Stratemeyer Edward
A Young Inventor's Pluck: or, The Mystery of the Willington Legacy
CHAPTER XXV
CHASING ANDY MOSEY
Jack's thoughts were busy as he hurried toward the shore, where he expected to meet farmer Farrell and the two prisoners.
"Pooler acts mighty queer to say the least," he told himself. "I can't make it out at all, excepting that I think we are on the edge of some discovery of importance."
It was dark under the trees, and he had to pick his way along as best he could. Once he lost the path and came close to running into a small brook flowing halfway across the island.
Never for a moment did he imagine that either of the two prisoners could get away from the farmer and his hired man.
But in this he was mistaken.
Corrigan was too tightly bound to help himself, but not so Andy Mosey. The Irishman had been so near complete intoxication that it had not been deemed necessary to make his bonds extra strong.
But finding himself a close prisoner had sobered Mosey a good deal and long before the shore was gained he made up his mind to escape if he possibly could.
With a cunning that he had heretofore failed to exhibit he began to act as if he was more intoxicated than usual.
"Look out, or you'll go down!" was the warning of the farmer. "And if you do go down you can pick yourself up, for I shan't help you, excepting with a kick."
"Oi know me way," was Mosey's unsteady reply. "Oi'm comin'. Don't ye worry about me."
Just as the vicinity of the shore was gained Mosey slipped the bonds from first one hand and then the other, taking care that not even his brother-in-law should see him, for he was now thinking of saving himself only.
"Come, don't drag," came from farmer Farrell. "I am not going to stay here all night."
"Sure, an' Oi sthepped in a hole, the ould b'y take the luck!" spluttered Mosey. "Oi'm comin' jhust as fast as Oi can!"
The farmer moved on and so did Corrigan and the hired man. Farmer Farrell had cautioned the hired man to keep an eye on Mosey, but the job was not at all to the fellow's taste and he was thinking of nothing but to get back home, where he had left a comfortable bed in the barn.
At last Mosey thought he saw his opportunity and dropped further behind than ever, acting as if he had lamed his foot. Then of a sudden he darted behind some trees and crashed away through some bushes.
"Hi! stop!" roared farmer Farrell. "Stop, or I'll fire on you!"
To this Andy Mosey made no reply, but increased his speed, so that he was soon quite a distance from the island shore. The farmer gazed around in dismay, first at Corrigan and then at his hired man.
"Go after him, you dunce!" he cried to the hired man. "I must watch this rascal. Didn't I tell you to keep an eye on the other fellow?"
"And I did, sir," was the weak answer. "He ran off before I knew it."
"Well, after him, I say! Don't stand there like a block of wood!"
"He-he may take it into his head to shoot me," faltered the hired man.
"He hasn't any pistol, we disarmed him," returned the farmer, frantically. "Are you going after him or not?"
"I'll go, sir," said the hired man, and hurried off as far as the bushes into which Mosey had first disappeared. But by that time the Irishman was a good hundred yards away, and running as rapidly as his limbs would carry him.
In the bushes the hired man came to a halt. He pretended to look around, but he did not venture a step further.
"Do you see him?" called out farmer Farrell.
"No, sir."
"Why don't you follow him up?"
"I don't know where he went to."
"He went up the shore. Quick, follow him, or I'll discharge you to-morrow morning."
Thus threatened the hired man started up the shore and then moved in the direction of the cottage, having a notion that Mosey might move in that direction, although he might have known better. A minute later he heard footsteps and came to a halt with his heart in his throat.
"If he attacks me I'm a goner!" he groaned, and then saw that it was Jack and not Mosey who was approaching.
"O, sir, he's got away!" he cried, with a feeling of relief when he recognized the young machinist.
"Got away? Who?" questioned Jack, quickly.
"The rascal named Mosey."
"When?"
"Just a few minutes ago, sir-when we were almost to the boat."
"What of Corrigan?"
