Kitabı oku: «A Young Inventor's Pluck: or, The Mystery of the Willington Legacy», sayfa 4

CHAPTER X
DRIVEN FROM HOME

Deb looked at Mr. Benton in horror. It was only after several seconds that she fully realized the terrible accusation which he had brought against her.

"A plot!" she faltered. "What do you mean?"

"Only this," continued Mr. Benton, "your brother has run away to escape trial, and he has taken the model with him. You have helped him to do this. But it won't work. I pay my way, and a bargain's a bargain. If I have to pay the thousand dollars, I'll have the model or I'll know the reason why."

"But how do you know Jack has run away?"

"If he hasn't, where is he?"

"He went to a job in the country yesterday morning and hasn't returned yet."

"And you expect me to believe that story?" sneered the speculator.

"It's the truth," replied Deb, bursting into tears. "I'm sure Jack will come back. The model was stolen by a man who said my brother had sent him for it."

"And are you positive that your brother did not send him for it?"

"Almost, sir, because the man ran away with it when I promised to send it by some one else."

"Humph! Well, we'll see; I'll let the matter rest until to-morrow, and then we'll have a settlement."

With these words Mr. Benton pulled his hat more tightly than usual over his small, round head, and tripped down the stairs and out of the building.

Deb's heart sank like a clod. Her last hope was gone. She had counted on getting help from the speculator, and the result had been directly the opposite.

"Rec'on you won't get anything out of him," was the constable's grim comment. He had listened in silence to the brief interview, and now arose to continue his disagreeable but necessary duty.

"Isn't there any way at all of having this thing stopped?" asked the girl, bitterly.

"No; unless you get the money," was the man's reply, and pulling off his coat, he took up a couple of chairs, and marched down stairs.

Deb jumped up and followed him. Her heart beat wildly, and something in her throat nearly choked her. What could she do? Her thoughts ran to Mrs. Snitzer. She knew the kind German woman needed money as much as any of the tool works people did, but perhaps she could give some help, or offer some advice.

She flew to the door of her neighbor's apartments, and knocked eagerly. No answer came, and then she knocked more loudly than ever.

Suddenly she remembered that Mrs. Snitzer had signified her intention of taking her whole family to her brother's farm for a few days, and possibly until the end of the shut-down.

"It's no use, they're all gone!" she sighed. "There is no help to be had!"

Meanwhile the constable worked rapidly. In his time he had been in situations where the neighbors had interfered with him, and he wished to get away as soon as possible.

Soon there was quite a respectable stock of furniture and other household effects piled upon the sidewalk. Deb packed up the smaller stuff as fast as she could-the china and crockery in baskets, and the clothing and linen in the two old family trunks. Truth to admit, the constable did not hurry her a bit more than he could help.

Presently Deb went below to see that no one should walk away with some of their belongings. Her eyes were red and swollen, and a more wretched girl could not have been found in all Corney.

As she sat down on one of the upturned wash tubs she wondered what she was to do. She had no neighbors, and with the exception of the Snitzers they were all strangers to her-they on their part deeming her "stuck up," and perhaps rejoicing to see her placed in her present humiliating position.

The wild hope of Jack's return came constantly to her mind, and twice she ran down to the corner vainly straining her eyes to catch sight of his well-known form.

"If I had only accepted Mont's aid," she thought, "I wonder where I could find him?"

Presently the constable brought down the very last of the goods, and locking up the rooms, went away.

"Why, Deb, I declare, I didn't know you were going to move. You didn't say anything of it last Sunday. How lucky I came before you were gone! or, perhaps, how unlucky to come when you are all upside down. Never mind, go right ahead, and don't pay any attention to me. It's an awful job, isn't it? I haven't experienced moving in ten years, but I remember well that I didn't get straightened out for two months, and then it took twice that long to get accustomed to the new place. Where did you say you were moving to?"

