Kitabı oku: «Dave Porter and His Double: or, The Disapperarance of the Basswood Fortune», sayfa 15
CHAPTER XXIX
THE CAPTURE
What Dave said concerning the man he had known as William Jarvey was true. He was in reality Ward Porton’s father, his full name being William Jarvey Porton. Years before, however, on entering the United States Army, he had dropped the name William and been known only as Jarvey Porton. Later, on being dismissed from the army for irregularities in his accounts, he had assumed the name of William Jarvey.
A lively discussion lasting several minutes, and which our hero and Roger failed to catch, followed the discovery of Jarvey Porton’s identity. Then the listeners heard the former lieutenant say:
“Brown, I think you had better go outside and watch to make sure that no one is coming to this place.”
“All right, just as you say,” was the other man’s answer. Evidently he understood that this was a hint that Jarvey Porton wished to speak to his son in private.
As Packard Brown placed his hand on the door leading to the semi-dark hallway Dave and Roger lost no time in tiptoeing their way back to the closet in which they had before hidden. From this place they saw Brown leave the room and walk outside. Then they returned to their position at the door.
“Are you sure the cases are in a safe place, Ward?” they heard Jarvey Porton ask anxiously.
“Sure of it, Dad. I hid them with great care.”
“Are you sure nobody saw you do it?”
“Not a soul.”
“Where was the place?”
“On a high knoll not far from where we have been tying up the boats,” answered Ward Porton. “There are a number of big rocks there, and I found a fine cache between them.”
“It’s rather dangerous to leave them around that way,” grumbled the man. “Maybe you would have done better if you had brought them over here.”
“I thought there would be no use in carting them back and forth,” returned the son. “I wanted to have them handy, in case the Basswoods met my demands.”
“Well, we’ll see what comes of it, Ward. I hope we do get that money. I certainly need some,” and Jarvey Porton heaved something of a sigh. Evidently father and son were equally unscrupulous and took no pains to disguise that fact from each other.
More talk followed, Ward telling something of the way in which the miniatures had been obtained and his father relating the particulars of his troubles with the Mentor Construction Company. In the midst of the latter recital Dave and Roger heard Packard Brown returning on the run.
“Hi there!” called out the man in evident alarm. And then as the two chums hid in the closet once more, he burst into the room occupied by the Portons. “Those greasers are coming back and they are heading for this place!” he explained.
“In that case we had better get out,” answered Jarvey Porton, quickly.
“But you and Brown helped them in that raid, Dad,” interposed the son. “Why should you get out?”
“We had a big quarrel after that raid, Ward,” explained the parent. “And now those greasers have no use for us. We’ll have to get out, and in a hurry, too.”
Shouting could now be heard at a distance, and this was followed by a volley of shots which surprised all the listeners.
“I’ll tell you what it must be,” said Jarvey Porton, as he led the way from the deserted ranch. “A detachment from the regular army must be after General Bilassa’s crowd. Maybe they’ll have a fight right here along the border!”
“I don’t want to get mixed up in any fight!” exclaimed Ward Porton. “Maybe we had better get back to the United States side of the river.”
“That’s the talk!” put in Packard Brown. “Come on!”
All left the ranch and headed directly for the river, at the point where Ward had left his flat-bottomed rowboat. Dave and Roger followed them, but did their best to keep out of sight in the tall grass.
“Oh, Dave, I hope they do go over to the other shore!” exclaimed the senator’s son. “It will be so much easier to capture them.”
“Exactly, Roger. And don’t you remember what Ward told his father–that he had left the miniature cases hidden on the other side? He said they were on a high knoll not far from where the boats had been tied up. We ought to be able to find that cache.”
By the time the two chums gained the shore of the Rio Grande those ahead of them had already entered Ward Porton’s boat. Ward and Brown each had an oar and rowed as rapidly as possible to the other side of the stream. Jarvey Porton sat in the stern of the craft, and looked back from time to time, trying to catch sight of the guerrillas and the other Mexicans, who were still shouting and firing at a distance.
“Hadn’t you better hold back a bit, Dave, so they don’t see you?” questioned Roger, as he and our hero managed to gain the rowboat they had used, which, fortunately, had been placed some distance away from the other craft.