"Mr. Farrell is watching him."
"But Mosey was bound?"
"I know it, sir. But he got away anyhow, and ran like a deer up the shore."
"Then he can't be far off," exclaimed Jack. "Were you after him?"
"Yes, sir."
"But if he went up the shore-"
"I was a-thinking he might turn toward the cottage."
"No, he didn't come this way."
"Then he must have gone that way."
"We must catch him," cried Jack, earnestly. "He has done too many wrong deeds to be allowed to escape in this fashion. Come on, follow me."
The young inventor pushed forward and the hired man came after him, but at what he considered a safe distance in the rear. Soon Jack was running up the shore at a point where there was a wide open field, which Pooler had once used for growing wheat.
As the young machinist came out on the edge of the field he saw a dark form just leaving the open space at the opposite side. The form was that of Mosey.
"Stop, Mosey!" he cried, loudly. "Stop, it will be best for you!"
The cry from Jack alarmed Andy Mosey more than ever, and he tried to run with increased speed. But his first burst had been almost too much for him, and he was panting loudly for breath.
"Sure an' Oi can't make it afther all," he panted. "Bad cess to Jack Willington fer followin' me! Oi wisht Oi had me pistol. Oi'd soon be afther sthopin' his game!"
But Mosey had nothing more than a sharp stone, which he had picked up in the field, and at present he saw no way of using this, for Jack was too far off.
Feeling that he could not run much further, he looked around for some place where he might hide. A gnarled tree with low-spreading branches was not far away and to this he went and began to climb the trunk with all possible speed. Soon he was some distance from the ground and then he stretched himself on a limb and remained quiet.
Crossing the field at his best speed, Jack darted in among the trees and peered around sharply. Of course he could see nothing of Mosey, and he moved on for a distance of a hundred feet or more. Then he came back and stood directly under the tree in which the Irishman was hiding. In the meantime the farmer's hired man came to a halt in the middle of the field, ready to run at the first sign of danger.
"Mosey!" called Jack. "Mosey, you might as well give yourself up. You are bound to be caught sooner or later."
He listened, but no reply came back. Then Jack walked around the tree.
Now had the Irishman kept quiet he might have escaped the young inventor, but his success at getting away made him extra bold, and not knowing that the farm hand was near he resolved to do Jack a great injury. Bringing the sharp stone from his pocket, he took careful aim at Jack's head and let drive with all the force he could command.
Had the stone landed as intended the young inventor might have been killed, but as it was, on the instant that Mosey threw the missile Jack took a step forward, thinking to go on another hunt for the Irishman. Consequently the stone merely grazed his shoulder, doing hardly any damage.
Much startled, Jack leaped forward and then turned around. He did not know exactly where Mosey was, but resolved to put on a bold front.
"So that is where you are!" he cried. "Do you want me to put a bullet through you?"
"Bad luck to yez!" growled Mosey, much crestfallen. "No, don't shoot me, Jack, me b'y. It-it was all a mistake. I thought ye was the farmer, upon me wurrud."
"Do you surrender?"
"Yis, yis!" Andy Mosey had a wholesome fear of being shot, and he could not see whether Jack had a pistol or not.
"How many more rocks have you up there?"
"Nary a wan, Jack, Oi only had the wan, upon me honor."
"Then jump down here, and hold your hands over your head. If you try to play me another trick I'll shoot you sure."
With a groan Andy Mosey descended to the ground, and then held his hands over his head.
"Now turn around and march the way you came. And don't you dare to look back," continued the young inventor.
"But, Jack, me dear b'y-"
"I am not your dear boy, Mosey, and I won't stop to parley with you."
"But, Jack, I didn't-"
"Stop it I say, and march. Or do you want to be in the fix Pooler is in?"
"No, no! I'll march, Jack; don't shoot!" And without further ado Andy Mosey set off for the shore, with Jack behind him, and the farm hand bringing up at a safe distance to one side. Presently the farm hand ran ahead, to tell farmer Farrell of how matters now stood.
