Chapter IV.
IN WHICH THE ENEMY SCORES A BULL'S-EYE.
When Tom reached the village, he left the horse and buggy at the livery stable and started for the railway station. The shortest cut led him past the hotel, where the rotund landlord stood beaming on the by-passers from his doorstep.
"Hello, my boy," he called. "Where've you been? Got you charged up with a dinner you didn't eat."
"Out in the country," said Tom; and, failing to see that the landlord was in fun, he added: "but of course I'll pay for my dinner."
"You'd better," declared the jocund innkeeper, laughing; then, as Tom was turning away: "Hold on; there's a letter here for you," and he went in to get it.
Tom took it for granted it was for his father, but he tore it open and crammed the envelope absently into his pocket. The letter was written with a pencil, much misspelled, and quite innocent of grammar:
- Mr. T. Jannergan, esqr, dear Sir. They is some of us over here to Monkton that wants to jine the Utah cottony. If this reeches you, you better come right over on the commodation trane this aftenoon, sure, relse we'll hav to sine over with the other feller.
Yrs in haist,
J. Ruthven.
Tom's nerves tingled as he read. A much more experienced person might have been pardoned for accepting the conclusion which thrust itself upon him.
This must be the party on the north shore of the lake, and "J. Ruthven," not "Rutherford," the man he was to go and see in the morning. Manville was doubtless there ahead of him, and this friendly letter was evidently intended to give his father a timely pointer. Tom's resolution was taken upon the spur of the moment.
"When does the train go to Monkton?" he demanded eagerly.
"Five-fifteen—" the landlord turned and glanced at the clock over the office desk; "she's just about due to leave now."
Tom threw his head up, clenched his fists, and sped away in a breathless dash for the station. A short freight-train with a combination-car coupled on behind was slowly crawling out through the yard, and a young man whose face was familiar, but whom he did not recognize, stood on the platform watching it.
"Is—is that the Monkton train?" gasped Tom, swooping down upon the solitary watcher like a young whirlwind.
The young man nodded, and Tom raced on across the tracks and down the yard. He made it narrowly, with lungs and legs in the last ditch of exhaustion, and dragged himself up to the rear platform of the combination-car by a sheer effort of will.
Then another young man joined the watcher on the station platform, and the two sat down on a conductor's box and laughed long and loud.
"I told you it would catch him," said Manville, when he could speak.
"It worked all right, but it's a low-down trick," asserted Norton. "I wonder if he saw the item in the 'Argus'?"
"Not he; boys don't read the newspapers," Manville rejoined. "Let's go up to the hotel and wait for developments."
When Tom found himself safely aboard of the train, and had a little recovered his breath, he congratulated himself upon his prompt decision and presence of mind, to say nothing of his prowess as a fleet sprinter. Then the conductor came in, and Tom found his pocket-book.
"Tickets!" said the official, twirling his punch.
"Didn't have time to buy one," Tom explained, opening the pocket-book and dropping one of his father's business-cards in his haste to get at the money.
The conductor picked up the card. "What's this?" he demanded.
"It's one of my father's cards. How much is the fare to Monkton?"
If the conductor had told him, and so given him an idea of the distance, his suspicions would have been aroused at once. But the man merely said: Are you Tom Jarnagan's son?"
"Yes," said Tom.
The conductor promptly exceeded his authority and imperiled his official head by punching the card and putting it into his pocket.
"That's ticket enough for you," he said; "Tom Jarnagan's boy can't pay fare on my train"; and he went about his business without further parley.
Whereupon Tom congratulated himself afresh, and the burden of self-reproach, which had been growing steadily lighter with the successes of the day, promised to disappear altogether. It really began to look as if he should be able to fend off the avalanche of disaster which his own heedlessness had set in motion, and the uplift of this conviction helped him to wear out the first hour of the slow journey without undue impatience.
But when station after station failed to answer to the name of Monkton he began to grow uneasy. There was a farmer-like man in the next seat, and Tom asked a question:
"How far is it from Richville to Monkton?"
"'Bout forty mile by rail, I believe."
"Forty miles!" gasped Tom. "Why, I thought it was just across the lake from Richville!"
"So 't is, but 't ain't nowheres anigh the lake. Must be twelve mile or more to the head o' Samson's Bay, an' that's the neardest."
Not once since he had read the letter fresh from the hands of Landlord Bostrick had it occurred to Tom to question its being real; but now a cavalry charge of doubts and misgivings swept down upon him and trampled him under foot, and the burden of accountability came back with an added hundredweight. His tongue clove to the roof of his mouth, but he made shift to ask the farmer if he was acquainted in Monkton.
"Ought to be; I've lived ther' goin' on twelve year."
"Perhaps you know a Mr. Japhet Ruthven, who is going to Utah," suggested Tom, faintly.
The farmer shook his head. "Ain't nobody o' that name in the township. Japh Rutherford lives down Hector way, but lawzee! that's more 'n twenty mile from our place."
