CHAPTER XXXI
SOMETHING OF A MYSTERY
The declaration that Dave made filled all of his companions with astonishment. All knew the particulars of the occurrence mentioned, and knew that the evildoer had not yet been handed over to justice.
"You are sure he is the man, Dave?" queried the senator's son.
"Yes, I know him not only by his looks but by his voice as well."
"You don't want to make any mistake about this," said Phil. "Accusing a man of a robbery is no slight thing to do. If you made a mistake you might get yourself into serious trouble."
"I am positive," said Dave. "The question is, what ought we to do?"
"Let us capture him," said Ben.
"That may be easier said than done."
"We are four to two."
"And that other man seems to be honest—by the way he talks," said Phil.
"Let us arm ourselves with clubs," suggested Roger. "We must certainly capture that robber, even if the other man gets away. What we want—Oh!"
"Don't! don't hit me like that, Tag Dutch!" came from the room. "Don't!" And then they heard the fall of a body to the floor.
"You brought it on yourself—you're not going to expose me just yet," muttered the other man.
"Come on—let us go in!" cried Dave. "He has knocked that other man down. He may kill him!"
They burst open the door and rushed into the room. A glance sufficed to show them one man in a sailor garb, on the floor, unconscious. Over him stood the other fellow, well dressed, with a thick stick in his grasp.
"Drop that club!" cried Roger. "Drop it, or it will be the worse for you," and he swung his skates in the air.
"Wha—what do you boys want here?" demanded the man, in astonishment. "Where did you come from?" and the club went down to his side.
"I guess you know me," cried Dave, confronting him.
"Why—er—I—I don't know you at all."
"Well, I know you, and that is of more importance just now. You are the rascal that robbed Senator's Morr's summer home."
"And you are going to prison for it," added Roger, and coming up behind the man he caught him by the arms. "Help me, boys; throw him down, and make him a prisoner."
"Not to-day!" roared the man, and struck out savagely with his club. He hit Dave a glancing blow on the arm, and the country boy retaliated by swinging his skates into the rascal's face. Then all sprang upon the man, and he was thrown to the floor. He struggled fiercely, but he was no match for so many, and at last they had him bound, hands and feet, with their skate-straps.
"You'll be sorry for this," said the rascal, glaring at Dave.
"I don't think so. You ought to be in prison," and Dave turned away to look at the man who had fallen to the floor.
He was of middle age, rather stout, and with a face that was browned and weather-beaten. It was not a bad face to look at, although just now the blood was streaming down one cheek from a cut on the temple. The man was unconscious and breathing heavily.
"He must have been hit pretty hard," was Phil's comment. "He is knocked out clean."
"Do you think he is dying?" questioned Ben.
"No, I don't think that. But he ought to have medical attention."
"Oh, he'll come around," growled the rascal who was a prisoner. "I didn't hit him half hard enough."
"I think you were trying to cheat him out of some money," was Dave's comment. "It sounded that way to me."
"Oh, he wanted too much," was the answer, and after that the prisoner said but little about the other man.
The boys talked the matter over among themselves, and at last it was decided that Roger and Ben should skate back as far as Rockville and inform the authorities of what had happened, while Dave and Phil watched the prisoner and the unconscious man.
"And see that that fellow doesn't escape," said the senator's son, on departing.
"What are you going to do with me?" asked the man who was bound, as soon as the others had gone.
"Going to hand you over to the police," answered Dave.
"You won't gain anything by that."
"That remains to be seen."
"Tell you what I'll do, boys. Let me off and I'll make it worth your while."
"Do you want to buy us off?" queried Phil, curiously.
"You might as well make fifty dollars or so as not," and the prisoner winked suggestively.
"Tell me one thing first," said Dave, pinching Phil's arm. "Why did you rob Senator Morr's home?"
"I was down on my luck and desperate, that's why," was the answer. "I am no regular criminal."
"That's enough!" cried Dave, triumphantly. "Phil, you heard him acknowledge his crime."
"I did, Dave."
"Then you won't let me go!" ejaculated the rascal, in a rage.
"No, sir, not for a million dollars," answered Dave.
"We are not that kind," added Phil.
"I wish I could get at you—I'd show you a thing or two," growled the man, and after that said little more.
Getting some water, Dave washed the face of the sufferer on the floor, and tried to stop the flow of blood. Over a fire in the open chimney place a pot of coffee was boiling and he poured a little of this down the man's throat. There was a groan soon after this, and the man opened his eyes and stared around him.
"How do you feel?" asked Dave, sympathetically.
Instead of replying the man fixed his eyes on the country boy in mingled wonder and amazement.
