The Boys of Columbia High on the Ice/Chapter 15
CHAPTER XV
THE OLD FARMER'S SECRET
"An escaped convict!" shouted one of the hired men.
"He's been looting the upper rooms of the house, and has carried off a lot of clothes he wants to put on to hide his striped suit!" cried the old farmer.
"And he set the house afire to cover his work!" echoed Frank, the thought coming into his mind like an inspiration.
"Chase after him, fellows!" shouted Ralph.
The excitement, which had died down after the fire was gotten under control, now sprang into new life. Everybody was jumping about, the women and girls uttering little shrieks of alarm, the men growling threats against the daring scamp who would burn a house down with as little compunction as he might light a pipe.
"Come on!" shouted Frank, as he darted off.
His two chums were close at his heels, and a couple of men tagging along in the rear. Neither Frank nor any one of his comrades had the slightest idea as to what they would do when they came up with the desperate man. He might be armed for all they knew, and could mock their efforts to capture him.
"We're gaining on him!" gasped Ralph, when half the field had been passed over.
"Hand over fist!" echoed Lanky.
"He's handicapped by those big bundles of clothes he's carrying, that's what's the matter," Frank shot over his shoulder.
"Will we get him?" asked Ralph.
"Sure. Even if he pushes into the woods we can overhaul him. It's up to us, fellows, to get back all that plunder for the farmer. Keep right along!" encouraged Frank, who was setting them a hot pace.
Indeed, no one would ever think, to see the rapid way in which the three comrades sped along, that they had already skated more than twenty miles that day; and besides this, had worked like troopers putting out the fire which the artful thief had doubtless started.
Now and then the fugitive looked over his shoulder as he ran. He was undoubtedly trying to gauge their progress, and compare it with his own. The result must have been rather discouraging to him. At any rate he presently allowed one of the two bundles he carried to drop to the ground.
"Whoop! he's caving! We're going to get him!" shouted Lanky.
Perhaps he wanted the other to hear what he said, so as to discourage him still more. The man ran a little better after relieving himself of a part of his load, but the boys put on an extra spurt themselves, so that his gain was only for a moment.
"Faster, fellows! Scatter out and head him off! The police will get him if he keeps on that way! Go it, you tigers! A little more ginger and he's ours!"
It was Frank now who shouted. His object was to still further alarm the rascal, and make him suspect that those who were searching for him must be close at hand.
"There! he's dropped the other bunch of plunder!" cried Ralph.
"And is running like a scared rabbit, too! See him cut it, will you? Say, Frank, I'm nearly all in, and that fellow is fresh; do we chase him till we drop?" exclaimed Lanky, who was staggering as he ran.
By this time they had arrived at the second and larger bundle of clothes.
"Hold up here; no use trying to get him," said Frank, as he stopped running.
"Like as not we'd find him a hard nut to crack," remarked Ralph, breathing with difficulty after his exertions.
"Yes, and he might do us some injury. A man is desperate when in danger of being sent back to that prison over at Lauderville. I'm just as well satisfied to let some other fellow have the pleasure of taking him in," declared Lanky, as he deliberately sat down on the bundle to get his breath.
"We've captured all the loot again, anyhow, and that's glory enough. Perhaps the good woman of the house will think we're angels in disguise roaming around the country," suggested Ralph.
"In disguise—yes, rather," grinned Lanky; "but I guess we've clinched that bully good country Christmas dinner by now, fellows. When they see us come marching home with Farmer Baxter's extra suit of duds, and all these other things Bill Brockholt tried to get away with, why ma'll just fall on our necks and hug us."
"Oh! I hope not," remarked Ralph, quickly; "but what do you suppose that fellow ever wanted with all these garments. He took enough to dress three men, I'd think."
"Huh! perhaps he meant to open a second-hand clothing store," said Lanky.
"It might be he had another fellow in mind. There may have been two escaped from the stone jug, though the chief only mentioned Bill. Anyway, here's the stuff on our hands, and now to get it back again," remarked Frank.
Lanky shouldered the bundle.
