ll be sorry. We’re not going to hurt you.”
Abe had managed to cling to his fiddle, which was a habit of his at all
times. He was terrified, shocked, and almost smothered.
“Don’t!” he begged. “What have I done to you? Let me go, please! Let me
go!”
“We’ll let you go,” was the retort. “We’re just going to give you a
little ride. You will enjoy it.”
“Look out for him,” cautioned the other man. “He may set up a whoop.”
“I know he won’t, because I’ll choke the gizzard out of him if he does.
Don’t you even peep, kid!”
“I never hurt you,” whispered the agitated boy. “Let me get out. Cap’n
Wiley will miss me. He told me to wait.”
“You didn’t have time to wait, kid. You was in a hurry. You met some
very dear friends, who took a great interest in you, and you couldn’t
linger for Cap’n Wiley.”
“Where are you taking me?”
“Oh, we will take you to a nice place, where there are lots of pretty
things, and you will enjoy yourself. Eh, Sam?”
“Sure, Bill!” agreed Sam.
“I don’t want to go.”
“Oh! yes, you do; yes, you do. Perhaps you think you don’t want to go,
but you do. You will have a nice time—eh, Sam?”
“Sure, Bill! He will enjoy himself immensely.”
“Why did you do it?”
“Oh, it’s just a little joke—a fine little joke on Cap’n Wiley. Ha! ha!
He will be all fussed up when he comes out and finds you gone. To-morrow
morning you can go back to him. The joke will be all over then—eh, Sam?”
“Sure, Bill; it will be all over as far as we are concerned. We won’t
have anything further to do with it.”
Then the two ruffians laughed in a manner that made the unfortunate
boy’s blood run cold. He felt sure they were scoundrels, yet why they
should seek to hurt him was beyond his understanding. Once before he had
been kidnapped in a similar manner, and the experience through which he
passed was so terrible that the memory haunted his waking hours and
troubled his dreams. He was now terrified by the thought that he must
again pass through a similar experience. Yet, somehow, the suddenness of
what had happened robbed him of strength to struggle, and convinced him
it would be folly for him to shout for aid.
The cab rolled on, turning corner after corner, and to the boy the ride
seemed almost interminable. Finally it came to an end, and one of the
men flung the door open as soon as the cab stopped. He sprang out and
looked around.
“All right,” he said. “Chuck the kid out, Sam. No one near.”
The boy was thrust out by Sam, and instantly Bill caught him up, turned
like a flash, and ran up the steps of a house. Even as he reached the
door it opened for him, and then, for the first time, Abe uttered a cry
which rang sharp and shrill, and full of unspeakable terror, along the
dark block. He attempted to struggle, but his puny strength was of no
avail, and a moment later the door closed heavily behind him.
In the darkness of that house the boy was carried up a flight of stairs
and thrust into a room. The door closed upon him, and he was alone. For
some moments he stood shaking like a leaf, his legs seeming almost too
weak to bear him.
“What does it mean?” he breathed. “It must mean that Frank’s enemies
have done this. What good could it do them to hurt me?”
His only satisfaction lay in the fact that his dear fiddle was still in
his possession.
After a time he felt for the door and found it; but, as he expected, it
remained immovable beneath his touch. There seemed to be no window to
the room.
“I can’t get away!” he sobbed. “I will never get away any more unless
Frank finds me. He found me once and saved me. He can’t find me now!”
Until he met Frank Merriwell, Abe had never heard the name of God save
as an oath. He had known absolutely nothing of religion.
Frank himself, a firm believer in all things good, had found time to
teach the lad, and now little Abe knelt in that dark room and prayed. It
was a simple prayer, but who can say it was not heard by the One to whom
it was addressed?
“Dear God,” he sobbed, “I am alone, a poor little hunchback boy. I never
hurt nobody in my life. I wouldn’t hurt nobody if I could. Dear God,
Frank says you know everything, see everything, and are good and kind to
every one. I know what Frank says is true, for he couldn’t say anything
that is not true. Please, God, don’t let the bad men take me away from
Frank. If they do I shall die! Frank is the only one in the whole world
who has ever been kind to me. I love him, dear God, and so won’t you
please, please let him find me again! Amen!”