As soon as the hired man had disappeared Andy Mosey tried to argue again.
"It's Corrigan's doin's-" he began.
"Mosey, we won't talk now," said Jack at last, for he saw that the Irishman's head was not as clear as it might have been. "If you want to argue you can do it when we are in the boat."
"But you'll be afther listenin' to me Jack, me b'y?" pleaded Mosey.
"Perhaps."
"I want to be friends wid ye."
"You have a strange way of showing it."
"It's the liquor, Jack, me b'y-bad cess to it."
"Why don't you leave liquor alone then, Andy?"
"Sure, an' it would be a good job done if I had niver touched a drap."
"You've spoken the truth there."
"If Oi iver git out av this hole Oi'll soign the pledge, so Oi will."
"You might do worse."
"Say the wurrud, Jack, me b'y, an' Oi'll soign it to-morrow," went on Mosey, thinking he was winning the young inventor over.
"I'll say nothing more at present, Andy, excepting that I want you to get along to the shore, without further delay."
"But Jack, if Oi-"
"Not another word. March!"
And then the march to the boat was resumed.
CHAPTER XXVI
PAPERS OF GREAT VALUE
It did not take Jack and Mosey very long to reach the shore. They found Farmer Farrell, gun in hand, stalking up and down impatiently. He had ordered Corrigan into the row-boat, and was lecturing him and the hired man at the same time.
"You've been a mighty long while coming," he remarked, as the dim rays of the smoky lantern fell upon the young machinist's face.
"I couldn't help it," replied Jack, and he briefly related what had occurred to detain him so long.
They embarked at once. The young machinist set out to do the rowing, but was stopped by the farmer, who directed Tim, the hired man to take the oars.
"You're tired enough," said Farmer Farrell. "Besides, we must keep a close eye on these two, or they'll be up to their pesky tricks afore we know it."
Tim pulled a good stroke. He was anxious to get out of such dangerous company and be safe in his bed in the barn loft once more.
"Isn't there some way we can fix this matter up?" asked Corrigan, after a long period of thoughtful silence.
"What do you mean?" asked Jack.
"Why, buy ourselves off."
"No, sir, not a bit of it," returned the young machinist, decidedly.
Corrigan winced. The prospect of going to prison was not a particularly inviting one.
"Oi say, Jack, me b'y, if we give up yer model will ye be easy on us?" put in Mosey, who did not know that that precious bit of property had already been recovered.
"I have it already," replied Jack; "I don't intend to be any harder on you than you deserve," he continued. "You tried to take my friend's life as well as mine, and also to set fire to Mr. Gray's house, and by using the match-safe which belonged to me, cast suspicion on my character, which has not yet been cleared away."
"Who can prove I set foire to Felix Gray's place?" demanded the Irishman, blusteringly. His tongue was clearer than it had been, but his head was as muddled as ever.
"Perhaps I can."
"Ye can't, no how."
"Well, we'll see, and it will go hard with you unless you can prove otherwise."
"Oi didn't do it. It was Dennis's work," howled Mosey, breaking down completely. "Oi found the box and gave it ter him, and he kept it. Didn't he stale the model, too, and run away wid yer sister? Oi niver harmed a soul, save when I was in liquor," he whined.
"It's a lie!" shouted Corrigan, in a rage. Had he been free he would have struck down his confederate.
"It ain't, it's true, every worrud of it," responded Mosey, doggedly. "Ye always got me to do yer dirty worruk, and now yer want me to stand all der blame. But Oi won't do it. Oi'll turn Queen's evidence first."
"If you turn state's evidence you may save yourself a heap of trouble," put in Farmer Farrell.
"Oh, Oi'll do it, just mind me, if Oi don't," replied the Irishman, quickly. He was thoroughly cowed, and his one thought was how to best evade the clutches of the law.
