Beadle's Pocket Library (no. 265) (1889 02 06)
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$2.50 Published Weekly by Beadle and Ada: No. 265, a Year. No. 98 saat! New York. ae Five Gents, Vol. XXI, a ‘“WELL, 1’LL BE SOLD FER A PINT OF PEANUTS, IF THAT BLAMED GALOOT DIDN'T TAKE ME FER A GHOST,’’ CHUCKLED BILLY, AS HE EMERGED FROM THE TRUNK.
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2 Billy, the Baggage Boy. Billy, the Baggage Boy; The Young Railroad Detective, BY CHARLES MORRIS, AUTHOR OF “DETECTIVE DICK,” “‘THE BOSS BOY,” ‘WILL SOMERS,” *‘ PICAYUNE PETE,” ETO,, ETC., ETC, CHAPTER I. A HURT HERO. “THOUGHT this was me; but ain’t right sure of it. Ain't right sure of nothin’ now. Seems as if I was hung on wires, jist like a skeleton, and might shake myself down into oy bones,” Tue youthful speaker essayed to shake him- self, but desisted, witb a groan of pain. *“* Wonder how it feels when a feller draps out of a balloon—bout five miles high or thereaways? There’s ona thing P’ll bet, and that’s this: there ain’t never no use stoppin’ so sudden; ’specially when the ground’s in the way.” He looked indee 1 as if he had stopped too sud- denly. His clothes were torn and badly soiled, Blood was oozing from a dozen ugly cuts on his face and limbs. His right hand hung limp and helpless. When he essayed to walk it was with a halting step, as if he hid been lamed, “S’pose ’'ma pictur’,” ho mutterad, holding toa fence for support. ‘I jist mought as well took a handinascrinmage, Hope there won’t nohody skeer me with a looking-glass, Does anvboy live bout here, anyho v?” He shaded his eyes and looke.l across the val- ley. Several honses were visibls at a consider- able distance, Tho smoke from others curled up into the fhin air, from behind the woods that screened them, Not far off, in the other direction, came the sound of wheels, Hea looked back, but no car riaze was yet in sight. ’ ‘*S’pect it’s slipt off into some by-road,” he grumbled, angrily, ‘‘ Just my luck,” It proved not so, however. Around a turn in the road came the cirriage, drawa by a pair of fing grays. A colored coachman drove. The seat bahind was occupied by a young lady. Quick as was the glance which the boy took at this occupant of the carriage, he saw not only toat she was very handsom? and richly dressad, hut that her expression wa3 that of a gentle and kin *y nature, He left his support and stepped hastily ont into tha road. But ths effort was too much for his strongth. He reeled iike a drunken man, and fell prostrate in th. very track of the horses, “Stop, Hugol Stop!” she cried, in quick ac- cents of alarm. ‘‘ The poor boy; did you notice how he was coverel with blood? Hs has been bally burt.” Hu zo’s hip curled unpleasantly as he pulled up the horsas. “Got his face scratched. Dat an my notion, Jist >t him crawl out de way.” ‘*No, not he may dis herein the road. Lift him into the carriage.” Mugo raised his hand in holy horror, ‘* An?’ cubber dem new seats wid blood an‘ dust, Miss Claire? Whateber will massa say?” “Tt is no matter, The boy may die,” was ber imperious answer. ‘Do asI vell you at once.” Hugo thas addressed, reluctantly complied. Ha lifted t ie youth from before the horses’ feet, finding him to be helpless and apparently insen- sible, Tn a few minutes however, the coachman had resumed his seat, which was now partly occupied by tha young lady, the lad being laid in a re- clining position on the back seat of the carnage. As they drove more slowly down the road she examined the features of the boy with great in- terest, He might have been of any age from sixteen to eightcen, and had in his face a peculiarly frank, open expression which skowed evea through bis swoon, His features were good, despite their present disfigurement: and his clothes, though poor in quality, were neat and well fitting. Altogether she was pleased with his appearance, They had not ridden far before his eyes opened, and looked back with interest into hers. His was a gray, rather keen eye, round which a lurking sense of fun always rested, ““Whereabouts have { drapped now?” he asked, surveying the carriage. : “We found you in the road, just by the rail- road track, badly hurt,” she replied, in her musical and kindly tones, ‘* How came you to be so injured?” ; * Tumbled outer the moon, I guess,” he an- swered, with a grimace. ‘Was dpe making forty miles an hour when I touched bottom, It’s enough to put a boy’s nose out of joint.” She made no reply, and looked away with an expression that troubled him a little, Just thea Hugo drew up at the gate of a mansion of some pretensions, which stood back from the road. “Drive in, Hugo; and then you must go for the doctor at once,” she said, anxiously. In a few minutes more the wounded lad was helped in and laid on a couch, several anxious faces surrounding. Hugo, despite his former grumbling, was not long in bringing the doctor. The latter saw with surprise the injured appearance of his pa- tient, and asked a number of questions, getting about as much satisfaction as the laly bad got before him, Yet the boy, despite his odd answers, was not rude or impolite in manner. Tne doctor langhed as he procee led to dress his injaries, leaving him much more comfortable an presentable than he had found him. * Now, if it’s all ene to you folks, I gnessa snooz® mought pay,” he said, looking round with an eye that twinkled with fun. ‘ Whena feller’s been wile awake as long as I have, he bezins to git sleepy.” “How long have you been wide awake?” asked the doctor. ‘* All my life,” replied the Jad, with an in- imitable grimace, that set them all off laughing. Without further attention to them he closed his eyes, and seemed, in a moment, to be lost ina deep slumber. “T fancy you have a character here, Miss Claire,” the doctor remarked to the young lady. bi
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6 Billy, the Baggage Boy. 3 “He is certainly an oddity,” she replied. ‘I only hope that will prove bis worst fault, I have, somehow, taken a fancy to him.” There was no sham about his sleep. It lasted until the next morning, when he woke refreshed vy his slumbers, but weak and lame, while his right hand was helpless, “Don’t you think he is very pretty, Aunt Claire? spoke a childish voice by his bedside, ere he had opened his eyes. Riis “Yes, Lucy; handsome and innocent-iooking, and perverse; I don’t know what to make of Lim,” came in Miss Claire’s tones. ‘See here,” said the boy, suddenly opening his eyes and looking into their faces, “I yarned last night. ‘Cause that blackbird of yourn made me feel contrary, I s’pose. And ’ve been ashamed of myself ever since.” “* Asleep, were you not, ever since?’ asked the child, looking quizzically into his eyes, The boy gazed at the speaker, a pretty little girl of some seven years of age. “*T tumbled out of the lightnin’ train,” be re- parted. “That’s the whole long and short of it.” ‘“How?” sheexclaimed, in astonishment. ‘* Do you mean that you fell from the cars?” “The Lightnin’-Express. Forty miles an hour. Straight through from Pittsburg. Was sailin’ along like greased thunder, when the ground jumped up and hit me, and the train slid on, That's how 1t come.” “ Are you a railroad boy?” asked Lucy. ** You bet I am,” ‘In what position?” queried Miss Claire, “T sell peanuts and gum-drops, and sich deli- cacivs of the season. And I bet there’ll be high old times when I turn up missing, The officers of the road can’t be spared.” The boy had risen, and was now reclining comfortably in an arm-cbair, ‘* Had we not better send word to the station?” asked Miss Claire. “Just what I was goin’ to purpose,” he re- plied, energetically. ‘ Telegraph them that ’'m all right, and will be on duty ag’in before the sup bids us two more good-nights.” ““ What name shall I tell them?” asked Miss Clare, smiling at his oddity. “Billy, the railroad men call me, But you telegraph William Baggage. And be sure you spell it right, or they mightn’t reckernise me.” “Shall T send you up your breakfast?” asked Miss Claire. “Well, somethin’ light, then. or a pigeon’s toe; or sich,” She left the room laughing. “You're queer,” said Lucy, nestling up to him. ‘Do you like taffy?" “If T don’t it’s queer!” he answered, enthusi- astically; and their friendship was at once cemented by the close bonds of molasses taffy. Two or three days passed, during which Billy was gradually recovering from the effects of his fall, which proved not nearly so serious as might natnrally have been looked for. During this time be bad very little to say about his accident, throwing a degree of mys- tery around it by his quiet avoidance of all questions. Even the energetic and direct queries Half an oyster; more information than had been volunteered to the daughter. “He isa queer dick; and there’s something behind aJ} this,” said Mr. Hamilton, aside, “*'You kin have the fun then of guessing what it is,” thought Billy, who had overheard this re- mark, It was evident that if they needed any infor- mation they would have to gain it by guessing, for Billy was close-mouthed as an oyster. Vol- uble enough, it is true, but letting out 1iext to nothing in the way of business. Two or three days passed, and he rapidly re- gained his strength, though he wes Jame yet in band and foot,while bis face looked like the map of a battlefield done in court-plaster. One afternoon, just on the shadowy verge of evening, the boy limped into the rear parlor, thinking it deserted. He was mistaken, Claire Hamilton was there, and with her a young gentleman whom Billy had not seen thee before. There was a sus- picious separation to opposite ends of the sofa when the boy entered, which should have ad- monished bim to take his departure again forth- with. But Billy was not that kind of a boy. He was one that never retreated. Through the room he walked, his eyes fixed with a keen and curious glance on the face of the young man. oe seated himself in a rocking-chair, facing them. “A sorter nice kind of an evening,” he re- marked, in an off-hand way. “ Yes,” replied Claire, absently. : “Dunno, though, 1t?s streaky to the west. Mought kick up a rain yit. S’pose you’re no judge of the weather?” ‘ No,” answered the gentleman, with a savage intonation, “Yes, and no, A few words go a Jong ways,” remarked Billy, rocking bimself nonchalantly in the chair, and quietly surveying the couple before bim. ; It was evident that the gentleman was grow- ing angry. Claire sprung up with a nervous movement, saying: ‘* Excuse me a moment,” She hastily left the room, Billy looked after her until she disappeared, and then turned and faced her gentleman friend.” This person was a well-built individual, of middle hight, broad-shouldered, and full-chest- ed, His face was one which most people would have called handsome, Its principal features were the stern black eyes, with which be re- turned the boy’s cool stare, rather thin lips, and a firm chin. His lip was zraced by a full black mustache, **Do you think you will know me again?” he sarcastically asked Billy. ‘* Hope so,” replied the latter, easily. “* That’s what I want todo.” ** Well, you are cool about it.” * Always am, this kind of weather. See here. What do you think took Miss Clairs out?” ‘* Her fancy, I suppose.” “Tl bet high iv’s a game to get rid of me,” of Mr, Hamilton, Claire’s father, gained him no | said the unabashed Billy. “It’s the old sayin’,
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4 Billy, the Baggage Boy. you know, ‘two's company and three’s none,’ §’pose I don’t know I ain’t wanted?” ee You don’t act as if you knew much of any- thing. “Now don’t you buy me fur a know-nothin’, if you want to make a bargain,” replied Billy, laughing, ‘‘I’d have slid straight off, only I jist want to seo how she’s goin’ to work it, That's all.” He was interrupted by the return of the young lady, who seated herself quictly on the sof ‘““T think my father wishes to see you,” she re- marked to Billy. ** Bad?” asked Billy. presence?” ‘“‘ He wishes to speak to you.” **T guess Pl git.” Tbe ‘young gentleman” seemed very much inclined to hasten Billy’s pace. He half-rose from his seat, but was restrained by a merry laugh from Claire, who seemed to see Billy’s be- havior from its ludicrous side. But she had not quite got rid of the boy’s at- tentions yet for that day. If: was two hours or more later, when he again met her in the hall. “That chap sweet on you, Miss Claire?” he asked, “‘T don’t think that a proper question, Master Billy,” answered Claire, laughingly. “Ts he sufferin’ for my ** Pye seen him afore, that’s all, and he mought. have been in better company. He ain't all O. K., Miss Claire. Don’t keer to hurt your feel- in’s, but a feller’s got to stick to the truth, you know.” And Billy looked virtuously indignant, while his hearer seemed not entirely comfortable. CHAPTER L. A RAILROAD KING, “Now jist you let up; if you want to keep out the hospital, There’s a bit of advice fer ou. “Tf he don’t look like a hospital rat himself, then it’s queer,” and the boy speaker laughed provekingly. ““T can smash you into mincemeat yit, any- how, An’if you’ve got much more blowin’ to do, spose you jist go over to them lawyer chaps and git your will made.” And the speaker pointed with his left hand to a row of buildings, plentifully adorned in front with signs of the legal fraternity. His right hand was in no condition to use, being in an im- promptu sling, while his face was scarred and apie in twenty places, It was no other than i y: He looked belligerent enough as he stood in fighting attitude, foot and hand advanced, and his keen eyes fixed on his antagonists, But four sound boys to.one cripple was too great odds, and Billy gave an anxious glance around as the boys advanced in mass on him. In a minute more he was in the heart of the battle; striking, kicking, and receiving two | blows to his one, But not a step did he retreat, and not for a moment did he cease to chaff his foes, “Come on, bully boys! Four to one ain’t no sort of odds fer Mudtowners. see who's got the backbone,” He was now catching it, fast and furious, It was evident that, quick and alert as he was, he could not hold his own many seconds more, At this juncture a stronger hand took part in tho fray, aud the attacking party drew hastily back from the assault of powerful reinforcements. ‘Cowardly young hounds!” came in scornful tones froma manly voice. ‘ Four to one, and he a cripple! Make off with you, or I will scorch you as you deserve,” They seemed to think he meant it, too, as they hastily retired from the field of battle, waiting until at a safe distance to hurl some opprobrious epithets at this new opponent. Billy looked up curiously at the stalwart man who had delivered him from his perll, Me gave a start as he saw the face of his new ally, ‘* Well, Pll be blowed!” he exclaimed. “If it ain't Miss Claire’s sweetheart, you kin take my head fur a meat-block.” “ And this is my young friend that fell from the moon, eh?” ‘See here, neighbor; there’s somethin’ clever te you. What mought your name be?” asked illy. “George Howard,” was the answer, “All square. Jist wanted to know. Much obleeged to you fur driving off them hornets.” *‘And you had best be getting away from their nest,” replied Mr. Howard, as he walked away. ‘* They may return.” “T wouldn’t keer a cent fura teapot full of them, if I only had two arms,” returned Billy, with a rueful glance at his lame hand. ‘ Guess [ll make tracks, °*Tain’t no use waitin’ when there’s a hammerin’ at the end of it.” And Billy walked off in a direction at right- angles to that taken by Mr. Howard, His pace, however, was very deliberate, and he seemed lost in deep reflection, He looked, again and again, after Mr Howard. $8 pete f{ oughter foller that man,” he solilo- quized, ‘‘I’m an off’cer on the Pennsy; that’s one thing. Then there’s that sweet Miss Claire, that he’s makin’ up to; that’s another thing, Every feller that’s half a feller oughter fight fur his ship and his gal, and I know there’s some- thin’ duberous ’bout Mr. George Howard,” As he spoke he gradually changed bis course till he was on the direct track of the person named, The latter left Independence Square, where these incidents had oecurred, by the gate at Sixth and Walnut streets. Billy was now but a short distance behind him. : For half a square this pursuit continued, then the boy suddenly came toa dead stop. “ oTain’t correck, ’Tain’t square,” he said to himself. ‘‘He jist stood by me like a man. Made them mud wasps git _upand git. And here’s me follerin’ of him, ’Tain’t honor, Billy; and when a feller like you goes back on honor he ain’t got nothin’ left. -P'll sw’ar I won’t follor him another step if he’s got a plot to knock the Pennsy Railroad into the middle of next week,” A minute more of thought, and a new resolu- tion seemed to come unto him. ‘* Yes, I will,” he remarked, with decision, “li step up to the office and see the kurnel, Let ber rip! and
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Ain’t no use in a feller bein’ too modest and hid- ing his taller-candle under a bushel measure, %cordin’ to Seriptur’.” Billy walked rapidly on, like one who had formed a fixed resolve. In doing so he unex- yectedly found himself in sight again of George oward, who had stopped and was earnestly conversing with a person he had met. Billy turned his head away, anxious, in his honorable intentions, not to see any of Mr, Howard’s associates, “ Bet that’s a night-hawk,” said Billy, criti- cally, as he passed on, On Fourth street, some distance south of Wal- nut, stands a great granite building, into whose doors ebbs and flows a constant rivulet of humanity. it is hardly decided enough to be called a human tide. The edifice contains the main offices of the Pennsylvania Railroad Co., whose name is cut in enduring letters above its granite portal. Up the broad steps and through the door walked Billy, his head up, and an assured look upon his henest and frank features. ‘“Where’bouts does the kurnel hang out his shingle?” he asked of a person who stood in the broad hall. “The colonel, eh? Oh, certainly! You will find his office up-stairs. In the second story.” ‘“* Much obleeged,” replied Billy, walking reso- lutely up-stairs, There was a moment’s hesitation, such as any one might feel on approaching the throne-room of the Great Mogul. But the boy was not the one to turn back after having set his band to the plow. He plunged forward, almost coming into collision with a black-whiskered guard of the door. Billy drew back a pace, and looked defiantly at the resolute sentry. “ Ain’t no use gittin’ sour ’bout it,” he said. ‘* Jist tell the kurnel I want to see him,” “What name?” asked the supercilious sentry. ‘OPain’t no matter. Tell him it’s an officer of the road.” “* What officer?” “General distributor.” “Distributor of what?” “Oh! peanuts and bananers, Guess you'll want to look at my naturalization papers next.” “Well, you can’t come in,” answered the door- keeper, sourly. ‘‘ The colonel is engaged.” ‘“Jist tell him I’m here, will you, Johnny? ““Why, you saucy little hound!” exclaimed the man, angrily. ‘* Make yourself scarce, now, if you don’t want to be kicked down-stairs.” “Never was kicked by a jackass,” replied Billy, defiantly. ‘Don't b’lieve it’d agree with ty eonstertution, Come, now, slowy; tell the kurnel I’m a-waitin’.” _ With a muttered imprecation, the angry sen- tinel started for the boy, who stood bis ground, boldly. The battle likely to ensue was nipped in the bud by an imperious voice that came from the office, within. ‘What is the matter, John? Who is there?” The belligerent suddenly drew back, and an- swered in a deprecating tone: “It’s a beggarly young cripple, sir. An im- pudent little varlet who insists upon coming in- to your office,” Billy, the Baggage Boy. 5 ‘* A cripple?” asked the voice, “ Yes, but not a beggar,” replied Billy, indig- nantly, “I’m an off’cer of the Pennsy, and there ain’t none of them but what gits bis rations reg’lar.” “ Come in; sir,” spoke the voice, decisively. With a highly aggravating wink at his dis- comfited antagonist, Billy strutted into the room, not deigning him a second look. The apartment in which the lad now found himself was an elegantly appointed office, richly and tastefully furnished. But Billy bad eyes only for the gentleman who sat at an office-desk in the center of the room. His eyes were keen and alert, and looked up at his visitor with an expression that meant business. A look of surprise marked his fea- tures as he saw Billy’s scarred face, ** What is the matter with you, boy?’ he ask- ed. “JT jist stepped off the lightnin’ train, that was all—or got kicked off.” ‘* What train?” asked the colonel. “Number Four. Through Express.” “ And what was your business on the road?” © Ob! varieties. Newspapers aud provisions, I do the fancy work.” ‘*T have heard of you,” he-said, quickly. “TI heard you were missing from the train, and re- ceived a telegram about you from up the road, Sit down. You look weak. Now tell me all about it,” “Yes, kurnel,” said Billy, confidently, as he seated himself. ‘‘I happened into the baggage- car, you see. Found the agent‘out, and a hard- faced cuss makin’ hisself at home. He was jist flingin’ a bit of a trunk out the side door when I froze onto his coat-tails, and hollered like thunder.” “You look as if you might make a good watch-dog,” remarked the colonel. “The feller drapped on me like an elephant on a poodle-dog,” continued Billy. ‘‘He was one of them chaps that’s got cast-iron arms and brass muscles, and I wa’n’t any more ’couut in his grip than a slice of cheese in a monkey’s claws, He jist h’isted me outer the car door as if I was a bag of dried apples, and helped me with the toe of his number twenty cowhides, You should jist bave seen me plowin’ gravel! The colonel leaned back in his chair, looking abstractedly at Billy. ‘* How soon will you be ready for duty?” ‘*Soon as ’m called on,” replied Billy. ‘‘ But I hope the Pennsy will be able to git along a week or so without me, till I kin shake my bones into their places,” ‘““Very well,” said the colonel, with a wave of dismissal. ‘‘ Report here when ready.” “O. K,,” returned Billy, bowing bimself out, with a gratified look on his young face, CHAPTER Iii. HANS, THE GUM-DROP BOY. BILty was a Philadelphian, He had a father and mother, as all good Philadelphians have. And the Baggages lived in a house of their own, which is another of the perquisites of virtuous Philadelphians,