And having thus delivered herself in one breath, the speaker, a middle-aged lady, who wore blue glasses, and was slightly deaf, took Deb's hand in a quick, nervous grasp, and peered into the care-worn face.

"Oh, Miss Parks, we are not moving at all!" cried out the girl, laying her head on her Sunday-school teacher's shoulder.

"Glad I called?" queried Miss Parks, misunderstanding her. "Well, now, seeing things as they are, I didn't expect it. But, maybe I can help you. I'm not overdressed, so just tell me what to do, and I'll go right to work. Hasn't the truck-man come yet?"

"We-are-not-moving," repeated Deb, putting her mouth close to Miss Parks's ear.

"No? Why-why-then something dreadful has happened, all your furniture out here on the sidewalk, with the dust a-blowing on 'em. What is it-fire? That's a dreadful thing. Even if things are not burned up, the smoke gets in 'em, and you can't get it out."

"It isn't fire," returned the unhappy girl, "it's because we can't pay the rent."

"Oh, dear!" Miss Parks was all sympathy at once. "I thought your brother was doing pretty well now," she added.

"So he was. But the tool works have shut down, and we can't get a cent from the bank."

The elderly maiden caught at the words.

"The bank! Isn't it awful. They wouldn't give me mine, yesterday, and I wanted it the worst way, too. But tell me about your trouble."

In a few words, spoken as plainly as possible, Deb poured her tale into the lady's ear.

"I heard about your brother being arrested for the fire," remarked Miss Parks. "But I didn't believe it. Mr. Long says Jack is such a good fellow, and such an excellent scholar."

"I'm glad you think so," burst out the girl. "Oh, Miss Parks, if people only knew Jack as well as I do, they wouldn't say such horrid things about him."

"Well, dear, we all have our trials, and must ask Him to help us bear them," replied the elderly maiden, with sincere piety. "But about the rent. How much is it?"

"Six dollars."

"Not much, truly. But it's more than I have, or I'd pay it in a minute. Have you any money at all?"

"Not over three dollars."

Miss Parks drew out her pocketbook, and examined the contents.

"Just a dollar," she exclaimed. "I declare we are both poor, with money in the bank, too." She paused a moment in deep thought. "I'll tell you what you might do."

"What?" asked Deb, eagerly.

"Move your things down to my house. I'll let you have the back bedroom and attic, and when you're settled we'll see what is to be done. Jack will be back before a great while, I'm certain."

Miss Parks was entirely alone in the world. The house that she occupied was her own, left her by an invalid uncle, whom she had nursed constantly during the last four years of his life. She was a dress-maker, and a lady's companion, and earned a fair living-a goodly portion of which found its way to charity and the church-for she was a devout Christian, and an earnest worker in the cause.

"Oh, thank you!" cried Deb, a heavy weight taken from her mind. "But won't it be inconvenient for you?"

"Not a bit. In fact I think I'll enjoy company."

"Then I'll accept your offer," continued the girl, "And I think it is real good of you to let me come."

Miss Parks bent down and kissed the tired cheeks.

"You're a good girl, Deb," she said. "You don't deserve such a trial as this."

A little later a truckman was engaged who speedily transferred the household goods to Deb's new home.

CHAPTER XI
ON THE RIVER ROAD

Mont Gray hastened to the Corney postoffice with all possible speed. For his own sake, as well as for Deb's he wished to dispatch his business as quickly as possible, so as to devote the remainder of the day to hunting up Jack.

He was afraid that something out of the ordinary had befallen his friend. He had not wished to add to Deb's already deep anxiety, but he knew Jack too well to imagine that the young machinist would willfully keep his sister in ignorance of his whereabouts.

This feeling upon the young man's part might not have been so strong had all other surroundings been more tranquil. But since the shut-down at the tool works the air had been filled with murmurs of dissatisfaction-augmented largely by the suspension of the bank, and everywhere there prevailed a vague feeling that something was about to happen.

One thing was certain. Not a single one of his employes were satisfied with Mr. Felix Gray's management, and there were plenty of hot-headed men who wished him joy over his burnt mansion.

