CHAPTER VI.
OTIS CLYMER AND DAVE PLUNKETT AGREE TO PULL TOGETHER.
“Is it possible!” gasped Charlie Fox, his eyes sticking out.
“It is an awful truth,” answered Jack, solemnly. “I don’t know exactly what made me wake up, unless it was the dream I had. At any rate, I woke up with a feeling upon me that something was wrong. I tried to get asleep again, but I couldn’t, which is an unusual circumstance with me. Finally I got up and went to the window of your room to look out. It was bright moonlight, and everything was quiet all about. The surgery, you know, was almost in front of me, and my eyes took it in with the rest of the scene. I was astonished to see the door open and some one standing on the doorstep. At first I fancied it was Prawle, but I soon perceived it was the figure of a much smaller man. He was standing in the full glow of the moonshine. Then I recognized Otis Clymer. I knew he had no right to be there after what had occurred, and I watched him attentively. In a moment he turned around and disappeared into the building, closing the door after him. I was sure he had some bad purpose in view, so without waking you, I hurriedly slipped on my shoes and trousers; ran down stairs, let myself into the garden by the side door and started for the surgery. Hardly had I reached there before the door was suddenly jerked open and Clymer rushed out into my arms, nearly upsetting me. But my suspicions being aroused, I held on to him and demanded to know what had brought him there at that hour. He told me it was none of my business, and struggled to get away. Then I caught sight of the fire inside. I accused him of the crime, when he managed to strike me a stunning blow in the face, wrenched himself free and dug out of the garden. Then I entered the surgery, and found Prawle stretched out, the picture of death, and I had all I could do to get him out of reach of the flames.”
“This is terrible!” ejaculated Charlie. “I never liked Clymer, and it is only lately we found out he was actually crooked in many little ways; but for all that I should never have dreamed him capable of committing such a dastardly act as setting fire to the store, not to speak of abandoning a fellow creature to such a fearful death as must have been the case if his plan had succeeded. Jack,” continued his chum, grasping him by the hand and shaking it warmly, “Mr. Prawle not only owes his life to you a second time, but father and all of us owe you a debt of gratitude for saving our property.”
“Don’t mention it, Charlie; rather thank an all-wise Providence, whose humble instrument I was, that an awful crime has been averted.”
“Boys,” interrupted the voice of Dr. Fox at that moment, “I want you to help me carry our strange visitor into my office.”
“Sure we will,” answered the boys in a breath.
“How is he?” asked Jack, as they drew up alongside the still unconscious Prawle. “Not dead, I hope.”
“No,” replied the doctor, in a serious voice, “but he is in a bad way. He has been drugged by chloroform. Must have tried to take his own life.”
“Not at all,” answered Jack, much to the doctor’s surprise. “If he is drugged, it is the work of Otis Clymer.”
“Impossible!” cried Dr. Fox, incredulously.
“Well, after I tell you what I know of this night’s, or rather morning’s, affair, I think you will agree that a deliberate murder, as well as arson, has been attempted.”
And Jack retailed the whole story to the doctor as soon as he and Charlie had laid Prawle upon the office lounge.
Dr. Fox was thunderstruck.
He could not doubt but Jack had stated the facts exactly as he had found them.
“What a villain that fellow is! And to think he has been in my employ for nearly a year. Why, the man might have poisoned one of my patients, and have got me into endless trouble.”
The doctor wiped the perspiration from his face.
“He shall be arrested at once, and prosecuted to the full extent of the law. Indeed,” with a glance at Prawle, “it may yet end in a hanging matter. What could have been his object?”
“I suppose it was to revenge himself on you for his discharge,” suggested Jack. “But why he should have included this poor fellow in his scheme is more than I can guess. It is possible Prawle may have woke up and caught him in the place, and that Clymer then struck him down and managed to give him a dose of the drug, which, from his knowledge of the store, he could readily put his hands on.”
“We shall probably get at the truth after this man comes to his senses, or it will come out when that young scoundrel is tried.”
“Well, he will have to be caught first. I’ll bet he is out of town long before this.”
“I’m afraid so,” admitted Dr. Fox, reflectively. “You had better dress yourself, Charlie, and run around to the home of the head constable, Martin Willett, and have him come here at once.”
“All right,” acquiesced his son. “Jack had better come with me.”
So the two boys ran up to their room to put themselves into shape to go out.
In the meantime, Otis Clymer, thinking of the ill-luck which had led to his recognition and the probable failure of his scheme to get square with Dr. Fox, made the best time he could in the direction of the small hotel kept by Dave Plunkett down near the river which ran by the town.
The Plunkett House was the one eyesore of Sackville.
All self-respecting people considered it a disgrace to the town.
But as Plunkett was shrewd enough to keep within the pale of the law he could not be disturbed.
Report represented him as an ex-prize fighter, and report was probably correct.
He looked it at any rate.
Some people even hinted that they believed his picture adorned the Rogue’s Gallery of more than one big city.
At any rate, when he sported his summer crop of hair his smoothly shaven face would have stood as a good model for a convict’s.
It is quite possible all the evil things whispered about Plunkett were more or less exaggerated, but, just the same, the good citizens of Sackville would have been well pleased to have parted company with him.
