CHAPTER XIX.—WAMPOLE’S NEW SCHEME.
“Some ale,” said Wampole to the waiter, and it was quickly brought and set before him.
“What’s your order?” asked the waiter of Carl.
“I’ll wait till my friend comes back,” said Carl quietly.
Wampole had not yet seen him, but he heard the youth’s voice and now looked around the edge of the paper.
“Carl Ross,” he murmured, as he fell back in his seat.
“Yes, Mr. Wampole. You didn’t expect to see me here.”
“Well—er—not exactly. But it’s very fortunate, very fortunate, indeed!” went on Nathan Wampole, gathering himself together with an effort.
“Why, do you want to pay me off?”
“Well—er—not exactly that, Carl,” with a reproachful glance. “But the fact of it is, I’m thinking of reorganizing. I’ve seen four of our company already.”
As he spoke Nathan Wampole drew a folded document from his pocket and thrust it across the table.
“There’s my new scheme,” he said earnestly. “A grand thing, too. We’ll make money hand over fist. Of course you’ll go in.”
Carl looked at the paper.
“Hardly, sir. I don’t care to work for nothing but fame.”
“But this is dead sure, Carl, dead sure. A fortune——”
“The other company was to bring me a fortune, Mr. Wampole. No, henceforth I’m going to travel with a responsible manager or on my own hook.”
“Do you mean to insinuate I’m not responsible?” cried Nathan Wampole, bristling up.
“You haven’t proved yourself to be.”
“I’ve had a misfortune, that’s all. But I’ll get on my feet again, and—hullo, here’s my friend, Leo Dunbar!”
“Nathan Wampole!” ejaculated the young gymnast.
“I want you for my newly organized company,” commenced the old manager, but Leo cut him short.
“I overheard your offer to Carl, Wampole. My answer is the same as his.”
“You won’t join me?”
“No.”
Nathan Wampole’s face grew dark and bitter.
“You’ll regret it—mark my words, you’ll regret it!” he hissed; and gulping down the liquor set before him, he arose and hurried from the place.
“The fraud!” murmured Leo. “I’ll never perform for him again.”
“Nor will I,” added Carl.
A little later they were eating dinner, not an elaborate meal, for they had little to spend.
“I’ve struck luck,” went on the young gymnast.
“I met a gentleman who was at Mr. Raymond’s yesterday, and he has hired us to perform at his house this evening from eight o’clock to nine. He is going to pay us the same amount, twelve dollars.”
This was good news, and on the strength of it Carl ordered some dessert, which cost him five cents additional.
They hired a room at the tavern, and leaving their baggage there took a walk out to see the sights. They walked further than they had intended and it was dark when they returned. The landlord of the place met them in surprise.
“Hullo, I thought you had changed your mind about coming back,” he said.
“Changed our minds?” queried Carl, puzzled.
“Yes.”
“Why so?”
“Didn’t you send for your baggage?”
“No.”
“What! why, a man came here not an hour ago and took all your things off.”
Carl and Leo gave a simultaneous whistle of surprise. Here was a pretty state of affairs.
“Who was the man?”
“I don’t know. He had a wagon and said you had sent him.”
Carl gave a groan.
“We have been robbed, Leo.”
“It looks like it, Carl. What are we to do? We must get our things back, and that quickly, or we won’t be able to perform to-night.”
“Do you mean to say that man was a thief?” demanded the landlord of the tavern, with intense astonishment.
“That’s just what he was,” answered Carl. “We never sent him here.”
“What sort of a looking man was he?” asked Leo.
“Tall and dark, with a cast in one eye,” was the reply. “I’ve seen him in these parts before.”
“A cast in his eye?” repeated Carl. “It must have been that Jack Darrow!” he burst out.
“That’s so,” returned the young gymnast. “He said he would get square.”
“Who is Jack Darrow?” questioned the landlord.
Matters were quickly explained.
“You had no right to let our baggage go,” said Leo severely.
“Can’t we go after the fellow? I’ll drive you to his house, if you know where it is.”
The landlord was very anxious to help them, realizing that he had “put his foot into it.” The matter was talked over for several minutes, and it was decided to take a fast team of horses and drive back to Raymondsville and ascertain where Jack Darrow resided.