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6 Billy, the Baggage Boy. This “Baggage car,” as we may call it, was one of a train of similar cars on an up-town street. It was a modest, two story mansion, built upon thesmallest piece of ground that such au edifice could well be squeezed upon. Inside the element of picturesqueness continued to reign. Chairs which seemed to have been picked up from twenty lumber-rooms; no two of the same pattern nor broken in the same way. Limping tables and scalloped crockery. Carpet- less floors, and a stovo held up at one corner by a brick, Such were a few of the more promi- nent features of this domicile, For it must be confessed that the elder Baggage was a piece of bard baggage. He was too fond of his cups to care much for the amenities of domestic intercourse, If the lady of the house had a sour temper, she had plentiful excuse for if, and, poor thing, she had a sweet heart at bottom, Billy loved his mother, despite the frequent sharp rubs he received, and it was the hope of his heart to ba one day able to relieve her from the sharp struggle with poverty and discomfort which had b3come almost second nature with her. For all that he much preferred the days he spent on the road to the hours which he wore out at home, “ Lookea here, you Bill!” hiecoughed his father, trying hard to balanea himself on a three-legged chair. ‘‘Like to know when you *spect to git to work ag’in? This thing’s played out, Dashed if ‘tain’t. °S if a gen‘lemau of eddication an’ a scholar ain’t got nothin’ to do but keep idle vagybones like you. Don’t see 7 ? “Ob! shut up, Jacob, and let the boy alone!” exclaimad the mother from amid her pots and pans. “ Just look at his face.” **Like to know what bizness he’s got with sich a face,” replied the tipsv fathor. ‘Never heered of his dad tumblin’ off a train. Oh, no! he’s too stildy-headed for that, Dunno what tha hoys is msde of nowadays.” “Thay ain’t made of chalk and cheese, any- how!” protested Billy, “else ’ be ground into powder and mashed into pancakes, Jist like to sea you try it on yourself, dad. Bet there wouldn't be nothin’ left of you but a smell of bad whisky.” “ Now jist hear to him, mammy!” whimpered the inebriate, ‘That's bis respeck for his oll daddy. M2 that’s toilal and slaved night and morning fo keep a ’spectable family—” ‘* What family?” sharply interrupted the wife, “That of Joe Dangles, the whisky-scller, down at the corner?” “Ob, woman!” began the drunken father. ‘Oh, woman, in thy hours of ease—” His quotation met with an unfortunate inter- ruption, The chair on which he had been saw- ing to and fro for the last five minutes suddenly gave way beneath him, and chair an sitter came with a crash to the floor, Billy ran to lift him up. *“Leive me ‘lone!” grumbled the father, “Don’t *sturb the poor old broken-hearted dad. A thankless child’s better nor a serpent’s tooth, as the eoo0d book says; an’ well I kriow it.” Billy lot go bis log-like parent indisgust. His | eyes were full of mingled pity and horror as he looked down upon bim, “Let bim alone!” cried the sorely-tried mother, ‘‘He’s just likea pig. He’s at home rollins in the dirt,” ; “Ifever [Jet any of that rattlesnake pizen pasi my lips, I only hope I'll choke on it,” said the disgusted son, ‘Don’t you keer, mammy, Pll look out fur you. And Billy ain’t never goin’ to set his brains afire with disguised strych- nine, With a quick jerk of the door behind him, that rattled the crazy mansion to its founda- tions, Billy left the house, his face full of min- gled emotions. He strode down the street with a step that was hastened by the exhaust steam of angry thoughts, His lameness had nearly disappear- ed, and his arm was out of the sling. His face, too, was rapidly throwing off its top-dressing of court-plaster, Billy would soon be himself again. “Hey! little chap,’ cried a voice at his elbow, $6 Dats a great pig hurry you're in this morning now, Billy quickly turned, to see a youth of about his own age, whose broad Dutch face was beam- ing with good-humor. “Hello! Hans,” he exclaimed, throwing off his depression instantly. ‘Is it yerself now, sure as shootin’ too?” ‘““Yaw. Me dinks so,” replied Hans, with great gravity. ** And what brings you here?” ‘“* Mine feet,” returned Hans, “What, them canal boats?” returned Billy, looking down questioningly at his friend’s huze supports. “‘Looks to me as if you'd brung them, stead of them bringin’ you. An’ no fool of a job neither.” “ Yaw: dey is goot to stand on, and to walk on,” replied the imperturbable Dutch boy. ‘ Big footses is better as goot. Any fool kuows dat.” “ An’ [ ain’t no fool, that’s the reason I don’t know it,” said Billy, laughing. ‘ Wiat you do- in’ off the road, Hans?” ““Comed off at eleving. Don’t go on till sev- ing. Dat’s how,” returned Hans, ‘Au’ gum- drops is riz, dat’s more. ‘Specially de silber- plated, double-Larrel kint.” “Why don’t you rig them up yonrselves? That’s the way I used to do,” replied Billy. “So we’s goin’,” Hans answered, with a mys- terious wink. ‘‘De’re ferry goot, too. Calf’s foot jelly and shoemaker’s wax. Nix, Billy. Don’t say nuffin’. Dey sticks nice to the teef; dat's all, An’ a nice pictur’ on de box.” Billy laughed merrily at Hans’s new idea in the manufacture of gum-drops., “Put in plenty of sweetenin’ and make them stick good, Hans; and they’re sure to take, Hello! What’s that?” Hans followed the direction of his friend’s eyes, but saw nothing except a group of three men talking, a short distance before them. “Don’t see nix fire, nor nuffin’,” said Hans, “What for you pinch my arm?” “‘ The men there. Look at them, close, Hans,” replied Billy, in a cautious tone. “I'll bet a cow thev’re down on Pennsy. Scen that feller afore with the clipper-built hat, and that wears
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Billy, the Baggage Boy. a his duds with more style than a tailor’s dummy. There they go. Foller them close, boy. Hole them, and fetch me back word where they go.” “Yaw. Dat’s goot. But what for?’ asked Hans. : “Til tell you afterwards, Don’t bang fire now, if you keer « brass farthin’ fer old Pennsy,” urged Billy, pushing Hans off, The Dutch boy moved away with a lumbering step, his hig eyes fixed on the three men who were slowly walking on in front, lost in earnest conversation, “It’s the chap that was talkin’ to Howard, or else I’m a sold coon!” said Billy, earnestly, to himself. He stood looking after Hans, his feet un- easily shifting, as if with anxiety to follow his agent. . “Wish hoe hadn’t mixed in that little scrim- mage in the Square,” muttered Billy, discon- tentedly. ‘‘ Like first-rate to track them, but a feller’s got to be hon’able. A Pennsy boy ’thout honor ’d be like a pig ’thout an ear. Thunder- in' lucky, though, that Hans Breitman was on hand.” And with this queer idea of honor, that kept him from pursuing the suspeeted parties, but freely allowed him to put another scout on the poets Billy impatiently waited the return of ans. He had not as long to wait as he expected, either, for the broad- built Dutch boy soon came lumbering back, “Quick work, Hans, my boy,” cried Billy, eagerly, catching him by the coat. ‘ What iuck? Hole the foxes, eh?’ “Yaw,” answered Hans, sturdily. “Where was it? Haye you the house? Num- ber and street?” ‘* Nix bonsen,” returned Hans. ‘“Nix? What the thunder, then?” “Lager,” replied Hans, bringing his hands up with a sign of drinking. ‘Yonder. De corner, at Heinrich Ottshlanger’s.” “The deuce!” exclaimed Billy, in deep dis- gust, ‘Well, if’ you ain’t a high old scout. Holed them in a lager beer saloon. Jist as good as nailing a rat hole in a board-yard.” “Yaw!” repeated Hans. ‘Two lager, ein weiss. Goot, now i tells you.” Well, if I wouldn’t like to sell you for a curiosity,” snarled Billy, looking diseontentedly at his friend. Ida’ bet high nobody couldn't be so dumb. And I'd lost if anybody ’d brung you up.” And he walked away, leaving Hans gazing after bim in dazed astonishment. “Seen their faces and rigs, anyhow,” con- tinued Billy to himself. ‘It mayn’t be quite honor, but a feller can’t help seein’ what he sees. And I’m square with yon now, George Howard, So look out for your eye if I run across you agtin, It was two days after the date of this occur- rence that Billy appeared again in the Pennsyl- vanin Railroad office. “Ready to report on duty, kurnel,” he an- nounced, with his usual modesty. ‘*Sound, wrote for a few minutes, handing Billy a sealed note, “T have inquired about you,” he said, ‘* You are a good hoy, and are promoted. Take this to Mr. Reynolds at the West Philadelphia depot.” “Thank you, kurnel,” said Billy, with a grateful look, ‘‘T won’t go back on you; you kin bet high on that.” CHAPTER IV. LIFE OR DEATH. “For the first snow of the season this means work,” exclaimed a brakesman, coming hastily into the baggage-car, and stamping till his feathery coating flew from him in white clouds. “Snowing, eh?’ questioned the baggage- master, looking up from the account-bock over which be was poring. A peal of youthful laughter rung through the car, ‘Why, an earthquake mcught slide under Harry Bodkin’s feet when he had his eyes glued into one of them figuring books, and he not an ounce the wiser.” It was the merry voice of Billy Baggage. This young gentleman was coiled up on a trunk near the door of the car, looking out into the fleecy atmosphere, They were running at the rate of forty miles an hour, eastward from Harrisburg, through a driving snow-storm that shot in long white lines past the swift train, and blotted out every ob- ject from sight at a few rods distance from the cars. ‘* Where are we?” asked Harry Bodkin. “Near Lancaster. So far as a fellow can see in this confounded storm,” replied the brakes- map, going out again to the car platform, ‘*Shouldn’t wonder if it’d make sleighing,” yawned Billy, lazily. “Hang the sleighing. If it don’t make trouble for tke cars, I'll be satisfied,” rejoined arry. Billy sat looking wisely at the baggage- master, as the latter dived again into the pages ts his book, and became oblivious to all things else, “Seen that feller, George Howard, at the West Philly depot, yesterday,” muttered Billy, in a half soliloquy. ‘ Talkin’ to one of them queer ’coons that he’s so thick with.” “Just you take my advice, and don’t bother yourself about George Howard,” remarked Harry, looking up with an odd smile. ‘“ Young chaps like you often get along best by ’tending to their own business.’ “That’s all mighty nice,” cried Billy, indig- nantly. ‘But I ain’t forgot how the kurnel give me a lift into this here baggage-csr, and I’m not going back on the kurnel. You won't say there ain’t been trouble on the road lately?” ‘There have been some desperate efforts to wreck trains,” admitted Harry. ‘That's what I mean: and that’s trouble,” nersisted Billy. ‘* Now, jist sure as shootin’, Howard's gang has got a hand in this business, I'm workin’ for the Pennsy overhand aud under hand and foot, and rubbed my face down with | hand, and, if I kin smell out the rats that’s play- emery. The colonel looted him over, then turned and in’ these tricks, ’'m jist the boy that’s goin’ fur them,”
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8 Billy, the Baggage Boy. Harry Bodkin looked up, with an amused ex- pression, at his indignant poung friend. “Just you keep clear of this fellow Howard, if you don’t want to be sold cheap,” remarked Harry, with a satirical laugh, losing himself im- mediately again in the pages of his book. Billy got up and walked about the floor of the . car, not quite satisfied with the turn the conver- sation had taken, yet not deeming it advisable ' to interrupt bim again. At this moment there sounded the shrill whis- tle of the locomotive. “ There’s Lancaster,” exclaimed Billy, opening the door of the car, and stepping out to where the brakesman was holding his solitary vigil. The train careened and plunged onward still, through the snow that filled the air like a de- scending cloud. The brakes bad been Ae and the cars were rapidly coming to a halt. The sheds and buildings of a considerable city showed dimly through the white mist. In five minutes more they came to rest before the long, plain depot building at Lancaster. Billy leaped from the train and took a boy’s header up through the snow. Quite a number of passengers left the cars and stamped their way into the station, half-blinded by their sud- den plunge into the chilling, fleecy atmosphere. Hurrying back, Billy nearly ran into two gentlemen who were about getting aboar! the train. An imprecation at the boy’s awkward- ness broke from the lips of one of them. Billy drew hack, takiag them in at a glance, where the long gleam from the depot light fell dimly upon them, The boy started as his quick eyes recognized the smartly-dressed man whom he had seen talk- ing with George Howard, and in the short, squat man with him, one of the three whom ans Breitman had tracked to the lager-beer saloon. He followed them quietly into the car, It was empty, with the exception of a half dozen per- sons gathered near the further end. The two new passengers took a seat out of hearing of the conversation proceeding between thes Seger Billy took aseat just behind them, coiling him- self up so as to be invisible over the high-backed seats, His movement had been masked by the rattle of the car-wheels, which were again in full Ply. ut few words passed until after the conduc- tor had taken up their fares, He looked down on Billy inquiringly, but was greeted with a wink by that young gentleman, and passed on smilingly. The smartly-dressed passenger now rose and walked forward to the water-cooler at the front end of the car. He looked keenly around him as he returned, Billy was quite lost to sight, swal- lowed up into the deep seat in which he had coiled his small proportions, “Guess we can talk safely,” said the man, in a cautious tone, as he reseated himself. ‘You might have let the cat out, Jack, there at the depot.” ‘““A miss is as good asa mile,” growled Jack, ina hoarse tone. ‘‘And if you thought I was going to let any cat loose you reckoned on the wrong terrier,” ‘*T hoped you were too smart.” — “*J don’t make no brags on smartness,” re- turned Jack. ‘‘ It’s chaps like you, Joe Blizzard, that’s smart, I’m only wide-awake.” ‘*T don’t think neither of you would set a river afire very soon,” thought their lurking eaves- dropper. Their conversation continued for some time in a lower tone, But Billy had sharp ears, and not a word escaped him. And certain facts of ex- treme interest came to his alert senses. His head was raised above the level of the seat, in acute eagerness to follow this highly interesting con- ference. It continued for half an hour nearly. ‘‘Where is that spot, Joe? I don’t quite know the lay of the land thereaway.” “Tt is at the turnpike crossing, about four miles the other side of Whitehall,” replied Joe. ‘* And it will be dark as blazes.” “Certainly. It is half dark now, with the snow. At six o’clock it will be pitch dark. Iam half sorry for Bill Bounce, the engineer, but if folks won’t be warned there must be some sharp examples.” ‘* You're a blasted nice bunch of sentimentali- ty” growled Jack, with an oath, ‘“Andas for the snow, I don’t see it,” Billy glanced out of the car window, It had indeed stopped snowing. The sun, not far from its setting, had broken through a rift in the clouds, and was throwing long, level lines of light across the pure white mantle that envel- oped the earth as far as the eye could reach. The two men ceased elstag and settled them- selves into easier postures, Billy took the o portunity to glide from his seat and step oe served to the car door, He opened it quietly and passed out to the plat- form, The boy was deeply excited; his face was flushed, and his hands clinched with a deep in- dignation. “ Well, if it ain’t a devilish business, then I don’t know beans. And if I don’t circumvent them there'll be thunder to pay. IfI don’t do it, sell me for a soft-shell clam, He stood in deep cogitation for several min- utes, thought after thought, plan after plan, passing through his young brain. Then, with a slight shiver in the cool air, he entered the next car and fixed himself in an empty seat, looking out eagerly as mile after mile and sta- pe after station were passed by the swift rain, Coatesville, Downington, Paoli, Reeseville, and other stations were shot past without a stop. They were rapidly approaching White- hall, Billy got up, appropriatea and concealed a brakesman’s lantern under his coat, and waited with nervous impatience. The whistles of the locomotive sounded long through the darkness, ‘‘Whitehall at last,” Billy said, with a deep breath. ‘The next station, and 1 must do it, if I git kicked out of the service for my pains. There ain’t no big things without risks in them.” Fiye—ten minutes more. The boy rose and went out on the platform, buttoning his coat tightly about him as he felt the keen night air, Again a whistle sounded from the engine in front,
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Billy, the Baggage Boy. 9 é ° if “Now for it!” Billy set his lips tightly to- gether. “If they ain’t got the perliteness to stop themselves how’s a feller goin’ to git off ‘%*hout ringing the car-bell?” _A moment more, and he had grasped the signal-rope, and given the conductor’s signal to stop the train, This magnate of the road was seated, smoking a quiet cigar with his friend Harry Bodkin in the baggage car, when the rope rattled sharply over his head, and in an instant more the speed of the train began to diminish. ‘What the deuce does this mean?” he cried, starting up suddenly and running back through the train, ‘‘ Who pulled that rope?” There was no answer. No one seemed to know. The train had come almost toa full stop when the irate conductor again signaled it to ore e did not notice a light figure running quick- ly across the snow to the shelter of a neighbor- ing building. “That’s done,” said Billy, drawing a long breath of relief as he saw the train again gathering headway in its onward progress. ‘Now for the turpike crossing. Hillo!” This last exclamation was given in a tone full of surprise and dread. The boy staggered as he looked about him, with eyes that seemed ready to start from their sockets, _‘* May I be chawed up alive by a donkey!” he ejaculated, rubbing his forehead vigorously. “Tt's Whitehall, or I never seen it, and I’ma good four miles out of the way.” The clear tingle of sleigh-belis rung out upon the night-air, mingling with his words, and a smart cutter shot past him, drawing up in front of a house about twenty yards away. Billy stood looking at it with dilated eyes, a bold purpose slowly forming itself in his brain, A young man rune from the sleigh, and step- ped ee, up to the house, **Four miles,” soliloquized the boy. ‘ Four miles, and only twenty minutes to do itin. It must be did! There's life or death in the air, and I’m not goin’ to have a murder on my con- science, if I have to bu’st something or kill a hoss.” Down the street he ran. The time for thought was past. Action was now demanded, With a quick spring Billy was in the sleigh and had seized the reins. The next instant the impatient horse was off at full speed down the road, jerking the light sleigh rapidly through the unbroken snow. But the new driver had taken more than he bargained for. He found that he had more than the sleigh on his hands, as a loud scream broke on the air behind him. Half-turning in bisseat, he made out the form of a woman in the seat behind him. It was almost an imprecation that broke from the boy’s lips, as he grasped the whip, pe gs et the lash shrewdiy on the horse’s ack, ‘Neck or nothing now!” he muttered. It was quite an imprecation that came from the young man, who had just discovered the theft of his sleigb, and had heard the calls for help of his lady friend, But now, in the distance behind them, the thud of a horse’s hoofs could be heard. They were pursued. A ray of light across the road showed the forms of two men, on horseback, on their track. The young kidnapper only set his teeth more firmly, grasped the reins with the hand of a driver, and used the whip freely. “Tm going to put her through if all Chester county turns out!” be exclaimed, “ or if the hoss drops in his tracks. Dead hoss is better than dead men.” ‘‘ Whoare you?” asked the woman behind him, with more courage. ‘‘That is the voice of a mere boy.” Billy turned quickly, a light breaking over his countenance. ‘‘Miss Claire, or I don’t know peas from pumpkins!” he shouted. ‘‘ And you ain’t afeard of me? Why, I’m only Billy Baggage, the boy ou picked up on the railroad track, you know. he idea of me hurting you!” “ Claire Hamilton, for it was she, gave a sigh of relief as she recognized the boy. “ But—” she began. “Not a word. Do you hear that screech?” “The engine whistle?” ““Yes, It’s the Through Freight from Philly, There’s deviltry afoot to-night, Miss Claire. If I don’t git to the crossing afore that train, itll jist go to eternal smash. e’ve got to do it, or else you and me’s murderers.” The light sleigh shot like a meteor over the surface of the snow. Not far behind came on the two horsenien, shouting fiercely for the run- away to stop. From the opposite direction the low roll of wheels was audible. And now the head-light of the sa toe glared out like a great eye across the white breast of the snow. It was an exciting moment. Billy had drawn the lantern from his coat and flashed its light upon the track in their front, The devilish scheme was apparent, A rail bad been torn u and laid across the track. Just beyond several men, as if awaiting the terrible wreck- ing of the swiftly coming train. “Tt’s now or never!” cried the boy, bringing his horse up, by main strength, on the very verge of the rails. Tn an instant more be bad sprung upright up- on the seat, and was swinging the red light of his lantern wildly to and fro through the still night air. “God send they see it!” exclaimed Claire, whose heart was full to bursting with the ex- citement of the scene. The horsemen were now nearly upon them. The devoted train came on with a thundering roar of wheels, There were no signs of a slack- ening of speed, and it seemed too near now. for any human appliances to save it from its doom. And at that instant the whip of the foremost horseman, who had not comprehended Billy's action, struck the lantern from his hand, dash- ing it into the snow. ““My God, you’ve murdered them!” groaned the boy, sinking down nervelessly into the sleigh, And the red gleam of the engine light glared like the eye of doom into his white face,
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10 CHAPTER V. THE WRECKERS ON THE RUN, ALMOST simultaneously with the fall of the danger signal from Billy’s hand, came the shrill whistle of the locomotive, sounding ‘‘ down brakes.” The boy’s devoted effort had not been in vain. The engineer had not tailed to see his light; nor was the train so near, nor moving so rapidly, as he had imagined. Under the vigorous pressure of the brakes its speed quickly lessened, and it soon came toa halt on the very verge of the torn-up rail. Two minutes’ delay in giving the signal and its de- struction would have been inevitable. “Thank God!” broke in fervent accents from Claire’s lips. ‘* They are safe. And my brave boy— She turned to Billy, but he was no longer in the sleigh. How or when he had left it, she had no idea, The horse was growing very restive. Claire stooped and caught the reins, but her hand was owerless to restrain the startled animal, A ow cry of alarm broke from her lips. Fortunately one of the horsemen perceived the danger. Dashing precipitately past the sleigh, in an instant he had the horse by the head, and was forcing him back with a strong and. ** Do not be alarmed, Miss Hamilton,” he ex- claimed, -“T can hold him. There’s no dan- Ts “Thank you,” said Claire, sinking back into the sleigh. ‘‘I was startled, I adinit.” The engine was puffing aud throbbing like a © wild animal chafing against restraint. A dozen men burried forward from all parts of the train. “What is loose, here?” cried a hoarse voice, as the eagineer sprung hastily to the ground, and came forward, lantern in hand. ‘‘ Who gave that signal?” “There’s thunder to pay!” exclaimed a voice on the other side of the engine. ‘‘ Here’s a rail up and spiked across the track! Ten feet more, my boy, and there’d been prayers to be said for ou.” The throng gathered hastily, with exclama- tions of alarm. The engineer came up to the sleigh with his lantern, He peered curiously inside. “Which of you gave that signal?” he asked, in his hoarse voice. ‘« Neither of us,” replied the horseman. “T saw a man on horseback dash across the railroad, Was it he?” “No, That was my companion. He is in pursuit of the wreckers, whom we saw yonder not three minutes ago.” “Thunder! It must have been one of you. The light did not swing without hands,” “Tt was a boy,” said Claire, in her low, sweet voice. ‘A young lad, who ran away with me and my sleigh together, and frightened me badly, too,” ‘A boy?” qnestioned the ‘engineer, incred- ulously. “How did he know of this business? Ran away with you, you say?” “T know nothing more,” she replied. ‘ He seems to have known. He was wild to reach here before the train, There is hissignal-lan- Billy, the Baggage Boy. tern,” pointing to the red light which still burn- ed on the white surface of the snow. ‘* But I have seep no boy,” said the engineer, By this time all the men had gathered round, and were listening eagerly to the conversation. ‘He disappeared just as the train stopped,” returned Claire’s friend. ‘‘ Fearful of me, I suppose. He ran away with the sleigh, and I was chasing him up.” ‘* Blame my eyes, if he ain’t true grit, then!” exclaimed one of the train-hands, ‘ There's some of us would have been smashed into the next world this minute, only forhim. Is hea poor boy? Do you know him? If he is, I’m shot if Tom Scott sha’n’t give him a lift.” “Thave met him before,” responded Ciaire, rather eagerly. ‘‘ He is employed on the rail- road now. He says his name is Billy.” “Billy Baggage. Whew!” whistled the en- gineer. ‘Is it that young scapegrace? Know him? I bet wedo. The little rogue. He’s got more back-bone than half the men on. the line, lf [don’t hug him till he squeals the next time I see him, it'll be queer.” There was the glitter of tears in the man’s eyes despite his roughness of speech. He grasp- ed Claire’s hand in bis strong gripe. **) thank you for your share in it,” he warm- ly exclaimed. *‘ You won’t object to tell me your name, ma‘am?” ‘* Claire Hamilton,” she timidly replied. “T won't forget it soon,” he responded. ‘* Now, buys, let’s get this rail laid again.” “Can we be of any use?” asked Claire’s gen- tleman friend. ; “Yes,” was the abrupt answer. ‘ Drive back to Whitehall. Telegraph east and west that there’s trouble at this point. No help wanted, but let other trains move careful,” In two minutes more the sleigh was rapidly returning, while the train-men were getting out their tools preparatory to repairing the line. Meanwhile Adam Clark, the horseman who had ridden in pursuit of the wreckers, passed rapidly up the dim road, his only light being the white reflection from the snow, his horse’s footfalls lost in the thick carpet which covered the earth from sight. He had not gone far before a dark putch on the white snow was visible a short distance in advance, “Stop!” he- shouted, without a moment’s question to himself that these were the men he had pursued. ‘Stop, villains! Turn and trudge back, or it will be worse for you. I am armed, and I will shoot onthe spot the man who dis- obeys me,” His voice had in it a fierce, resolute ring that meant work. But in his somewhat hasty courage he had not calculated on the number or the spirit of the men be had to deal with, * Listen to the popinjay!” cried one of them, with a hoarse laugh. ‘* And he’s one to three, too, which is bad odds for us.” “Too near supper time now fo turn back for your cold victuals,” cried another, jeeringly. ‘ Halt! this instant! or by Heaven, Pll shoot you in your tracks!” He put his hand iu his pocket for the pistol which should have heen there but wasn’t, His talk of being armed was mere bluster,