It did not take Mont long to post the letters, and then he struck out at once for the Farrell place.

It was a glorious morning, bright and clear, and when he reached the Redrock road he found the birds singing as merrily as could be.

In spite of the unpleasant things that had happened, Mont felt wonderfully light-hearted, the secret of which was that he was doing something for Deb-a service which he knew she would appreciate, and one which, therefore, he was more than willing to do.

As the young man walked along the river bank whistling cheerily to himself he espied a man coming toward him.

A moment later he recognized the individual as Andy Mosey.

"Wonder what he is doing out here," said Mont to himself. "Perhaps the prison keeper was right, and Jack is on his track-may be watching his chance to get evidence to convict him." When the discovery took place Mont was at a spot where the road ran close to the bank, and here he waited for the Irishman to come up.

As Mosey approached, it was easy to see that he had been drinking heavily. In truth it was but the continuance of his potations of the previous day.

"He had better take care, or he'll go over the bank, sure," was the young man's mental observation, as he watched the reeling form.

As Mosey drew nearer Mont noticed that his eyes were deeply sunken, and that despite the drink, his face looked pale and haggard.

"Possibly he is worried over his wrongdoings," thought Mont, hitting more truth than he imagined. "It's a pity such a strong fellow can't keep from liquor."

The Irishman shuffled directly toward Mont, without apparently noticing him.

"Hello," exclaimed the young man, sharply. "Where bound?"

The Irishman started up in surprise.

"Where you-hic-goin'?" he asked.

"I'm looking for Jack Willington. Have you seen him?"

Mosey gave a shudder. The remembrance of that awful scene in the old mill still hung in his mind.

"No-hic-no," he answered hastily. "Oi haven't see the b'y for two days," and he gave a lurch outward.

"Take care!" exclaimed Mont. "If you tumble over that bank you'll never get out again."

The Irishman drew as far away as possible from the water.

"You're roight, Mont, me b'y," he mumbled. "It's sure death, and no-hic-foolin'."

"So you're certain that you haven't seen Jack?" continued Mont. "He has been out here I know."

The effect of his last words was a truly astonishing one. With a cry of drunken rage, Mosey sprang toward him, his eyes blazing with fury.

"Ye can't come it over-hic-me!" he shouted. "Ye think ye're schmart, but yo're left this-hic-toime."

"What do you mean?" ejaculated Mont.

The extraordinary change in the Irishman's manner nearly dumbfounded him.

"Ye know well enough."

"Then you have seen him?" exclaimed the young man. "Oh, I see. He knows a thing or two about you, and-"

"He don't know-hic-nothin', – now," hiccoughed the Irishman. The liquor had muddled his brain.

"What!" gasped Mont, with a sudden sense of horror. "You-you-" he began.

He was standing with his heels against a small rock that overhung the bank.

"Ye can foind out fer-hic-yerself!" snarled Mosey, and with a quick spring he gave the young man a push that sent him spinning over backward. Mont tried to catch hold of the rock, but the smooth surface slipped from under his hands. He grasped the small bushes-they came out by the roots. He felt himself going down-down; – the glint of the sunshine upon the water sparkled in his face and then?

Mosey got down flat on the rocks and crawling to the edge, peered over the bank. He saw Mont's hat rise to the surface, and float swiftly along with the bounding stream.

"He's gone!" he muttered, hoarsely, after waiting for further signs of his victim. "Gone to the bottom!"

He crawled back to the middle of the road, and arose to his feet.

The awful occurrence had for the time sobered him, and he moved forward without a stagger.

"Bad worruk Oi'm doin'!" he muttered to himself. "Phat will Dennis say?"

The thought of his brother-in-law's possible condemnation of his actions made him shiver. He turned and slowly retraced his steps from whence he had come. He had not quite reached the spot when Corrigan's voice sounded in his ear.

"Where have you been?" he demanded.

