Do and Dare — a Brave Boy's Fight for Fortune

CHAPTER XXV. MELVILLE MAKES A SENSATION

Col. Warner seemed in very good spirits. He ate and drank with violent enjoyment, and was as affable as usual. George Melville regarded him with curiosity.

“The man does not appear like a desperado or outlaw,” he thought. “There is nothing to distinguish him from the majority of men one meets in ordinary intercourse. He is a problem to me, I should like to study him.”

Col. Warner did not fail to observe the unconscious intentness with which Melville regarded him, and, for some reason, it did not please him.

“You have lost your appetite, Mr. Melville,” he said, lightly. “You have been looking at me until—egad!—if I were a vain man, I should conclude there was something striking about my appearance.”

“I won’t gainsay that, Colonel,” answered Melville, adroitly. “I confess I am not very hungry, and I will further confess that I have something on my mind.”

“Indeed! Better make me your father confessor,” said the colonel, whose suspicion or annoyance was removed by this ready reply.

“So I may, after a while,” said Melville.

He took the hint, and ceased to regard the colonel.

The latter made himself generally social, and generally popular.

The stage drove round to the door after breakfast, and there was the usual bustle, as the passengers bestowed themselves inside.

George Melville had intended to watch narrowly the landlord and Col. Warner, to detect, if possible, the secret understanding which must exist between them. But he was deprived of an opportunity, for the very good reason that the landlord had disappeared, and was not again seen before their departure.

The driver gathered up his reins, cracked his whip, and the stage started. Herbert looked at George Melville a little anxiously, not knowing what course he had decided to take. They two, it will be remembered, were the only ones who knew of the intended attack.

Before the stage started, Melville quietly took the opportunity to hand his pocketbook to Herbert, saying, briefly: “It will be safer with you in case of an attack.”

“But won’t it be considered suspicious that you have no money about you?” suggested Herbert.

“I have a roll of bills in my pocket-fifty dollars,” answered Melville.

They had no further opportunity of speaking, as one of the passengers came up where they were standing.

Herbert had already taken his seat in the coach, when his employer said: “Herbert, wouldn’t you like to ride outside with the driver?”

“Yes, sir,” answered Herbert, promptly, for he understood, that this was Mr. Melville’s wish.

“It will give us more room, and you will have a better view.”

“Yes, sir; I shall like it.”

In a quick manner Herbert made the change, taking care not to look significantly at Melville, as some boys might have done, and thus excited suspicion.

For the first mile there was very little conversation.

Then Col. Warner spoke.

“Well, gentlemen,” he said, “we are fairly on our way. Let us hope nothing will mar our pleasure.”

“Do you anticipate anything?” asked George Melville.

“I! Why should I? We have a skillful driver, and I guarantee he won’t tip us over.”

“Mr. Melville was, perhaps, referring to the chance of the stage being stopped by some enterprising road agent,” suggested Parker.

“Oho! Sits the wind in that quarter?” said the Colonel, laughing lightly. “Not the least chance of that—that is, the chance is very slight.”

“You spoke differently yesterday,” said the German capitalist.

“Did I? I didn’t mean it, I assure you. We are as safe here as if we were riding in the interior of New York. I suppose I was only whiling away a few idle minutes.”

“I am glad to hear it,” said the German. “I shouldn’t like to meet any of these gentlemen.”

“Nor I,” answered Melville; “but I am prepared to give him or them a warm reception.”

As he spoke he drew a revolver from his pocket. He sat next to the door, and in an exposed situation.

“Put up your shooting iron, Mr. Melville,” said Col. Warner, exhibiting a slight shade of annoyance. “Let me exchange places with you. I should prefer the post of danger, if’ there is any.”

“You are very kind, Colonel,” said Melville, quietly, “but I don’t care to change. I am quite satisfied with my seat.”

“But, my dear sir, I insist—” said the Colonel, making a motion to rise.

“Keep your seat, Colonel! I insist upon staying where I am,” answered Melville.

He was physically far from formidable, this young man, but there was a resolute ring in his voice that showed he was in earnest.