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Billy, the Baggage Boy. 11 Not so with bis antagonists. Clark suddenly found himself covered with the muzzles of three pistols. and a hoarse voice cried out: “Ifyou had as many lives as two cats we could blow them all out of you before you could count ten. So keep your barker shady, my bold young nipjack. And don’t try to blow after this till you’re sure you’ve got the wind to keep it up. Clark looked from one to the other, complete- ly nopplused, The tables had been turned on him with a vengeance. “You're a brave sort of fellow, and that’s the kind of man I like,” continued the speaker. “Hise ’'d wing you for your impudence. Get back now, quick as lightning, for. my finger is getting nervous. And we don’t keer three curses what you tell about us.” Without a word or a look more he turned his horse and rapidly retraced his path, not quite sure but that one ofthe reckless villains might take a fancy to send a bullet after him. He had ridden back nearly to the train when he met several of the brakesmen coming up the road in pursuance of the directions of the engi- neer, * Are you armed?” he cried, “ No ” “Then turn back, I have met therascals; they have revolvers and the spirit touse them. It will never do to let such blocdy-mindea devils es- cape, e turned his horse and rode rapidly away again. They looked after him for a minute, un- til he was swallowed up in the darkness. Butin their souls he still rode on, instinct with fire and energy. He was hardly out of sight before the fugitives leaped the fence, and ran across an open lot, screened from the road by a-line of low bushes, “Tl bet a cow they don’t track us,” said one, “T don’t know,” responded another, anxious- ly. ‘There are our marks in the snow, They will last a week in this field.” “The snow ain’t all down yet,” replied the third, ‘‘And it is broken down there in the next road. The horse-tracks there will bide our footprints,” They did not know that there was a pursuer already upon their trail. The disappearance of Billy needs explanation. The boy, smart as he was, had not a man’s knowledge of the world and its ways, Seein himself pursued so fiercely by two determin horsemen, it did not oceur to him that his object would be plentiful excuse for his suspicious ac- tion. In the excitement attending the approach of the train he had escaped unseen. He waited in sight of the road until assured of the safety of the cars, then hurried away across an adjoining field. As it happened, he was on the exact track of the fugitives. He was beyond the fence and in full hearing of the scene between them and Adam Clark. ‘ Dark as the night was, their track in the vir- gin snow was easily followed, and Billy kept so incautiously near as to have their shadowy out- lines constantly in sight, He had paused a moment, with a vague con- ception of some sound behind him, Before he could turn, however, a sharp pain shot through his head; a sensation as of a flash of lightning gleamed in his eyes; he fell like a log to the ground, dead or insensible. ‘So much for that coon,” said a deep voice behind him, It was one of the fugitives, who hurried on- ward after his comrades. using as a cane the cudgel with which he had floored the incautious boy, whose lifeless form was left prostrate in the snow, CHAPTER VI. RAILROADERS IN COUNCIL. Ir boasted of the name of ‘ Saloon,” did Joe Dangle’s premium up-tcwn rescrt for these in need of spirituous com(crt, Yet some of the ir- reverent neighbors dignified it by no higher tile than that of ‘‘Grogshop,” and there were others who satirically called it ‘* Dangle’s Whisky Mill.” Despite its detractors, Dangle’s Saloon did a th iving business. Thcre was a flow of thirsty visitors to its bar, and out again into the thirst- producing atmosphere. Around the bar-room sat a dcezen men engaged in conversation that needed frequent dilution. Otbers came in and pas a8. thrcugh, apparently to some room be- ond, - And among them came the smartly-dressed and rakish individual whom we have met, by the name of Blizzard—George Howard’s ac- quaintance, It was a sccond-story front room, furnished for assemblies of this nature, and was moderate- ly well-filled with the men whom we have seen passing through the bar-room. They were seat- ed about the room, eagerly conversing, and by the loud tones and excited manner of most of the speakers it was evident that, the object of the meeting was one of vital interest to them. “T tell you all it’s just robbery—and I for one don’t feel like letting myse]f be robbed.” The speaker waved his hand in emphasis to his words, with a flowing cup of ale clasped be- tween his fingers, ‘Lord! how are we going to help it?” asked another, a stout, dumpy, shrewd-faced fellow, “ Help it! A railroad ain’t heaven and earth, and we're white men, I think,” protested the first speaker, “It is easy to talk about kicking ag’in’ it,” said a third speaker, more calmly, ‘‘ but what good is it goin’ todo? The colonel says ten per cent. is goin’ to be took off of us. Very good. That’s a big fish at one end of the line. Now a little minnow at Vother end kicks, and says, ‘I What comes arter? The little won’t stand it,’ The big fish fish is kicked ashore, that’s all, swims on.” “A good many little fish weigh as much as one big fish,” replied the first speaker. “That’s all stuff!” cried Joe Blizzard. “Smash up a train here, and a train there, and let them know what it’s for, They won’t—” “Drop all that!” exclaimed a sbrill voice from behind them, and a shock-headed, snub-nosed man pressed forward. ‘No sich incendiary measures won’tdo, While we’re smashing trains ©
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32 Billy, the Baggage Boy. we're smashing body and soul of our own com- rades. Think of that, boys. I’m the chap as can bu’st the head of any devil that says train- smashing.” The speaker glared so fiercely at Blizzard that the latter was fain to nip in the’bud his intended answer, and withdraw to another part of the room, “Tt is a devilish business, that’s a fact,” said another - person, who had entered unobserved, “Te was tried on last night, just beyond Haver- ford Station. A heavy freight train came with- in an ace of being broken into kindling wood, Tt wasn’t the cars, though. But there was Bill Bounce, one of the best engineers on the road, and a dozen more good men, Suppose they had been murdered?” The speaker stood forward, showing a hand- some face and a stalwart frame. It was the well-knit and well-dressed form of George Howard, *““Tuey were warned, blast them!” muttered Blizzard, hetween his teeth. ‘‘If they won't take warning they make their own funerals.” Howard’s eyes were fixed warningly on the face of the speaker, But the words spoken were not intended to be audible. Blizzard moved away, as if he could not bear being closely looked at. “'That’s not the pint,” exclaimed another, ‘“ We come here to talk over the strike.” Before any action could be taken, a tipsy man struggled to bis feet, “Tm a law-erbiding citizen. I’m Jacob Baggage, and the Baggages are all gen’lemen. Be calm, feller-friends. Repress your agerta- tion.” And the virtuous expression on his face showed that he meant it. “Ts this him? [s this the agitator?” asked a brawny-armed railroad man, taking the tipsy man by the shoulder with no gentle hand, “That’s him!” said Blizzard, with a comical blink ia his eye, ‘Here goes with him, then,” and Mr. Bag- gage was started on an uncomfortable run to the door, ‘Tpeal to you, gen’lemen!” he cried, waving his arms desparataly. ‘I ‘peal to you as a feller engineer. Runa canal-boat once from Manay- unk to the Falls. An’ isthismy reward? Me— a first-class, spink-spank, high-up, old hoss of a instertution; to be rolled out like a bar'l of condemned red-eye! I’peal once more, feller- natives—” But this Inst appeal was lost in the far dis- tance, as he was trundled incontinently out of the room, and sent rolling down the steep stairs, fetching up at the bottom a groaning ball of hu- manity. The true agitators, whose sins had been thus vicariously atoned for, kept discreetly quiet for the remainder of the meeting, satisfied that this was no proper opening for the promulgation of their peculiar views, Yet some of the railroad men were violent enough in their ideas, stopping short, however, of anything like damage to life or limb, while advocating a strike, with decisive measures against the property of the company. f As for George Howard, whatever his ultimate views, he was on this occasion on the side of those who advocated submission to the com- pany. This was the view of the majority of those present, and the few extremists were forced to yield to the sober good sense of the great mass of the meeting. Even Joe Blizzard changed his tune, and came out as an advocate of submission. Yet he took an opportunity to say in an aside to Howard: “Ain't. you getting thunderingly meek and docile? f{ never saw such a lamb,” “Best float with the tide when it’s too stron to swim against it,” was Howard’s reply. ‘If we want to keep any influence over these men we must move with them.” ‘““'That’s nice,” said Blizzard to himself, after Howard had turned away. ‘‘ But Pve got my ways, too, and I don’t trust you altogether.” His ways seemed to be shared by others there, to judge by bis mysterious cornerings and con- ferences, CHAPTER VII. BILLY LIONIZED, But we must return to the young hero who had just so. distinguished himself in saving a train from destruction, and whom we left lying insensible upon the freezing snows of a lonely country road, Fortunately his senses soon returned, and he woke to find bimself chilled to the bone, and at a loss for some minutes to tell where he was, or how he came there, In a minute or two more a small group of horsemen rode up to him. They drew rein as they saw him trudging along the road, one of them calling out to him: ‘Which way have you come, boy?” ‘* From behind me,” answered Billy, not lik- ing this imperious tone, ‘*‘ Goin’ on to ahead of me, “Hello! You've gota smart young rooster there, Clark,” said another horseman, “They grow them smart down our way. True grit, and game to the backbone,” replied Billy, walking on. “Hal Pil swear if this ain't the youngster that run away with the sleigh,” cried Clark. “ Own up, boy, was it not you?” “Dunno what you're blowin’ ’bout now,” re- turned Billy, edging toward the fence, with in- tent to run for his liberty if necessary, ‘‘ Seen a sleigh go by here like greased-lightnin’ a bit ago. Maybe somebody stoled it arterward.” “Hold, Billy,” said Clark, laughing at the distrust of the boy. ‘‘ You saved the train like a hero; s> you needn’t fear us, we won't hurt you. We are after the devils who tried to wreck the train. Have you seen them?” “You bet!” cried Billy, energetically. ‘‘One of them wrecked me, *bout a mile back here, on the road. Guy me a clip with a club that would have beaten my brain-pan in if it hadn’t been made of cast-steel.” * Ah! that is interesting,” exclaimed another of the horsemen. ‘‘Dotyou know which way they went?” F ‘Left me in the snow, dreamin’ of what sort of grub I’m goin’ to have for to-morrow’s break-~
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Billy, the Baggage Boy. — ri fass,” retorted Billy. ‘Found it sich a com- for’ble bed that I forgot to look arter them.” ‘“ Good-by, then,” said Clark, laughing. ‘‘ We will look after them.” , Giving reins to their horses the cavalcade ence on, leaving Billy standing alone in the roaqa, He had made about a mile further in his lonely journey, when his keen eyes caught, in dim gloom ef the night, the dark outlines of several figures in advance, Remembering his former misadventure, Billy drew warily to the shelter of the roadside hedge, and approacbed as closely as he dared. He now distinctly made out the forms of three men. “Treed ag’in!” he muttered, ‘I’m in luck to-night,” He had not far to follow them. In less than five minutes they passed through a gateway in the hedge, and made their way toa house that stood a short distance back from the road. The young scout reached the gate in time to see them enter and disappear within the door- way of the house. “I'm going to have a squint in, anyhow,” thought Billy. ‘There’s a light at the back winder. I don’t keer if I git a clout on t’other side of the head.” In a minute he was at the window, his eyes glued to the pane, He took but cne look, throngh, then dropped hastily down, and made the best of his way out of the line of light. “ Jist as I thought,” he muttered. ‘* I knowed George Howard had a finger in that pie. There he is, big and busy as ever. Dunno the others, but I’ve got him nailed, anyhow. I’m bound to post Miss Claire’bout him. And there’s a barn, too. Wonder if I can git in¢ Hay’s as good as feathers these times,” He was successful in making entry unseen. In five minutes more our young adventurer was buried to the neck in a bed of hay. In ten minutes he had made a long journey into the land of Nod. The sun was well up the next morning when Billy opened his eyes and gazed questioningly around at the situation, “They'll swear I’m a tramp, sure, if I don’t circumvent them,” decided Billy, as he crept to the opening, up which he had climbed the pre- vious evening, ‘“‘There’s nothin’ here but cows and hosses, anyhow. That’s some comfort. They can’t blab on a feller, If there ain’t no two-legged critters now nosing ’round. Don’t see nothin’ on two legs ’cept a rooster. Guess I'll sneak out the back door,” He was successful in his enterprise. There was nobody in sight from the rear of the barn, and he crossed the barn-yard gingerly to an ‘or- chard that lay beyond. Stealing along the fence of this he soon put a considerable distance be- tween bimself and the house, unnoticed by some men who were repairing the fence on an adjoin- ing field, a So fur, so good,” remarked Billy, drawing a breath of relief,‘ Mightn’t be healthy fur me to be cotched ‘round here by George Howard and his gang. S’pose they’d twig me? I'd be in fur a hot Crristmas, sure.” As he talked to bimself be hurried on over the now frozen surface of thesnow. There had been a sprinkle of rain later in the night, and it had tightened to a firm, slippery crust. Billy enjoyed the slipping and sliding for awhile, but the demands of a hearty appetite began to remind him that breakfast time was passing. He trudged on along the snowy road and through the cbill northerly wind, beginning to get a little tired of the monotony of a morning pepacioen by the pleasantexcitement of a break- ast. ‘*There’s a house now that’s got a generous front door, fur as I kin see with the sun in my eyes. Bet [ll try it, anyhow.” Billy slipped over the glassy fence, and slid w a tree-lined path on which only a double-jointe boy could have kept his footing. He reached the house without a fall, and made his way bold- ly up the steps to the front porch, giving a ring- ing knock on the door. ** I'd bet I’ve seen this place afore,” he solilo- quized, “‘only I've got so much of the sun in my eyes, There’s a kind of familiar feel in these timbers, as if I’d bad my feet on them afore now.” The door opened, and Billy’s eyes, half-blinded by the glare of the sun on the snow, essayed in vain to make out the form before him. ‘Tm a poor orphing,” he began. “I’m from Philly. I ain’tno tramp though, nohow you kin pile it. But a bit of breakfass wouldn’t go crooked jist now.” A merry child’s laugh brcke into bis awkward effort at begging. “Well, I'll declare if it isn’t Billy the Baggage Boy!” cried a musical voice. ‘ Yon don’t know how glad Iam. And letting on not to know me, ! Billy dashed his hand across his eyes, and looked around him again. “Tl swow, if this don’t beat!” he said. “Didn’t know I was inside of ten miles of here. It’s Mr. Hamilton’s for sure. And this is Lucy?” “Of course,” replied the child. ** Who else would I be? me in now, you can’t see any- body out there.” Grasping his hand in both of hers, she drew him into the house and closed the door behind him, “Tt opr only knew!” she exclaimed, dancing him. ‘And to think of your coming here and not knowingit! It is just too funy for anything.” “Oh! I was jist cavortin’ round the country, that’s all,” said Billy deprecatingly. ‘Got the looks of things tied up into a bow-knot and couldn’t git them flattened out. I see my way clear now, though.” ‘* Where?” asked Lucy. ‘In them bright blue eyes of yourn, little gal. There’s breakfass, and everything that’s nice, shinin’ out 0’ them.” “Oh! now!” cried Lucy, tapping bis hand in punishment. ‘‘ But come right away, You must be hungry, Billy.” “Hungry? I could gnaw right through a stone wall.” She grasped his hand and drew him onward rapidly, as if afraid he might make an assault on the stairway or the front wall of the house,
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14 Billy, the Baggage Boy. “You don’t know!” she exclaimed. ‘ Aunt Claire told us all about it, She said you were ever so brave, and queer, and outrageous. And that you saved ever so many men from being killed. And that— Oh! you dear, good boy, 1 cawt talk about it.” And she sprung up and kissed Billy with all the fervor of her pare young soul, ‘“* Now jist you shet up, Lucy,” said Billy, with a look of shame, ‘ Ain’t no use tryin’ to make good dollars out of nickel-plated brass like me. S’pose we discuss that breakfass, and stop discnssin’ nonsense.” But that long and deep breakfast ended, as all sublunary things must end. It was a bappy day that Billy passed, and he was lionized to an extent that did not quite agree with his sense of justice. “ For it weren’t so much arter all, jist swing- in’ a lantern,” he explained. ‘ And if it hadn’t been fur Miss Claire’s sleigh it would have been all up with them, So I guess it was as much the hoss as me,” The sun soon softened the hard crust of the snow, and Billy’s sliding with little Lucy in the back yard, was changed for a sleigh-ride with Miss Claire, and the boy was happy in the swift motion, and the bracing air, and the merry jingle of the bells. ‘* Don’t let that sleigh catch us, Miss Claire!” he exclaimed, as an echoing jingle came from down the road. ‘The feller is makin’ his best pice, and [ know he’s countiu’ high on passin’ our team.” Claire stirred up her horse, but it was no match for her pursuer, and they were soon over- hauled by a natty little sleigh, drawn by a quick- stepping bay horse.” “Who have you there, Miss Hamilton?” cried the gentleman driving. ‘‘ Why, I declare, it is our boy of the railroad rescue. Where in the world did you pick him up?” It was the voice of Claire’s friend, Adam Clark. “Didn't catch them last night, I reckon?” Billy grimly inquired. “No. We found their tracks, but could not trace them far.” “* Knowed it,” was Billy’s short rejoinder, The two sleighs kept side by side for some dis- tance, a running fire of small talk being kept up by the gentleman and lady, to the exclusion of their silent listener. who sat back with his eyes fixed critically on Mr. Clark’s face. “Ts he sweet, too?” asked Billy, after the sleighs had parted company. ““Whot I don’t understand you,” Claire cold- No matter. Hoe ain’t quite my style, that’s all, Better than tother one, though,” “What other one?” _ “ Guess you oughter know,” replied Billy, look- ing up at her critically. ‘‘ That Howard chap. Guv you some p’ints bout him afore, you know.” She looked at him silently for a minute, a st ‘ange expression in her dark eyes. “T have not forgotten what you said,” she answered. “Have you anything more to ay ‘More than I'd like, Miss Claire,” said Billy, hesitatingly. ‘‘Won’t hurt your feelin’s if I come right out now?” ‘You may speak plainly,” she returned, in a strangely emotionless voice, ‘it was only a s’picion afors,” he replied. “Now it’s a sure jig. George Howard bad a hand in that bizness last night. I seen him in it sist as plain as I see you this minute,” It was with a sound like a choking sob that she dropped her vail. The boy looked at her with earnest pity. He then grasped the reins from her loosened hands, and drove silently homeward. It was by an early train the next day that Billy made his way back to Philadelphia, leav- ing as deep unseen effects of his work behind him as in its evident results, It was for these latter that he was hailed with acclamation at the depot building. Tidings of his doings had reached the city, and he had to rapeat his story a dozen times to various lioniz- ing groups. t did not take him very long to get tired of this sort of business, and he at length broke away from his much-praising friends, exclaim- ing: “There never weren’t no use runnin’ a thing into the ground. And I ain’t a-goin’ to be buzzed into a brain-fever ’cause I happened to swing a lantern jist the right nick of time.” CHAPTER VIII. ON THE ROAD. A MONTH has passed since the date of our last chapter. Billy is again on the road, at his old position in the baggage-car, Harry Bodkin was busy with pen and paper and knitted brow, working out some dismally complicated enigma of freight. Two other men were in the car, a conductor and an Express-agent, busily engaged in conver- sation. Billy’s reverie was brought to an end by the tones of a familiar voice behind him, “ Dat?s fine fun, ain’tit? Idinksso, Anyboty see Pilly?” “Hullo, Hans!” cried Billy, springing up sud- denly. ‘‘Got through, hey? Sold out all your Injin-rubber gum-drovs?” “Yaw, bretty near,” replied Hans, taking the seat which Billy had vacated. ‘Pig run on gummers, What's der news, Pilly?” “Say, Hans, maybe you don’t recollect the the big, black-whiskered, canvas-back duck I p’inted out to you jist now?” “Yaw,” said Hans, throwing himself back with a proud look. ‘*He pought dree poxes of gum-drops. Level head chap. Dat’s your sort.” “Now won’t somebody take him out and drown him?” cried Billy, in a tone of intense ag- gravation, ‘Hallo, youngster, wliat’s the matte: ?”’ cried the conductor, looking up. “Tl tell you, Mr. Perkins, Do you know the chap that kicked me out of the car last summer, and come near leavin’ nothing of me but a grease-spot?” “T have not forgotten the circumstance,” re- plied the conductor. “Pd go a bannanar that he’s aboard the train this blessed minute,”