“Good advice, Roger, if it wasn’t for one thing. I don’t want to give them a chance to get out of our sight. Let us tie our handkerchiefs over the lower parts of our faces. Then they won’t be able to recognize us–at least unless we get pretty close.”
With Dave’s suggestion carried out, the chums leaped into the rowboat, and, this done, each took an oar. They pulled hard, and as a consequence reached the mouth of the little creek on the United States side in time to see those ahead just disembarking.
“Where do you suppose they are going?” queried the senator’s son.
“That remains to be found out,” answered Dave. “Duck now, so they won’t see us.” And with a quick motion of the oar he possessed he sent the flat-bottomed boat in among some tall grass which bordered the creek at this point.
Ward Porton and those with him had tied up their boat and were walking to the higher ground away from the creek. Jarvey Porton paused to look back along the creek and the bosom of the river beyond.
“I don’t see anything on the river just now,” he announced.
“Look! Some one is coming from the other way!” exclaimed his son, suddenly.
“Is that Lawson, the ranchman?” questioned Packard Brown, anxiously.
“No, I don’t think it is,” answered Ward Porton. “They seem to be strangers,” he added, a minute later.
Two men and a well-grown boy were approaching. They came on slowly, as if looking for some one.
“I’d like to know what those fellows want around here,” came from Jarvey Porton, as he gave up looking along the river to inspect the newcomers.
From their position in the tall grass bordering the creek, Dave and Roger looked from the Porton party to those who were approaching. Then, of a sudden, our hero uttered a low exclamation of surprise.
“Look who’s here, Roger! Ben Basswood and my Uncle Dunston! And Mr. Andrews is with them!”
“Oh, Dave! are you sure?”
“Of course I am! I would know my Uncle Dunston as far as I could see him. And you ought to know Ben.”
“My gracious, Dave, you’re right! This sure is luck!”
“I know what I’m going to do,” decided our hero, quickly. “I’m going to send both of the boats adrift. Then, no matter what happens, those rascals won’t have any easy time of it getting back to Mexico.”
In feverish haste Dave sent the flat-bottomed boat out into the creek once more. Roger assisted him, and a few strokes of the oars brought the craft alongside of that which had been used by the Porton party. Then the chums leaped ashore, threw all the oars into the water, and set both of the rowboats adrift.
“Hi there! What are you fellows up to?” came suddenly from Packard Brown, who had happened to look behind him. “See, Jarvey, those two fellows have cast our boat adrift!”
“Who are they?” demanded Jarvey Porton, and looked in some bewilderment at the two figures approaching, each with a handkerchief tied over the lower portion of the face.
“Uncle Dunston! Ben!” cried Dave at the top of his lungs, and at the same time whipped the handkerchief from his face. “Here are Ward Porton and his father! We must capture them!”
“Hurry up! Don’t let them get away!” put in Roger, as he, too, uncovered his face.
As he uttered the words Roger drew his pistol, an action which was quickly followed by our hero, for both understood that the criminals before them might prove desperate.
Of course Dunston Porton and Ben Basswood, as well as Frank Andrews, were greatly astonished by the calls from Dave and Roger. But our hero’s uncle, while out hunting in various parts of the world, had been in many a tight corner, and thus learned the value of acting quickly. He had with him his pistol, and almost instantly he drew this weapon and came forward on the run, with Ben and Frank Andrews at his heels.
“Stop! Stop! Don’t shoot!” yelled Ward Porton in alarm, as he found himself and his companions surrounded by five others, three with drawn pistols.
“We won’t shoot, Porton, if you’ll surrender,” answered Dave.
“Oh, Dave! has he got those miniatures?” burst out Ben.
“He sure has, Ben!”
“Good!”
“I haven’t got any miniatures,” growled the former moving-picture actor.
His father and Brown looked decidedly uncomfortable. Once the former army officer made a motion as if to draw his own weapon, but Dunston Porter detected the movement and instantly ordered all of the party to throw up their hands.
“Oh, Dave! are you sure he has those pictures?” queried Ben, and his face showed his anxiety.
“I think so, Ben. However, we’ll find out as soon as we have made them prisoners.”
“That’s the talk!” put in Roger. He turned to Dave’s uncle. “Can’t you bind them or something, so that they can’t get away?”