“Really, my dear sir,” said the Colonel, trying to conceal his annoyance, “you have been quite misled by my foolish talk. I did not suppose you were so nervous.”

“Possibly I may have a special reason for being so,” returned George Melville.

“What do you mean?” demanded the Colonel, quickly. “If you have, we are all interested, and ought to know it.”

“The Colonel is right,” said the German. “If you know of any danger, it is only fair to inform us all.”

“I am disposed to agree with you, gentlemen,” said Melville. “Briefly, then, I have good reason to think that this company of passengers has been marked for plunder.”

Col. Warner started, but, quickly recovering himself, he laughed uneasily.

“Tush!” he said, “I put no faith in it. Some one has been deceiving you, my friend.”

But the other passengers took it more seriously.

“You evidently know something that we do not,” said Parker.

“I do,” answered Melville.

Col. Warner looked at him searchingly, but did not speak.

Now was the time to test George Melville’s nerve. He was about to take a bold step.

“Gentlemen,” he said, “I regret to say that I have every reason to believe there is a man in this stage who is in league with the road agents.”

This statement naturally made a sensation.

There were seven passengers, and each regarded the rest with new-born suspicion. There seemed, on the whole, about as much reason to suspect one man as another, and each, with the exception of Melville, found himself looked upon with distrust.

“Pooh, Melville! You must have had bad dreams!” said Col. Warner, who was the first to recover his self-possession. “Really, I give you credit for a first-class sensation. As for you, gentlemen, you may take stock in this cock-and-bull story, if you like; I shall not. I, for one, have no fear of my fellow passengers. I regard them all as gentlemen, and shall not allow myself to be disturbed by any silly fears.”

The air of calm composure with which the Colonel spoke served to tranquilize the rest of the passengers, who wished to put credit in his assurance.

“The Colonel speaks sensibly,” said Mr. Parker, “and unless Mr. Melville assigns a reason for his remarkable belief, I am disposed to think we have taken alarm too quick.”

“Of course, of course; all sensible men will think so,” said the Colonel. “My friend, we shall be tempted to laugh at you if you insist on entertaining us with such hobgoblin fancies. My advice is, to put up that weapon of yours, and turn your attention to the scenery, which I can assure you, gentlemen, is well worthy of your admiration. Just observe the walls of yonder canyon, and the trees growing on the points.”

“Gentlemen,” said Melville, “I should be glad to take the view of the last speaker, if I had not positive proof that he is the man who has agreed to deliver us into the hands of a road agent within the space of half an I hour!”

“Sir, you shall answer for this!” exclaimed the Colonel, furiously, as he struggled to secure the weapon, his face livid with passion.

But two passengers, one the German, who, though short, was very powerful, forcibly prevented him.

CHAPTER XXVI. A COUNCIL OF WAR

“Are you sure of what you say?” asked a passenger, turning with a puzzled look from George Melville, who, in the midst of the general excitement produced by his revelation, sat, not unmoved indeed, but comparatively calm. Courage and physical strength are by no means inseparable, and this frail young man, whose strength probably was not equal to Herbert’s, was fearless in the face of peril which would daunt many a stalwart six-footer.

In reply to this very natural question, George Melville repeated the essential parts of the conversation which had taken place between Col. Warner and the landlord.

Col. Warner’s countenance changed, and he inwardly execrated the imprudence that had made his secret plan known to one of the intended victims.

“Is this true, Col. Warner?” asked Parker.

“No, it’s a lie!” returned the colonel, with an oath.

“Gentlemen!” said George Melville, calmly, “you can choose which you will believe. I will only suggest that this man managed very adroitly to find out where each one of us kept his money. You can also consider whether I have any cause to invent this story.”

It was clear that the passengers were inclined to put faith in Melville’s story.

“Gentlemen!” said the Colonel, angrily, “I never was so insulted in my life. I am a man of wealth, traveling on business; I am worth a quarter of a million at least. To associate me with road agents, whom I have as much reason to fear as you, is most ridiculous. This young man may be well-meaning, but he is under a most extraordinary hallucination. It is my belief that he dreamed the nonsense he has been retailing to you.”