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Billy, the Baggage Boy. 15 “Where is he, Billy?” asked the conductor. ‘Tn the palace car,” replied the boy. ‘* He’s a high old hoss, he is. But be don’tshut my eyes up with a palace-car ticket. He’s workin’ up his little game sure.” ‘‘There has been something loose about the road for a good while now,” declared the Ex- press-agent, ‘‘ Baggage and Express packages have been walking off without hands, and it is about time there was a hauling over the coals, We have a set of regular foxes to deal with.” “Pat yourself on their track, Billy,” Harry Bodkin said, with a peculiar smile. ‘‘If you grab them I’ll share the plunder with you.” “Tm a little young to turn thief-catcher,” replied Billy. ‘“‘And I don’t think I'd quite like the job. But if you’ve got any other sort of light and respectable work on hand, I’m your hoss.” It was a tune very like ‘“‘ Yankee Doodle” that Billy whistled as he walked through the ' car with his hands thrust deep in his pock- ets. The agent and the conductor laughed at the boy’s remark as they left the car. He follow- ed them as soon as he had finished his tune. He found Tom Erskine, the agent, alone mm the Ex- press-car, ‘*I bope you ain’t busy,” said Billy, hunting a seat among the multiplicity of packages that covered the floor of the car. “I’ve got some- thin’ to tell you, Mr. Erskine, that ain’t fur everybody’s ears,”, The two confederates were plunged for the next hour into a deep conversation in which Billy impressed his opinion strongly on the agent, and a regular plan of action was blocked out. f And now we must leap with the reader over several days, in which our hero and his new ally, Mr. Tom Erskine, had kept themselves busy. Billy had no scruples of conscience against following the man with the red necktie, aud had succeeded in gaining some points of great value in the furtherance of their plans. : That same day the man with the red necktie fell again under the keen eyes of Billy. A peculiarly-shaped tvunk had been placed, momentarily, on the platform at Pittsburg, af- ter being checked, and the youthful scout had caught sight of the party under his surveillance practicing soms quick manipulations about this piece of baggage. The train was an hour on the way when our young detective sought Tom Erskine in the Ex- press-car. : * AllO, K.” he announced. ‘“ He’s bit; and bit deep.” © “The check—” ‘* Yes, ves,” said Billy, with a hasty look around. * He’s bit, that’s enough. Least said, now, soonest cured, Butif somebody calculates to find di’monds and silk han’kerchiefs in that oi dry-goods box, somebody’s goin’ to be sold. ‘‘ Checked for where, Billy?” ‘** Lancaster—I want you to have some special private bizness with Harry Bodkin jist afore we git there. A job ain’t balf a job that’s got too many noses in it; and if I’d be goin’ to take in Harry, I wouldn't 'a’ took you in.” “Tl get him out. Tom. It was dusk when the train stopped at Lan- caster. Harry Bodkin hurried back from his half hour’s conversation with Tom Erskine to put off some trunks which were checked for this point. Among these was the black leather- covered Saratoga, which had been under Billy’s surveillance, “Tl be shot if that trunk don’t seem to have Don’t you fear,” replied got heavier since we put it on at Pittsburg,” cried Harry, as he tugged away at it. ‘“ Where in the thunder is Billy?’ called out Harry, in a vexed tone. ‘He is a good band at being ovt of sight when wanted.” Billy remained out of sight during the balance of their journey. Nor did he turn up when the train reached Philadelphia. He had, somehow, mysteriously disappeared. Meanwhile the trunk was rolling along a sub- urb was Lancaster, in an open wagon, whose jolting brought something that sounded not unlike groans from the huge leather Saratoga. CHAPTER IX. BILLY’s DEBUT. WE must follow the fortunes of the runaway trunk which we left rolling through the streets of Lancaster. Two men were on the seat of the wagon, the driver, an evident son of the Emerald Isle, and asmall, dark-featured, sour-looking man, who held firmly to the side of the bumping convey- ance, “*Good gracious, I wish I’d got my life insured before I trusted myself in your patent jumper,” he grumbled. s “Sure it'll settle your supper, anyway; and that’s something,” replied Pat. “If you ever rid ma jaunting-car, in the old country, you’d be swearin’ this was a feather-bed.” ff Then Heaven save me from your jaunting- car. “* Here we are, Pat,” hecried, after a minute’s silence. ‘‘ Lend a hand now, lad, and off with the trunk. Isuppose that’ssome of your Irish Smee too, to help with trunks and the ike? ““We're always ready todoa good turn,” re- ae Pat, cheerily. ‘‘There’s something in an rishman’s skin that makes bim good-natured whether he will or no, But it’s a heavy trunk you have here, mister, What’s in it for all the world?” * Nothing but clothes.” “They must have been put in with a pile-driv- er, then. I could have swore it was paving- stones.” grumbled Pat, as he helped out with the heavy trunk, The house they had stopped at was one of a row of three-story bricks, in an outer street of the town. The snow-clad fields lay in full view beyond. The heavy burden was carried in and deposi- ted in the upper room. In a minute more the rattle of Pat’s wagon could be heard, to the tune of a cheery song with which he beguiled his way. ce What luck?’ came in a hoarse voice from a ! large, black-whiskered man, who seemed the ae
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16 Biliy, the Baggage Boy. sole occupant of the house, ‘‘ Any prying, or disa; ble questions?” “Not a bit. The check was all correct, Your share was done well in changing the checks.” * And yours in bringing the trunk,” respond- ed the large man, ‘ I’ve a notion we've got a prize, Tim,” ‘Ts Joe here?” f ‘* He’s stepped down to Gordon’s to wet his whistle, I expect him back soon.” ‘All right. I wish we had a key to this clothes-box, And Tim made a vigorouseffort to raise the lid. “Wait till Joe comes,” responded the large man. ‘ He’d open itif it had sixteen combina- tion-locks, Joe’s a perfect genius with a key,” ‘Well, then, for Satan’s sake, let’s hunt some- thing eatable. I’m as hungry as a starved cow. Whatever’s in the trunk will wait.” Yet there is sucha thing as being too sure, and Tim made a serious error in his confidence that the contents of the trunk would wait. His conclusion would, no doubt, have-been a natural one with any reasonable trunk. But this weighty prize was just one of those odd af- fairs that cav’t be brought to listen to reason. Hardly had the door closed behind the the two men before a queer fumbling noise commenced within the dark-colored, bigh-topped affair that had been deposited at one side of the room. The fumbling continued, accompanied with a ere sound, and immediately afterward alge y a sharp click, like the opening of a ock. The noises ceased, and perfect silence reigned for the space of a minute. Then any man in the room would have been surprised to see a slow upward movement of the trunklid. ‘be gradual motion continued, until an opening of an inch in width appeared. There was nothing to show the cause of this movement. The room was quite dusky in the fading light of the day, and all looked dark throngh this opening. Suddenly the door of the room opened, and down went the automatic trunk-lid. ‘Where the fire did I drop my pocket-book?” growled Tim, as he peered keenly about the room, ‘ Deuced stupid of me, Oh! here it is.” As he stooped to pick up the lost purse he was led by a queer, husky, smothered sound from the direction of the trunk. ‘““What the blazes is that?’ be ejaculated, staring with wide-open eyes into the vacancy before him. The noise was repeated, a rumbling, husky sound, “Good Lord!” muttered Tim, backing slowly toward the door, his brain full of superstitious fears, ‘I wonder if the old shanty’s haunted? I wish Joe was here; he don’t fear ghost nor devil.” sae im behind bim he grasped the knob of the door, his startled eyes fixed on that shadowy corner of the room from which the sound had seemed to come, but which was now of deathly silence, ‘ The door opened to his nerveless !:>11, and, with a quick spring he leaped through it, closing it with a bang behind him. a Almost at the same instant the lid of the F- trunk flew up, as if it was a living thing, and a »sound not unlike a laugh came from within it. In the dark opening appeared a short figure, whose face only showed plainly in the gathering gloom. ‘*Well, Pll be sold for a pint of peanuts, if that ain’t too good for anything,” spoke a chuckling voice, as the figure stepped out onto the floor. ‘‘Couldn’t help coughin’ if I’d ’a’ bu’sted, tryin’, and began to think the jig was played. But if that blamed galoot didn’t take me for a ghost, there’s no use talkin’, I’m jist as stiff as an oak log, and dunno whether I’m made out of bones or out of timber.” The boy danced about the room, trying to limber himself up, “Sich a thunderin’ joltin’ as I got! I could ha’ sworn that they had me strung up by a string and was heaving paving-stones at_ me. Had to groan a bit to ease my feelin’s. Guess though they thought it was the old trunk.” Reminded that the trunk lid still stood wide open, he quickly closed and locked it. “We'll give them the trouble of gettin’ it open, anyhow,” he decided. “If their hopes has got to be spiled, it ain’t fair to sp'ile them all at once. st break it to’em slow. And now, Billy Baggage, it’s time you was makin’ yourself scarce, 0 tellin’ how soon that feller may be back to take another sniff at his ghost.- If they cotch me here you mought trade what was left of me to-morrer fora link of Bologny sausage.” But Billy’s retreat was intercepted. As he opened the room door, with intent to make his vise from that dangerous peoality, he heard the lower door of the house open and sbut, and loud voices of persons who had just entered the rooms below. Billy looked intently around him. Things now were coming to too close quarters. Escape must be made at once from that room if he had to jump from the window, He saw that he was in a narrow, unfurnished room, with one window and three’doors. Hasti- ly opening the nearest of these he found it to lead into a closet. igi tried the expedient of squeezing himself into this receptacle, but found it_too narrow for a boy of half his size. “And I’m a Jack to think they wouldn’t look there the first place,” he muttered, as be tried the third door, This opened and revealed beyond it a smaller room, from which another door opened out- ward, “That's O. K.,” thought Billy, closing the door behind him, He stooped down and took off his shoes, which he slung over his shoulder, after tying their strings together. “T ain’t goin’ to leave till things git hot,” he muttered, ‘‘ and then I don’t want to stamp out in these stogies, A feller’s got to walk like a fly on a tight-rope, to git out of a place like this without bein’ fedvens? His soliloquy was broken by the abrupt en- trance of the three men to the room he had just left. They carried a light which illuminated yok room, and shone with a red glare into their aces, ~<a
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Billy, the Baggage Boy. | “Yes, you needn’t be afeard but what I'd knowed you ag’in,” was Billy’s mental remark. ‘You didn’t need to bring a candle to light up your handsome counternances. But who’s your new crony? Why don’t he turn his phiz this way? Ah, yes! 1 thought I knowed him, It’s that same smart rcoster 1 seen talkin’ to George Howard, down on Fifth street that day. I’m ee: this gang down to fine p’ints, sure as you ive. While these thoughts were poeue through his mind, the three men, whom he had been sur- veying through a slight crack in the door, were looking curiously about the room. ch Where's all your ghosts, Tim?’ asked Hugh- ey, the black-whiskered man. “ Well, I hope I may be rataned fora donkey if there ain’t something heavier than a ghost has gone out of this trunk, Try it for yourself, Hughey; then mebbe you won’t find so much to laugh at.” ‘By the blue blazes, Tim!” cried Boe jerking the trunk lightly onto its end, “If you’ve been playing with us—” ‘* Playing!” ejaculated Tim, with a sniff of contempt, ‘'There’s something loose in your upper story, ain’t there? Open it, Joe. The thing’s locked yet, whatever’s got out.” It did not take Joe Blizzard long to overcome the mystery of the lock, In less than a minute be had thrown back the lid of the trunk. ‘‘Empty, by the horns of Moses!” he cried. “Empty? And where’s the stuff that made it so heavy? “And the noise I heard!” exclaimed Tim, suddenly, ‘‘It might have been a cough, or something like, Good gracious! could we have been played on? It’s a decoy, as sure as you live. Spread yourselves, boys, there’s some- body alive got out of that box.” His warning was instantly taken by the others, who ran quickly out of the door, Joe Blizzard hastily examining the closet and the window, and making his exit by the door through which Billy had gone, But no Billy was there. He had melted away like a shadow, and left pure emptiness in his place, Very few minutes sufficed to make a thorough search of the house, but nothing living was found in it, and the curses were both loud and a with which this result was greeted. They went out of the door together, leaving Hughey bebind in the house. Tim half-stumbled over a boy that was crouched down upon the door-step, busily en- gaged in tying his shoe-string. “You'd best git, you young rascal. What are you doing here?’ he asked, testily. _ “A feller ain't doin’ no harm tying his shoes on,” retorted the boy, craning the string into one of those boy’s knots, which only a knife will open. “Did you see anybody leaving this house?” asked Joe, witha cursory glance at the boy. ‘““Yes, aslim sort of a chap. He slipped out jist now, asif be kinder wanted fresh air.” **Oh! come on, Tim,” exclaimed Joe. ‘No use wasting time on this chap, You might as well try to get blood out of a horse-chestnut. You take up the street, J will godown this way,” 17 The boy paid no further attention to bis questioners, seeming to think the tying of a good hard knot the first duty of hfe. They had not got far, however, before he raised bis head and looked keenly after them. * Ain’t it queer how folks will tumble over a gold mine at home, and go nosing away cff for it?’ be asked himseli shrewdly, “If they’d seen mea square off they’d swore I was the Jack-in-a-box: but they never thought I’d Le so risky as to squat down on their own door- pen ou’ve got a young chap that calls bis- self Billy on your track, and if you shake him off easy [ll make my wili and jump overboard, that’s all.” And with his hands deep in his pockets, and whistling a defiant tune, Billy swaggered care- lessly down the street. CHAPTER X. CHECKMATED. Ir was with infinite unconcern that Billy walked aa the street containing the house in which be bad bagged his train-robbers, Not for a minute did he let the doubtful man- sion escape his clese supervision. Not a fly could have left the house unseen. Billy chuckled silently to himself. “Sure as you live there comes Tom Erskine now,” Billy moved nearer tke house, as his friend, the Express-agent, approached. The latter was accompanied by to or three other men, ‘Hallo! Jack,” he cried. ‘*So you're out of bc? box. Up jumped the lid and out jumped ack, hey?” “Not much of a Jack ina box," returned Billy. ‘‘ And where’ve you been? If I hadn’t been smart as a steel-trap I mought have gone up into sassage- meat. And all a-waitin’ on you. “No matter, Bill boy. Late’s better than never, you know, Hy ps ow about the game? Is it aggre “You bet it is, Ain’t I Billy, and ain’t I run- nin’ this job? When I take a thing in hand it’s put through, that’s all.” Tom looked at him intently for a minute, and then burst into a loud laugh. * Crow away, my young rooster,” he ex- claimed, patting Billy approvingly on the sboul- ders. And now where’s this den? Billy scratched his head as if not ae liking the tone of bis friend, and he mentally resolved that Tom Erskine should see that Billy was no braggart. “This way!” he ordered, in a rather sharp tone. ‘That house with the white shutters. They are safe there, I know, for I tracked them \ back there fifteen minutes ago, jist arter they’d done bunting fur me.” Tom and his companions followed their young leader, stopping in front of the suspicious house and viewing it with critical eyes. “ Billy, just you shoot round to the back street. They may be slipping out back while we are sliding in front, And take care that the grass don’t grow under your feet.” : It was with a quick start that Billy received this warning, and bis beart leaped as a sense of criminal remissness came upon him, The back
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18 Billy, the Baggage Boy. ee Ena I USI En SU door! Good heavens, there was a back door, and he had acted as if the front door was the only possible exit from a house! He leaped away like a young colt, shot round the corner of the block, and was speedily looking down the narrow and dark street that ran along the rear of the houses, ‘“‘ Nobody there,” said Billy, drawing a breath of satisfaction, ‘‘And Tom Erskine ain’t got the laugh on me yit. yore they had slid, and arter all my blowin’! It would ’a’ been jist terrible.” He leaned against the corner fence and waited with exemplary patience. “T wonder if they they’ve caught them—or been caught?” soliloquized Billy, as he uneasily shifted his position. ‘‘ Them chaps is goin’ to be hard coons to fool with, and Tom hadn't enough folks with him. Don’t like to tell him so, though, for he’s one of that kind that knows too much for a boy to l’arn them anything. The only way with that kind is fur to let them go through the mill and find out for themselves.” Billy’s remarks were brought to an abrupt ter- mination by the sudden opening of a gate down the alley, and the appearance of several men, unrecognizable in the gathering gloom. They looked right and left, and, after con- versing for a minute, one of the men went to the right, while the others turned up the alley toward the young detective. The latter awaited them with no very com- fortable feeling, for his quick eyes now recog- nized Tom Erskine. Could the robbers have given him the slip after all, and have escaped from the house while he was meandering about with his eyes on the front door? “Sol you’re a cute young rat, you are,” ejaculatel Tom, as he came up. ‘‘ Where’s your game now?” ““Weren’t they in the house?” asked Billy, rather timidly. “©1n the house? Thunder! There is nothing iu it but an empty trunk. They have given you the slip as clean asif you’d never seen the back door of a house.” * Good gracious!” cried Billy, in a tone of vexation, ‘‘ you don’t spect a feller to have his eyes 2 mile apart at the same time?” : “Oa! dry up, Billy,” responded Tom. ‘‘ You know you were sold; and sold bad. Well we've got to try and chase up the3o thieves, and I supp se you can be of some use in that job, at least.” “Not much,” exclaimed Billy, planting him- self sturdily. ‘‘ You’re so blamed smart, and I’m so blamed dumb, that I’m kinder afeard I might sp’ilo everything. So I guess I’ll let you paddle your own canoe,” And Billy meant it, for he was off like a shot as soon as he had delivered himself of this de- cided answer. Tom looked after him in sur- prise as he ran hastily along the street, disap- pearing in a minute around an adjacent corner. Billy kept on without a pause until he had reached the vicinity of the railroad. He made his way in this direction almost without inten- tion, by a sort of intuition, or an attractive in- fluence in the rails, The puff of an engine came welcomely to his ears as he neared the road, A train rolled into view from the depét. It was the afteraoon eastward Express, which had stopped for wa- te Tr. With an alertness born of long practice, the boy caught the hand-rail of a car and swung himself to the steps, though the train was now gaining dangerous speed, There was a shame-faced look on his face as he went through the cars. The passengers look- ed up as he passed, but he had no eyes for the right or the left; straight onward only bent his view. He finally made his way into the palace- car. There were several people seated near the end at which he entered, but the other end of the car seemed deserted. Without even notic- ing the nod of recognition of the car attendant, he made his way forward, and sunk down into one of these empty seats, near a curtained com- partment. His attention was arrested by some familiar voices, and he listened to try if he could recog- nize the speakers And now not only tones but words came to his ears, “Some decisive measures must be taken,” spoke a rather imperious voice. ‘‘ It will never do for this stata of things to continue. Do you think the detectives are alert?” “Oh! yes, but they have not got on the right track yet. However, we have something which may prove a clew, if it pans out right.” “That's Mr. Perkins,” said Billy to himself. ‘* T know the other, too, if I could only catch him.” ‘* What is it?’ asked the decided voice. ‘There was a decoy trunk taken on the mail train, which has gone through just ahead of us. Instead of clothing it contained a young chap, cute enough to smell out the gang if he gets half a chance.” “ We call him Billy. He is as smart asa monkey. One of that kind of India-rubber boys whose neck can’t be broken.” “T know him,” replied the other speaker. “ He is sharp and wide-awake.” ‘ Yes, as wide-awake as a donkey injins!” cried a loud, querulous voice near them. “There ain’t no use buttering up Billy Bag- gage, for he’s sold outat a cheap auction, and brung his worth in salt. So you best cut him outer your books, Colonel Scott.” “Who is this?’ exclaimed the coionel, start- ing up and looking out of the door of the alcove. “Tm that identercal individual, Billy,” said the boy. ‘‘I twigged the rascals, but they flung me, and I’ve got nothin’ more to say. But if anybody catches me orowin’ ag’in 1 hope they'll serve me like they would a sassy, half- grown little chicken, that’s all.” Without waiting for answer or comment Billy ran hastily from the car, leaving his two auditors lost in surprise. CHAPTER XI A LOVERS’ QUARREL. “T COULD aot answer, sir; particularly as I never received the letter in question.” The speaker, Claire Hamilton, stood with her hand resting on the top of a low stone wall be- side which she stood, her slender, shapely form drawn up erect, and her eyes looking straight forward with a steady unflinching gaze,
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Billy, the Baggage Boy. 19 | George Howard, for it was he to whom she spoke, clutched tightly the cane which he held, his eyes fixed on the lines which he was nervous- ly drawing in the ground at his feet. He lifted his head and darted a quick, straight glance at her as she spoke. A You are growing rather formal, Claire,” be said. ‘*'Yes,” she replied, in an indifferent, tired voice, her eyes turning to gaze down the valley. “And why? If I am privileged to ask.” “Tt is this,” she hastily cried, her hand seek- ing her pocket. ‘‘I have had reason, abundant reason, to distrust you, George. -This will ex- plain what I do not care to puf into words, even to you.” She haa extracted a letter from her pocket, oe hand shaking nervously as she presented it to him, ‘* What is this?” he asked. “Read it,” she replied, resting he> hand again on the wall, as if for needed support. With a voice that grew colder and sterner as he read, he proceeded to peruse the letter, We will give it to the reader in a verbatim copy: “FILERDELFY, Jan’ary 20, 1877. “My Dare Miss Criare:—I'd writ afore only I hadn’t nothin’ to write about. I don’t want ter put beens i» yer coffee now, but it must be did. I don’t like ter bave that feller goin’ on a courtin’ of you, Miss C’are, when he’s all I said an’ wuss. I hope you ‘ain't forgot what I told you ’bout him afore, cause it’s gospel. every word. I know what it is when a gal gits holt of a lovyer, fur I’ve been there. That's to say somebody else’s been the gal, and I’ve been the lovyer. But there’s places where we've ie stick pins in, no matter how much anybody ollers! ‘‘ And it’s what I’m wantin’ to tell _yer now, is how me and Tom Erskine, of the Adams Exp., cooked up a dodge to nail them trunk robbers, that was playin’ hob on the road. I ain’t got room now, to tel] you the whole game, nor how they gin me the slip, but I got my eyes on them, and that’s wuss than runnin’ a two-inch auger in a pine plank. i FF ‘* And who do you think they was? Why, jist them cronies of George Howard that he’s as thick with as bees in a merlasses barrel, and that I've seen him a-talkin’ to, often. Particular, was that_low-born chap that wears his hat on three hairs, and puts on avig asifhe oxned the Conternental. I want ter do the square thing by you, Miss Clare, as Jong’s you’ve been sich a friend to me. ani I wouldn't say a letter, let alone a word, ag’in’ George Howard fer a gold mine, jist to hurt yer feelin’s, only I know it’s a blame shame fer you ter bave yer eyes shet up by any hoss-fly like that. “That's ‘nuff said. I'll post you in the whole bizness the fu’st time I git vs your way. Till then jist keep an eye open fur that chap, and don’t let him buzz in yer ear that hoss-chestnuts is fu’st cousin to peanuts. ; “Yours, respectively, “ Briiy.” Howard’s tone grew colder and harsher as he read this inviting epistle. As he finished it, it dropped from his band, and he turned to Claire with his sternest expression of counte- nance, Her hand now clutched at the hard stone on which it rested, and her color came and went as she watched with intent look his ex- pression. “So, this is the head and front off my offend- ing! This!” and_he spurned the fallen letter with his foot. ‘‘If I stand condemned on the strength of such a precious document as that— Pshaw! to think of the fastidious Claire Ham- ilton having such a correspondent, and pre- senting me this farrago as evidence of Heaven knows what! It seems to me that this inter- view has been unnecessarily prolonged, and you will not object to my bidding you good- day. She made no sign in response to his ceremoni- ous bow, but her eyes continued to follow bim as he walked with a stern tread up the road, never once turning until he had disappeared around a curve, Then she snatched up the fallen letter and crushed it in her nervous grasp. ‘* Not for one instant bas he denied it,” she ex claimed, in atone full of rain, ‘‘ He dare not! It is all too true.” As she spoke she slowly tore tbe letter into shreds, ‘‘It is other evidence that has taught me what he is—and what his manner but confirms, And yet—I loved him!— I loved bim! despicable as he has been to win my love, with his base record.” Her voice bad risen almost intoa wail. Start- ing suddenly she flung the shreds of the torn let- in a white cloud upon the air, and walked with a guick, uneven step along the frozen path. She was high up upon a road which wourd upward still unto a wooded crest, while her path led downward toward the valley. A hundred yards up the slope stood the white stuccoed house at which ske had been visiting. There was no other habitation visible until the road entered the mist-sbrouded valley. At the turn before ber the road reached the lower level, by which it was a mile or more to her home, et she was not destined to reach it unmolested. A peculiar voice caused her to raise her eyes, Before her stood three men, ey- ing her with looks that were not very reassur- ing, ““Excuse me, miss,” said the one whose voice had aroused her, “‘ but maybe you can tell us how far it is from here to Bryn Mawr?” She looked distrustfully at the smartly-dressed, vulgar-faced speaker. ““T do not know the exact distance,” she re- plied. ‘‘ But any one around here can tell you.” She would bave walked oa, but one of the three, a black-whiskered, large-built man, stood directly in her way. “That ain’t altogether a civil answer, young woman,” he said harshly. ‘‘ And it ain’t the —_ of an answer that we're going to be put off with.’ Claire was growing alarmed. She looked with a frightened glance about her. “But indeed I do not know,” she faltered, ‘*or I would be glad to tell you.” “Tt ain’t Bryn Mawr, it’s Hestonville we want,” replied the third man. ‘‘S’pose you post us where that is,” “T believe Hestonville is just this side of the city,” she answered, essaying to move ov. But the large man stood immovably in her path, ‘*T don’t see any occasion for any such hurry,” he protested with a hoarse laugh. ‘ And we've got some more questions to ask you yet.” She stood looking at them like a startled bird,
