The Edward S. Ellis Megapack

by Edward S. Ellis

  Jim met him at the station with a carriage, and drove him hurriedly homeward. After the warm greeting Dick wanted to warn him about the lion and testimonial business, but reflected that it would be in bad taste, since it was possible that Jim held no such intentions. In that event he would resemble the politician who declines the honor that has never been offered him.

  McGovern seemed restless and uneasy on the way, often forcing an unnatural gayety, which did not deceive his friend, of whom he showed such extreme fondness.

  Dick admired the handsome residence before which the carriage halted, and it was with considerable awe that he followed Jim up the broad stone steps, and was ushered into his father’s library. McGovern showed commendable taste in not presenting his visitor to the members of the household immediately on his arrival.

  “But I have a friend in the library,” he said, as he led the way thither, “that I think you will be glad to meet.”

  A young man rose to his feet, and came briskly forward.

  “How are you, Dick?”

  “Heaven save me!” gasped Dick Halliard, in amazement, recognizing the smiling youth as no other than Bob Budd himself!

  CHAPTER XXXII

  HOW IT HAPPENED

  When the terrific roar of waters reached the ears of the three Piketon Rangers in their tent, McGovern and Wagstaff started at headlong speed up the right side of the valley toward higher ground, the former succeeding in saving himself with the help of Dick Halliard, while the latter lost his life.

  Bob Budd turned the opposite way, impelled only by the wild desire to escape, with little hope of doing so. But fortune was kinder to him than to his companions. Had they followed his footsteps they would have been saved with little difficulty, for the ground on that side was not only freer from undergrowth, but rose so much more rapidly than that on the opposite slope that his efforts kept him ahead of the torrent, and he struck the level ground where it was untouched by the flood.

  But Bob was in a panic, and instead of waiting to see how his friends made out, he broke into a run that was never stopped until, panting and tired, he could barely stand. He was near his own home, and sat down to reflect upon the situation.

  He was clear of one danger, but he believed he was in another equally to be dreaded. In fact, although he repressed all signs of the agitation at the time, he was as uncomfortable as can be imagined while talking with his companions before the giving way of the mill-dam.

  He believed that Dick Halliard was sure to make known his attack on him. It was so flagrant in its nature that imprisonment was inevitable, for when he came to think over the matter he lost his faith in a triumphant alibi. He knew that Dick Halliard’s simple assertion would outweigh all the perjuries he and his companions could utter.

  It was a fearful prospect, and Bob felt he could not face it. There was but one escape that presented itself—that was flight.

  Everything pointed to this as a successful recourse. The people would believe he was drowned in the flood, as he believed Wagstaff and McGovern had already been, and therefore they would not dream of looking elsewhere. If he could get out of the neighborhood without being recognized he would be safe.

  He resolved to do so. Knowing that his uncle was absent, he managed to climb into the rear of his own home without discovery. Making his way to his room without disturbing any one, he changed his clothing, putting on a slouch hat, which could be pulled down over his face so as to hide most of his features. Then, drawing up the collar of his coat, he sneaked out again by the way he had entered without his presence having been suspected by his aunt or any of the servants.

  Bob always had abundance of money at command, so no inconvenience was likely to result from lack of funds. It was three miles to the nearest railroad station, but the walk was not a trying one on this cool night in autumn, and he easily made it.

  Luck was certainly with the young scapegrace on that eventful evening. The hour was so late that he encountered only one person on the road. He was an old farmer, so tipsy that he would not have recognized his own mother in broad daylight. He paid no attention to the solitary figure on the highway, with his slouch hat drawn far down over his face and his collar about his ears, as though it were midwinter.

  Reaching the station just as the night express was starting, he leaped upon the rear platform without stopping to purchase a ticket, and thus escaped another danger of recognition. He saw no one in the car that he knew, and the conductor who collected his fare was also a stranger.

  Thus Bob succeeded in getting away from Piketon without a living person suspecting the fact.

  Arriving in the metropolis he went to the Astor House, where he registered under an assumed name. He had been in New York before, and breathed somewhat freely, believing that the great city offered better facilities for concealment from the authorities than can be found in the fastnesses of the Rocky Mountains.

  Conscience makes cowards of us all, and Bob could never feel perfectly secure. He feared every stranger whom he encountered on the streets and who looked sharply at him was an officer that suspected his identity and was meditating his arrest.

  Even when he read in the papers the account of the disaster at Piketon, and saw the name of Wagstaff and himself as the two worthy young men that were drowned, he failed to obtain the consolation that might have been expected. He was known to a good many in New York, and feared he could not keep his secret much longer.

  In this distressful state he dispatched a messenger boy to the home of Jim McGovern, with the request that he would come to a certain room at the Astor House to meet a person on important business. Bob did not send a note or give his name, so that when the wondering Jim presented himself at the famous hostelry, it was without the remotest suspicion of whom he was to meet.

  Possibly the amazement of McGovern may be imagined when he stood in the presence of the former captain of the Piketon Rangers and listened to his story.