“Ask the driver to stop the stage,” said Mr. Benson, a gentleman from Philadelphia. “If Mr. Melville’s story is trustworthy, we may at any time reach the spot where the highwayman is lurking. We must have a general consultation, and decide what is to be done.”

This proposal was approved, and the driver drew up the stage.

“I don’t propose to remain in the company of men who so grossly misjudge me,” said the Colonel, with dignity, as he made a motion to leave his fellow passengers.

“Stay here, sir!” said Mr. Benson, in a tone of authority. “We cannot spare you yet.”

“Do you dare to detain me, sir?” exclaimed Warner, menacingly.

“Yes, we do,” said the German. “Just stay where you are, Mr. Colonel, till we decide what to do.”

As each one of the company had produced his revolver, the Colonel thought it prudent to obey.

“I am disgusted with this fooling,” he said, “You’re all a pack of cowards.”

“Driver,” said George Melville, “has this stage ever been robbed?”

“Several times,” the driver admitted.

“When was the last time?”

“Two months since.”

“Where did it happen?”

“About a mile further on.”

“Did you ever see this gentleman before?” he asked, pointing to the colonel.

“Yes,” answered the driver, reluctantly.

“When did he last ride with you?”

“On the day the stage was robbed,” answered the driver.

The passengers exchanged glances, and then, as by a common impulse, all turned to Col. Warner, to see how he would take this damaging revelation. Disguise it as he might, he was clearly disconcerted.

“Is this true, colonel?” asked Benson.

“Yes, it is,” answered Col. Warner, with some hesitation. “I was robbed, with the rest. I had four hundred dollars in my wallet, and the road agent made off with it.”

“And yet you just now pooh-poohed the idea of a robbery, and said such things were gone by.”

“I say so now,” returned the colonel, sullenly. “I have a good deal of money with me, but I am willing to take my chances.”

“Doubtless. Your money would be returned to you, in all probability, if, as we have reason to believe, you have a secret understanding with the thieves who infest this part of the country.”

“Your words are insulting. Let go my arm, sir, or it will be the worse for you.”

“Softly, softly, my good friend,” said the German. “Have you any proposal to make, Mr. Melville?”

“Only this. Let us proceed on our journey, but let each man draw his revolver, and be ready to use it, if need be.”

“What about the colonel?”

“He must go along with us. We cannot have him communicating with our enemies outside.”

“Suppose I refuse, sir?”

“Then, my very good friend, I think we shall use a little force,” said the German, carelessly pointing his weapon at the captive.

“I will go upon compulsion,” said the colonel, “but I protest against this outrage. I am a wealthy capitalist from Chicago, who knows no more about road agents than you do. You have been deceived by this unsophisticated young man, who knows about as much of the world as a four-year-old child. It’s a fine mare’s nest he has found.”

This sneer did not disturb the equanimity of George Melville.

“I should be glad to believe the colonel were as innocent as he claims,” he said, “but his own words, overheard last night, contradict what he is now saying. When we have passed the spot indicated for the attack, we will release him, and give him the opportunity he seeks of leaving our company.”

The passengers resumed their places in the stage, with the exception of Herbert, who again took his seat beside the driver. George Melville had not mentioned that it was Herbert, not himself, who had overheard the conversation between the colonel and the land lord, fearing to expose the boy to future risk.

Col. Warner sat sullenly between the German and Benson. He was evidently ill at ease and his restless glances showed that he was intent upon some plan of escape. Of this, however, such was the vigilance of his guards, there did not seem much chance.

The stage kept on its way till it entered a narrow roadway, lined on one side by a thick growth of trees.

Melville, watching the colonel narrowly, saw that, in spite of his attempt at calmness, his excitement was at fever heat.

The cause was very evident, for at this point a tall figure bounded from the underbrush, disguised by a black half mask, through which a pair of black eyes blazed fiercely.

“Stop the stage!” he thundered to the driver, “or I will put a bullet through your head.”