“We’ll disarm them,” announced Frank Andrews. “Jarvey and Brown are wanted for that raid on old man Tolman’s ranch and for using that bomb on the bridge. We can prove through Pankhurst that they were with the party.”
“That man is Ward Porton’s father,” explained Dave to his uncle and Ben, while the evil-doers were being searched and disarmed one after another.
“Ward Porton’s father, eh? Well, they seem to be two of a kind,” answered Ben.
With their weapons taken from them, the prisoners could do nothing but submit. They were questioned, but all refused to tell anything about what they had done or intended to do.
“You’ll never get anything out of me, and you’ll never get those miniatures back,” growled Ward Porton, as he gazed sourly at Ben and at Dave.
“We’ll see about that, Porton,” answered our hero. And then he requested his uncle and Frank Andrews to keep an eye on the prisoners while he, Roger and Ben set out for the knoll some distance away from the creek.
“Ward Porton said he had hidden some cases in a cache between some rocks on that knoll,” explained our hero. “By cases I think he meant those containing the miniatures.”
“Oh, I hope he did!” returned Ben, wistfully. “To get those miniatures back means so much to my folks!”
CHAPTER XXX
THE FORTUNE RECOVERED–CONCLUSION
As Dave, Roger, and Ben tramped through the tall grass to where was located a knoll of considerable size, the son of the Crumville real estate dealer related how he and Dunston Porter had arrived in the construction camp and how they had gotten Frank Andrews to show them in what direction our hero and the senator’s son had gone.
“We knew you were after Porton, and we hoped to catch sight of that rascal,” went on Ben, “but we didn’t dream that we were going to capture Ward and also those two men who are wanted for that raid on the Tolman ranch. And to think that one of the men is Ward’s father! He certainly must be a bad egg!”
“He is, Ben,” answered Dave. “And Ward is a chip of the old block.”
The chums were soon ascending the knoll, containing many rocks between which were dense clumps of chaparral. Here they had to advance with care so as not to turn an ankle or get their clothing torn.
Dave had hoped that the search for the missing cases would be an easy one, but in that he was disappointed. The three chums walked all around the knoll several times without getting anything in the way of a clue as to where Porton’s cache was located.
“It’s a shame!” burst out Roger at length. “If we could only–” He looked quickly at Dave. “What do you see?”
Our hero did not reply. Instead he hurried forward several feet, and then gave a low cry.
“Porton has been here!” he exclaimed, and held up a half-burned cigarette.
It was not much of a clue, but it was something; and working on this all three of the youths searched the vicinity diligently. They soon came upon a somewhat flat rock, and all seized hold of this to cast it to one side.
“Hurrah!” came simultaneously from Dave and Roger, as they saw a large opening under where the stone had been placed.
Ben said nothing, but plunged his hand into the opening, to draw from it an instant later one of the cases that had contained the Enos miniatures. The other cases quickly followed.
“Are the miniatures in them?” questioned the senator’s son.
“That’s what I’m going to find out,” answered Ben.
The cases were fastened by several catches, but these were quickly unfastened and the lids thrown open.
“Good! Good!” exclaimed Ben, and his face showed his intense satisfaction.
There before the eyes of the youths were nearly all of the wonderful collection of miniatures which Mr. Basswood had inherited. Only two were missing–those which the thieves had sold in New York.
“Oh, this is simply grand!” cried Roger, enthusiastically.
“That’s what it is,” added Dave, and then went on quickly: “We’ll have to get these to some safe place and then make sure that they’ll never be stolen again.”
“Don’t you worry about that, Dave. I won’t let them out of my sight until they are safe and sound,” declared the real estate dealer’s son.
Locking up the cases once more, the three youths carried them off the knoll and through the chaparral to where they had left Dunston Porter and the others. Of course, Dave’s uncle was much gratified to learn that the miniatures had been recovered, and Frank Andrews was also pleased. Jarvey Porton looked downcast, and his son showed his deep disgust.
“I was a fool not to take them over into Mexico,” remarked the former moving-picture actor.
“Well, I told you that was what you should have done,” retorted his father. And then he added in a low tone: “We might have purchased our freedom with those miniatures.”
While Dunston Porter and Frank Andrews looked after the prisoners to see that they did not get away, Dave and his chums took care of the cases containing the precious miniatures, and thus the whole party made its way to the engineering and construction camp. There the Portons and Packard Brown were handcuffed, and word was sent to the authorities to take charge of them.