"Oi thought Oi'd go to Corney, but Oi changed me moind," was Mosey's reply.

"Good thing you did. They want you up there."

"Phat for?"

Mosey had stopped at the door, and now looked at his brother-in-law sharply.

"Oh, for setting fire to Gray's house," said Corrigan, with a laugh.

"Oh, Oi thought-" the Irishman suddenly checked himself. "Say, Oi didn't see ye on the road," he continued.

"I came up by the back way," replied Corrigan.

"Phy?"

Corrigan made no reply. To tell the truth, he did not wish Mosey to know that he had stolen Jack's model, and that precious article was now safely hidden in the loft of the mill.

"Phy don't ye answer me question?" continued Andy Mosey.

"Oh, I thought I'd try the other way for a change," said Corrigan, as lightly as possible. "How is the young fellow?" he continued, changing the subject.

"He's-he's gone," faltered Mosey. "He-he had a mishap, and fell into the wather."

"Drowned?"

"Yes."

Corrigan gave a whistle of surprise. He was on the point of asking the particulars, but suddenly changed his mind.

"Well, I'm glad he's out of the way," he declared.

Mosey walked into the mill, and sat down on a bench, the picture of fear and misery. Corrigan did not pay any further attention to him, but went upstairs and examined the model he had stolen.

"It is a beautiful piece of work!" was his mental comment, "and if I only work it right I'll make a neat stake out of it!" he added as he hid it away again.

CHAPTER XII
JACK'S DANGEROUS POSITION

Meanwhile how had Jack fared?

His last cry for help had been cut short by his plunge into the river. With his hands still bound tightly behind him, he felt himself sink many feet, and then a few seconds later he regained the surface, and shook the water from his face. He found that the swiftly flowing tide had carried him several rods from the old mill, and well out toward mid-stream.

"I'm surely lost!" he said to himself with a shudder. "The falls are not more than a quarter of a mile below, and when I reach there-"

A shiver finished the sentence. In time past he had heard of several persons being carried over, and not one had lived to tell the story. What hope was there then for him?

He remembered that half way to the falls the stream narrowed considerably where the tide rushed with a roar that was deafening, and there were several huge rocks. Perhaps, if he could gain one of these, when morning came he might devise some means of escape.

He tried his best to slip off the cord from his wrists, which was the same cord that had been fastened to his feet, and which now dragged a considerable distance behind him. But the hemp was water soaked, and cut into his flesh until it bled.

On and on he was carried. It seemed that every instant the speed increased. It was useless to cry out-no one was near, even if indeed, his voice should reach the shore. His mind was filled with countless anxious thoughts. What would his friends think of his absence? What would Mont say? What would Deb do if he was lost?

Thinking of his dear sister was more painful than aught else, and he uttered a sincere prayer that his life might be spared, for her sake, if not for his own.

Presently, through the gloom came the noise of the water as it washed over and around the rocks below.

He lifted his head as high as possible, and strained his eyes to get a view of the situation, but water and foam were alone in sight.

Nearer and nearer he was now drawing. The water bubbled all around. Then like a flash a black object loomed to the right.

He struggled with all his power to gain it. Kicking and plunging, his side struck a rock.

He tried to grasp it, but it slipped. Another and still another passed. The water surged on all sides.

Suddenly his feet touched bottom. He threw himself with all his force against the current.

"Now or never!" were his thoughts. "For home and Deb!"

He flung his body to one side where a sharp rock stuck out of the water but a few inches, and, half turning, he threw his arm partly over it.

His feet were swept from under him, and as the cord upon his wrists still refused to part, his shoulder was nearly dislocated by the strain that was thus brought to bear.

Beside the sharp rock was another, and drawing a long breath, he gradually worked his way until he lay flat upon its surface.

This new resting place was not more than seven feet in length by three in width, yet to Jack it seemed a perfect island, so much more preferable was it to the cold water of the stream.

The young machinist lay quiet for a long time.

