CHAPTER XI.
THE RUNAWAY.
By the next morning Ralph felt better. He was able to take the matter of his discharge philosophically, and he was even hopeful that the next week would see him in a better situation than he now occupied.
He went at his duties with a willing spirit, resolved that there should be no cause for complaint during his last days on the bridge. Only one thing made him feel bad, and that was that he could not prove that Percy and not himself had been to blame for the row.
But Ralph soon learned that many of the village folks who used the bridge daily sided with him. Some of these were very outspoken in their opinion of the committee's actions.
"Under the squire's thumb, all of 'em!" said Bart Haycock, the village blacksmith. "We ought to have a new committee, and maybe we will have at the coming election."
But all this talk did not help Ralph. He had received notice, and in three days his duties on the bridge would come to an end. And the change would also hurt Bob Sanderson, who would now have either to pay for his board or go elsewhere.
"Who is to take your place?" asked Sanderson, when he came to relieve Ralph in the evening.
"I don't know, Mr. Sanderson," returned the young bridge tender. "But I hope, whoever it is, he keeps you as helper."
"Well, that depends," returned the old man. "I wouldn't care to work for everybody, say Dan Pickley, for instance."
"Do you think Dan Pickley is after the job?" questioned Ralph, quickly.
"He was after it before, and he ain't doing much now."
"I imagine Squire Paget will give him the position if he wishes it," mused Ralph. "He and the squire are quite thick."
"That's because Dan is willing to do any work the squire wishes done," responded Bob Sanderson. "That fellow will do anything for pay."
That evening Ralph and his mother had a talk, in which it was decided that old Bob Sanderson should be allowed to remain at the cottage at the nominal amount of a dollar per week for board, until he managed to obtain another situation, or until jobs in his line became more numerous.
When Sanderson was told of this he was very grateful. As he had no other boarding-place in view, he gladly accepted the offer, and promised that the widow and her son should lose nothing by their kindness.
On the following morning Ralph was collecting toll, when a man approached the bridge, and began to watch proceedings. The man was Dan Pickley.
"What brings you, Pickley?" asked Ralph, after the latter had been watching him for some time.
"Came down to get the run of things," returned Pickley.
"Then you are to have the job after I leave?"
"Reckon I am. The squire said as much."
"The squire and you are rather thick," remarked the young bridge tender, coolly.
"Oh, I don't know," returned the man, uneasily. "He knows a good hand to hire when he wants him."
"It was you who were at the squire's house when I called, a few nights ago."
"Yes; I had an errand for him."
As he uttered the last words, Dan Pickley looked at Ralph closely. He was wondering if the boy had overheard much of the conversation which had passed between Squire Paget and himself that night in the library.
Pickley sat down on the end of the bridge, and began to count the folks as they passed over. Ralph saw that he was keeping track of the toll, but said nothing.
"Let me help you turn the bridge," said Pickley when a horn sounded for the draw to be opened.
"No, thank you; I can do it alone," replied Ralph.
"Don't you want me to take hold?"
"It is not needed. You will get enough of the work after I leave."
"You don't want to be a bit sociable," growled Pickley, and he turned away, but still kept on counting the passengers as they crossed.
"I suppose he wants to make sure that I am not going to cheat the bridge board out of its cash," mused Ralph, somewhat bitterly. "No doubt Squire Paget fancies that, now I have my walking-papers, I will steal every penny I can!"
During his odd moments Ralph threw several fishing-lines over, and the catching of a mess of fish served to occupy his thoughts to a considerable extent.
Pickley watched him fish for a while, but did not offer to resume the conversation. But he kept a close tally of every cent taken in as toll.
At noon Bob Sanderson brought over Ralph's lunch.
"Well, I'm lucky anyway," he said. "I've got a job at building hot-bed frames for Mr. Ford that will give me steady work for nigh onto three weeks at good pay."
"I am glad to hear it," replied Ralph, with a smile. "Three weeks is a long time, and something is sure to turn up in the meantime."
"I'm glad you have a job, too," put in Pickley, "for I am going to have Andy Wilson help me."
"Then you've got the job?" said Sanderson.
"Yes, I go on as soon as Ralph quits."
While the young bridge tender was eating his lunch a steamboat whistle sounded, and he had to leave it to open the draw. The steamboat passed through, and then he noticed another boat coming down the lake, although some distance off.
As there were just then no passengers wishing passage over the bridge, Ralph decided to leave the draw open for a few minutes, until the boat had time to go through.
He sat down to finish his lunch. He had just raised a bit of home-made berry pie to his mouth, when a clatter on the Westville turnpike startled him.
"My gracious! a runaway!" cried old Bob Sanderson.
Ralph leaped to his feet, and saw that his old helper was right. There, tearing along the road that led from the village center was an elegant team of black horses, attached to a large open carriage.
"It's Mrs. Carrington's team!" cried Pickley. "And blame me if the old lady and her daughter ain't in the carriage!"
"The team is coming this way!" put in Bob Sanderson. "I wonder if we can't stop them?"
"Not much!" roared Pickley. "Get out of the way, or you'll be knocked down and killed!"
Sanderson was too old a man to attempt to subdue the fiery steeds, and he quickly followed Pickley out of harm's way.
In the meantime Ralph stood undecided as to what to do. Should he run forward, and try to bring the horses to a standstill before the bridge was reached?
"It won't do," he muttered, half-aloud. "I might miss them, and then——"
He thought no further, but with a bound, sprang to the capstan bar, and with might and main strove to swing the heavy bridge around into place, thus closing the draw.
It was hard work, and the sweat poured from his face and down his chin. But he kept at it, noting at each turn how close the steeds and the elegant turnout were drawing.
At last, with a shock and a quiver, the draw-bridge reached its resting piers. As it did so Ralph gave the bar and capstan a jerk from the hole in which it worked. He threw it aside, just as the front hoofs of the runaways struck the long planking at the end of the bridge.
"Coming on at breakneck speed." See [page 72.]
"Help! help!" came in a female voice from the carriage, and the young bridge tender saw that both Mrs. Carrington and her daughter were preparing to leap out.
"Don't jump!" he screamed, and then made a dash for the horses' heads.
The fact that they had struck the bridge caused the team to slacken their pace a bit. Taking advantage of this, Ralph caught them by both bridles. They lifted him off his feet, but he clung fast, and by the time the Eastport side was reached the team was conquered.
"Hold them, hold them, please!" cried Mrs. Carrington, who, by the way, was one of the richest residents of Westville. "I will get out."
"They are all right now," returned Ralph. "But I will hold them, if you wish."
And he did so while the lady and her daughter alighted.
"Oh, how thankful I am to you," said the lady.
"And I, too," added her daughter, with a grateful glance that caused Ralph to blush. "Oh, mamma," she went on, "I wonder what became of Mr. Paget?"
"It's hard to tell," returned Mrs. Carrington, coldly.
"Mr. Paget!" cried Ralph. "Do you mean Percy Paget?"
"Yes," replied Julia Carrington.
"Was he with you?"
"He was," answered Mrs. Carrington. "But at the first signs of danger he sprang out of the carriage and left us to our fate!"