"You mean dog!" interrupted Corrigan, bitterly. "You shall pay dearly for this;" and he grated his teeth together in rancor.
"I don't think you will be able to harm him for a good while," sagely remarked Farmer Farrell.
Corrigan became silent at once, and as each one was busy with his own thoughts, the rest of the trip was accomplished without further words.
On reaching the shore the party repaired at once to Farmer Farrell's place where Tim, glad to be home again, hitched up the team to the old family wagon.
"Is there a doctor anywhere near?" asked Jack; "I promised to send one over to the island."
"Dr. Melvin lives just up the road," replied the farmer. "We'll stop and tell him, and Tim can row him over. Do you hear, Tim?"
"Yes, sir," replied the farm hand. "To-morrow morning will do, I suppose."
"To-morrow morning!" repeated the farmer, in surprise. "No, indeed, right away. And if you can't get Dr. Melvin, go over to Dr. Dell's and take him straight to Pooler's cottage. Tell him that the man has a bullet in his shoulder."
Much as he disliked the job, the hired man did not dare to complain; so with a heavy sigh he set off on his errand, traveling through the dark as fast as his heavy boots would permit.
The family wagon contained two seats. Farmer Farrell took the front one, with Mosey beside him, while Jack, with Corrigan, sat in the rear, and then the horses were started on the road to Corney.
"We will stop at the old mill and get my model," said Jack, on the way.
At the old structure everything was dark and deserted.
"Say, Oi'll go along wid ye," said Mosey, as the young machinist dismounted from his seat. "There's something there Oi want to show ye."
Corrigan wished to interfere, but Jack, who believed that the Irishman was now really inclined to render assistance, would not let him.
"There are some papers that belong to Mr. Gray. Dennis stole them when the house was burning," said Mosey, when he and Jack were alone. "Oi can't read, but Dennis said they'd be worth money to us some day."
"Where are they?" asked Jack, with interest.
"Will you be aisy on me if Oi tell ye?" asked Mosey.
"Perhaps I will."
"Oi'll trust ye," replied Mosey. "They're up stairs, under the flure."
They ascended the stairs, and taking up a board that Mosey pointed out, Jack drew out a small, oblong packet.
"I can't read it now," said the young machinist. "Come along. If the contents are valuable I'll see that you get full credit for giving it up."
He put the packet in his pocket, and taking up the model, made the Irishman precede him down to the wagon. They were soon on the way again, the precious model safely stowed away in the front of the vehicle.
"I guess Mr. Benton will be rather surprised when he learns the true state of affairs," thought Jack to himself. "But his treatment of Deb was shameful, and I shall tell him so."
As they passed an old barn near the outskirts of the town all heard a loud cry, the scuffle of many feet, and then the door of the place burst open.
"Hello, what's all this?" exclaimed Jack. "Some one in trouble!"
Through the open doorway sprang a tall man. He was but partly dressed, and one side of his face bore a thick coating of black. He ran directly toward the road, and was followed by a dozen or more men wearing masks.
Seeing the wagon he made for it as fast as his legs would carry him.
"Save me, save me!" he gasped. "Get me away from these villains, and I will pay you well!" and in frantic haste he clambered over the wheel and into the front of the vehicle.
"What's the trouble!" asked Farmer Farrell in astonishment, while Jack took up the gun.
"They want to tar and feather me!" was the panting reply. "See they made a beginning;" and the excited individual held his face up to view.
"Mr. Gray!" ejaculated the young machinist.
He had not time to say more, for at that instant Corrigan, taking advantage of the excitement, hit Jack under the chin with his head, and then leaped to the ground. In doing so he fell, but picked himself up quickly, and hopped as fast as he could down the road.
A second later the wagon was surrounded by the masked men, all armed and gesticulating wildly.
"Give him up, Willington!" they yelled. "Give up Gray, or we'll tar and feather the lot of you!"