"You!" he gasped. "You, of all persons on earth! How did you get here?"
These words astonished Dave and he looked the man over once more. To the best of his knowledge he had never seen the fellow before.
"Do you know me?" he asked.
"Do I—I know you? Hang my toplights, what a question to ask an old friend. You look mighty young. Where's your mustache?"
"My mustache? I never had one," and Dave had to smile at the question.
The man gave a groan, and closed his eyes. "Queer—it must be my head. I thought I was aboard the old ship again, down in the South Seas. Oh, how my head hurts!"
"Do you know somebody that looks like me?" asked Dave.
"Do I? Say, I don't know anybody that looks like you—I know you!" The man waved his hand feebly. "Did you hit me on the head? It was a mean thing for an old friend to do, keelhaul me if it wasn't!" And then he lapsed into unconsciousness again.
"His mind is wandering," said Phil. "Poor chap! that crack was too much for him."
"He talked strangely enough," mused Dave. "Perhaps he knows somebody that resembles me."
"Who is this man?" asked Phil of the prisoner.
"Better ask him?" growled the criminal.
"I think I heard him call himself Billy Dill, and he called that rascal Tag Dutch," said Dave.
"I am not Tag Dutch!" roared the prisoner. "I am—er—my name is William Jones."
"Is it possible?" said Dave. "When I met you last you said your name was Peter Snodgrass, and you were carrying a valise with the initials, W. F. F. on it. I guess you are a regular barometer for changes."
"Oh, don't you try to joke me," was the grumbling answer.
While the boys were waiting they ate their dinner, and Dave did what little he could for the man who had been struck down. He hoped the man would talk some more, but not a word came from his lips.
It was nearly two hours before Roger and Ben returned, bringing with them two officers of the law, a doctor, and a large hand-sleigh. The officers took charge of the prisoner and handcuffed him, and the physician turned his attention to the sufferer.
"A nasty blow," said he, after an examination. "It looks to me as if his skull was cracked. The best we can do is to put him on the sleigh and take him to the hospital."
Blankets had been brought along with the sleigh, and the wounded man was made as comfortable as possible with these. He was propped up in a seat; and away the whole party started for Rockville, arriving there towards the close of the short winter day. At the town the prisoner was locked in jail and the sufferer was taken to a hospital supported by one of the local churches. This done, Roger telegraphed to his father, and then the boys skated back to Oak Hall.
The news the party brought caused a sensation, and again Dave was hailed as a hero. But he denied that he had done anything wonderful, and said the evildoer would never have been captured had it not been for the others. Later on it was learned that the man's right name was Taggart Dutch, and that he was wanted for half a dozen robberies. He was tried and sentenced to prison for several years, and a portion of the jewelry stolen by him was recovered.
Senator Morr was warm in his praise of Dave, and insisted upon making the youth a present of a fine ring. This Dave prized highly and he was very proud of the gift.
At Taggart Dutch's trial it came out that the sailor, Bill Dill, had had nothing to do with the rascal's evil doings. Bill Dill had come home from a long ocean trip only a few weeks before, and had traveled to the vicinity of Rockville to look up some friends. The friends were dead, and Dill had fallen in with Taggart Dutch, who had borrowed money from the old tar and tried to make a tool of him. But in this the robber had failed; and the quarrel, as already described, had been the consequence. How much Taggart Dutch owed the sailor could not be ascertained. He said it was but two dollars, but Dave and a number of others suspected it was much more.
"They would never quarrel like that over two dollars," said Dave.
"I've heard of tramps quarreling over a dime," answered Roger. "And sometimes they shoot each other, too."
"But this Billy Dill is no tramp, Roger—he looks to me like a pretty decent sort of sailor."
"That is true. It is queer he thought he knew you."
"Yes, that is queer, and some day I want to ask him about it. But he is too sick yet."
What Dave said about the old tar being sick was true. As the days went by, instead of growing better, Billy Dill appeared to grow worse, until the doctors attending him thought that he would die. Around Christmas time, when Dave and Roger paid him a visit, he was at his lowest, and, somehow, this made Dave feel very sober.
"If he knows anything of my past, I trust he doesn't die with the secret," said he, and he prayed that the sailor might recover. When he journeyed to Crumville for the holidays he told Mr. Wadsworth about the tar, and to please his protégé the rich manufacturer had a specialist go and examine the man.
"He will recover," said the man of science, after the examination was concluded. "But it will take time, most likely four or five months."
"And will he be in his right mind, doctor?" asked Dave, eagerly.
"I think so," was the cautious reply. "Still, I cannot vouch for that. Nature must take its own course, so far as his mind is concerned. We can look only after the body."