  “I have a great mind to sail for Europe,” he said, after making the facts known.

  “And why?”

  “Because I’ll never be safe as long as I’m on this side of the Atlantic; my attack on Dick Halliard will send me to prison for twenty years.”

  The frightened Bob now gave Jim a truthful account of his stopping young Halliard on the highway and shooting at him.

  “Have you told your uncle and aunt that you are here?” asked McGovern, without referring to the incident, which, of course, he heard for the first time.

  “Gracious, no!” replied the startled Bob; “I wouldn’t do it for the world.”

  “Don’t you think you can trust them?”

  “I know they would do anything for me, but it is too risky; they would be sure to drop some hint that would let the cat out of the bag.”

  “You needn’t be afraid of that; haven’t you reflected, Bob, how distressed they are over your supposed death?”

  “Yes, that is so, but I don’t know how it can be helped; you see how I am fixed.”

  “You are mistaken, and before I can agree to stand by you I must insist that you write a letter to your uncle, Captain Jim, and let him know that the thousand dollars he has offered for the recovery of your body is safe. You can ask that until he hears from you again he and Aunt Ruth shall let no one one suspect you are alive. You know he believes in you, and you have only to say that you have important reasons for the request, and they will be sure to respect it.”

  “I wish I could feel as certain about that as you do,” said Bob, who was made uncomfortable by the words of his friend.

  “I am certain, and I can’t feel much sympathy for you as long as you show yourself indifferent to the feelings of your best friends.”

  “That’s queer talk for you, Jim; you didn’t think much about the feelings of your folks when you and Tom run away from home.”

  “I trust I am a different person from what I was then,” said Jim, his face flushing.

  Bob looked at him curiously, but did not speak the
thought which came into his mind at that moment.

  “Well,” said he, with a sigh, “if you insist so strongly, why, I’ll do it.”

  “When?”

  “In the course of a day or two.”

  “I want you to do it now, while I am in this room.”

  “But where’s the hurry, Jim?” asked Bob, impatiently; “I don’t see why things need be rushed in the style you want.”

  “Do it to oblige me, Bob, and then I have something to say to you which is of importance and which will please you.”

  “Let me hear it now,” said Bob, brightening up with expectancy.

  “You sha’n’t hear a word till after the letter is written.”

  The task was distasteful to young Budd, and he held off for awhile longer, but Jim would not let up. He was determined that the letter should be written in his presence and before he went away.

  Seeing there was no escape, Bob turned to the stand containing writing material, and addressed a brief note to his uncle, giving him the important information that he had not suffered the slightest inconvenience from the flood that drowned one of his companions and came mighty near carrying off the other.

  The main portion of the letter was taken up with an emphatic request of his uncle and aunt not to give the slightest hint of what they had learned until they heard further from him.

  This letter was sealed and directed.

  “Let me have it,” said Jim.

  “What for?”

  “I will drop it in the letter box as I go out.”

  “Well, you beat the bugs,” laughed Bob, passing the missive over to him; “now, what have you to tell me?”

  It may be added that Bob Budd’s letter promptly reached the astounded Captain, who found it hard to keep the joyful news to himself, but he managed to do so, as did his wife, who went into hysterics when the news was first broken to her.

  But, as a means of averting suspicion, the Captain immediately doubled the reward offered for the recovery of the body of his nephew. He smiled grimly as he did so, and looked upon the matter as a capital joke; but then some people do entertain peculiar ideas as to what constitutes a joke.

  CHAPTER XXXIII

  CONCLUSION

  Jim McGovern now gave the particulars of his own escape through the help of Dick Halliard, and of their memorable interview on the border of the rushing flood, with the body of Tom Wagstaff lying at their feet. Bob listened with deep interest until he had finished, and then shook his head.

  “It beats anything I ever knew or heard tell of; but I don’t feel safe now that Halliard has the grip on me.”

  “Of course, he told me nothing about that affair; but, since he got so much the best of it, I’m sure he will be satisfied to let it go no further. I’ll guarantee it,” added McGovern, with a glowing face.

  “I don’t see how you can do that; but I’m inclined to believe you can make it right with Dick.”

  “Of course I can; such a fellow as he is will do anything in the world for you.”

  But Bob was not free from misgiving. He had dwelt upon the troublesome matter until he had grown morbid. It assumed a magnitude in his mind beyond the truth.

  “What are you going to do, Jim?”

  “If I live I shall enter Yale College at the next term, and try to be something that my folks won’t be ashamed of.”

  “Whew! but that’s a big flop for you, and you will lose a mighty deal of fun by trying to be good.”

  “You can have tenfold more than by the other way; I haven’t tried it long, it is true, but I have felt more genuine pleasure during these few days than I ever knew in all my life; it will be the same with you.”

  Bob Budd sat silent a moment, looking out of the window. He had given the same important subject a great deal of thought during the few days that he imagined so many of those whom he met were hunting for him, but the restraining power in his case was that he saw no safe way by which to turn the sharp corner. So long as he was in danger of being arrested so long he must remain a fugitive.