Tom swallowed hard, and made instant search for the letter, that he might read it again by the failing daylight. The envelope came first to hand, and an examination of the postmark settled the question. The letter had been mailed that day in Richville; it was neither more nor less than a decoy-letter, written by Manville and designed to send him afield while his opponent made capital out of his absence.
"Great goodness! what a wooden-headed idiot I am!" he exclaimed, when the true inwardness of Manville's ruse became apparent; and the farmer said, "Hey?"
"What time does the train go back to Richville?" demanded Tom, ignoring the query.
"Day after to-morrow."
"What!—not till then?"
"No; this is only a jerk-water branch—mixed train three times a week."
Tom groaned in spirit. "They'll think I've been lying to them, and daren't come to the meeting," he said tragically; then, turning to the farmer, he asked: "Can't I get somebody to drive me back from Monkton to-night?"
"Guess not; it's too fur."
"To-morrow morning, then."
"I dunno. Ther' 's no livery at Monkton, an' 't ain't likely you'd find anybody willin'."
"But I've got to get back before to-morrow evening, if I have to walk! I've just got to, I tell you!"
"That so? 'Mister Got-to' 's a hard man to work fer, ain't he? Well, now, if it's that bad, let's jus' figger on it a little. Can you han'le a skifft?"
Tom was native-born in the State of ten thousand lakes, and his ready affirmative was no idle boast.
"Ain't afeard o' the dark?"
"I should think not!"
"Well, then, I'll tell you how you can make it to-night, if you've got to, an' don't mind consider'ble hard work. Four mile this side o' Monkton this branch crosses the Nishnegaunee main line. Ther' ain't no station, but the Nishne trains all stop, 'cordin' to law. You can drop off at the crossin' an' catch the night-train west. That'll take you down this side o' the lake to Carroll Bay, an' from ther' it's about six mile straight across to Richville."
There were contingencies, and Tom saw them, but he was in no frame of mind to stick at trifles. So he merely asked if he could be sure of getting a boat at Carroll Bay.
"I guess so. Old man Lackner lives nearest to where the train'll stop, an' he's got a skifft o' some kind."
The plan seemed simple enough, if the contingencies would only behave themselves, and Tom accepted it at once.
"I'll try it," he said. "How far are we from the crossing now?"
The farmer craned his head out of the window, jerking it in again when the locomotive shrieked the crossing signal.
"Well, well! we ain't no ways at all—this is it right here. Have to flax round or you'll get carried by!"
Tom "flaxed" accordingly, and a moment later found himself standing at the crossing of two railway-tracks in the heart ot a swamp, with the tail-lights of the Monkton train disappearing up a dim aisle of the forest to the northward.
"Mercy sake, what a place to wait in!" He sat down on the end of a cross-tie and began a fierce battle with a cloud of mosquitos. "And I've got to stay here a whole hour. Woof! these bloodthirsty things will carry me off piecemeal in half that time!"
The mosquito battle began at dusk; and at that precise moment, in the cozy parlor of The Maples, Mr. Haworth came back from the telephone to say to Kate: "There is something wrong somewhere; I have just learned that your brother has left town without taking his baggage or paying his hotel bill."
At the grave announcement Kate's distress became quite pitiful. She sat for a moment in silence. Then:
"Oh, Mr. Haworth! What do you suppose has happened?" she cried.
The young man knew what had happened, or thought he did, but he was unwilling to add to Kate's anxiety by going too abruptly into particulars. But his sister made haste to comfort Miss Jarnagan.
"I shouldn't worry, if I were you," she said. "You spoke of a party across the lake that your brother was to go and see in the morning. Perhaps he has heard something that made him think it was best to go at once."
The agent shook his head gravely to warn his sister that she was on the wrong track; but she did not see. Kate did, however, and she pounced upon the young man in a way to make him wish he had been frank at the outset.
"You're keeping something back, Mr. Haworth, and that is mistaken consideration for me. Tom is my brother, and I am responsible for his being here. If you don't tell me all that I ought to know, I shall go to Richville and find out for myself."
Thus adjured, the agent stated the facts, promising himself to atone in helpfulness for what seemed like a very brutality of frankness.
"It was Bostrick, the landlord of the hotel, who answered the telephone. He thinks your brother saw that report in the 'Argus,' and ran away to dodge the necessity of explanation. He was only joking about the board bill. He says Tom registered after breakfast, and wasn't at dinner, so he really doesn't owe anything."
"But how did he go?" Kate persisted. "There hasn't been any train north since he was here; and, besides—but there is no use guessing about it. Mr. Bostrick is altogether mistaken. Tom wouldn't run away, even if he felt like doing it; and, anyway, he would have come straight to me first. I suppose I haven't any reason to say it, but I can't help thinking that Mr. Manville is at the bottom of this. As matters stood at four o'clock this afternoon, it was certainly to his interest to get Tom out of the way."
