The Best American Mystery Stories of the Nineteenth Century

by Penzler, Otto

  Mary and Alice were now very happy. They had good situations, and, as they were always together, began to feel almost as contented as if they were in their own home. Mary had no difficulty in managing the house, and all went on smoothly. Kelly, the bar-keeper, occasionally came in to turn over the money from the bar, and to order extra meals for late passengers; but he was always very respectful to both girls.

  Sloan was at the restaurant most of the time, and he used to sit in the dining-room, with other fast young men, every evening, the bar being in the same room. If anything disorderly occurred, Mary would walk into the dining-room to see what was the matter, and immediately the disturbance would cease. It was a strange sight to see the manner in which the worst rowdies cowered before this slight girl of seventeen.

  Alice did not possess her sister’s power of command, and found it very hard to control some of the customers. Many of the young men tried to make the acquaintance of Alice at table, and several of them sent invitations to parties, etc., to both girls, but no answers were ever returned. In consequence, it was generally conceded that the sisters “put on a good many airs” for girls in their position, and the young men were duly indignant. Sloan was particularly angry at Alice, for whom he had conceived a violent passion, and he never ceased to think about her. Alice became almost afraid of him, and said to Mary, once:

  “That man makes me tremble every time he looks at me.”

  The California gold mines had only recently been discovered, and the “gold fever” was at its height in Coldwater. It seemed as if every one was preparing to start for the “diggings,” and farmers were offering their farms for sale at very low prices, to obtain the means to carry them across the plains, to the land of promise in California. The stories of the wealth to be obtained by a few months’ work in the mines had affected all classes of people, and even the oldest and steadiest were tempted.

  It is not to be wondered, then, that men like Blake and Sloan should have turned toward the new El Dorado with longing hearts. Blake was about tired of a settled life, and, moreover, he was aware that his character was becoming known, and that some of his dupes would be apt to bring a hornet’s nest about his ears, some day, which might result in still more unpleasant revelations with regard to him. He, therefore, began to make preparations for a move, keeping his intentions perfectly secret from everyone except Sloan, with whom he now became very intimate, indeed.

  Blake needed such a man as Sloan for a tool, and so, drew him on to commit the crime which they were then engaged in planning, in order to prepare him for other schemes of villainy, when Blake should require his services. Sloan was greatly flattered at being noticed by Blake, who was much superior in education and intellect to any of the men in that vicinity, besides being a dashing, daring sort of a fellow, with great ability to fascinate his associates. Thus, by flattering Sloan’s vanity, Blake obtained a complete mastery over him; and it was only necessary for Blake to say the word, to lead Sloan into any wickedness that might turn up. These two now remained together constantly, making frequent visits to Harris, at Bronson station. Harris would sometimes come back with them, as, also, two men known as Dick and Joe. These latter were a bad lot, and showed their hardened characters in their faces.

  Two weeks passed thus very pleasantly to the sisters. Their work was not tiresome, and they were always happy in each other’s society. During the day, they were quite busy, but, after seven o’clock, they usually sat down in the sitting-room and read aloud to each other, or talked over past pleasures and future prospects.

  All went along quietly at Blake’s, until one morning the great equinoctial gales commenced, and brought with them a heavy snow-storm. Very few customers visited the restaurant that day, and those who did brave the storm, went home before evening, leaving only Blake, Kelly, Sloan, and the sisters in the house.

  After tea the girls went into the sitting-room, where they sat, listening to the storm, and looking into the fire. In a short time, Blake came in and conversed with them for some minutes. He was dressed with great care, and he made himself very agreeable, yet without showing the least want of respect. He was soon called out by Sloan, who told him that Harris had just come. As Sloan went out, he glanced at Alice with that devilish expression in his eye that always frightened her, and she was so alarmed that she begged Mary to go to bed. Norah had already gone to her room; and, as there was no prospect of any one coming for meals at that hour, Mary agreed, and the sisters prepared to retire.