And this was the man Otis Clymer had cultivated as a friend.
The acquaintance began when Otis went into the billiard-room to play pool.
Then he made himself solid by treating the crowd frequently.
Finally Plunkett suggested that he come there to board.
Clymer fell in with the idea, and that settled whatever little reputation Otis had not already lost.
Dr. Fox put up with a great deal from his clerk, but he couldn’t stand for that, and so he discharged the foolish young man.
It is probable Plunkett was playing Otis Clymer for a good thing, and would give him the bounce as soon as his funds ran out.
It was close on to three o’clock when Clymer reached the Plunkett House, all out of breath from his run.
As far as appearances went, Plunkett’s was closed for the night.
But it wasn’t really so.
There was a big game of pool on in the billiard and bar-room, the participants in which were mostly bargemen who plied on the river.
They were a rough lot, but you could not class them as really bad men, at least not the large majority.
They frequented Plunkett’s because it was a free-and-easy resort, and was handy for them to congregate at.
Dave Plunkett was behind the bar, helping his assistant out.
Clymer rushed into the place through a side door abutting on the river.
This was the only entrance open to customers after one o’clock in the morning.
Otis called for whisky, and poured out such a stiff dose that Plunkett looked at him in some surprise.
He swallowed it at a single gulp, and then asked Dave if he could see him in private.
“Cert,” answered Plunkett, regarding his customer with a suspicious stare. “But what’s up? You looked excited. You ain’t been doin’ nothin’ that’ll get you into limbo, have you?”
“Never mind what I’ve been doing,” retorted Clymer, shortly. “I’ve got something to tell you that you’ll be glad to learn.”
“Will I?” said Plunkett coolly. “Well, go into my little room, at the back of the office. I’ll be with you in a moment.”
“When I left here to-night,” said Clymer to Plunkett, when the proprietor of the establishment joined him in his private room, “I was half-shot; but I was resolved to get square somehow with old Fox for discharging me from his shop.”
Plunkett nodded as if he had suspected some such intention ran in his customer’s brain.
“I may as well tell you I meant to set the old ranch on fire if I could get the chance, and I thought I could, as I had a key to the surgery in my pocket.”
His companion said nothing, but regarded him with attention.
“When I reached there about half-past eleven I expected to find the coast clear, for I knew a dead man had been fetched to the surgery in the morning for a post-mortem, and such being the case the room is usually not visited.”
Plunkett, perhaps scenting a longish story, got out his pipe, filled it and began to smoke.
“I was surprised to find the surgery lit up, and, wondering what was going on inside, I crept up to the window overlooking the street and peered in. Fortunately, it was open several inches, and I heard something which set me on a new track.”
“Umph!” muttered Plunkett.
Then Clymer proceeded to detail how the corpse had been brought back to life, much to his listener’s amazement.
When he came to disclose what had transpired in relation to the copper mine out in Montana, Plunkett got interested.
“I determined to get possession of that mine myself,” went on Clymer.
“You!” exclaimed Plunkett, in some astonishment.
“Yes, me. If I could get hold of the papers, especially the option on the property, I believed I could depend on you to see me through in change for an interest in the mine that would be as good as a fortune to you.”
“Well,” said the hotel keeper, more interested than ever.
“Well, I’ve got them,” replied Clymer, triumphantly.
“You have?” in surprise.
“I have; but——” and Otis looked at his friend the landlord with a shaky expression.
“Well, what’s the trouble?”
“The trouble is, I was detected in the act of setting the surgery on fire by a friend of the doctor’s son, named Jack Howard, and had to run for it.”
Plunkett whistled softly.
“You can’t get out of town any too quick for your personal safety, Clymer. Arson is a serious charge to have brought against you, and if convicted would mean anywhere from ten to fifteen years in the State prison.”
“Yes, I realize that. But there is no use now in crying over spilled milk. I’m going out to Montana to try and get possession of that copper mine, and what I want to know is, Are you with me? This is my plan.”
Otis Clymer produced the faded red pocketbook which belonged to Gideon Prawle, discoursed glowingly as to the exceptionally rich quality of the copper specimens brought from the mine by the prospector, and explained how he believed that a small amount of money judiciously invested in the person of Jim Sanders would secure them the ownership of the mine, as the option held by Prawle being in his (Clymer’s) possession it could not be produced to complete the original bargain.
“Five hundred dollars ought to do the business for us,” concluded Otis, eagerly. “Prawle, if he survives the drug I gave him, will be left out in the cold, and you and I will come into a mint of money when we sell our right and title to the mine to capitalists who know a good thing when they see it.”
Plunkett was a cautious man as a rule—a virtue which kept him out of difficulties many a time; but the arguments advanced by Clymer seemed convincing, and at the same time excited his cupidity.
The two men talked over the scheme until daylight, and finally came to an agreement satisfactory to both.
Arrangements being completed, Clymer packed a grip with such articles as he considered indispensable and left the Plunkett House to catch a freight train which passed through Sackville at five o’clock.
Two days afterward, Plunkett himself vanished from town, leaving his establishment in charge of his wife.