"That's easy," he observed, as he stalked along; "one of you pick up that other pack as we come to it. Frank, you be drum major, and walk at the head of the procession. 'When Johnny comes marching home again, hurrah! hurrah!'" and in this manner Lanky enlivened their return to the farmhouse.
The whole family was there awaiting them. Of course the girls commenced to clap their hands, and the others to cheer. Lanky removed his hat with a mock dignified salute, and smiling broadly said:
"Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. It was only a little thing after all. I guess we scared the fellow half to death. His knees began to knock together when he saw that it was Frank Allen on his track. So he threw away the valuable plunder, and hid himself in the big timber. Here is your second-best suit, Mr. Baxter, safe and sound. Anything else we can do for you, please let us know?"
Of course his merriment was contagious, and presently all were laughing at the absurdity of the thing. Still Frank saw the old farmer, whom he knew to be well-to-do in this world's goods, had a serious look on his face; and he wondered why it should be so.
The rest had gone inside, but Mr. Baxter still stood there. He seemed to be looking in the direction the fugitive had gone, and Frank, as he joined him, could see signs of new trouble in his eyes. He wondered what it meant.
"I don't think he'll come back again, sir," he remarked, "for we gave him a pretty sound scare."
"It was good of you to make him drop his bundles," remarked the other; "though if he had carried them off I don't imagine it would have mattered much to me. I reckon the poor wretch wanted to pick out some clothes to wear so he could throw away that tell-tale striped suit."
"No doubt of it, sir," replied Frank, readily; "but it was a terrible thing for him to fire the house just to cover up his robbery. Chief Hogg said he was a desperate man, and I'm ready to believe it now."
"What! did you know about him before?" asked the other, uneasily.
"Yes, it happened so. He escaped from Lauderville prison a day or two ago, and the officers are hunting high and low for him," returned Frank.
"Er, what was his name; did you happened to hear it mentioned?" asked the farmer, his voice trembling in spite of his efforts to appear unconcerned.
"Why, yes, it was Brockholt, Bill Brockholt, sir." "Still that might be assumed. Lots of those prisoners are never known by their real names, the warden told me," remarked the farmer, licking his dry lips.
"I suppose that is so, sir, though I never thought of it before," replied Frank.
Then the farmer turned upon the boy, as though he had nerved himself up to a certain point, and continued:
"You were pretty close up on him at the time he dropped the last bundle, I suppose, Frank?"
"Oh! yes, sir."
"And could see him plainly too?" continued Mr. Baxter, eagerly.
"Why, that was easy enough. He looked around several times, too. Yes, I would certainly know Bill Brockholt again if I ever met him."
"You see that smoke was still half blinding me. I could only make out a flying figure that seemed to be clothed in a striped suit. Could you describe him to me, Frank, after a fashion?" went on the farmer; and Frank wondered more than ever why he wished to ascertain facts that after all should interest him little, since no great damage had been done.
"Why, he had a smooth face, and his hair was cropped close to his head, to begin with. You know they always keep the prisoners that way, for many reasons?" he started in with.
"Yes, I've seen them. I went through the place once to see—but that doesn't matter. That was two' years ago. Go on, please. What about his face, Frank?"
"Why, it was a hard one as near as I could make out. The description said that he was a real desperate character, and I guess it hit him off right well. Excuse me from meeting Bill in the dark anywhere, and alone," Frank went on.
"Of course you didn't happen to be close enough to see his eyes, or whether they were blue?" asked the other, almost holding his breath.
Frank looked at him strangely.
"Why, no, but the description said they were black, and terrible eyes too."
"It did, eh? Said he had black eyes?" echoed the farmer, with a sigh of relief.
"And his hair was black too, what they had left of it. I know that this must have been the Bill Brockholt spoken of, because I could see that he was rather a squatty fellow, undersized like."
Again the farmer breathed hard, and his eyes seemed to turn upward as if a sigh of thanksgiving welled from the depths of his heart. And seeing this a sudden thought flashed into the mind of the boy.
"He suspected that he knew the fellow—that it was some former hired man who had come back to rob him; and he's glad to find out it wasn't so," was what Frank said to himself, as he followed the farmer into the house.