  They went to the back door and glanced out at the storm. The snow almost blinded them, but they saw that there was a light in the stable, and caught a glimpse of Blake, Sloan, and a stranger, moving about, the stranger being Harris. There was nothing unusual in this, so they closed the door and went to bed.

  Blake’s room was opposite the sitting-room, and, next to it, was the room of Norah, the Irish cook. The sitting-room was between the kitchen and the dining-room; the sisters’ bed-room was up-stairs, directly over the main outside entrance to the dining-room.

  The girls little thought that at that moment the plot was being planned, and the arrangements made, which should forever blast their lives. As they knelt to ask God’s aid and blessing, Blake and his attendant scoundrels were preparing for a crime most foul. But, ignorant of the depravity of these men, the sisters retired in peace, and quiet soon reigned over the house.

  CHAPTER 4

  ABOUT MIDNIGHT, a loud knocking was commenced at the main entrance, which quickly awoke the girls overhead. After a prolonged pounding, they heard a gruff voice, saying:

  “Open the door! I am the sheriff, and I have a warrant to arrest you, Blake, for setting fire to your bowling-alley.”

  The storm still howled fiercely, and the snow was drifting in immense sheets against the window-panes; but far above the noise of the storm, the terrified girls heard the knocks, and the stern voice commanding the inmates to open, in the name of the law. Not a sound was heard within the house, and again came the voice:

  “Open the door! I am the sheriff, and I shall break down the door, if you don’t let me in at once.”

  Then came a heavy thud, and the order:

  “Break down the door, boys! I’m bound to have that scoundrel, Blake.”

  Crash followed crash, the door yielded, and soon a number of heavy footsteps were heard, crossing the dining-room, and rushing about the lower part of the house. The men ran hither and thither, searching the rooms below, and blaspheming in a manner terrible to hear. They entered Norah’s room, dragged her out of bed, and demanded where Blake was concealed. Not finding him there, the search was continued. Suddenly, the girls heard a stealthy footstep outside their door, and then, a hasty fumbling at their latch. The door flew open, and Blake, in a voice seemingly choked with terror, said:

  “Oh! girls, hide me! hide me! They are going to arrest me!”

  Before they could collect their scattered senses, Blake sprang into the bed, and forced himself down between the two girls, who shrank away, powerless and almost fainting from fright. The men in search were close behind Blake, however; and, as he drew the clothes up over his head, they burst into the room with a yell of exultation. The supposed sheriff and his men proved to be Sloan, Harris, Dick, and Joe.

  “Ha! ha! ha!” laughed Sloan, fiendishly; “this is where you spend your nights, is it, Blake? You’re a sly coon, but we’ve treed you at last.”

  As he spoke, he seized the bed-clothes and, with a fling, threw them over the foot of the bed, disclosing Blake, in his night-shirt, lying between the nearly insensible girls.

  Blake sprang up and said, in a horrified tone:

  “Oh! gentlemen, gentlemen, you have gone too far! I was so frightened—as I really thought you had a warrant—that I rushed in here and begged the girls to hide me. The girls are virtuous, I assure you, but my indiscretion has placed them in an awful position. It is terrible! terrible! Don’t, for God’s sake, let any one know of this. Come down stairs, and I will treat you to all the
whiskey and brandy you want. This affair must be hushed up! The girls are as innocent as babes. It is all my fault.”

  “Ha! ha!” sneered Sloan; “that you, Alice? Blake is smart, but I never knew he was a Mormon before,” and coming to the bed-side, with an insulting remark, he grasped Alice in his arms.

  “Quit that sort of business,” said Blake. “The girls are as pure as snow, and I won’t have them insulted. Go down stairs, and keep quiet about this.”

  “Well,” said Sloan, with an oath, “I’m going to have a kiss anyhow,” saying which, he clasped Alice close, and kissed her.

  The poor child was powerless to resist, and an attempt to scream died away on her lips. Mary was pale as death, and she lay motionless, with a look of horror on her face, that would have moved less hardened wretches to pity.

