THE CAPTURE OF THE WILD MAN
“Now then, you may go to work,” said our hero, as he saw Mr. Dale come up close behind the wild man. “But sharpen the scissors first, please.”
“I will,” was Wilbur Poole’s answer, and he opened up the shears and commenced to stroke them back and forth on a rock near by.
An instant later the wild man was jerked over backwards and the dangerous shears were snatched from his grasp. He commenced to struggle, but the whole crowd surrounded him, and before he could realize the situation his hands were made fast.
“It is treachery, base treachery!” he groaned. “My army has betrayed me!” And he commenced to weep.
“What a terrible state of mind to be in!” murmured Roger. “He is certainly as crazy as they make ’em!”
“I guess you are right,” answered Phil. “But I am glad we have got him.” 269
“He spoke about the blowing up of the hotel,” said Dave. “And he said somebody saw him do it.”
“Who was it?”
“He didn’t mention any names.”
“Maybe he was simply wandering in his mind,” suggested Ben.
“I don’t think so,” returned Dave. “I think, if he was questioned long enough, we could get the truth out of him. He doesn’t seem to be crazy all the time.”
“It’s a terrible thing for the Poole family—to have such a crazy man in it,” was Buster’s opinion; and the other lads agreed with him.
The prisoner was marched along the brook, past the home of old Herick, and then down the river-road. By this time all the searchers had come together, including Henry Morrison and some outsiders.
“I’m mighty glad you’ve got him,” said the farmer. “And I hope he don’t get away from you.”
“He won’t get away,” answered Mr. Dale.
“The women of this district have been afraid to go out alone,” went on Henry Morrison. “They’ll be glad to know he’s been captured.”
“We’ll have to let the Pooles know right away,” said Dave.
“I fancy Doctor Clay will send a telegram,” 270 answered Mr. Dale. “And in the meanwhile we’ll have to take the prisoner to the Oakdale lockup.”
It was nearly noon when the crowd reached Oak Hall. The wild man had but little to say. His capture had evidently broken his spirit, and he was inclined to cry. But when Doctor Clay asked him if he would like to have something to eat, he brightened up wonderfully.
“It is a sad case,” said the master of the Hall. “But under proper treatment I think he can be cured.”
The news quickly circulated throughout the school that the wild man had been caught and that he was Wilbur Poole, an uncle to Nat, and all the boys were anxious to catch a sight of the strange individual. The teachers and servants were likewise curious, and looked at him as he ate his dinner in a corner of the dining-hall, surrounded by those who had captured him and who were watching, to see that he did not get away. He was not allowed to use a knife and fork, but his food was cut up for him and served with a spoon.
The only person at Oak Hall who did not come in to see the wild man was Job Haskers. When asked about this, the dictatorial teacher shrugged his shoulders.
“Some of the boys are wild enough for me,” he said. “I want nothing to do with the insane.” 271
“It is a sad case,” said the teacher who was addressing Job Haskers.
“There are many just as bad,” responded the other, coldly. “It is up to the Poole family to look after that man and see that he doesn’t break out again.”
It was decided to take the wild man down to Oakdale in the school carryall, to be driven by Horsehair. Mr. Dale was to go along, and so were Phil, Dave, Ben, Buster, and Doctor Clay.
The carryall was brought around to the side entrance of the school, and Wilbur Poole was told that he was about to take a ride through the country. He walked through the hallway willingly enough, but suddenly, on turning a corner, set up a shout.
“You! you! I have found you at last!” he cried, rushing forward. “You are the one who exposed me! Base soldier that you are! You have ruined the whole army!” And in a sudden fit of passion he ran up to Job Haskers and caught him by the throat.
“Le—let g-g-go!” gasped the teacher, and tried to shake the man off. Then the others ran up, and Wilbur Poole was dragged back and handcuffed.
“Do you know that man?” asked Dave, struck by a sudden idea. 272
“Yes! yes!” groaned the wild man. “He exposed me! The army is lost!”
“How did he expose you?”
“He saw me do it.”
“Do what?”
“Blow up the fort-hotel. Oh, what a base villain he was to look on!” groaned the wild man, and suddenly commenced to weep.
“What is—the—er—man talking about?” stammered Job Haskers, and all saw him turn pale.
“He says you saw him blow up Sparr’s place,” said Dave, pointedly.
“It is false, absurd!” said the teacher. “I—er—I never saw the rascal before.”
“He isn’t a rascal, Mr. Haskers. He is simply out of his mind,” remonstrated Mr. Dale. “He is not accountable for his actions.”
“Well, he ought not to say such things,” returned the dictatorial teacher.
“You saw me—you know you did!” cried Wilbur Poole. “You spoiled everything! I might have blown up many forts if it hadn’t been for you!” And he shook his head dolefully.