The driver, as had been directed, instantly obeyed.

CHAPTER XXVII. COL. WARNER CHANGES FRONT

It may seem a daring thing for one man to stop a stage full of passengers, and require them to surrender their money and valuables, but this has been done time and again in unsettled portions of the West. For the most part the stage passengers are taken by surprise, and the road agent is known to be a desperado, ready to murder in cold blood anyone who dares oppose him.

In the present instance, however, the passengers had been warned of their danger and were ready to meet it.

Brown—for, of course, the masked man was the landlord—saw four revolvers leveled at him from inside the stage.

“Let go that horse, my friend, or you are a dead man!” said Conrad Stiefel, calmly. “Two can play at your game.”

Brown was taken by surprise, but he was destined to be still more astonished.

Col. Warner protruded his head from the window, saying:

“Yes, my friend, you had better give up your little plan. It won’t work.”

Such language from his confederate, on whom he fully relied, wholly disconcerted the masked robber.

“Well, I’ll be blowed!” he muttered, staring, in ludicrous perplexity, at his fellow conspirator.

“Yes, my friend,” said the colonel, “I shall really be under the necessity of shooting you myself if you don’t leave us alone. We are all armed and resolute. I think you had better defer your little scheme.”

Brown was not quick-witted. He did not see that his confederate was trying cunningly to avert suspicion from himself, and taking the only course that remained to him. Of course, he thought he was betrayed, and was, as a natural consequence, exasperated.

He released his hold on the horses, but, fixing his eyes on the colonel fiercely, muttered:

“Wait till I get a chance at you! I’ll pay you for this.”

“What an idiot!” thought Warner, shrugging his shoulders. “Why can’t he see that I am forced to do as I am doing? I must make things plain to him.”

He spoke a few words rapidly in Spanish, which Brown evidently understood. His face showed a dawning comprehension of the state of affairs, and he stood aside while the stage drove on.

“What did you say?” asked Conrad Stiefel, suspiciously.

“You heard me, sir,” said the colonel, loftily. “You owe your rescue from this ruffian to me. Now, you can understand how much you have misjudged me.”

Conrad Stiefel was not so easily satisfied of this.

“I heard what you said in Mexican, or whatever lingo it is, but I didn’t understand it.”

“Nor I,” said Benson.

“Very well, gentlemen; I am ready to explain. I told this man that if he ever attempted to molest me I should shoot him in his track.”

“Why didn’t you speak to him in English?” asked Stiefel.

“Because I had a suspicion that the fellow was the same I met once in Mexico, and I spoke to him in Spanish to make sure. As he understood, I am convinced I was right.”

“Who is it, then?” asked Benson.

“His name, sir, is Manuel de Cordova, a well-known Mexican bandit, who seems to have found his way to this neighborhood. He is a reckless desperado, and, though I addressed him boldly, I should be very sorry to meet him in a dark night.”

This explanation was very fluently spoken, but probably no one present believed what the colonel said, or exonerated him from the charge which George Melville had made against him.

Five miles further on Col. Warner left the stage.

“Gentlemen,” he said, “I am sorry to leave this pleasant company, but I have a mining claim in this neighborhood, and must bid you farewell. I trust that when you think of me hereafter, you will acquit me of the injurious charges which have been made against me. I take no credit to myself for driving away the ruffian who stopped us, but hope you won’t forget it.”

“No one interfered with the colonel when he proposed to leave the stage. Indeed, the passengers were unanimous in accepting his departure as a relief. In spite of his plausible representations, he was regarded with general suspicion.

“I wish I knew the meaning of that Spanish lingo,” said the German, Conrad Stiefel.

“I can interpret it for you, Mr. Stiefel,” said George Melville, quietly. “I have some knowledge of Spanish.”

“What did he say?” asked more than one, eagerly.

“He said: ‘You fool! Don’t you see the plot has been discovered? It wasn’t my fault. I will soon join you and explain.’”

This revelation made a sensation.

“Then he was in league with the road agent, after all?” said Parker.

“Certainly he was. Did you for a moment doubt it?” said Melville.