  “Go down stairs, I say,” repeated Blake, and all but Sloan left the room.

  The latter again seized Alice, but Blake succeeded in forcing him from the room, and then returned to the door.

  “Mary,” he said, “I have done you both a great wrong, but those men frightened me so much that I did not know what I was doing. You know that I never wished to do you an injury. Oh! forgive me! please forgive me!”

  Mary’s mouth was parched and dry, so that she could not speak. She seemed to be the victim of a hideous nightmare, which rendered her will and muscles powerless.

  Blake went on speaking:

  “Mary, you won’t tell this to my wife, will you? She would feel terribly, if she were to know it. I will make it all right with the boys down-stairs. All they want is liquor. Won’t you forgive me, and promise not to tell my wife?”

  For a time, neither of the girls could speak, but Mary was, at length, able to find her voice.

  “Leave the room, and let us alone,” she said. “I don’t know what I am doing. I am going crazy. Go! go! I pray God I may never see daylight.”

  Blake saw that any further annoyance might make them desperate, and, therefore, went out. The girls lay in a nervous stupor for some minutes after his departure, but finally Mary got up and closed the door. There was no lock nor bolt upon it; so she motioned Alice to assist her, and, together, they dragged their trunks against it, and barricaded it as well as possible. Neither could speak, but Mary opened her arms and clasped Alice to her bosom in a loving embrace. Their breaking hearts were relieved by a flood of tears, and crawling into bed, they passed the remainder of the night in each other’s arms, trembling like leaves at every gust of wind that swept around the house.

  After dressing, Blake went into the bar-room; there he found Kelly up, dealing out drinks to the scoundrels, who were laughing over their success in invading the privacy of the poor sisters’ chamber. Blake tried to calm them down and induce them to go home; but they were partly intoxicated, and were determined to stay as long as they pleased.

  Sloan said, with an oath, that he had never had so sweet a kiss before, and that Alice was bound to be his.

  “Shut up, Sloan, you’re a fool,” said Blake.

  “Don’t talk to me that way, or I’ll put a knife into you,” muttered Sloan.

  “I tell you, you’re a d—d fool,” said Blake. “Don’t you know how to act your part any better? If you don’t take care, we’ll go to the penitentiary. If you’ll keep your mouth shut and leave matters to me, we shall have a good thing out of this.”

  “That’s so,” coincided Dick. “I have done some shrewd things in my time, and I can always do well, if I have a good chum.”

  By this time, Harris had the sleigh at the door, the party took a parting drink, and in a few minutes, Harris, Dick, and Joe were on the road to Bronson.

  When they had gone, Blake turned to Sloan and said:

  “Now, Sloan, the time for rough work has not yet come. It will come, bye-and-bye; but, in the meantime, keep cool, don’t talk much, and go slow.”

  “I’ll have another drink, at all events,” said Sloan, with an oath; “and mind you remember the bargain—Alice is to be mine!”

  “Hush up! hush up!” said Blake impatiently. “I wish I had never known you. You’re a cursed fool, and will spoil everything by your d—d gas.”

  Sloan took a deep drink of brandy, and, without another word, started out into the storm, to walk to Coldwater, where he had a room.

  “Kelly,” said Blake, “be sure to tell Norah that the row to-night was only a spree on the part of the boys, and that they had a mighty fine time. I don’t think we shall have any trouble with Mary and Alice, but we must treat them kindly. If they should go home, their father and brother would soon be after us, and we should have to leave the country. If we keep friendly with the girls, we shall be safe; but we must prevent them from running away in the first alarm and excitement. There is no fear of seeing William here to-morrow, as his gang will be busy clearing the snow from the track.”

  Having settled everything satisfactorily, Blake and Kelly took a “night-cap” of brandy before retiring; and, in a short time, the house was again quiet.