“Take him away,” said the teacher, and turned his back on the wild man.
“Dave, I think the wild man speaks the truth!” whispered Phil to our hero. 273
“Possibly, Phil. I think the matter will bear investigation.”
“And if old Haskers saw the thing done, why didn’t he tell about it. Do you think that letter—”
“It struck me that such might be the truth, Phil. But don’t say anything until you are sure.”
“He was down on us—ever since we mentioned that affair with the Widow Breen,” went on the shipowner’s son.
“I’d like to see that letter Jason Sparr got—saying we were guilty,” returned our hero. “Maybe Doctor Clay can get hold of it.”
All the way to Oakdale the boys spoke of the case in whispers. Phil was quite sure Job Haskers had seen Wilbur Poole blow up the hotel and equally sure that the dictatorial teacher had written the letter to the hotel-keeper stating he, Dave, and their chums were guilty.
“He thought we’d be locked up, or at least that we’d be sent away from the school and he would be rid of us,” said Phil. “He is growing afraid of us! Oh, if we can prove that he did it, I’ll make it hot for him!”
“If he did such a thing as that, he ought to be discharged from Oak Hall,” was Ben’s comment.
“I’ll get my father to sue him for damages,” put in Buster. 274
“Well, don’t be hasty,” advised Dave. “There may be some mistake—although I think not.”
At Oakdale, Wilbur Poole was turned over to the authorities, who placed him in a comfortable room attached to the lockup. As it was known that he was insane, he could not be counted a criminal, and the majority of the people pitied him and hoped that some day he would be restored to his right mind.
A telegram was sent to the Poole family, and the next day came a reply that some men would come to take Wilbur Poole away to a sanitarium. It was established beyond a doubt that he had used the dynamite to blow up the dining-room of Sparr’s hotel, and, consequently, our hero and his chums were cleared of that charge, much to their satisfaction.
“I wonder if Nat will come back?” said Shadow. “I should think he would hate to do it.”
“I don’t think he will,” said Luke.
“What will you do if he does come back, Phil?” asked Gus.
“I don’t know, Gus. Of course, I’ll let him know what I think of him for spoiling my plans for a spread. But I hate to be hard on him, because of this disgrace about his uncle.”
“Yes, that’s a terrible thing,” was Chip Macklin’s 275 comment. “I’d hate to have a crazy man in my family.”
“Well, such things can’t be helped,” put in Polly Vane. “The Poole family will have to make the best of it.”
It was several days later when Nat Poole showed himself. Phil and Dave did not see him until later, and both were struck by the change in his appearance. He looked haggard and much older, and his arrogance was completely gone.
“Got back, eh?” said Phil, walking up to him.
“Yes,” returned the money-lender’s son, and his voice sounded hollow.
“What have they done with your uncle, Nat?” asked Dave, kindly.
“Put him in another sanitarium, where he will have the best of care and doctoring.”
“I hope he gets well.”
“We all hope that.” Nat swallowed a lump in his throat and then looked gloomily at Phil. “Well, you got the best of me,” he said, shortly.
“How the best of you?” demanded the shipowner’s son.
“I understand you found out about that spread.”
“I did.”
“Well, I’ll pay for the damage done—as soon as I get the money. I haven’t any now—Dad’s got too much to pay on Uncle Wilbur’s account.” Nat 276 swallowed another lump in his throat. “I’m sorry I did it now, Phil, honest I am,” he went on, brokenly.
“Well, if that’s the case, let us drop the matter, Nat,” was the instant reply. “I don’t believe in hitting a fellow when he is down. You haven’t got to pay me anything. The whole thing is past and gone,—and that ends it.”
“Thank you.” Nat wanted to say something more, but his voice suddenly broke and he turned away to hide his emotion, and then walked away.
“He’s hit and hit hard,” said Roger, in a low voice.
“And you did well to drop that matter, Phil,” added Dave. “Maybe Nat has learned a lesson he won’t easily forget.”
Dave was right about the lesson Nat Poole had learned. He was deeply humiliated, both by the exposure concerning the feast and by what had been learned concerning his insane uncle, and for a long time was quite another boy.
It may be added here that at a new sanitarium, and under first-class medical treatment, a marked change came over Wilbur Poole, and in less than a year he was completely cured of his weakmindedness. With a nurse as a companion he went into the country to rest both body and mind, and later on came out into the world again as well as anybody. Strange to say, he remembered nothing 277 of calling himself the King of Sumatra, nor of blowing up Jason Sparr’s hotel. But others did not forget about the blowing up, and the damage done had to be settled for by Mr. Aaron Poole, who was his brother’s guardian and manager of his estate for the time being.