  Now the whole case was changed. He knew, despite the doubts he had expressed, that Dick Halliard could be relied upon, and that not the slightest risk was run in trusting to his honor.

  “Well, Jim,” he said, after his brief silence, “I’ll try it.”

  The other extended his hand, and they shook cordially.

  “That’s settled!” said McGovern, with much emphasis. He was wise enough to refrain from any sermon, or disquisition upon the rewards that were sure to accompany such a step. Bob understood the matter as well as he did, and therefore needed no enlightenment. His friend never displayed more admirable tact than he did by treating the mental debate of the other as ended beyond all possibility of reopening. He showed no doubt in his own mind, though, truth to tell, he was not wholly free from misgiving.

  “Now,” added Bob, with a laugh, “I suppose your next order will be for me to go back to Piketon.”

  “I don’t know that there is anything better for you to do; but I have been thinking that it might be better to bring Dick Halliard to New York, that we can talk the whole thing over and reach a full understanding before you return.”

  “That suits me better.”

  “Our folks are anxious to meet him, for I have told them so many things about him that he has become quite a hero in their eyes. And then there’s another matter that I want to speak to you about,” added Jim, rising from his chair, opening the door and peering into the hall, as if he feared that some one might overhear his words.

  “There’s no danger of anything like that,” said Bob, with a laugh; “we are not of enough importance to have any one listening at the keyhole to catch our words.”

  “I don’t know about that,” replied Jim, with an air so mysterious that the curiosity of his friend was aroused. “I guess I’ll risk it; but no one knows of it beside father and mother.”

  And then Jim, in a guarded undertone, made known another momentous secret, while his companion sat with open mouth and staring eyes listening to his words. He did not speak until he had finished and turned upon him with the question:

  “What do you think of that, Bob?”

  “I agree with you; I’ll stand by you to the end; but what about Dick’s visit to New York?”

  “I’ll write to him now and mail both letters as I go out.”

  “Don’t give him a hint about me,” cautioned Bob, as the other placed himself at the table.

  The letter, whose contents have already been known to the reader, was written in the room of the Astor House where the other to Captain Budd was formulated. Then Jim placed the two in his pocket and rose to go.

  “Won’t you come and stay at our house?” he asked of Bob.

  “Thanks, no; I’ll remain here; you can understand that it would be a little embarrassing to meet your folks just now. When matters are straightened out I will give you a call, and you will come down and spend a week or two at Piketon.”

  “That’s a bargain, provided it is not in the character of a Piketon Ranger,” replied Jim, with a laugh.

  Shaking the hand of his friend he took his departure.

  That afternoon when Bob strolled up Broadway, he reflected that it was the most enjoyable hour he had spent since his visit to the metropolis. He feared no one now, and his future was brighter than he ever dreamed it could be.

  When the telegram from Dick Halliard reached Jim McGovern, making known on what train he would reach New York, he drove down to the Astor House and took Bob to his own home, where he left him in the library while he hastened to the station for Dick.

  We have already given a hint about their meeting, when Dick received the greatest shock in all his life. For a few minutes he doubted his own senses, but that it was the real Bob Budd before him he was compelled to admit, after shaking his hand, looking in his laughing face, and hearing his voice.

  The three sat for a couple of hours discussing the subject which was nearest to each one’s heart. Then Jim
took his two friends out riding in the Park, for it happened to be one of the most delightful of autumn days. In the evening the family of Mr. McGovern made the acquaintance of Dick and Bob, and the three visited a place of entertainment.

  The McGoverns insisted on Dick spending a week with them, but, though it would have given him rare pleasure to do so, he felt that he ought to return at the end of the time he had named to Mr. Hunter. His friends finally compromised by allowing him to go, with the understanding that he was to pay the visit during the holidays. Dick promised that if it lay in his power he would do so.

  The visit was made as per programme.

  Bob decided to stay in New York for several days, until the excitement of his disappearance had time to subside. It was agreed that Dick on his return should make known the astonishing news to the people in Piketon, that they might not be frightened out of their wits when they encountered him on the street.

  “I don’t know how to fix it with them,” said Bob, “and I will leave it with you, Dick; your head is plumb, and you may be able to get up some story which, while true, don’t give me away too bad.”

  “I’ll do my best,” said Dick, as he bade his friends good-bye for a brief while.

  Upon reaching Piketon, Dick, after reporting at home, called on Captain Jim and Aunt Ruth, whom he told of his meeting with their nephew in New York. He brought a message to the effect that he would soon be with them, and they were at liberty to make known all he had told them, adding, by way of explanation, that he left for New York on the evening of the flood on important business, which would soon be finished, when he would be among them again. He had read in the papers an account of the disaster, and was extremely sorry to learn of poor Wagstaff’s death. He hoped all his friends would overlook his failure to notify them more promptly that he was alive and well.

  This was the story told by the captain and by Dick Halliard, and though it was far from revealing everything, it cannot be said that it partook of the nature of a falsehood.