CHAPTER XXVII
"LOVE YOUR ENEMIES" – CONCLUSION
It was a thrilling scene, the brawny men, their intended victim, the would-be rescuers, all in confusion.
One of the masked men attempted to pull Mr. Felix Gray to the ground, but the tool manufacturer held fast to the front seat.
"Stop that!" roared Farmer Farrell.
"We want that man!" called out a person in the mob.
"No, no! Save me! save me!" cried Mr. Gray, frantically.
"We will not give him up," exclaimed Jack. "It's a shame to treat a dog in this fashion!"
"He threw us out of work. He won't give us our money. He wants to starve us and our families," called out several.
"Listen!" yelled Jack, as loud as he could. "Some of you know me. I work in the tool works; I haven't got my money, and need it as badly as any of you. But I say you'll never gain anything by acting this way. Let Mr. Gray go."
"We want him and we're going to have him," exclaimed the man at the wagon, grimly, and he renewed his efforts to pull the tool manufacturer from the seat.
"You shall not," replied Jack, determinedly, and raising the gun, he hit the man a sharp blow upon the hand, which made him instantly release his hold.
"Go for 'em, fellows!" the man howled out, shaking the injured member in evident pain.
The crowd began instantly to close in upon the wagon. Mosey, in the excitement, tried his best to gain the ground, but Farmer Farrell had taken the precaution to tie the Irishman's feet fast to the iron foot rest, and he was unable to stir.
"We must get out of this!" exclaimed Jack to the farmer. "Start up the horses. Quick!"
Farmer Farrell needed no further urging. Reaching over Mr. Gray's body, he pulled up the reins, and struck first one and then the other of the horses with his whip.
With a bound the animals leaped forward. The man who had held a grip upon the tool manufacturer's foot lost it, and slipped under the vehicle-the hind wheel passing over his leg.
The crowd uttered a loud cry, but were too late to stop the sudden movement. One of the men caught hold of the tailboard of the wagon, but a threatening shake from the young machinist's gun made him drop to the ground.
On they went, Farmer Farrell making the horses do their very best.
Suddenly a pistol shot rang out, and Mosey gave a cry of pain.
"Oi'm shot!" he cried, falling backward upon Jack. "They've murdered me, so they have!"
"Where are you hit?" asked the young machinist anxiously.
"In the soide. Oi'm dy-in'-"
Another pistol shot interrupted his speech.
"Gitting kinder hot," cried the farmer. "Let me have the gun. Here, hold the reins," and he gave them to Jack and took the weapon. "We'll see what a dose of buckshot will do."
Bang!
The report was followed by several cries from behind.
"That'll teach the pesky critters a lesson," observed the farmer, as he resumed the reins.
Even as he spoke, they saw a flash in the darkness to one side of the road, followed instantly by the crack of a revolver.
"I'm struck!" exclaimed Mr. Gray. "The villain has hit me in the shoulder!"
"Is it bad?" asked Jack in horror.
"No, only a flesh wound, I guess," and the tool manufacturer drew a sharp breath. "Drive on, don't stop!"
The command was not needed. The team was now in full gallop, and three minutes brought them into the heart of the town.
"Straight home," replied Mr. Gray, in return to a question from Jack as to where he should be taken. "And bring Mosey along, the doctor can attend us both."
This was done, and the family physician pronounced the Irishman's wound quite serious.
"Yours will heal rapidly," he said to the tool manufacturer. "But your right arm will never be as good as it was. That workman may recover, but it will take months."
The sun was just rising when Jack, after a breakfast that Farmer Farrell's wife had compelled him to eat, took the boat and rowed over to Blackbird Island.
Deb saw him coming and rushed out of the cottage to meet him.
"Oh, Jack, such a time as we've had!" she sobbed. "The doctor is here, and that Pooler just died."
"Pooler dead?" ejaculated the young machinist, in amazement.