"That is so," admitted the agent. "And he's none too scrupulous when it comes to a fight for business. Wait a second, till I call up my operator."
He was back from the telephone directly, with the light of discovery in his eye.
"Your guess was just right, Miss Jarnagan. Manville and Norton were at the station while the Monkton accommodation was making up, and at the last moment your brother ran down the yard and caught the train. Then the two agents sat down on a box under the operator's window and joked each other; and Hawley heard enough of their talk to understand that they had played some kind of a trick on Tom."
Kate's eyes snapped with indignation, and Haworth was immediately at loss to decide whether Miss Jarnagan was the more attractive when she was sorrowful or when she was indignant.
"They ought to be ashamed of themselves!" she cried. "Two grown men to play tricks on a boy because they couldn't beat him in a fair field! But they sha'n't beat him—not if I have to go out and take his place. When can he get back, Mr. Haworth?"
The young man looked down at his feet as if he had just discovered their existence.
"That's the worst of it, Miss Jarnagan; the train service on the Monkton branch is tri-weekly. He can't get back till day after to-morrow."
Kate wanted to cry out in her extremity, but she did no such effeminate thing. On the contrary, she said with great coolness:
"Then Mr. Manville has succeeded in securing a change of antagonists, that is all. I don't mean to sit here and fold my hands while father and Tom lose this party; if Tom isn't back by to-morrow forenoon, I shall take his place."
Thereupon Eleanor Haworth did a kindly act. She rose, crossed the room swiftly, and put her arm around Kate.
"You are a brave girl, and I envy you your courage," she said; "but you'll not have to do that—we couldn't think of letting you. Just tell Henry here what to do, and he'll do it, even if he is supposed not to favor either railroad as against the other."
"Oh, thank you!" said Kate, from the bottom of her heart. "I'm afraid I couldn't do it alone, after all. But I'd try—before I'd let Mr. Manville beat us now."
The agent was very willing to put himself at her service, and he made haste to say so.
"Just give me my orders, Miss Kate, and I'll be your aide-de-camp. Is there anything to be done to-night?"
Kate knitted her brows and reviewed the situation. "I think there is. This newspaper report is what will hurt us most; and since Mr. Manville has played one trick, it is quite possible that he played two. Had you thought of that?"
Haworth had not thought of it, but now he re-read the paragraph carefully, while Kate went on.
"It may be true and nothing more than a coincidence, but it seems much too lucky for him—coming just at the right time, and in just so many words, you see."
"Isn't there some way we can find out?" Eleanor inquired.
"Yes; we can wire to the general office in Kansas City."
"That's it," said the agent. "Write your message, and I'll take it to town and send it."
The thing was done forthwith, and the wording of the telegram was a joint effort of the trio. Kate hesitated over the signature, finally appending her father's name, with the thought that it would forestall curious comment in the C. E. & W. general office. After which, as Eleanor was going to stay all night with her aunt, her brother got his horse and drove to town.
He made good time to Richville, and went straight to his office at the station. While he was spelling out Kate's telegram to the general passenger-agent questioning the item in the "Argus," and thinking what a pretty hand she wrote, Manville was reading the item aloud in the hotel office. When he had finished, Bostrick winked and nodded in sage approval of his own shrewdness.
"That's what I told Haworth when he called up from The Maples a little while ago."
"What did you tell him?" Manville inquired, with his curiosity well concealed under a seeming indifference.
"That this report was what made the little Jarnagan run away as if the mischief was after him—though he was sharp enough to make believe it was a letter he received."
"Has he gone?" asked Manville, with well-feigned surprise.
"That's what he has; took the Monkton train because that went first, I suppose."
"Well, I declare!" said Norton. "And after he'd been all around calling a meeting for to-morrow night! That leaves you a walk-over, Manville."
So Manville thought, and so the turn of events began presently to indicate. The report of the washouts, coupled with the story of Tom's sudden flight, spread abroad in the town; and shortly after eight o'clock Judge Sloan called at the hotel and was closeted for half an hour with the two passenger-agents. When he went away, Manville accompanied him to the door.
"Yes; as you say, Judge, it was sharp, especially when he knew what chances he was taking."
"Then you think there is no doubt he came here knowing about the trouble on his line?"
"A railway company always posts its own agents first," replied Manville, evasively.
"But, in that case, I don't see why he came at all. Why should he try to get us if he knew that his line could not transport us?"
"For the credit of his father's district, of course. If he can persuade you to buy tickets over his line, it's not his fault or his father's if the line can't carry you."
"That is only a little short of sheer dishonesty," replied the judge, shaking his head sadly. "I'm sorry; I thought better of him; I was very much mistaken in the lad."
"Oh, well; the Transcontinental will take the best care of you," said Manville. "I'll go out and see Simpson in the morning, and we'll hold the meeting just the same. I'd like to get the matter settled definitely while I'm here. And, by the way, about those through colonist-cars: with no competition in the field, you ought not to insist upon them. Good night."