“And now I’ve got to send word home about this good news!” cried Ben, and lost no time in getting off a long telegram to his folks, and asking them to inform Dave’s father and the Wadsworths by telephone of the success of the trip to Texas.
“That message ought to do your father more good than a dose of medicine,” remarked Dave.
“It will, Dave,” answered Ben, his face beaming. “I know father will recover now that he has nothing more to worry about.” Ben was right. The recovery of the fortune in miniatures did much toward restoring the real estate dealer to his former good health.
In the camp it was remarked by a number of men how much Ward Porton resembled Dave. But no one at that time dreamed that this resemblance was shortly to come to an end. Yet such was a fact. When being transferred from Texas to the State in which his crimes had been committed, Ward Porton attempted to make his escape by leaping from a rapidly moving railroad train. As a consequence he broke not only both of his legs, but also his nose, and cut his right cheek most frightfully. As a result, when he was retaken he had to remain in the hospital for a long time, and when he came out his face was much disfigured and he walked with a decided limp.
“It’s too bad, but he brought it on himself,” was Dave’s comment, when he heard of this.
“It’s a good thing in one respect,” was Roger’s reply. “With his nose broken and his cheek disfigured and with such a limp, no one will ever take Ward Porton for you again.”
It may be mentioned here that when the proper time came Ward Porton and Tim Crapsey were brought to trial and each was given a long term of imprisonment. Ward’s father and the other men who had participated in the attack on the Tolman ranch and on the bridge and had been captured were also severely punished.
The store-keepers and the hotel-keeper who suffered through Ward Porton’s misrepresentations could get nothing from the young culprit, but they had the satisfaction of knowing that he had now been put where it would be impossible for him to dupe others.
Ben Basswood remained at the camp but a few days, and then he and Dunston Porter started northward. The miniatures had been boxed up and shipped by express, insured for their full value. It may be stated here that they arrived safely at their destination. Those which had been disposed of in New York City were recovered, and in the end Mr. Basswood disposed of the entire collection to the museums in four of our large cities for the sum of seventy-five thousand dollars. With part of this money he went into several heavy real estate deals, taking Ben in with him, and father and son did very well.
“I think the getting back of those miniatures was entirely your work, Dave,” declared Roger, one day.
“I don’t know about that,” answered our hero, modestly. “I think you had a hand in it.”
“I had a hand in catching Ward Porton, but you were the one to spot that cache and locate the Basswood fortune.”
And now let me add a few words more and then bring to an end this story of “Dave Porter and His Double.”
A number of years have passed since Dave graduated from Oak Hall and took up the profession of a civil engineer. Both he and Roger learned rapidly, and at the end of the required time both passed their final examinations with flying colors. They remained with the Mentor Construction Company, journeying all over the United States, and also going down into Mexico and into Central and South Americas. They, of course, met with numerous adventures, some of which I may relate to you at a future time. They returned to Crumville a number of times, and during those visits Dave was more attentive to Jessie than ever, while Roger spent nearly all his time at Laura’s side.
“They’ll make a fine pair of married couples,” declared Dave’s Uncle Dunston.
“Well, I hope they’ll be happy,” answered Dave’s father. “They certainly deserve to be.”
“You are right. But I guess they had better wait awhile yet.”
“Of course. They are young, and Dave and Roger want to get a good foothold in their profession.”
“Those boys have had some strenuous doings,” continued the uncle. “I wonder what will happen next?”
“Something, that’s certain,” answered Dave’s father; and he was right, as will be related in my next volume, to be entitled, “Dave Porter’s Great Search; or, The Perils of a Young Civil Engineer.” In that book we will meet all our young friends again, and learn the particulars of Jessie Wadsworth’s strange disappearance.
“Great days, those–on the Rio Grande, Dave!” remarked Roger, one day, when the two had been discussing what had taken place in the past.
“Yes, Roger, they certainly were great days,” answered our hero. “No matter what exciting times may come in the future, I’ll never forget how I helped to capture my double.”
“And how we managed to become full-fledged civil engineers, Dave.”
“Yes, that was just as good as getting back the Basswood miniatures, if not better,” answered Dave.
Here, at the height of his success in his chosen profession, we will wish Dave Porter well, and say good-bye.