  CHAPTER 5

  THE OBJECT OF this invasion of the girls’ chamber will be readily divined. Blake and Sloan had determined to go to California together, and to take Mary and Alice with them. They were perfectly aware that the consent of the sisters could never be obtained; hence, they had decided to take them by force. This could only be done by so terrifying their victims as to prevent them from making any disturbance while traveling, and this scheme was the preliminary step. The scene which transpired in the bar-room, after Sloan called Blake out of the sitting-room, in the early part of the evening, was narrated to me by Sloan, after his capture; I give it, in order to show the villainous character of the men, and the way in which the plan was carried out.

  Blake, Sloan, Harris, and Kelly sat in the bar-room, talking on general topics for about an hour. Blake was restless and nervous, frequently looking at his watch, and muttering:

  “I wonder what keeps them.”

  “They will be here, sure,” said Harris. “I never knew Dick to fail. I am afraid he has stopped to play cards, and, if so, it will be hard for him to break away. I never knew a fellow to get bound up in cards as he does.”

  Blake walked to the outside door, peered out a moment, and then crept noiselessly up to the door of the sisters’ room, where he listened a short time. On returning to the bar-room, he said, as he sat down:

  “They are sound asleep.”

  “Give us some whiskey,” said Harris, and he poured out drinks for Sloan and himself. Blake neither drank nor spoke, but maintained a moody silence, looking anxious and irritable.

  Harris took up a pack of cards and began to deal them.

  “No, I don’t want to play—I am too much worried,” exclaimed Blake, brushing the cards away. “I wish Dick would come!”

  For some time, little was done or said. Blake walked up and down uneasily, occasionally opening the door to look out. At length, he asked:

  “Harris, how in the world will you ever get home? This storm is the fiercest I have known for some years. Shall you and Dick go home to-night?” Then, without waiting for an answer, he continued: “It is better that you should go, as it might create suspicion, if you stayed here.”

  “I don’t fear the storm,” said Harris; “and shall get home all right.”

  In a short time, Dick and his friend, Joe, walked in, covered with snow. Blake grasped them warmly by the hand, and said to Dick:

  “I am so glad to see you! I began to think you had forgotten me.”

  “No,” replied Dick; “I am always on hand in an affair of this sort, though I don’t yet know exactly what’s wanted of me. I don’t mind the snow. When I was sheriff of Butler County, Pennsylvania, I had to go out on a night similar to this, and I tell you, I made money before morning. The boys robbed an old man with lots of money, and I came down on ’em just in time to—make ’em divide! The next morning, the old cuss met me when I had my share in my pocket, and put the case in my hands (being sheriff, you know,) to
hunt up the thieves; but I never caught them, ha! ha! ha!” Then, slapping Joe on the shoulder, he added: “I think I can lay my hand on one of the boys that did that job, now,” and he burst into a fit of satanic laughter, in which he was joined by all except Blake, who took no notice, whatever.

  A whispered consultation was then held between Blake, Sloan, Harris, Joe, and Dick—the bar-keeper being half asleep behind the bar. Blake explained what he wished done and the other ruffians readily coincided. At eleven o’clock, Blake took a glass of brandy, his first drink that evening, and again looked out, down the track. Not a light was to be seen, and the snow was piled in great drifts over the track; it was quite evident that no trains could pass over the line for some time.

  “Now is a good time to commence operations, is it not?” said Blake.

  “Yes,” said Dick. “Harris, hitch up the team, and we’ll get ready to start for Bronson.”

  Blake wished them good night, told Kelly to lock up the house, and went to bed. Sloan, Dick, Harris, and Joe took one more drink, and then went out to the stable. Kelly locked the door and tumbled into bed, at about half past eleven o’clock.

  The events of the remainder of that terrible night have already been given, and I now return to the sisters.

  CHAPTER 6

  ALL THROUGH THE still hours of that gloomy night, the sisters mingled their tears together, almost speechless from physical fear and mental agony.

  “What shall we do! what shall we do!” murmured Alice.

  “I don’t know,” said Mary. “What can we do?”

  What, indeed, could two innocent girls, the oldest but seventeen, do in a struggle with such crafty villains?