Five minutes later found Leo, Carl and Mr. Cook on the way. They made fast time, and soon drove up to the first of the line of stores in the next town.
“Jack Darrow is a worthless scamp,” said the storekeeper. “He hasn’t any regular home, but I fancy you can find him hanging around Budd’s livery stable most any time.”
“We can if he’s not in hiding,” said Carl in a low voice, as they drove off again.
The town being a small one it was easy to find the livery stable mentioned. Outside of the building sat two hostlers talking and smoking.
“Is Jack Darrow anywhere around?” questioned Mr. Cook.
“Yes; just went over to yonder stable,” called back one of the hostlers. “Want to see him?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll call him,” went on the hostler, thinking there might be a chance to earn a dime.
“Never mind,” put in Carl. “Come on, Leo, we won’t give him a chance to run away.”
“That’s so; we won’t,” returned Leo, and followed the young juggler to the ground.
The stable pointed out was but a short distance down a lane, back of which flowed a good-sized brook. Making their way rapidly to the building, which was old and much out of repair, they entered the open doorway.
A sound in the rear greeted them.
“There he goes!” yelled Carl. “Stop, Jack Darrow!”
A muttered exclamation was the only response. They saw the good-for-nothing leave the barn and run for the brook.
“He’s going to leg it!” burst out the young gymnast. “Well, three can play at that game.”
Through the barn rushed Leo and Carl. Down by the brook the bushes grew to a height of several feet. Reaching the water’s edge, nothing was to be seen of the man they were after.
“He’s hiding somewhere, that’s certain,” said Carl. “You go up and I’ll go down the bank.”
This advice was followed, and both covered a distance of fifty feet, when a faint splash was heard.
“He’s crossing over!” cried out the young magician. “This way, quick!”
Regardless of the wetting, he plunged into the brook, which luckily was hardly a foot deep, and Leo came, too. The young man they were after had gone over in full view. He was running down a country road on the opposite side at top speed.
He was a good runner, and once having gained the road, Leo and Carl felt they had a lively chase before them.
But the thought of losing their baggage nerved them to do their best, and over the ground they flew in good shape, gradually closing the gap between them and the man they were after.
Evidently Jack Darrow was getting winded, for when a quarter of a mile had been passed he slowed up and turned around.
“Keep back or I’ll fire on yer!” he howled, making a suggestive movement, toward his hip pocket.
The two pursuers slowed up, but did not come to a halt.
“Do you think he’s got a pistol?” asked Leo.
“No; if he has he won’t dare to use it. Arm yourself with a stick or stone,” were Carl’s words.
As he spoke he picked up a stick lying near, and Leo followed his example. In another moment they were within ten feet of Jack Darrow, who had started to run once more.
“Stop!” cried Carl. “Stop, or I’ll fire!”
“You ain’t got no pistol!” roared Darrow.
“No; but I’ve got this!” was the retort. The stick whirled through the air, launched with the young juggler’s aim, and struck the thief in the back between the shoulders. It was a heavy blow, and Darrow fell flat on his face.
Before he could get up Carl and Leo were on top of him. In vain he tried to fight them off. Carl held him fast while the young gymnast produced a stout cord and tied his hands behind him.
The two heroes of the occasion had scarcely finished their work when carriage wheels were heard approaching, and Mr. Cook and his turnout hove into sight.
“Hullo! you’ve got him!” cried out the tavern-keeper. “That’s a good job done. What are you going to do with him?”
“Lemme go!” whined Darrow, all his bravery oozing away. “Lemme go! I ain’t done nuthin’!”
“Where are our things?” demanded Carl.
“Wot things? I ain’t got nuthin’ belongin’ to you.”
“That’s a falsehood!” put in Mr. Cook. “You are the man that took their baggage from my hotel. I have witnesses to prove it. The best thing we can do is to take him to the village lock-up.”
“Don’t yer do it—I’ll fix yer if yer do!” bellowed Darrow. “Let me go an’ I’ll tell yer where the satchels are, every one of em.”
“I’ve an idea he hid them in that stable,” said Leo. “It seems to me he was coming down from the loft when we entered.”
“We’ll soon find out,” said Carl. “Dump him into the carriage and drive back.”