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~~ Suddenly something in the appearance of the foppishly-dressed man gave_ her a new idea, re- calling some of Billy’s descriptions. She spoke quickly and impulsively: “Tknow you now! I have heard of you! You are George Howard’s confederates!” An odd glance passed between the three men, and the large one burst into a coarse laugh, ‘* We have heard of him afore, young woman,” he confessed; ‘‘ and he is a neat-built chap, and a.man of his word. Eh! Joe?” ‘One of us, sure enough. She’s hit it there,” responded Joe Blizzard, for it was he, looking with an amused expression at the others. “TI knew George had a lady friend somewhere here- aways. He’s told me about it himself. But never in a bragging way. Oh! no, George’s a gentleman,” “ And we don’t want to detain you, young woman, but we want a keepsake to remember you by,” spoke the large man, Claire was too overcome with this confirma- tion of her doubts about George Howard’ to heed what they were saying. She attempted to walk on, but her arm was seized by Joe Bliz- zard, who exclaimed: “Come, madam, not so fast!. We can’t get along withont the time, and we will have to borrow your watch.” But, Claire had caught what had not yet reached their ears—the sound of hoofs beyond the turn of the road. Aloud call for help broke from her trembling lips. Tbe three men started and looked at each other as a voice answered her call, and the quick tramp of a horse was now plainly audible. They drew together, as if prepared to show zht. Tae next instant the horse turned the curve. A ery of glad recognition broke from Claire’s lips as she saw the rider. It was the gentleman who had accompanied Adam Clark in the pur- suit of tbe runaway sleigh, and who had driven her back while Clark rode on in chase of the wreckers. The gentleman tightened his rein as he came up, his eyes glancing inquiringly at the scene before him. The peculiarly stern look of the gentleman restel upon them, They shrunk as if abashed by his gaze, which as full of command, “ Boyone!” he cried, his hand in his pocket, as if feeling for a weapon. Though his opponents were three to one, they seemed in some way awed by his manner. They turned and walked up the road, leaving him alone with Claire. **Do not leave me, Mr. Jordan!” she ex- claimed, as he seemed about to ride on in pur- sui, “Not until I see you safely home,” he re- sponded, springing from his horse, and giving her his hand, ‘though I would have liked to punish those rascals.” CHAPTER XII. A HOME CONFERENCE. BILLy sat in the shadows of the paternal mansion, instinctively, however, seeking what shreds of sunshine came through the wonder- fully patched window. Billy, the Baggage Boy. Mr, Baggage, Sr., as usual, occupied a chair with only three sound legs, and kept himself in a state of nervous delirium, trying to preserve its equilibrium. “ But that’s gitting off the subjeck, pop. You was a-goin’ to tell me all about that bizness down to Joe Dangle’s,” said Billy. “Yes, Billy,” he remarked. ‘As I was say- in’, they guv me a hint to yo.” “What kind of a hint, pop?” “ A mighty convincing one,” responded Jacob, rubbing his back reflectively. ‘‘ Anyhow, I got down-stairs *thout walkin’ down, nor slidin’ down the banisters.” “Kicked down, hey?’ asked Billy, with a laugh that was not very reverent. ‘* Who was these chaps, pop?” “Mostly railroaders. fFellers that talked nuthin’ but brakes, switches, and puttin’ her through, and coalin’ up. But the bosses among ’em was a diffrent sort of chapees.” “And what was the game?” asked Billy. “Gearing up a strike ag’in’ the Pennsy, I s’pose?” “‘T guess that’s what’s brung the railroaders,” said his father, pulling his hair reflectively. “‘The other ’un’s wanted bread ’thout work, and cabbagers ’thout plowin’, and a plug in the bead fur every coon that didn’t think jist what they thunk.” “Pye hearn them talk,” remarked Billy, “Ts mighty goes logic fur the feller that’s got an empty pocket and don’t enjoy work. But not fur ’ristocrats like me and you, pop. And what are they goin’ to do ag’in’ the Pennsy? Thav’s what I want to git at.” ‘*T went down-stairs afore they cum to that Yint, Billy,” replied Jacob, straightening up in ischair. ‘I allers think it’s best nct to wait after gettin’ a hint to go. But they ain’t flung me yit. If I can’t lead I can foller.” ‘‘There’s somethin’ more a-comin’ then, pop?” inquired Billy, catching the careening chair. “You've see’d more than you've been a-tellin’?” “ [ve see’d them Iuternationalisters, and Pve follered them,” returned Jacob, with drunken gravity. ‘I was down to Tim Lenning’s,” if And, bow *bout Tim Lennings, pop?” asked illy. «Well, as I said, I was jist lubricatin’ with a drop of old rye, when in sailed one of them strikers, I knowed him as quick as a crow knows a cornfield. He didn’t imbibe at the bar, but jist slid on. Afore ten minutes there was four more of them slid somewhere inside.” “Dive in. Let's have the purtic’lars,” ‘“ Ain’t none,” said Mr, Baggage, mysterious- ly. ‘* You won’t blab, Billy?” ‘Did Lever blab?” asked Billy, indignantly. “Now don’t you git on ycur ear,” remarked the father, bringing his waltzing chair to a halt. “There's a whole beehive full of them strikers, that’s enough. And jist now the railroads is their clover-field. They’re down on train-rob- bers; that ain’t their game, Their gime’s to smash up, and wreck, and sp’ile. The railroads is got to put up wages, or be bu’sted. And what's more, they’re workin’ up the injineers and brakemen, and all the railroads; and if there ain’t a squally bu’st-up afore anybody smells it, then there’s no use gabbling,”
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Billy, the Baggage Boy. 21 ‘‘Jist you mind that, pop, and don’t be gab- blin’,” remarked Billy, impressively. ‘‘ Them’s dangerous cusses to blow about, Let’s me and you and mom salt it down and keep it shady.” “That’s sensible, Billy,” exclaimed ‘‘mom” from among her pans. 5 ‘Do they meet there reg’lar?” asked Billy. ‘* Mum’s the word,” replied Jacob. Down went the chair at this juncture, and down went Jacob. Up came Jacob, and away slid the chair, propelled by a vigorous kick, ‘‘Durn the old cheer, anyhow! I don’t b’lieve it come in the Mayflower,” he muttered. CHAPTER XIII. A SECRET CONCLAVE. WE will pass over the adventures of Billy for the next ten days, though they were days in which his time off the road was well fille? with occupation, preferring to let him tell in his own manner the story of his doings during this period of time. We now find him in the handsomely-appointed private office of the railroad superintendent, to which the plea of important business had ad- mitted him, together with his coadjutor, the gum-drop boy, Hans Breitman. “The hull thing jist lays in a nutshell, kur- nel,” he remarks, ‘‘And I’m the boy that’s in fer cracking the nut.” ‘Tf you do I don’t want you to bring me any- ne but the kernel,” replied the railroad presi- ent. + se right. I'll try and shell it out,” returned illy. ‘Have you anything to shell out just now?” “ Well, then, we've jist holed the biggest nest eof wasps you ever see’d, me and Hans, Ain’t that so, Hans?” “Yaw,” came in guttural tones from the Dutch boy. ‘What, the strikers?” “Yes, Jist a nest full, And they was a-goin’ to play Hail Columby with the old Pennsy. Hey, Hans?” “Dat was yust so,” returned Hans, ““Pshaw! the vaporings of such men are of small matter to me, if that is all you have to tell,” said Colonel Scott, impatiently. “You know, kurnel, there’s been thieving, and robbing, and sich work on the road lately ; and tryin’ to! st trains into splinters, and all that. I’ve peen mixed up in it a bit myself,” “T know that, my boy.” “ve been chopped into sausage-meat; and run away with by a gal in a sleigh; and yanked off for re ae in a trunk; and ginnerally used as if P’d been bought and sold. And Hans knows it.” “Yaw,” proceeded from the Dutch boy’s cor- ner, “And how about the three men who slipped out of the back door while you was watching the front?” asked the colonel, smiling. “Oh! that was ’cause I didn’t have double- barreled eyes, and couldn’t see RerORED the back of my head,” replied Billy, in an off-hand way, though his face grew very red. ‘I put your hounds on the trac , anyway. I don’t hear that they cotched them,” ‘“Not yet,” said the colonel. ‘ Would you know them if you should see them again?” “* Like a hoss knows oats,” “Then keep an eye open, my boy. There’s one of them in particular, the man they call Blizzard—would you know him?” “Like a pig knows corn.” “He is a dangerous man. It is important that he should be arrested.. If you should see him, Billy—’ “Nuff said,” interrupted Billy. You've said the word and Joe Blizzard's my game. He won't shake me easy.” ‘Don’t talk of this,” ““Mum’s the word,” rejoined Billy. ‘You hear that, Hans? What's the word?” “Mum,” replied Hans, in a stage whisper. ‘*That’s as safe as if it was dead and buried,” continued the young detective. ‘But you ain’t* hit the worst egg in the lot yit, kurnel.” ‘* Ah!” replied the colonel, quickly. ‘* Who is this worst?” “Tt’s the chap that’s called George Howard. I dunno if you've heered of him afore or not, but T’ve been a-watching him like a hawk watches a hen. He makes all the pistol-balls that these fellers shoot. If you want to bring down the hull caboodle, jist nab the bottom cha.” “Yes. And I know of George Howard,” re- plied the colonel, with an odd smile. ‘His turn willcome yet. For the present Iam not quite ready to deal with him.” ‘Tell you what it is, kurnel, you don’t know it all,” responded Billy, with great earnestness. “Do you know he’s been talkin’? love, like all- possessed, to jist the sweetest, purtiest, nicest gal that ever growed in Chester valley?” “T didn’t imagine that things were so bad as that,” replied the smiling colonel. ““T guess there won’t be no breaking hearts,” replied Billy. ‘‘The gal couldn’t been so deep in love with him, for I notice there’s sweetmeats atween her and another six-footer. She looked at him as if she thought he was a lump of sugar; and he looked at her as if he thought she was beeswax and honey. Weren’t that so, Hans? You see’d it all.” “Yaw,” replied Hans, ‘“ Yust so, dat was. Yust like a Dutchman luf gum-drops.” “Can you describe him?” asked the colonel. ‘Six foot. Broad shoulders. Black whiskers, Handsome as a picture, Kind of fierce-lookin’, too, when he ain’t blinkin’ at the gels.” “His name?” inquired the colonel. “ Jack Jordan—or John Jordan.” The colonel rade no reply, but sat for a min- ute with his face resting on bis hand, in a mus- ing attitude. Billy watched him keenly, but failed to detect what was passing in that active brain. He looked up suddenly, after a moment's thought, saying: = ‘* And now about these strikers, Billy?” ‘* They’ve been holdin’ meetin’s, kurnel, along with railroad folks, tryin’ to raise trouble on the road.” “That's no secret to me, boy.” ‘©S’pose not,” retorted Billy. ‘‘ There’s meet- in’s that ain’t fur railroaders to git into, but that smart young coons like me and Hans, gits invited to. Hey, Hans?”
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“Yaw,” replied Hans, half-slipping off his perch, ‘“Of course we was inside a closet.” ‘‘Come to the point, boy,” said the colonel, with quick decision of tone. ‘‘ Who were these men? Had you seen them before?” ‘“*There was only four ef them; and they was the inside ring of all these strikers, They had black masks on so we couldn’t see their faces, But if one of them wasn’t George Howard then [m not goin’ to trust my eyes ag’in,” “fla! You are sure of that?’ Did you over- hear them?” “‘Tt_ was the coldest-blooded bizness you ever heerd, kurnel,” replied Billy, with great im- pressiveness, ‘Youll hear from them soon, fur you’re to be noticed that the wages of the men must be put up instanter, if not sooner.” * And what’s to happen if they ain’t?” ““There’s to be the biggest strike that was ever heerd of engineered in these parts, fur one thing.” “You remember their place of meeting?” “ How’s that, Hans, hey?” “Yaw, yes, spec’ so.” “ Jist like a book, kurnel.” ‘Was there anything more?” “ Only that they’re down on robbers, and all that sort of critters, ’T'ain’t plunder they want. Its the rights of man, thet’s what they kept saying,” “Very well,” said the colonel, shortly. ‘I want that man Blizzard, remember that, Billy. If you see him don’t let him escapa your eyes. John!” ‘Yes, sir,” said his doorkeeper, entering. ‘‘ Show these boys out.” ‘Billy followed as if he thought the dismissal was rather curt; and Hans as if it was a wel- come relief, CHAPTER XIV. TRACKING JOE. Ir was the mail train west from Philadelphia. February was now far advanced, and the ex- treme cold of the early winter was exchanged for mild, springlike weather. During the pre- vious night, however, a light sprinkle of snow had fallen, and its thin white coatirg lay but half concealing the darker surface. The sky was overcast, with clouds that promised more Snow ere the day should pass. Tom Erskine had been shifted to the Express- car on this train, and Detective Billy and his friend Hans found it convenient, for reasons of their own, to travel to-day by the same line, They were in Tom’s car, and a very iuter- esting conversation bad sprung up between the three, “When I called on the kurnel—he’d sent me a letter, you know, requestin’ an interview.” * Oh! come, Billy,” cried Tom. ‘* What's in the wind, anyhow?” “ Only that there’s a party of pirates that’s goin’ to run the Pennsy on their own hook,” re- plied Billy. ‘* How do you know all this?” ‘« The kurnel told— That's to say,” continued Billy, noticing Tom’s belligerent look, ‘‘ that it’s & Billy, the Baggage Boy. et all so, And there's to be train-smashin’, and a row all ’round.” ““T don’t know how you came by all this, Billy,” said Tom, seriously, ‘* but it looks as if there was something in it. There have been three attempts made to fling trains from the track insiide of the last three weeks,” “* And nobody knows who’s a-doin’ it,” inter- polated Billy. ‘Tt is all a mystery.” “Tl tell you, then,” continued Billy, very solemnly. ‘“ It’s all them strikers, and if the kurnel don’t knuckle down there’ll be ructions out,” ““T wonder if the chaps that carried you off is the trunk belong to the same gang?” said om. “No,” replied Billy. ‘“ Have you kept your eyes open, Billy?” asked Tom, laughing. “You said you would know your three trunk-porters. What’s the report?” “Know them? You kin bet on that, I'd know Joe Blizzardanyhow, Ain’tseen ’em yet.” “Nein,” corroborated Hans. ‘* Look here, Dutch!” cried Billy, angrily, “Ti knock nine teeth down your throat if you don’t quit a-sayin’ that. Do you s'pose us gen- tlemen ain’t got no nerves?” “ That’s good Dutch, Billy,” said Tom. ‘“T don’t keer, Nobody’s got no right spoutin’ Dutch this side the ocean. That?s one of the diffikilties I sposed they emigrated from. The idear of ships sailin’ across the seas jist to fetch High Dutch over. When there’s plenty of good English about too, It’s wuss than castor oil.” “Do you know what he is talking about, Hans?” asked Tom, mischievonsly, “Nein,” replied Hans, with his stupid look, ‘OF course he don’t,” asserted Billy. ‘‘ Come away, Hans. He'll have us a-fightin’ next, arid that won’t be good fur your nerves,” “Yaw. Dat’s goot,” cried Hans, with a laugh, as if he had caught the point of a most stupead- ous joke. Tom Erskine laughed too, as the boys left the car together, Billy was making his way—toward the rear end of the train, followed lumberingly by Hans, Our hero’s eyes, always alert, seemed particu- larly so this morning, as he passed by the lines of seated passengers, not letting a face escape his quick scrutiny. They reachéd the rear end just as the train came toa halt. Billy coiled himself into an un- occupied seat, followed by Hans, who noticed a peculiar smile on the lips and sparkle in the eyes of his silent friend, Not until the train had got well under way again did Billy speak, as if he wanted the noise of the wheels to drown his voice from the other passengers, *T seen Joe Blizzard.” ‘Oh, nein!” replied Hans, in astonishment, * You mought think so,” continued Billy, ‘the way he was manufactured. Charcoaled eyebrows, and whiskers set out with porticoes, A wig as black as a crow’s wing, and a big patch across his nose. And what was wuss. the seediest-lookin’? concern you ever see’d, That was the biggest disguise out. It’s a wonder I knowed the bird with his fine feathers picked,” Sere
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Billy, the Baggage Boy. 23 “Dat can’t be—sure,” said Hans, incredulous- ly. ‘¢’Tain’t Sho Blizzard, I pet. Maybe you ain’t so smart as you tinks, Pilly.” “Td know him if he was rolled down bill in a tar-barrel,” replied Billy. ‘‘ And what’s more, Hans,” here his voice dropped to a whisper, ** there was three of them French cusses in the same car,” “Dem we seen from der closet?” “ Jist that crowd. I know them like I know pumpkins.” ** Don’ p'lieve it nix,” declared Hans, “Don't, bey? Then foller me, hot foot, that’s all. DPN pinch you, or stick a pin in you, or ppv your hvir, when I want you to look, March ahead, Hans, and look alive when I give you the signal,” With a rueful look Hans passed on through the car, bardly liking to trust to the tender mercies of Billy, yet not venturing to resist the orders of that imperious youth. Entering the next car in advance Hans felt a slight pull upon his long locks, ** Now look alive!” came in a loud whisper at his ear. ‘‘ The French chaps are in them middle seats, and Joe Blizzard near the front end.” Hans used his eyes with all the scrutiny of which he was capable, but failed to recognize any familiar face. He would have stopped near the front of the car, but received a hint from Billy to keep on, Reaching the outer platform, he turned back, saying: oe der tiffel! I don’t know nix chap in ter car. He just then caught sight of as crestfallen a visage as it had often been his lot to see, Billy, for once in his life, seemed utterly nonplused. “ They couldn’t have sunk through the floor, or dried up and blowed out the car winders,” he ejaculated. “In ter nex’ car, maybe,” suggested Hans. “Dat’s what I dinks.” “Thunder, Dutchy, we’ve made a stop since L see’d them!” Billy suddenly exclaimed. ‘1 bet a brass cow they got off at Reeseville. You stay here. I'll push through, and see if they’re in the train, or if the conductor Jet them off.” Five minutes elapsed ere Billy returned. His face was full of information. “They’ve dished us, Hans! Slipped off at Reeseville, the whole four. And here we are not a mile'from Paoli. There’s nothin’ fur it but to git off and foot it back.” In a very few minutes more the train drew up at the Paoli station, and the two boys took the opportunity to seek the firm earth. They found the air a little keen as they started on their long trudge back, just cool.enough to make them step out freoly, They walked on for over an hour, with no appearance of the town of which they were in search, “Took you here,” cried Hans, at length. “ Where's der place dat we was goin’ for to fint, hey® ‘Do you see that steeple over the hill?” “Yaw. See him well.” “That’s Reeseville. Or else we're lost. It’s one or tiother sure. Keep one eye open fur tracks, Hans. Our game mought ’a’ put out from town ‘cross lots.” They had not taken twenty steps further ere Hans had occasion to put this warning into practice. ‘Hello! mine hoss, Pilly. Here’s der gum- drops now.” Billy turned to find him eagerly pointing downward. Our hero’s quick eyes at once caught the indication, a plainly-defined foot- print in the snow. “T'll score one fur you, Hans,” hecried, “ It’s the fu’st time I ever cotched you with your eyes open and mine shut. Now if it’s only Joe Bliz- zard’s boot that made it. What’s that over there by the fence?” ‘“ Where?” asked Hans, rotating his dull eyes. “ Dare ain’t nix ’g’in der fence?” “« Here,” said Billy, running quickly forward. “Three tracks, by golly! Sure as shootin’ it’s Blizzard and the strikers. * An’ where’s dey goin’?’ asked Hans, “Blizzard’s goin’ his road, and they’re goin’ their road. And his road and their road look to be mighty near the same road. It’s my notion there’s ructions out, Hans.” “Yaw. Is’pose. How’s dat?” “They wasn’t together on the train, that’s sure. But they set watchin’ Blizzard. And they got off arter he did, and t’other end the car.” That’s what the conductor said.” ‘“‘ An’ what’s der next ting?” “They’re arter him. That’s my notion. And the kurnel told me I wasn’t to lose sight of him, ans. dist you keep your left eye on my coat- tail. I’m a-goin’ to strike out in this track, and you kin strike out in my track.” The trail was very plainly defined in the thin snow, and Billy hurried forward at the top of his speed. He soon reached a piece of under- growth, through which progress was not so easy, and the trail proved more difficult to follow. ‘It’s goin’ to be a little hard to foller, Hens,” he remarked, ‘ Here’s more bushes, avd the snow’s thinned out. There’s a kind of queer ebill gitting holt of me, Dutchy.” ‘“Yaw. Me too feels all creepy like,” respond- ed Hans, shuddering. ‘“Maybe it’s only the cold wind,” said Billy. “*Keep your eyes sharp open, boy. What kind of a queer fruit is that on the tree there?” Hans looked to the tree indicated, a large oak, with a strange-looking parce] depending from one of its lower limbs. The two boys hastened through the brush- wood, their hearts beating with nervous appre- hension as the bundle assumed a more and more significant aspect. “ See here!” cried Billy, in a tone of dread, “the snow’s all trampled. There's been running and scuffling, too, here.” ‘“Oh, Lord!” yelled Hans, who bad advanced while Billy was examining these marks, ‘Oh! shust come here, Pilly! It’s der man! It’s der Plizzard, sure!” Billy ran hastily forward, the dread parcel be- ing now plainly defined as a man, As be drew near it swung slowly round, and a livid, lifeless face confronted him, the unmistak- able face of Joe Blizzard. He was hanging by the neck toa branch of the tree, and was quite dead. , With a yell of mortal fear, Hans turned and