“I was staggered when I saw him order the rascal away.”

“He is a shrewd villain!” said Benson. “I hope we shan’t encounter him again.”

CHAPTER XXVIII. THE CONSPIRATORS IN COUNCIL

It is needless to say that Col. Warner’s intention in leaving the stage was to join his fellow conspirator. There was no advantage in remaining longer with his fellow travelers, since the opportunity of plundering them had passed, and for the present was not likely to return. He had been a little apprehensive that they would try to detain him on suspicion, which would have been awkward, since they had numbers on their side, and all were armed. But in that unsettled country he would have been an elephant on their hands, and if the idea entered the minds of any one of the stage passengers, it was instantly dismissed.

When the stage was fairly on the way, Col. Warner went to a house where he was known, and asked for a horse.

“Any news, colonel?” asked the farmer, as he called himself. Really he was in league with the band of which Warner was the chief.

“No,” answered the Colonel, gloomily. “No, worse luck! There might have been, but for an unfortunate circumstance.”

“What’s that?”

“There’s plenty of good money in that stage coach and Brown and I meant to have it, but some sharp-eared rascal heard us arranging the details of the plan, and that spoiled it.”

“Is it too late now?” asked the farmer, eagerly. “We can follow them, and overtake them yet, if you say so.”

“And be shot for our pains. No, thank you. They are all on the alert, and all have their six-shooters in readiness. No, we must postpone our plan. There’s one of the fellows that I mean to be revenged upon yet—the one that ferreted out our secret plan. I must bide my time, but I shall keep track of him.”

Soon the Colonel, well-mounted, was on his way back to the rude inn where he had slept the night before.

Dismounting he entered without ceremony, and his eyes fell upon the landlord’s wife, engaged in some household employment.

“Where’s Brown?” he asked, abruptly.

“Somewheres round,” was the reply.

“How long has he been home?”

“A matter of two hours. He came home awfully riled, but he wouldn’t tell me what it was about. What’s happened?”

“We’ve met with a disappointment—that’s what’s the matter.”

“Did the passengers get the better of you?” asked the woman, for she was in her husband’s guilty secrets, and knew quite well what manner of man she had married.

“They found out our little game,” answered Warner, shortly, for he did not see any advantage in wasting words on his confederate’s wife. “Which way did Brown go?”

“Yonder,” answered Mrs. Brown, pointing in a particular direction.

Col. Warner tied his horse to a small sapling, and walked in the direction indicated.

He found the landlord sullenly reclining beneath a large tree.

“So you’re back?” he said, surveying Warner with a lowering brow.

“Yes.”

“And a pretty mess you’ve made of the job!” said the landlord, bitterly.

“It’s as much your fault—nay, more!” said his superior, coolly.

“What do you mean?” demanded Brown, not over cordially.

“You would persist in discussing our plan last night in my room, though I warned you we might be overheard.”

“Well?”

“We were overheard.”

“What spy listened to our talk?”

“The young man, Melville—the one traveling with a boy. He kept it to himself till the stage was well on its way, and then he blabbed the whole thing to all in the stage.”

“Did he mention you?”

“Yes, and you.”

“Why didn’t you tell him he lied, and shoot him on the spot?”

“Because I shouldn’t have survived him five minutes,” answered the colonel, coolly, “or, if I had, his companions would have lynched me.”

Brown didn’t look as if he would have been inconsolable had this occurred. In fact, he was ambitious to succeed to the place held by the colonel, as chief of a desperate gang of outlaws.

“I might have been dangling from a branch of a tree at this moment, had I followed your plan, my good friend Brown, and that would have been particularly uncomfortable.”

“They might have shot me,” said Brown, sullenly.

“I prevented that, and gave you timely warning. Of course it’s a disappointment, but we shall have better luck next time.”

“They’ve got away.”

“Yes, but I propose to keep track of Melville and the boy, and have my revenge upon them in time. I don’t care so much about the money, but they have foiled me, and they must suffer for it. Meanwhile, I want your help in another plan.”

The two conferred together, and mutual confidence was re-established.