He entered the back room. The doctor and Meg were there, the girl's eyes swollen from crying.
"Where is Mont?" he asked.
Meg pointed to the other door.
"He's in there too," she said, in a quivering voice.
Jack entered the front chamber. Max Pooler's body lay on the cot, covered with a white sheet. Beside it, on a low stool, with his face buried in his hands, sat Mont.
The young man's countenance was full of emotion. He took the young machinist's hand in his own, and pulled the covering from the dead face before them.
"Listen, Jack," he said in a low voice, "I want to tell you an awful secret. Before this man died, he confessed that he murdered my father. He was very penitent, and he-he asked me to forgive him."
"And you-" began Jack.
"I did forgive him. It was hard, but how could I refuse a dying man?"
"You did right," returned the young machinist. "But, oh, Mont, I'm so sorry for you! Did he tell you how it came about?"
"Yes. He used to be my father's clerk, and avarice led him to steal. By some means he imagined my father knew of his doings, and was about to have him arrested. Half crazed by this fear, he went on board my father's yacht one night and cast her adrift while my father was sleeping in the stateroom. The yacht went over the falls, and turned up where we found her."
"And your father?"
"Was found dead in the cabin. He said my uncle suspected him, but as Mr. Felix Gray was trying to rob me of my share of the tool works property, he turned the tables, and threatened not only to expose him, but to implicate him in the murder as well. My uncle has been paying him money for years to keep him quiet, but part of this went to Mosey and Corrigan as 'hush money,' so Pooler said.
"It's a strange story," mused Jack.
"But that isn't all," continued Mont. "Before he died Pooler proved to me that about one-half of his treasure belonged really to you."
"To me!" ejaculated the young machinist, in utter astonishment.
Mont nodded.
"Yes, to you," he said. "Pooler said my father held it in trust for your father, who was not a good hand at investing money. The amounts were the proceeds of several valuable inventions."
"Then we are both rich," returned Jack, with a broad smile. "I am glad of it, for Deb's sake!" he added, brightly.
A little later the young machinist related what had happened on the river road the night before.
"And now we'll have the whole affair straightened out," he concluded. "I believe your uncle has had all the ups and downs he cares for, and will let you have your own without much opposition."
"I trust so," replied Mont. "I do not care, as I said before, to make the thing public, but it has gone far enough, and both of us must have our rights."
"And then I must get the fire and the model matters squared up and go to work on a bigger scale," added Jack. "I declare I've had adventures enough in the past four days to last me a lifetime!"
Five years have passed since the above words were spoken. Mont is now the sole owner of the Corney Tool Works, and the Mechanics' Savings Bank is once again a flourishing institution. Mr. Felix Gray has relinquished all rights to both, and is content to pass the remainder of his days in helping his nephew along the road to fortune.
Mosey recovered, and is now a steady workman. He has signed the pledge, and intends to stick to it. Corrigan was never heard of after his jump from the wagon, and no one has ever taken the trouble to find out what became of him.
Jack is now superintendent at the tool works, and besides his salary, draws a handsome royalty from his father's and his own inventions. Through Mr. Benton-who was profuse in his offers of help when he learned the true state of affairs-the patent of the improved planer was sold for four thousand dollars, of which half came to the young machinist.
Deb-Jack's best girl-is now Mrs. Monterey Gray, and though she lives in one of the finest mansions of the town, is still the true and faithful little housekeeper she always was. Meg, upon whom Mont has settled a neat sum, lives with her, and Miss Parks is a frequent and welcome visitor at the place.
A few weeks ago, while visiting at Corney, I met Deb driving out to Farmer Farrell's place, and asked her how her brother was getting on.
"Jack? Why, I declare you'd hardly know him, he's so awfully tall! And he's got a beard all over his face. Business is splendid, but then Jack always said that any one who did right, and stuck to his work, would get along!"
And Deb is right. Do you not think so, gentle reader?