Even as he uttered the final word there came a sound at the door. He
leaped to his feet, shaking with excitement, his heart filled with the
belief that somehow his prayer had been answered thus quickly.
The door opened. Abe fell back with a little gasp of disappointment, for
into the room stepped a masked man who carried a lighted lamp in his
hand. This man closed the door behind him and stood with his back
against it, the lamp held high, while he stared through the twin holes
of the mask at the cowering hunchback.
There were some moments of silence. The man with the lamp was first to
speak.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“It’s Abe, sir—only Abe.”
“Is that all the name you know?” came the harsh, cold voice from beyond
the mask.
“That’s all, sir.”
“Don’t lie to me, boy! Tell me the truth!”
“I am not lying. Frank says it is wicked to lie.”
“Where were you born?”
“I don’t know.”
“See here, boy, I want you to tell me all you know about yourself. It’s
the best thing you can do. If you don’t know where you were born, at
least you do know where you have lived.”
“Always, until Frank found me, I lived down in Camp Broncho.”
“That’s in Arizona, is it?”
“I think so.”
“How did you come to be in Camp Broncho? Who left you there?”
“Oh, I can’t remember much about it. Once there was a man named Black
Dorson, and I used to play the fiddle for him and get money for him, and
he beat me; but one night he was shot, and after that I lived the best
way I could.”
The masked man advanced into the room and placed the lamp on a small
table.
“You don’t remember anything about yourself before you lived with Black
Dorson?”
“I don’t seem to remember much. Sometimes I almost remember, but it is
like a dream.”
“What is it you almost remember?”
“Oh, I can’t tell! I can’t tell! It is all confused! I think it must be
a dream, for I know it cannot be true. It seems that once I had a home
and was not a little miserable hunchback that everybody kicked and
cursed.”
Again the man stood still some moments, staring at the boy.
“What are you going to do with me?” asked Abe. “Are you going to kill
me?”
“It may be true!” he muttered. “I believe he looks like her!”
Then he suddenly commanded:
“Boy, take off your coat!”
“What for?” panted Abe. “What are you going to do?”
“Take off your coat! Don’t be scared. I am not going to hurt you.”
Realizing the folly of refusing to obey, the boy pulled off his coat as
directed.
“Shove up your right sleeve above the elbow,” ordered the man.
With shaking fingers the lad obeyed.
The wearer of the mask then gripped Abe’s wrist with his left hand,
still keeping his right behind him, as he had done almost constantly
since entering the room. He drew the boy nearer to the light and seemed
gazing eagerly and excitedly at the thin, bared arm.
“Push your sleeve higher,” he directed.
Abe did so.
Suddenly a low, savage exclamation came from the hidden lips of the man.
“There it is!” he almost panted. “There is the mark!”
On the lad’s arm, just above the elbow, were the faint outlines of a
blue star, as if it had been tattooed in the flesh years before.
Hundreds of times Abe had gazed at this mark upon his arm and wondered
over it. To him it was a mystery and one he fancied would never be
solved.
Suddenly the man threw the boy’s wrist aside, and through the eyeholes
of the mask Abe fancied he caught a reddish gleam. And now suddenly upon
him fell a feeling of hopeless fear more intense than any he had yet
experienced.
“He will kill me now!” he whispered. “I know he will!”
“It is her brat!” muttered the man. “Shawmut lied to me. The kid still
lives!”
He turned as if to depart, and for a moment the hand he had so
persistently held behind his back dropped at his side. In a twinkling
Abe seized it, as he began wildly pleading for mercy. Only a few words
escaped his lips, for the touch of that hand, cold, and clammy, and
deathlike, silenced him. It was as if he had grasped the fingers of a
corpse, and he saw that the hand, scarcely larger than a child’s, was
white as chalk.
With a terrible oath the masked man lifted his other hand and struck the
boy down. Then he caught up the lamp and hurried out of the room, the
door closing with a click behind him.