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24 Billy, the Baggage Boy. went crashing back through the bushes, roaring at every step as if a ghost was at his heels, Billy felt a momentary impulse to do likewise, but bravely repressed it, and walked resolutely up with the purpose of reading a wide placard, which was placed conspicuously on the dead man’s breast, CHAPTER XV. THE BAND OF THE CHOSEN, “ Bruiy.” ee‘ Vhat’s “me, tkurnel, That’s pry every-day, shirt sleeves, bare-footed name. When I’m standin’ on my dignity I sign myself William. Don’t "low nobody to call me Billy on Sunday nor holidays. But as long asit’s you, kurnel, [ won’t mind,” ‘** Have you looked for the man I directed you to find for me?” “T hev.” ‘Have you seen him?” “T hev see’d Joe Blizzard.” “ Ab! And what next? You know your in- structions,” ‘T was to put the perlice on his track,” replied Billy, with a peculiar look. ‘I hev handed over what was left of him. Blizzard’s safe. He won’t bother you no more, kurnel.” ‘“Why, what do you mean?” asked the colonel, hastily. ‘‘Blizzard’s stepped out. Vamosed, Gone un- der. Slid. Passed in his checks.” “Why, you young villain, do you mean that the man is dead?” “T found him,” rejoined Billy, mysteriously, “There was a bit of string round his neck, with tother end twisted ‘bout an oak limb. I s'pose he'd broke it, if he’d been heavy enough.” “Do you mean that he was hung?” “The string was too strong for him, kurnel. There weren’t no salvation fur poor Joe Bliz- zard. It was out in the woods, with snow on the ground, and the trees a-groaning above,” The colonel sat down on a trunk in the car, and gazed fixedly at the speaker. - gS This is none of your confounded jokes, oy? “Nary joke,” protested Billy, with positive emphasis. ‘“ You ain’t hearn tell of it ’cause it only turned out last night. They left the train at Reeseville. Joe Blizzard and three men that follered unbeknownst tohim, We tramped back from Paoli, me and Hans, the gum-drop Dutchy. Struck%their trail in the snow. The three men ([ knowed them), they was sneakiu’ bebind fences. Dunno what Blizzard wasarter. Takin’ a short cut somewhere, I s’pose. It were a ter- rible short cut he took, that’s sartain.” Billy drew a long breath as he took in the-full force of Blizzard’s step from time to eternity. The boy’s face had grown very serious, “And you found him—hanging in the wood?” “You dunno whata start it guy me,” contin- ued Billy, ‘‘ when he swung round and showed hisface. ‘I do b’lieve Vd ’a’ run if Thadn’t to stand still to keep that derned Dutchy in coun- tenance. He was so skeered that I thought he'd shake all his teeth out, and all his toenails of.” “This is a strange business, You knew the men, you say?” r ‘“T seen them afore, There was a paper pinned onto the corpus. I’ve brung it here.” Billy, with much effort, extracted from his pocket a closely-folded sheet of white paper, which he slowly opened as he continued to talk: ‘* We follered them, kurnel; me and Hans, and some of the folks around. There was the three tracks in the snow. Blizzard’s track didn’t go no further then that tree. There his track was wiped out—forever.” illy paused and rubbed his eyes, which were suspiciously moist, ‘““We follered them to Paoli. That’s where they took the cars, and their track was wiped out—but uot forever,” By this time he had succeeded in unfolding his paper, a coarse white sheet, of about six inches in length by four in breadth. It was written over, in a rough but vigorous hand- writing, in ink, as if it had been prepared pre- viously to the murder. The colonel, who had been more excited by the boy’s narration than he cared to let appear, took the paper from bis extended hand, and strode vigorously up and down the car, reading its contents. “Can you read, boy? Do you know what this is?” he asked, “T kin read, and I kin write, and I kin cipher, and I kin play base-ball, and 1 kin stand on my head, kurnel,” declared Billy, proudly. The colonel looked as if divided between his inclination to laugh at him and to kick bim. He turned away with a shrug of his shoulders, and read the paper aioud, as he continued to pace the car: “To all whom it may concern ¢— “This is the body of a perjured traitor. Seek not his executioners, for they shall not be found. We are sworn to war against monopolies for the Rights of Man. This man took our oaths, and then became acommon thief. Such is his fate, War to the death against monopolists, the rope for perjurers and thieves, Such is our oath, “Tm BAND OF THE CHOSEN.” He slowly folded the paper and placed it in his.pocket, a deep, fixed purpose in his eyes, “T know it all by heart,” said Billy. ‘‘ They’re a high-minded set of reprobates, they are. They’re goin’ to make the Pennsy guv in to them if they smash half the trains on the road, and kill folks like sheep. But they won’t let a poor little thief like Blizzard carry off an empty trunk on his own hook, “Tain’t plunder they’re after, but what they call principle.” ‘* All their efforts, so far, have been to destroy freight-trains,” remarked the colonel, reflec- tively. ‘ Jist so,” replied Billy. ‘* You got a kind of warnio’ from them, kurnel, the last time the wages was cut?” “Yes,” answered the colonel, absently. ** Signed like this?” ‘Very much. It was signed, ‘ The Chosen,” * And you told them to go to old Sam, and that you wouldn’t knuckle to no such repro- bates?” ‘*T defied them,” answered the colonel, “But you ain’t goin’ to make no more cuts in wages, kurnel?’? asked Billy. “Not if I can help it, my boy. But let these
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Billy, the Baggage Boy. 25 fellows beware how they seek to drive me. In times of war extreme measures are justifiable. You know how to hold your tongue, Billy?” “Tf you tell me to be mum, that’s the word, I wouldn’t blab then if there was a bag of dol- lars on every word.” ‘Then keep secret what [ have said to-day.” “Mum’s the word,” replied Billy, closing bis mouth with both hands, while his honest eyes glittered into the colonel’s, ‘‘These murderers must be found,” continued the colonel in a reflective tone, “‘if it is in the power of the law, I want your deposition, my boy, of all the minute facts connected with your knowledge of them. Here we are in the city,” as the train slowly slackened speed at the depot. “Take a cab at once to my office. Or stay, we vas go together. There must be not a moment's elay. In five minutes more, Billy was seated in a carriage with the railroad superintendent, and rolling rapidly toward the office of the great railroad magnate, CHAPTER XVI. THROUGH WIND AND SNOW. Tr proved no easy task to apprehend the mur- derers of Joe Blizzard. The police authorities were put actively at work, and given every possible source of information, not the least im- portant part of which was the evidence of our hero Billy. But their efforts had been so far in vain. At least a dozen men were arrested, as having some possible connection with the affair. - Meanwhile Billy bad not been idle, as will appear from a little conversation between ‘him and Mr. Baggage, Sr., about this time. Jacob Baggage was in an unusual condition for him. He was sober. “And that ain’t all,” he said, positively, to his son. ‘I’ve swore off. It was a solid swear, too, Billy. ’T'weren’t none of your dry oaths, that’s got to be lickered; but a ‘So help me ’Mighty;’ and that’s what I never go back on.” “Glad to hear it, dad,” said the hopeful ju- venile, ing himself of his father’s three- legged chair. ‘I dida’t know jist what your solid swear was; I’ve seen you try 1t in so many shapes that didn’t hold water.” ‘““You never heered me say ‘So help me ‘Mighty’ before,” protested his father. “That's a-leanin’ on other strength than our own, Billy: and a feller’s own strength won’t carry him fur ag’in’ the smell of whisky. I b’lieve it’s jist the powerfulest thing out, boy; and I don’t keer if you put old Samson bisself ag’in’ it. DPve got some strength yet; but, sakes, it’s jist nothin’ ag’in’ the bottle.” “Tm wonderful glad to hear that you mean it.” replied Billy, rocking on bis unsteady seat. “Tye been a workin’ fur you, pop. I’m some guns now with the kurnel; and do you know [Ive got you back your old job?” “ What!” cried the father, springing up and clapping his heels in delight. ‘ Firing up? -On the old Voleano? Now, that’s a good deal too 7 “Ts firing, pop. But the old Volcano ex- ploded. So’tain’t that. But you’re to report to-morrow morning, and you'll be put on a good injine. Allers pervided you shet down on the whisky. That’s the heading of the pro- gramme,” “So help me Mighty, Billy, I won’t tech it agin. But you ain’t jokin’, boy? I declare I hope you ain’t jokin’.” The old man’s voice was full of pathetic ap- 1 “T never joke, pop. "Specially when I’m in earnest,” said Billy, solemnly. ‘‘ ?ve done my sheer, and I want you to do yours.” The boy had too much business on hand to bave much time to spend in the shadows of the paternal mansion, and we soon find him bound eg he rd again on the ‘‘ afternoon Accommoda- jon. It was not on duty however, that he took this trip. Billy had been growing very fond of his little friend Lucy of late days, and was off on a visit to this little charn «1. Leaving the train at tle nvr st station, be made bis way over to ite E; milton mansion. As he neared the house he came face to face with a gentleman approaching from the opprsite direction, and whom he at once remembered to have seen before. It was Mr. Jobn Jordan, the gentleman who had displayed such singular influence over the robbers, and bad rescued Claire Hamilton from a serious danger. His intimacy at the Hamilton residence had grown rapidly since that occa- sion. Lucy was glad enough to see Billy, and ca- pered sround him witb childish glee. “See here, Lucy,” asked Billy, as if influenced by a sudden thought, ‘‘ Does that George How- ard ever come here now?” ‘* No,” she replied. ‘And I don’t know why, for he was a nice man, and I liked him.” ‘* What is this other man’s name?” “That is Mr, Jordan,” she answered, with a grimace. “* He ain’t so nice then?” “*T don’t like him,” said the candid cbild. “Nor I don’t believe «hat Aunt Claire does either, for all she tries to look like it.” " ‘* He’s sweet on Miss Claire, I s’pose?” “You won’t say nothing, Billy, if I tell youa great secret?” asked the child, eagerly, “You couldn’t drag a word from me with oxen,” replied Billy. solemnly. “Stoop down, Billy,” Lucy whispered in his ee. “ do believe there is going to be a wed- ing!” ‘What! Miss Claire and Mr. John Jordan?’ cried Billy, in surprise. ‘‘Now that’s quite too loud,” warned Lucy. “Tt is only a little bird that bas whispered it to me yet. I would not have Aunt Claire know I bave said such a thing for the world.” ’ ** Are you going on west tonight, Billy, or will you spend the night here?” said Mr. Hamilton, who just entered the room. : “ Pye got to make tracks,” replied the boy. ** My train will be along in a couple of hours, I jist run out here chead.” “J will keep you company then.” said Mr. Hamilton. ‘I am going as far as Pittsburg.” “You are!” cried Lucy. ‘ But it is snowing. Your shoulders are quite white.” ‘* A little snow won't burt Billy and me,” said
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26 Billy, the Baggage Boy. Mr. Hamilton, as he entered his carriage at the door, ‘* Kiss your sweetheart good-by, Lucy, and tell Aunt Claire that Iam going.” **T have no sweetheart, and I don’t kiss boys,” replied Lucy, tossing her head saucily. ‘‘ Billy and I like one another. Ain’t that all, Billy? And we are not sweethearts.” The impulsive child darted off into the house, and returned in a minute with Claire, while Mr. Jordan appeared more slowly in the background. The parting between father and daughter was very affectionate. Billy, amid all Lucy’s warm attentions, could not help noticing how Mr. Jordan had re- mained in the background, and the somewhat cool and distant manner of Mr, Hamilton toward him, ‘“* fe ain’t in the daddy’s books anyhow, if he is in Miss Claire’s,” thoughtour hero. ‘* It’s the lop-sidedest bizness I know of, and if there ain’t a bu’st-up somewheres about the concern afore long then I’m an ignoramus.” They took the train at the nearest station at which the Express stopped. It was approaching night, and Mr. Hamilton took a sieeping-car, Billy going forward to his station in the bag- gage-car. Our hero, however, when he set himself to it, eould have slumbered soundly stretched on a tight-rope, or poised on a row of pins; so his trunk top was high old luxury to him. Westward of Harrisburg, in the mountain regions which began to grow in tte trans-Sus- quehanna regions, the snow grew heavier, and had gathered in certain gorges till it was with difficulty that the strong engine tore her way through the growing impediment. Lawistown was passed. They were ap- proaching the wilder and more mountainous region. “Ts thundering thick to-night,” ejaculated the eugineer, pecring out into “the gloom, and sounding his whistle shrilly, as he knew by in- stinct that the Petersburg station was close ahead. The engine was slowly gathering speed again asshe reached the bridge. Suddenly, without @ moment's warning, the end of the wooden structure gave way under the weight of the heavy engine, tumbling with a terrific thud into the frozen stream below, and dragging the train with it, 155 vn CHAPTER XVII. BILLY’S PATHNT EXTINGUISHER. INSIDE the cars all was terror and tumult. Moans of anguish, cries of fear and pain, echoed through the darkness. The foremost cars were badly broken. In one—the sleeper—an omin- ous light glared redly on the night. Our hero had been roused from his sleep by the sudden break in the speed of the train as it plunged into the snow-bank in the cut. With boyish curiosity he left the car and stood on the platform, looking forward at the toiling engine. He was still leaning out from the side of the ear, looking forward, when the bridge gave way and the locomotive plunged headlong into the abyss, The sudden check in the motion hadas sudden and unexpected an influence on Billy. Torn loose from his hold he was hurled like a rscket, through the air, whirling heels over head, an4 finally plunging deep into the snow-bank. The white, thick carpet did one good deed. It broke Billy’s fall, and he scrambled out with no worse result than to have the cold snow ground into his hair and skin, as if rubbed in by the fingers of a shampooer, He had brought up on a heap of rails under the snow, Tearing up one of these, atthe cry of alarm of the conductor, he commenced his sweeping assault on the windows of the burning car. “Drop that rail!” yelled the passenger, at Billy’s defiance. ‘‘ Drop it, or I will drop you!” ‘Here, you chap, if you want to lend a hand, pass up some of that snow!” cried Billy, sharply. The passenger, who was alert and active enough, and who caught the lad’s idea at a glance, hastened to gather up great handfuls of the half-frozen snow, and pass it up to the im- perative young worker. “We've struck ile, sure as shootin’! cried Billy. ‘‘In goes the snow, and out goes the fire! I can’t see a spark left, and we’ve got snow enough to spare to put out ten volcanoes and two or three blast furnaces.” It was trae; he had conquered; the fire was quenched; the deeper voices of the men added their base to his shrill treble; Billy was the hero of the hour, The rear cars, by this time, were nearly empty of passengers. They had escaped with no fur- ther harm than some sore bruises and cuts, the forward cars having taken the brunt of the dis- aster. ‘““And I want a volunteer to go back for help,” shouted the conductor. “Y'm your man,” said the red-haired passen- ger, buttoning up his cout. . ‘* One is not enough,” exclaimed a second per- son. ‘A fellow might fall or freeze in this wind, [ll go with him.” “And I! cried Billy. ‘If two’s better than one, three’s better than two. That’s my ’rith- metic,” ‘Keep the boy back,” said the second volun- teer. ‘We don’t want him, This is work for men,” ; “You need not go, Billy,” said the conduc- or. ‘Oh, very well,” responded Billy. ‘I don’t know as I’m overly anxious to have my nose and toes frost-bit.” He walked forward along the train, while the two volunteers, bundling themseves up as close- ly as possible, set off down the track, tramping through the deep snow with a long, sure stride that showed they were well chosen for the task, Had not the conductor and his associates been too busy to heed what was going on elsewhere, they might have seen, about five minutes after- ward, two other figures heading down the track, lost to sight in a minute in the darkness of the night. “Ym desp’rat’ afeard of them two chaps, Hans Breitman,” said Billy Baggage, for these were our two young friends. ‘They were too thundering anxious to go. And there’s a look ‘bout them, tro. Now, it’d he a bad hizness to have any gum game vow. Wemought have a
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Billy, the Baggage Boy. 27 Freight bu’stin’ into the stern of that train, and knockin’. everything to eternal smash. Guess we'll foller, anvhow, Hans,” “Yaw. Dat’s it, Pilly. Me don’t care not yon gum-drop,” responded Hans. For a mile, two, three miles, they trudged on nnd on, some parts of their way being easy from ihe snow having drifted from the track. In others it was heaped into almost impassable ridges, They had not overtaken the men in ad- vance, but their path in the snow was ever visi- Lle to the boys. With energy the boys went on, though they were chilled to the bone by the fierce winds, and growing very weary of the long, dragging tramp through the deep snow. They turned a short curve in the road, and there, not very far before them, gleamed out the cloar light of theflonged-for signal-station. “Hey! hurrah! We're all right, Hans! Cheer up, old chap. Ina minute more we'll be along- side a hot fire, and forget there was ever cold weather.” It was little more than a minute when he broke into the station, pushing the nearly- frozen Hans before him, and shouting out loud- vi Telegraph right and left! Instanter! There’s a bridge smashed! The Through Express is bu’sted! And there’s the very thunder to pay generally |” ; CHAPTER XVIII. THE RELIEF TRAIN. As may be imagined, the operator at the sig- ual-station—startled from a doze by the sudden interruption of the two boys, and the wild ex- clamation of Billy—leaped up in apprehension of an attack in force by armed tramps, or the running of a lightning train through the walls of his frail edifice. He was somewhat reassured on seeing only the brace of half- grown lads, one prostrate on the floor, the other rubbing him diligently, and try- ing his best to shake him into a return of bis flown senses, “Set the danger signal!” cried Billy, as he ran from the station and returned with both hands full of snow, with which he began an cueegenth rubbing of the Dutch boy’s face and bands, ‘‘ There’s blazes to pay ahead, and the next train will go to eternal smash. Here’s a young chap that’s a’most a corpsus for bis tramp through the snow. Ain’t there been two men here ahead of us?” : ‘*Not a soul,” replied the operator, just re- covering from his nervous start. ‘* What has happened? What brings you here?” “The Express, that passed you an hour or two ago, is gone up; that’s all. The bridge over the Juniata caved in. and down went the whole shebang. The killed and wounded is enormous. That’s all I’ve got to say about it. Telegraph for heip and for wrecking trains in- stanter. We've waded back five miles to give the alarm.” And Billy kept up his rubbing and rolling of Hans, who was quite wide-awake enough to try to escape from the hands of his excited friend, “This is no trick?” asked the operator, spring- ing to his instrument. ‘‘ Whoare you? I don’t know you.” “Don’t know me?” exclaimed Billy, rising to his knees in surprise. ‘‘Dou’t know Billy the detective, the premium trunk-smasher, the in- jive pile-driver, the boss boy of the road? Where’ve you been brung up, I'd like to know? S’pose you'll be sayin’ next that you don’t know George Washington, or Gineral Jackson, or Kurnel Tom Scott, or nobody that’s worth knowin’!” The operator laughed as his fingers played deft- ly upon the instrument, sending news cf the dis- aster east and west, to stertle attentive ears miles away from that little cabin in the wilder- ness. ; ‘‘Thave heard of you,” he briefly said. ‘‘ Your name is a warrant for your news.” “TJ s’pose so,” replied Billy. ‘ Didn’t I git flung, like a base-ball, off the baggage-car, and dig a ten-foot well in a snow-bank? And didn’t I pelt out the fire in the sleeper with snowballs? And ain’t I trudged five miles with old zero clean out of sight above me? Come bere, Hans, you crazy rascal; you’re half-froze yit, and you know it.” Hans had succeeded in escaping from the tor- ture which Billy was administering to him in allopathic doses, and now stood erect in a cor- ner of the station, waving his rough doctor off wildly with his bands. i "You yust go ’way, Pilly!” he cried, implor- ingly. ‘‘’Tain’t nutting ails me, and you yust keep your hantsaway. I’m all fullof pins and neetles mit your rupping.” ‘* You're a dead boy, Hans,” exclaimed Billy, “if you don’t let me rnb tbe life back to you. Come here, you lively little corpse.” He made a dash at bis victim, and for a min- ute there was a sharp wrestle in the corner of the but, while the operator’s instrument still clicked and clicked away. ‘What under heaven has broke loose there,” he cried at length, disturbed by the noise of the struggle. “Tt’s all this ungrateful young rat,” cried Billy, who had now got Hans down, and was diligently kneading nim. ‘He ought to be on the broad of bis back, half-dead with the cold this minute; and he knows it. Is’pose he'll be sayin’ next that I didn’t save bis nose and bis fingers from dropping off.” ** Anyhow, I think you have welded them on tightly enough now, Billy,” replied the amused operator. “ Let up on the boy. Ycu never saw a cricket livelier than he is now.” “Tf he ain’t playin’ possum,” said Billy, look- ing askance at bis squirming friend. “ There ain’t no knowin’ these Dutch boys, what tricks they’re up to.” He slowly got up, releasing his patient, who squeezed himself back into bis corner again, as if in mortal fear. ‘* Tt?s lucky fur him anyhow that he had Billy Baggage along,” said our hero, with a shrug, “The little ninny thought a snow-bank was a feather-bed, and he’d laid down fur a snooze if T hadn’t vetoed his little game, and boot-toed him into your shanty. Come here, Hans. What are you shivering over there fur? I ain’t
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28 Billy, the Baggage Boy. a-goin’ to eat you. Come here and hug tbe stove, and thank the stars that your nose is on your face this minute.” Hans advanced gingerly from his corner, feel ing bis organ of smell criticaliy, as if to assure himself of its safety, ‘“*Whatfor you rub my face mif snow, yust tell me dat now?” he queried, as he got within the circle of warmth of the stove. “To keap you from kickin’ the bucket, Dutchy; if you know what thatis. Any news, Mr. Telezrapher? Anything on the road?” “ Yes,” replied the operator. ‘‘There is an engine and couple of working cars near ready to start from Lewistown. They are only wait- ‘ing to get some of the road hands on board. [ have telegraphed to Altoona for doctors and hospital cars,” ‘“ Horspitals on wheels, hey? I didn’t know you had any sich riggings.” “JT think we can furnish something that will answer,” smiled the operator, as he turned again to his clicking instrument. ‘Allright. Lewis- town has started,” he continued, “ And the sooner Altoona gifs on the track the better,” returned Billy. ‘I s’pose there’s a grist of hurt folks waiting. And, do you know, it’s outrageous cold out?” “Hug the stove, Billy. I should judge you would need a thawing.” “Ob, no! It warmed me up tussling with this lop-sided Dutchman. Shouldern’t wonder much if I rattled all the freeze out of his bones, too. A hard tussle is jist about as good as a hot stove to limber a feller up.” “Dat’s so, Pilly,” retorted Hans, ‘I’m yust so limber as if I’d been walked ofer py six mules, you pet.” Laughing at Hans’s expense the operator drew up nearer the stove and questioned the boys more closely in reference to the accident. After their conversation had continued for ‘some time it was interrupted by the shrill whistle of a locomotive close at hand, The headlight of the engine glared full into their faces as they opened the door and looked out, In a minute more it had come to a halt. “ Hillo, there!” cried the engineer, loudly. “ Was it this station the alarm came from?” “ Yes,” ‘* Where's the wreck?” “Five miles ahead. The bridge has caved in. Half the train isin the river. Push ahead lively.” ; ‘ Hold hard there! Here’s a passenger!” ex- claimed Billy, as he sprung upon the engine. “You stick there and thaw out, Hans. Good- by.” He waved an adieu to the operator. “ And who are you that wants to steal a free vide?” asked the engineer. “ Pile on your steam fu’st, and ax your ques- tions arter,” said Billy, in a tone of authority. ‘Let her drive.” “Well, now she’s driving,” retorted the en- ginoer, as the train began to gather headway. ‘Now who are you?” “ One of the chaps that runs the Pennsy. I’m Billy, the Baggage Boy. If you hain’t heerd of me afore it’s cause your eddication ain’t all it ouzht to be, And I’m not mucb on tho brag, neither,” “ Hillo! my young game-cock!” exclaimed the engineer, looking into the handsome and energetic face of his passenger, ‘‘ Well, if you couldn’t crow the steeple off a meeting-house, Tll give in. That’s the loudest whistle out of the smallest boiler I ever hearl. I bet you’re a piece of stray baggage, without an owner,” “T ain't fur sale, anyhow,” retorted Billy, somewhat miffed. ‘What do you call that streak of red on the sky there behind us?” “That's daylight,” replied the engineer. **f dunno when it was wuss wanted,” said the boy. ‘‘ And the snow’s done, and the wind ain’t so sharp-edged. And all tha:s a blessing fur the poor souls ahead.” _‘“We are close there now,” responded the en- gineer. “Yes. Nota half-mile. Look out you don’t bu’st in the back end of the train, and make bad enough jist ten times wuss.” ‘All right. Any more orders?” asked the en- gineer, grimly, his keen eyes looking ahead into the thinning darkness. “Guess that’s enough to try you with,” re- plied Billy, determined to have the last word, *“*T want my conscience clear if there’s to be damage done,” “Your conscience!” retorted the engineer. “Tts tougher than a cast-iron stove-plate. Shut up, now, we're getting near danger,” In fact they were on the very verge of tho snowed-up cut. With a shrill whistle of alarm the engine plunged desperately into the drifted snow, the cut being half-filled up again by the action of the winds, The thick mass whizzed right and left as th y tore onward, the speed of the engine rapidly eee as she sunk deeper into the snowy ed. “Played!” cried Billy, with set teeth, as he looked forward, ‘‘Not a bit,” returned the engineer. ‘‘ The Lively Polly ain’t easy played. There she snails!” He was right. The cut was passed. But the engine came almost to a dead halt as she emerg- ed on the level reach beyond. At the same instant the first gleam of the sun- light shot westward from the horizon. That tarrible night was passed. Day had again dawned upon a snowed-in world, The ears of the new-comers were greeted with a loud shout of welcome. Before them stood a throng of passengers from the wrecked train, who had sprung bastily from the cars on hear- ing their whistle of warning. The new train consisted of two tool-cars, and a sore of strong-armed road-hands, who leaped eagerly out, and burried forward to the scene of the wreck, “Many killed and wounded, Mr. Perkins?” asked the leader of the working-gang of the conductor, ‘Very few, thank Heaven,” was the response, ‘Poor ‘tom Brown and his fireman have gone under, But there’s nobody killed on the train. We've got some broken arms and legs, but nothing fatal.” : ‘And the engine smashed into scrap-iron, I s’pose,” said a youthful voice. “Hey, Billy, is that you?” asked the conduc-
