“Yaws;” and Jim broke into a trot which he kept up until he reached his own porch. In his exuberance of spirits, he was careless and awoke his father. He came into the hall and roared out a demand for an explanation, which his son gave in a few hurried words.
“Hooh!” exclaimed his parent; “there’s robbers in the post office and I think I’ll take a hand as soon as I can get hold of my shotgun.”
Which may serve to explain how it was that Gerald Buxton became involved in the incidents that speedily followed.
CHAPTER XVIII
A Clever Trick
At the foot of the rear stairs in the home of Widow Friestone was an ordinary door latched at night, but without any lock. When Mike Murphy was groping about in the blank darkness, where nothing was familiar, he did not know, as has been said, of the steepness of the steps. Thus he placed his shoe upon vacancy, and, unable to check himself, bumped to the bottom, striking every step on the route, and banging against the door with such force that the latch gave away, it flew open, and he sprawled on his hands and knees, still grasping the rifle with which he had set out to hunt for burglars. He was not hurt, and bounded like a rubber ball to his feet.
An amazing scene confronted him. A young man, his face covered with a mask, had just drawn back the ponderous door of the safe, and by the light of a small dark lantern in his left hand was trying to unlock one of the inner compartments, with a bunch of small keys held in his right. It was at this instant that the racket followed by the crash which burst open the door paralyzed him for the moment. He straightened up and stared through the holes of his mask at the apparition that had descended upon him like a thunderbolt, in helpless amazement.
If he was terrified, Mike Murphy was not. Forgetful of his shillaleh in the shape of the Springfield, he made a leap at the fellow.