He was utterly exhausted, and it was no easy task to recover the wind that had been knocked out of him.

After a while, he turned over and sat up. He was afraid to try standing, fearful of losing his footing.

In the semi-darkness he calculated that the rocks leading to either shore were fully fifteen or twenty feet away-a distance which, in such a place as this, was as bad as a mile, so far as reaching them was concerned.

"If it was only a little lighter I might throw out the rope and catch fast somewhere," he said to himself. "As it is, I suppose I'll have to wait till morning."

But waiting was far from agreeable. Had he been sure of eventually escaping, it would have been different, but the doubt of this rendered his mind extremely uneasy.

Nearly an hour passed. It grew darker, and one by one the stars came out.

Ceaselessly the water tumbled and roared, as if it knew not the meaning of rest.

As we know, he had had but little sleep the night before, and now he was fagged out. Several times his eyes closed and his head nodded, but he always came to his senses.

"It will never do to go to sleep here?" he exclaimed. "Guess I'll try shouting. It will keep me awake, if nothing else."

He used his lungs to their full capacity, yet his voice was no stronger than the bleating of a lamb in a hurricane.

"No one will ever hear me," was his dismal comment, and then he stopped.

Another hour slowly passed.

To Jack it seemed like an age. He was getting benumbed by the cold water, and his limbs were stiff and sore. How long would it last? How long could it last?

Another hour!

It must surely be morning soon-he had been there certainly a full night already. Why didn't it grow light?

His eyes closed for a moment-more from exhaustion than sleep-and then they closed again.

Why, what was this?

Here he was safe at home! There was the supper table waiting, and Deb, in her neat, white apron, pouring out the tea! Now they sat down together and began to eat, when, hold up-there was a fire somewhere. Was it in their home? Yes, it must be for the fireman was at the window with a hose-and it was Mr. Gray! The water struck Jack in the ear.

"Help! help! I-"

The young machinist awoke in horror. He had slipped from the rock, and was again being madly whirled down the stream!

Oh! the agony of that moment! Why had he allowed himself to fall asleep?

Nothing but certain death now stared him in the face!

In the dim dawn he looked ahead and saw the line of white that marked the last of the breakwater above the awful descent.

"I'm gone, sure!" he sighed. "Good-by to home and Deb!"

On he swept with ever-increasing speed. The lofty brink was only a hundred feet away-now it was seventy-five-now fifty!

With a terrible cry he flung himself back, as if to ward off that which was inevitable.

Stop-what was this? The cord that was dragging behind him tightened; it grew tighter still-it stopped his progress!

"If it only holds!" was his one thought.

He waited, and looked back to see how the hemp had become fastened, but the surface of the water was without a break.

It held, and as it gradually tightened more and more, there slowly arose to the top, the limb of a huge tree that had probably been carried down the stream by the spring freshet.

The knot at the end of the rope had dragged itself fast in a notch between two of the smaller branches, and before it could loose itself, Jack caught the larger branch, and locked his feet tightly around it.

His weight threw the tree still more on its side, and this placed him high and dry several feet above the surface, and about a rod above the falls!

The position was a terrifying one. It made him dizzy to look at the boiling water as it fell, and the vortex below was awful to contemplate.

"I suppose this tree won't stick fast forever," he thought, "and even if it does, how can I ever hope to reach shore from here?"

How long he remained in this trying position, with life on one side, and death on the other, Jack never knew. He clung fast as never before, and to secure himself still further, tied the rope fast to the tree and to his own body.

It was now broad daylight. Surely some one passing on either shore would see and assist him.

But hour after hour dragged along, and no one came. It was getting toward noon, and the sun sent a glare all over the sparkling water.

What was this dark object that was floating so rapidly toward him?

A man!

The young machinist uttered an exclamation. The body came within his reach, and leaning over, he stayed its progress.

The form was limp and motionless, the eyes closed.

Jack turned it over.

"Mont Gray!" he shrieked. "Oh, Mont, Mont, are you dead?"