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Billy, the Baggage Boy. 29 prise, ‘Yes. Me and Dutchy Hans,” ‘‘ What put that insane fancy into your heads? There were two men went back.” “*T didn’t trust them men fur nothing,” said Billy, sturdily. ‘ Sure’s better than sorry, any day. If you'd waited on them we'd had help here by next Christmas, for they never went near the station, They’re a pair of murdering villains, and I’d bet my head ag’in a pumpkin that the bridge didn’t go down without hands,” “You are right,” replied the conductor, im- pressively, “The timbers were sawed nearly through. The whole business is a murderous scheme to destroy the train and all its passen- gers, which only the aid of Heaven has frus- trated.” Billy burried forward to the wreck. The bag- guge and Express cars formed an inclined plane from the verge downward to the engine, which had broken through the thick ice, and was nearly buried. The only other car seriously in- jured was the sleeper, which was little more than a ruin. Out hero, almost for the first time, now thougbt of his friend, Mr. Hamilton. He had been in the sleeping-car. He was not visible among the passengers. Where was he? With quick alarm Billy sought the car to which the wounded passengers had been re- moved, and went through it with eyes half- afraid to gaze into the faces of the poor unfor- tunates, lest he should find his frieund among the most horribly mangled. He came upon the face at last. But it was white and stil], with closed eyes, and a fright- ful pallor of countenance, ‘How is it?” asked Billy, in a frightened whisper. ‘* Dead?” “No.” replied the person Concussion of the brain, we think, one of the worst cases.” CHAPTER XIX. GEORGE HOWARD EXPLAINS. BRIGHTLY shone the sun that next day, the cold north winds fell, and the soft south whis- pered of flowers to come when the snows of winter should melt away. : But for the fortunate slackening of the train, the destruction of life must have been terrible, As it was, only the engineer was killed, though the fireman was so badly hurt that his life was despaired of. Besides these, three or four of the sleeping-car passengers were dangerously hurt. The train from Altoona arrived shortly after daybreak, and the wounded passengers were at once carefully removed to comfortable cars, and under skillful meilical care were taken on to the mountain city. At the same time the gang of road-hands set at work to clear the track, and to make prepa- rations for removing the engine from where it lay, half-supported by the ice of the frozen river, In doing this, another discovery of importance in attendance, He is | Where was made. On the end of the bridge, near the sawn timbers, a placard was found, similar to those already received by the officers of the road, and signed by the mysterious band of ‘The Chosen.” It was the second day after the disaster that our young friend, Billy, on his next trip out from Philadelphia, went through the train, mut- tering to himself: ‘There’s somethin’ a-workin’ itself through my brain that I'l git holt of the handle of yit. And it’s all’bout that Mr. Jobn Jordan. I ain’t goin’ to let Miss Claire guv herself away too cheap. There was the tall chap that went out abead of me and Hans to the signal; and that slipped out ’cross lots. If be hadn’t brick-dust hair and a turn-up nose, and a black patch on one of his blinkers, and had been the least tiifle shorter, I’d sworn it was the same fellow. Ali I’ve got to say is that Miss Claire’s mighty un- lucky in her lovyers.” As this thought ran through his mind he lift- ed his eyes—to see the first of those -lovers; for the stalwart form and handsome face of George Howard appeared in the car just before bim, Billy pressed past him with lowered eyes, un- noticed by Mr. Howard, who‘had the look of one seriously preoccupied, ‘*There’s somethin’ a-brewin’ there,” thought the boy, looking back at the strong frame of the man, who was moving toward the door of the car. It was in the smoking-car that this encounter had taken place. Our hero’s next recognition was of Mr. John Jordan, who was leaning over the edge of a seat, talking to a friend, and smok- ing with a rapidity that seemed nervous. His eyes were bent down the car, in the direction of Mr. Howard. “* Guess it’s pull Dick, pull devil, between them two; andif they’d both pull themselves away from Miss Claire I’d be better satisfied,” solilo- quized Billy. ‘If there ain’t ructions in the camp afore any of us is six months older then I don’t know beans. Tt kin smell fun ahead *bout as fur as the next boy goin’.” George Howard had by this time left the car, and proceeded on through the train. Entering the ladies’ car, he suddenly stopped, with a slight flush of tne face, on finding himself, as Billy bad done, face to face with Claire Hamilton, She had seen and recognized him at the same moment, and turned away to conceal her ex- treme agitation. In her nervous state this sud- den renconter filled her with an unimaginable al 9 He hesitated, the flush deepening on his face, his manner irresolute. For one minute he seemed inclined to pass on without other sign of ricog- nition. In fact she thought he had gone, and lifted her eyes only to find ube intense regards of his searching orbs fixed upon ber. His resolution to address ber seemed to be taken instantly. ‘Miss Hamilton,” he said, in a low tone, stoop- ing toward her. ‘I am glad of this meeting. I have wished to see you.” __ <itse Claire looked up at him witb a questioning sur- prise, that was half dread. She could not trust herself to speak, for fear that nervous agitation would overcome her,
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30 Billy, the Baggage Boy. “You have wronged me,” he continued, ““ Who has belied me I know not, nor from whom came that utterly ridiculous letter you gave me in evidence of some mysterious crime on my part. But you should not have been ready to believe such calumnies.” ‘Tt was not the letter,” she answered, in a low, coustrained tone. ‘‘I had other evidences. And from a person in whom I had every confidence, I was forced to believe,” “Brom whom?” he asked, “T prefer to give no names,” she replied. ‘‘ My informant is honest, and has no reason to be an enemy of yours,” “But, good heavens, Claire, what is my crime? Tam in the dark, utterly in the dark, as to what I have done.” She looked at him with a doubtful, wavering look, into which an element of hope slowly grew, “You know,” she said, with downcast eyes. “J made it clear to you inour last conversa- tion.” = “T know nothing, Claire, except that you _ wounded me with bitter words; and that I love you through it all.” » P There was no one within several seats of them. He was leaning over her seat and looking into her face with burning eyes as he spoke these words. “*T may have been hasty,” she slowly replied. **You were so fierce and quick. You denied nothing. You left me to believe all.” ‘* All what, Claire? Iam indeed ignorant of what I am azcused.” “T dare not tell you. If you are indeed inno- cent, the crime is mine. The crime of suspicion, distrust, disbelief in my own intuitions.” ~ “You must tell me all,” he said. ‘I must know from what I have to clear myself. Ido not blame you, Claire. I know you would not lightly have credited calumny against me.” sg turned her eyes away, confused and trem- ing. “It bas been too lightly, George,” she softly replied. ‘‘I should not have doubted where I loved. But I had heard such tales so direct and reiterated, And you were so—” “So hotandangry,” heinterrupted. ‘I know now to what you refer. 1 did not know then. There have been doubts cast upon my honesty.” | “You were accused of being an accomplice of these train robbers,” she hastily broke iv, ‘* Of these wreckers. The stories were so direct and detailed. There were so many whisperings about you, Your business was so mysterious. T have never dared ask you.” “You would not have learned,” ha replied, “There are other interests than my own involved, The time may soon come in which I can cease _ this secrecy. At present I must rest under the imputations of my enemies,” “No, no, George!” she cried, with a sudden revulsion of feeling. ‘‘ Tell me nothing. I have been criminally, unpardonably distrustful. But it was my love that made me exacting. I would have had you above the shadow of doubt.” “Which no man is, dear Claire,” he replied, taking her hand in his close grasp. ‘I cannot —— pretend to saintliness. But I love you, dear; and class myself indifferent honest.” “T bave jeen wild, foolish, in my distrust,” she said, clatpins his hand firmly in her two own, and looking up with a look of trust into his eves, ‘‘I donot know what I havedone. But— What do those men want, George?” Two men had just entered the car, and were walking forward, their ore fixed with a peculiar expression upon George Howard. ne of them, a tall, strongly-built man, dressed in plain black, now stepped forward, and laid his band, with no light touch, on Howard’s shoulder. ‘*You will come with us,” ke said. George straightened up, instantly, shaking off the man’s hand by the movement, and looking at him with eyes that flamed lightnings. “How dare you, sir? What does this mean?” he exclaimed, in tones that vibrated with indig- nation. “T thought, maybe, you mightn’t want the lady to know,” returned the man, sarcastically, “But, as long as you’re so ignorant, I'll tell you, You are arrested for train-smashing, You're known, my friend, for one of the devils that sawed the bridge, the other night. Drop your hand! Instantly!” he cried, sharply, as George's hand went to his breast. “If it is to be a gatne of bullets, I want the first hand,” But there seemed no purpose of resistance in George Howard, A marvelous change came upon bis face. He seemed to shrink and tremble under this terrible accusation. Claire looked at him, with eyes wild with agonized questioning. “‘ There, where my poor father was injured!” she moaned, as if this terrible thought alone filled her mind. ‘But this is a mistake! A hideous error!” cried George with a despairing accent. “ What villainous blunder has brought you men here— now-—” ‘Not much of a blunder, I guess,” said the man, laughing. ‘‘We’re not generally that kind of horses that race on the wrong track, Will you come quietly, my man, or shall we have to take you?’ Claire’s eyes were fixed on George with a lurid intentness. No change in a feature of his face escaped her. She read a shrinking dread and terror there, of which she had believed him in- capable, It was agonizing, the sudden change in her soul from trust to doubt, from respect. to contempt. For one moment he straightened himself up, as if inclined to resist. hen, while a quick change passed over bis face, he said, quietly: “Very well. Lam your prisoner. This hor- rible mistake shall be explained, Miss Hamil- ton,” he continued, turning to Claire. ‘ But not now, nor here, There are reasons, which I dare not even name—” “T think not,” replied the man, coarsely, ‘“Watch the newspapers, miss, and you will see the reasons brought out on the witness- stand. Are you coming, sir?” George replied by walking forward with a stately tread and in an erect attitude, not look- ing again at Claire as be left her side, “* And is this the end of it all?’ she muttered,
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with trembling lips, as her burning eyes fol- lowed his form. ‘‘ Cowardice aided to crime! And he had convinced me that I was wickedly false to him, If he bad not cringed so, and let such base terror creep into his face. Thank Heaven that I have been saved from him!” And yet a great surge of love for the man be- fore her, and of despair for ber own fate in life, passed through her soul as these cynical utter- ances left her lips. She sat like one stricken with a sudden paralysis of the brain. Meanwhile the officers and their captive passed on through the train, As they entered the smoking-car, John Jor- dan, who still stood there smoking, looked at them with eyes in which a certain triumpb lurked. His gaze was fixed on the face of George Howard, as he crowded into the seat to let him pass, with a cool stare that was full of insult. But the prisoner never even saw him, looking forward with eyes that beheld nothing tangible, As the officer who followed came up, Jordan whispered quickly in his ear: “That is be. On your lives do not let him es- cape He is a precious prize.” hrowing away his cigar, he sauntered care- lessly back through the cars, Claire Hamilton hardly lifted her eyes to notice him, as he quiet- ly took the vacant seat beside her. But at one quick glance he had seen that she was deathly fale, trembling and crouched as if all energy, all muscular force, had been stricken from her, ‘**'You look ill,” he said, in a tone of commis- eration. ‘‘ What has happened?” “Do not speak to me now!” she cried, with uick, choking uttrance, while her band was up- lifted as if to repel some unseen foe. ‘‘I cannot bear one word now!” With aslight curl of the lip Jordan lapsed into silence, Yet he could feel by the trembling of the slight form by his side, the agony that was quivering in her soul. CHAPTER XxX, CLEARING UP. THE organization of the mysterious band of ““The Chosen,” was wonderfully calculated to defeat the ends of justice. The efforts of the detective force, arrests of suspected parties, of- fering of liberal rewards, all seemed ineffectual in gaining any positive clew to the secret of this strange and terrible gang of murderers, A number of other parties were seized and placed in the same prison with George Howard, the city jail of Harrisburg. The country was searched far and wide for the two men who had volunteered for the same duty which Billy and Hans had so successfully accom- plished. Their turning off from the line of the road, and failure to report at the signal-station, natu- rally directed suspicion against them, and every effort was made for the discovery. The deep bed of snow with which the country was covered aided essentially in the search, and their track was readily followed for several] Billy, the Baggage Boy. 31 tioned, and it was soon learned that the two suspected men had appeared there early in the morning after the accident, and bad engaged the blacksmith of the place, who added to his legitimate business the hiring out of a sleigh, to drive them over to the nearest station en a branch road running to Chambersburg. The clew was followed up to this latter town and there utterly lost. The men had evidently left by some early train, and it would be no easy matter to tell just where, or in what direction they had gone. Neither ticket-takers nor ticket-sellers remem- bered seeing any red-haired man answering to the description given, aud it becan e shrewdly suspected that this auburn brad-covering was a disguise, and that the fugitives bad changed their appearance at Chambersburg, before ven- turing to leave the town. Billy was made liberal use of during these contingencies. He had been exceptionally fav- ored in seeing various parties of the con:pira- tors, and his powers of recognition were freely called on to identify suspected parties, And in the midst of this investigation a strange document was handed in to the efficers of the Pennsylvania Road, which gave them, at least, some food for thought. It appeared that the workingmen’s clubs of the city bad grown tired of being publicly classed with xn organization whose whole purpose seemed murder and destruction. It became evident that the vil'ainous gang who made murder and destructicn their modes of intimidation, were in no way efiiliated with the American workingmen. ‘They seemed rath- er to be a band which had manifested itself in such terrible ways as in the hanging of Joe Blizzard and the shooting of his confederate in crime. ° Whoever they were, and bowever organized, it was plain that their purpose was determined hostility to the Pennsylvania Railroad, and to all who gave it their support, and a deadly de- termination not to let tiveir purposes be used as a cloak for robbery or peculation, Meanwhile such parties as had already been - arrested on suspicion had all been released, with the exception of George Howard and one or two others, against whom there seemed some sbreds of evidence that would hold. Two or three months had thus passed since the date of the wrecked train, and the officers of the law seemed no nearer a solution of the mystery than at first. ® George Howard had not yet been put on trail, though it was expected his case would be called at the approaching term of court. Mr. John Jordan, who had been active in Lis arrest, appeared to be acquainted with some positive evidence against bim, and was likely to be called by the Commonwealth as one of their main witnesses. Meanwhile he had become more and more at- tentive to Claire Hamilton, and the rumor was everywhere abroad that they were engaged lovers. Mr. Hamilton’s injury proved to be severe miles aside from the road, ending in a small | concussion of the brain. It was found impossi- hamlet called Princeville, Here the few inhabitants were closely ques- ble to remove kim from Altoona, whither he had been taken, and Claire remained there in care
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32 Billy, the Baggage Boy. of him. In this filial duty she received useful aid from the assiduous attentlons of Mr, Jordan, and could not but feel deeply grateful for the earnest kindness of this true friend, whose de- voted attention she could not help comparing with the deep professions, and false actions, of him who had come to her with a lie in his mouth and a soul stained with the deepest crime. Evidently the world had reason to make a match of their own devising between Claire Hamilton and Mr, John Jordan. CHAPTER XXI. BILLY’S BUDGET OF NEWS. “THERE ain’t no use talkin’, pop. You're maybe a good hand at shovelin’in coal; but when it comes to puttin’ on the valves, and slid- in’in the steam, and lettin’ her git, it takes a chap that’s been there—like me. °Tain’t every- body as was born to be an engineer.” Billy was seated on a large piece of coal, in the tender of ths engine, facing his father, who, with a countenance well begrimed with coal- dust, leaned easily on his shovel, and looked rather proudly at bis braggart son. “Fear him, Jack,” he said, turning with a laugh tathe engineer. ‘‘ It takes a young cock to crow loud. To hear the boy you’d think he’d been brung up on a diet of throttle-valves, and weaned on crank-pins.” Jacob Bugzage had much sured in ap- pearance since we last saw him, He was cleanly shaved, and had an earnest, solid look about his face, in strong contrast to his former expres- sion. His tones, too, were firm and decided, ' Only as!igh; tremble in the hand that rested on the shovel told the story of the reformed in- ebriate, “Wor that,” responded the engineer, ‘‘ boys learn to crow, nowadays, as soon as they learn to walk. They’re like a chicken in that, they cackle before they fairly know how to seratch.” ‘“That’s all gay enough,” said Billy, amusing himself by throwing slivers of coal at the fire- door of the engine. ‘ But I haven’t been five years on the road fur nothin’. And you know it, Jack Blunt, for wasn’t it you that teached me bow to use them iron handles? I dunno now what you call them, but I bet I know what they’re for.” “You are sharp enough, Billy, Pll admit that,” replied Jack, with asmile on his broad face. ‘*I don’t know anybody, Jacob, that I'd sooner trust with my injine than this same boy; cept that he’s too thunderin’ venturesome. He’s just the one, if he found a bridge down, that ’d try to take a river ai.a fly. Aad you’d find him coming into the stations an hour ahead of the time-table.” * And ain’t it allers better a mile too soon than an inch too late?’ responded Billy, from his black diamond stool. ‘‘ That’s the Baggage mot- to. Allers be ahead of time and you'll never be . left.” ‘pose you pass a station afore the schedule time, and leave half the passengers cooling their heels and blessing the road, How would that look in reports to headquarters?’ askel Jack Blunt, as he blew a long, shrill peal from the steam whistle. His experienced eye had detect- ed proximity to a town yet waseen, ' sti he SE a Sa EE EE Re ee BLESS a ne ee ee “Td like to know myself how our smart young colt would do then,” remarked Jacob, with a laugh. “‘T’'d advise them to Varn the motto,” respond- ed the boy, coolly, ‘‘to be allers ahead of time and they’d allers be in time. Td put out my sign; time and the injine don’t stopfor nobody.” ““How many train-robbers have you spotted lately?” asked Jack, sarcastically, ‘‘ Gone sail- inground in ary trunk? Or wadin’ after red- headed reprobates, hey? “That?s played out,” retorted Billy, with an air of great disgust. ‘‘1’d guy a cow if they’d let me slide when they want their robbers ’den- tified. I ain’t nobody’s fortygraph gallery. Nor no rogues’ directory neither.” ‘* That's all cause vou ain’t spotted any,” said Jack. “If you hit the mark once you’d be proud as a turkey-cock.” “Not much,” returned Billy, decidedly. ‘TI ain’t a bit overanxious that-a-way,.” ‘* Now don’t you be a-blowing, Billy boy,” re- marked his father, fondly passing his grimy hand over the lad’s short hair. ‘‘ You'll be say- ing next that me and Jack don’t know the natur’ of boys, Why, you rascally little chap, there’s men a-living ’d be glad to bein your boots, if you’d nail one of them cubs,” ‘You bet on that!” exclaimed Jack, positive- ly. ‘Blame me if I wouldn’t like to be the fel- ler myself!” “They’d be locked up,” returned Billy. ‘“'That’s what I’m a-lookin’ at. Is’pose there’s fulks that’s got to come to it; but I don’t think I'd enjoy turnin’ the key. And Billy got up and stretched his limbs, as the train slowed up for the nearing station, ° “How about your friend, George Howard, then, that you got into the stone jugy” asked Jack, with his band on the lever and bis eye bent keenly ahead. “He ain’t no friend of mine; and I didn’t git him into trouble neither,” replied Billy, as he sprung from the slowing ergine and ran ahead to the depot. They stopped here to water, and it was full flve minutes before they got again under way. Billy had regained his seat on the lump of coal, and Hans Breitman was doubled up on the upturned blade of a shovel beside him, But there was a new expression in our hero’s eyes, a look of conscious self-importance, or ot superior knowledge which had come to him since he left the train, If he was bright enough for two however, Hans looked stupid enough ‘for a couple more, so between them they struck: a fair average in the matter of intelligence, ‘* By the way,” asked Jack, after he had got the engine once more under full headway, ‘**don’t Howard’s case come up this week?” “T think so,” replied Jacob, dropping the shovel, with which he had been vigorously driving coal into the blazing fire under the boilers. ‘‘I heard yesterday that it would start to-morrow.” “Then you’!] be wanted again, Billy.” “Nein. I dinks not,” responded Hans, lifting up his fish-like eyes. ‘“How’s that, Dutchy?” cried Jack, sharply. ‘* What do you know about it, hey?”
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Billy, the Baggage Boy. 238 een eno +i Pilly,” returned Hans, ‘I knows nix, auttin’, ’cept vot I hearn from Pilly.” ‘* So it’s you, boy,” said Jacob, turning proud- ly to bis son, ‘I thought I seen it in the shine of your eyes, You’ve got another pig by the tail, eh!” “Tt’s more of a rabbit than a pig,” replied Billy, molestly. ‘Hans don’t miss it much, though. There won’t be no trial.” “How’s that? Is the case give up? Ain’t there nothing against the man?” asked Jack. ‘Nein. "Tain’t dat. Ask Pilly; he knows,” returned Hans, scratching his head knowingly. “And what the thunder is it you know, Billy?” asked Jack, testily. ‘It’s as much work getting a story out of you two boys as to eta dead rat out of a well—and worth as much, s’pose, when it’s got,” ** Afore you cook your rabbit you’ve got to catch it,” was Billy’s enigmatic reply. “Catch it!” cried Jacob. ‘ Haven't they nabbed this one long ago?” ‘*Nabbin’s one thing, and keepin’s another,” retorted Sie “‘ He’s cut stick; broke jail and slid fur it. There’s not as much left of him as an old boot for them to freeze onto, It'll be a high old trial, with nothin’ in court but the two lawyers to scratch themselves to pieces like Kil- kenny cats.” ‘* Where did you hear all this?’ asked Jack, in surprise. “ Back there, where we jist stopped. When they fetched him in his grub this mornimg they and, nothin’ but an empty cell ‘cept one little ibem, ‘What was pn em Jack, ‘“‘A door open, a ladder ag’in’ the jail wall, and a rope made of a bed-blanket.” “And der Howard gone,” broke in Hans, “ Yust like mine gum-drops. Dey don’t stay in der mouth mooch time.” ‘* And don’t want a ladder to climb down a feller’s throat with, hey, Hans?’ cried Billy, cheerily. ‘* Not mooch, Pilly; you pet,” responded Jack, with a broad grin. “Did you hear any more, Billy?” asked Jack, with great interest. ‘“ Was he caught again?” “He aiu’t the kind .that gits caught easy,” replied Billy, ‘‘That kind of game they’d best freeze onto while they’ve got it.. I'll bet a big apple they don’tnail rge Howard in a ditch,” here was a look of satisfaction upon Jack Blunt’s face, as if he was greatly pleased with this escape. “*There’s a high old time a-brewin’, and -if there ain’t an earthquake ‘long the road afore a week of Sandays, then I’m a blower,” “What is it? Let it out, and don’t be piping forever to such an old tune,” “Folks ain’t been meetin’ and resolutin’ so long fur just fun,” continued Billy, with the pravily of an oracle. ‘I don’t believe there'll a quiet time if there’s another cut made in wages. “T think there will be some kicking against it,” remarked Jack, with a snap of the eyes. ““Tts been gone and did then,” said Billy, ‘* There’s a ten per center on the B. and O., and folks say that there’s everlastin’ thunder in the air, ** But we’ve got nothing to do with the Balti- more line,” returned Jack, a trifle relieved. ‘Don’t you swaller the balf of that now. The lightnin’s goin’ to strike nearer home. ’Tain’t a cut in wages, though.” ‘* What is it, then?” “A cut in men,” returneds the boy oracle. ‘*There’s orders out to double up on all the Freights, To build up one train out of two, and lay off half the men,” “T#ll never be stood,” cried Jack, with a pon- derous oath, as he brought his fist down with heavy emphasis, ‘‘ How can we help starding it?’ asked Jacob. “ Anyhow, it don’t touch us passenger hands.” ‘“ What touches one touches all!” exclaimed Jack, excitedly. ‘t We've got to stand togetber or tumble together; that’s me.” “Andif a feller mals u fool of hisself I’ve got to make a fool of v yself to keep him com- eet That ain’t jist te Baggace motto,” said illy, contemptuously. CHAPTER XXII, THE OLD AND THE NEW. Ir wasarather sad sick-room, that of Mr, Hamilton. For several months, now, he had lain in his none too cheerful hotel apartment, with its outlook upon a plexus of railroad tracks, and within hearing of the muffled thun- der of the Altoona work-shops. Half-way be- tween death and life was this cok vigil, and the doctor, with all his hopeful visage in the pres- ence of the patient, left the sick-room with a dubious look in his clear eyes. Into this stage of feeling, Claire Hamilton was falling. She dearly loved her father, and her first painful excitement at his injury had now become a settled depression, which it took a strong effort to hide from his inquiring eyes. During these nionths Mr. Jordan had been a frequent and attentive visitor, relieving her greatly from the hard strain®ef nursing, and earning her gratitude by the kind sympathy of his attentions. She could not but contrast his behavior with that of the man who bad won her young heart's love, and had given her in 1equital the great grief which now oppressed her. z ‘Let me see, daughter,” spoke the invalid feebly, as he moved restlessly in his bed. ‘*‘ How warm the sun is growing. Is that a rose in the vase yonder?” “Yes, father,” replied Claire, quickly, bring- ing the vase tobim. ‘1 cut it fresh this morn- ing, in the hotel garden,” e lay silent for a few minutes, following her with his eyes as she bustled nervously about the room. ‘* Claire!” he at length called. “Yes, father,” turning balf to him. “I am very sick, child. How sick perhaps you do not realize. I do not wish to alarm you; but you are all I have, and I cannot help feeling some anxiety about your future.” “ Do not think of trat, dear papa,” she softly answered, her eyes turned away. ‘* When I am gone, Claire, you will have no- hody but distant relatives. It is not a question of money, but you will need a protector; so_e
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34 Billy, the Baggage Boy. ¥ | one to whom Ka can cling, and who will save you from the hard rubs of this cruel world.” “ You are not going! 1 shall not let you go!” she cried, suddenly turning and falling on her knees by the bedside, while she clasped his head in her loving arms, ‘ And as for a protector—” “Now hush, Claire,” he interrupted. ‘ Young girls expect to get married in any case, whether they have their fathers or not; and I certainly do not wish my child to be an old maid, But in my present condition, dear, it becomes my duty to speak plainly. Is there no one whom—” She turned away with an impulsive move- ment. There was a hard look in her eyes as if the thought of what might have been was pres- ent, like a ghost of the past, in her mind. At this moment the door of the sick-room opened, and Mr. Jordan entered, His quick eyes took in the scene at a glance, and dwelt for an instant with a questioning look on the face of Claire. He then alvanced with a soft step to the bed- side and took Mr. Hamit{ton’s offered hand. “T have been away longer than I intended!” he said. ‘* Are you better to-day, sir?” “ Worse, I fear,” said the invalid, with a faint smile. “I don’t know what I should do with- out two such attentive nurses as you and Claire. You have been very kind, Mr. Jordan.” “You would not have me let my fellow-nurse wear herself out,” he replied, gayly. ‘* You see I can’t help myself. Iam obliged to be atten- tive, for both your sakes.” Tae inyalid looked for a moment into the speaker’s smiling face. “Come here, Claire,” he said, feebly. She advancel slowly, a conscious look upon her expressive features, «Ts it entirely for tre old man’s sake that you are so attentive, Mr. Jordan?” asked the invalid, with a meaning look. ‘Or is not your fellow- nurs3 one main source of attraction?” Mr. Jordan stole a quick look at Claire, who stvod beside him, but made no answer to this significant question, Keen as were his eyes, he failed to see all that was passing in her mind, the struggle between the old anil the new, ba- tween dead love and living gratitude, which gave the strange expression to her face. “T fear my child may need a protector soon,” continued Mr. Hamilton. ‘If I but knew that she would be happy and loved as I have loved her, I could die content.” A quick light shot from Mr, Jordan’s eyes. “Te l—" he cried. ‘ But that is more than I dare hope.” “He who dare not wins not,” said the happy invalid, turning to Claire, who stood quietly be- side the bed, but with her face turned toward the window adjoining. Hetook her hand in his. “You can make two bappy at once, Claire,” he said, in an appealing tone, ‘‘ and Jeave my haart at rest.” {t was a full minute before she responded to his appeal. a look of involuntary bardness com- ing into Mr. Jordan’s eyes as he stvod waiting | her response, Tbis was no hasty nor warm lover. He preferred to let the father plead his cause, ‘* Whatever you wish, father,” she replied, at length, her eyes turning with love to his face. | He quietly placed her passive hand in that of the silent lover by her side. ‘* Let this be your betrothal,” he said. Mr. Jordan clasped his arm softly round her waist, and drew the unresisting form to her. ““1f you but confirm the hope which your father has given, dear Claire,” he whispered. “Tf you will indeed be mine.” He lifted her hand gallantly to his lips. “ Nay, nay!” cried Mr. Hamilton, in a more cheerful tone. ‘Don’t be kissing bands, That is not the way we made love when I was young.” Blushing deeply Claire broke from the arm that encircled her and ran hastily from the room, ‘* After her,” exclaimed the father, ‘A bird that flies that way flies to be followed.” Mr, Jordan was quick to take this hint, and lefé tbe invalid with a very happy expression on his face. This, however, was soon replaced by a pale, exhausted look. He had much over- tasked his strength. Meanwhile the fowler had followed his bird in vain. She was nowhere to be found. We, more successful than the accepted suitor, will follow Claire Hamilton too, in her flight from the close air of the sick-room out into the soft summer atmosphere. Leaving the hotel, with no change of dress save a hat and a light shawl, she walked rapidly up the main avenue cf the mountain town, a flush upon her cheeks, and her mental excitement showiug itself in ber rapid, nervous walk, Leaving the main street she turned into a side avenue, and passed for some distance through a lane of cottages, fragrant with the sceut of flowers that bloomed in their front yards, She had soon passed the built-up portion of the town,.and found herself beside a small stream that flowed toward her through a quiet meadow. Here she paused from her excited walk, resting her hand on the limb of a low willow, and looking down with troubled eyes into the placid stream, For five minutes she stood thus, rousing quick- ly at length, as she heard a step behind her. Half-turning, Claire drew slightly aside to let this person pass, As she did so, she glanced back over her shoulder. It was with a violent start that she found her- self gazing into the face of George Howard, who had paused, with a quiet, but downcast look, before her. “You! And here!” she cried, impulsively, clinging to the branch forsupport. “ I thought —TI heard you were—” ‘Tn prison,” he supplied her hesitating utter- ance. ‘*I was to be tried fora crime which I never committed; doomed, perbaps in advance.” There was a look of settled gloom on bis fea- tures as he spoke. “ But—you are here!” she exclaimed. ‘‘ You have not been tried?” “T did not wait for the farce,” he mea re- plied. ‘I found a quicker mode of release from prison.” “You have escaped—yon have broken jail?” “That is what they call it,” be responde}, ‘Tnnocence is not so sure of redress that it is safe to await the action of legal justice.” She looked at him ineredulously, Evidently ' she did not credit bis claim of innocence,
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Billy, the Baggage Boy. 85 “ But what brings you here?” she exclaimed, with quick alarm, looking hastily around. ‘* And by way of the town, too! Fly, sir! You will be captured! I would not have you undergo the pain and disgrace of a trial and conviction.” This last sentence was spoken half in apology for her impulsive tone, ‘*T wished to see you,” he said, pleased at her manner, ‘I could not longer rest without see- ing you, whatever the danger. I cared not what the world might think, but could not live without a vindication in your eyes.” He spoke rapidly, and ina tone of deep earn- estness, Herclear eyes fixed themselves inquir- ingly on his, “T hope—I trust you are not guilty,” she re- plied. ‘‘L should te too glad to have you vindi- cate yourself, and to’ learn how this sad error, if error it is, arose.” Mr. Howard wore a troubled look asshe spoke. There was a shade of incredulity in her tone, of which she was not herself aware, **T have been belied,” he said. ‘* How, I can- not explain. There arereasons—you shall know them some day—soon perhaps, But now I am not at liberty to speak.” ‘And did you risk coming here to tell me this?” was her severe answer, though her eyes looked wearily around, in dread of possible dan- per. a No, no!” he exclaimed. ‘I came here to throw myself on your trust and generosity. To appeal to your old knowledge of and belief in me. Deeper interests than my own are involved in my silence. Not even to you do I dare tell all. But, Claire, you have trusted me before. You will believe me now when I declare myself the victim of circumstances,” ** Yet innocence has no need to fly from jus- tice,” was her softened rejoinder. “From justice, no. From law, yes. I have loved you, Claire Hamilton. I love you yet with the deepest feeling of my soul. I would not dare stand before you and tell you this were my soul tainted with crime.” “1 doubted you,” she replied, in an agitated tone. ‘Thad cause. I hope, and cannot but believe that you are truthful now.” “Tf I swear it on my love I should be perjured pita to take that falsely,” he fervently re- joined. ‘Speak not again of that, George Howard,” she replied, drawing her straight form erect be- fore him. ‘It is too late to recall the past.” ‘Too late?” ‘““Yes, Iam betrothed to another. is dead between us.” : Her tone was low but resolute, His startled eyes seemed to read but slight comfort in her face. “ Betrothed? Oh, Claire!” “To John Jordan.” A strange look came into hisface. He turned away with a slow but firm step. ‘““Tt is too late indeed. Farewell, Claire. I had hoped, but even ag is dead.” She stood clasping the limb convulsively as her eyes followed his phot form. Her lips opened as if they would recall him, but nosound came from them, Sbe watched bim as he disap- peared in the direction of the town, her heart torn by a dozen conflicting emotions, The past At length, witha deep sigh, she broke from her constrained attitude, and with downcast eyes and thoughtful brow, slowly retraced her footsteps into the town. CHAPTER XXIII. ALTOONA THREATENS, “THERE'S everlastin’ thunder broke loose now, and no mistake,” said Billy. ‘The newsis ad cata I never heered nothin’ so ridick’- us, d The train was passing round the Horseshoe bend on the mountains west of Altoona, having just emerged from the tunnel which leads to the startling but magnificent scenery of this won- derful curve. Our hero bad left his usual station in the bag- gage-car, aad had made his way forward to the engine, where he greeted his father, and Jack Blunt, the engineer, with the above observa- tion. “Hello, midget,” cried Jack, jocularly. ‘““What is it has give way? I don’t see as the safety-valve says anything.” * That’s jist what’s the matter,” replied Billy. “There ain’t no safety-valve to let off the pub- lic steam, and so there weren’t nothin’ left but an explosion. The b'iler’s bu’sted into smither- eens, that’s all.” “What's all this about, Billy?’ asked his father, severely. ‘‘I’d give something nice if you wasn’t so fond of making a monkey show of yourself.” ‘““ Think I’m blowin’ then, pop, do you?’ was in unmoved rejoinder. “T dunno as you're blowin’,” said his father, satirically. ‘‘ Butit’s never quiet weather long after your nose shows itself.” “There's thunder loose this time, anyhow at reg’lar brimstony thunder, at that,” replied ily. “What isit, Billy, boy? Let it out or get out,” queried Jack. G Billy seated himself on the side of the tender, his feet hanging, as it seemed, over the awful gorge on whose extreme edge the engine appear- ed to hang. **In course strike?” asked Billy. “Sarttin. We baven’t been living up at the North Pole, or nowheres where people knows nothing,” said Jack. “Well, it’s got wuss, and mighty wuss. The trains is stopped, right and left. The men won't work theirselves, and won't let ncbody else work. The canal boatmen are in the ring, and there’s been a scorchin’ old riot in Baltimore. There’s hot times now, you bet,” “Ts it so, sure shet, Billy? Or is this one of your yarns?” asked bis father, incredulously. “Sure? Irayther think so. Why, they call- ed the home guards out, and there was some shootin’. And there was jist the smartest,chase arter the milingtary you ever heerd on.” “Thunder!” ejaculated Jack. ‘* Things is coming to a pint. But that’s out of our dig- gin’s. Pennsy’s quiet all along the line” “‘ Not much,” was Billy’s laconic rejoinder. ‘* Aha!” cried his father. “The lads news- bag ain’tempty yit, Jack; When you see that flash in Billy’s eye you can know there’s some- ou’ve heered of the B. and O.
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thing coming, Out with it, boy. What's loose on our road?’ “Turpentine, and coal ile, and nitro-glycer- ine,” returned Billy. ‘“ Everything that'll blow up and bu’st up, There’s fun out, high old fun, andfit’s jist beginnin’, Keep your eyes skinned if yo don’t want to be ’stonished, wuss than ever a balky mule was witha pack of fire- crackers tied to its tail.” Billy had got up from bis perilous position, aul was dancing over the coal heap in a state of great excitement. He seemed to enjoy the fun in prospect, Ere the boy expected it the equal- ly excited engineer had him by the collar and was shaking him as if he would shake him out of his coat, “Blame your young skin, you’re enough to give a chap the brain-fever with your excruci- ating long ways getting ’round Robin Hood’s barn, Just promise to tell a straight story or Pll shake every tooth loose in your head.” “That's right, Jack,” said Jacob Baggage, approvingly. ‘‘Thai’s about the only way I can straighten the quirks in his brain. Out with it now, Billy, ’cause Jack Blunt’s a hard one to fool with.” ‘“Ye-yes. Ima-tr-tr-tryin’ to do it,” stam- mered Billy, between the shakes, ‘‘ But g-good gr-gracious, a feller can’t t-talk in an earth- quake.” “Then out with it,” cried Jack, setting the boy down. “And none of your roundabout twistifications,” Billy took advantage of his liberty to make a flight to the rear end of the tender, where he perched himself, looking triumphantly back at his foes. “None of that, Billy,” exclaimed his father, angrily. ‘If you run on that way, (ll cut you off in my will with a shilling; blamed if [ don’t. Z “* And whereabouts will 7a git the shilling, op?” asked the unterrified son.” ‘You'd best egin to save up.” “Coma, come, Billy,” coaxed Jack. ‘* Lat’s hear it out, boy.” ‘“* Ain’t I been tellin’ you fur a goorl fifteen minutes?” replied Billy. ‘‘ The Pennsy boys has struck ag’in’ the doubling up; that’s the news.” “ Hurrah!” exclaimed Jack, in great excite- ment, ‘I’m glad the boys has got so much fight in them, I’m a striker, too, right from the shoulder. Where did you get all this news?” “ Picked it up from the conductor. It was just telegraphed to the last station we passed, ‘They swear they won’t let a freight train leave Pittsburg fur love or money.” ‘* Who won’t?” asked the father. “The strikers, And that’s everybody and the cook.” ‘‘ Pm just glad to hear there’s so much back- bone left in them,” replied Jack, slapping one hand vigorously into the other, “Well, I ain’t, then,” returned Billy, in a very sharp and decided tone. ‘‘ I’m not the chap to go back on the bridge that’s carried me over the creek, The Pennsy’s paid me all it’s promised, and ain’t axed more from me than it?s aid fur, And jist assure as my name’s Billy *m goin’ to stick by the road, 1 don’t keer a Billy, the Baggage Boy. shot if the very brakes and smoke-stacks strike; bs a-goin’ to hang on while there’s a finger-nail eft.” With this very decided expression of opinion Billy made his way back through the train, which soon after drew up at Altoona. Our young detective, with bis usual uneasi- ness, was off the train and taking a breather up and down the long, flagged platform of the station ere the train had quite come to n halt. Be was quickly attracted by what appeared to be an unusual excitement in this center of the Pennsylvania Railroad workshops, Crowds of men were collected, gathered in knots here and there, and excitedly discussing some ab- sorbing topic of conversation. As the train stopped these men gathered close- ly round it. Particularly about the engine they swarmed, eagerly talking. Billy pressed closely to the skirts of this crowd, which seemed com. posed of hundreds of excited individuals, their arms wildly gesticulating, their voice loud and even threatening, to all appearance a mob of un- employe. workmen. ‘Where's that sassy boy? If I don’t punch his head, shoot me!” vried one fellow, angrily, forcing his way out of the throng. But Billy Baggage bad no n tion of waiting to have his head punched, Diving under a cur he came up quietly on the other side, and ran down the track toward the rear end of the train, There he again crossed to the depot side. Just here there were very few people, the crowd pre- ferring to pay its attentions to the engine. But Billy soon found something to attract his attention. Four men were carrying a sort of couch across the platform, on which lay a white- haired old man, with very pale and thin face, The boy in an instant recognized his old friend, Mr. Hamilton. Indeed, just behind him ap- peared the graceful form of his daughter. Mr, Jordan was carefully directing the motions of the men. Claire Hamilton’s eyes lighted up on seeing the well-known face of the lad. She beckoned him to her. “Tm mighty glad tosee,” he ejaculated, ** that Mr. Hamilton is goin’ to git home. I thought he was past movin’,” “He is a little better,” she replied, ‘‘The doctor thinks it is safe to make the attempt. He will be so much more comfortable and easier in mind at home.” ‘‘That’s sure enough,” responded Billy. ‘‘There ain't no place like home—cept a door- step in hot weather, or a snooze in a locomotive- tender, And I s’pose there’s people that'd think a feather-bed more comfo’table than a coal- ile.” Claire laughed at his idea of comfort. Buta serious expression came again into her face as she looked af the crowd surrounding the en- gine, “Do you think there is any danger?” she asked. ‘‘ There are such wild reports afloat. Will those men stop the train from going? Iam half afraid.” “Stop the train!” responded Billy, with a laugh of great amusement. ‘‘ You monght as well try to stop a runaway hoss with a piece of Cod |
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Billy, the Baggage Boy. 37 thread and a chalk buckle. We're a-goin’ through, Miss Claire, and don’t you be a bit afeard. They’) try that on arter awhile, I s’pose, But they ain’t got to that p’int yet.” Yet there was trouble in the boy’s eye as he watched the difficult process of getting the sick man into the train, where he was made comfort- able as possible in a sleeping-car; bis daughter and Mr, Jordan in careful attendance upon him, And the lad’s doubt appeared not without cause when the conductors rope was pulled without response in the moving of the train. This irate individual at once sprung from the train und rau forward to the engine, using lan- guage not very complimentary to the crowd as he pushed his way roughly through them. Billy followed very closely in his wake, corn- ing up to the engine immediately behind him. The undecided mob had drawn back from this vigorous movement of the conductor. To the surprise of the latter he found the en- gine deserted. ‘Where is Jack Blunt?” he cried, fiercely. ‘*Here!” responded the engineer, ‘Im not a-taking this engne through. I’m not a-goin’ tack on the boys if it rots here on the track. If you can pick anybody that wants to run her out of this crowd I don’t care; but it won't be me.” The conductor, nonplused by this defection, tried persuasion on the sturdy striker, but quite in vain. ‘Where is the fireman? Where is Jacob Bag- age?” he next asked. ““Q hand! Allers on hand:” replied that in- dividual, rolling up with a very unsteady gait. “Pn toe last repersentertive of the Baggages, that’s an old Mayflower fam’ly. If you want me to pile in coal Pll pile in coal till the old machine bu’sts to kingdom come,” Witb a lurch and a hiccough he brought up standing against an unfortunate bystander, who was sent reeling headlong through the throng. “Well, mayn’t I beshot if pop ain’t gone and got slewed!” exclaimed Billy, in a tone of in- finite disgust. ‘‘They’ve been pouring whisky into him, Mr, Perkins, and I wouldn’t trust bim to fling a chunk of coal at a goose,” “Hold up there, Billy, boy,” ejaculated his father. “’S that your respeck? ’S that your love fur your poor old dad? Exposhing of him afore all these gen’lemen?” ‘‘ What under Heaven is to be done?” queried the despairing conductor. ‘I will fire myself if there’s aman in the crowd will act as engi- neer,” He waited, but there was no response, except in the form of jeers from the more distant part of the mob. “See here, boys,” cried Billy, indignantly, “this here injine’s got to go through, If there ain’t a man’ll do it, there’s a boy’ do it. I’m your chap, Mr. Perkins. Pll put her through, or send her kiting.” Billy sprung on the engine as he spoke and grasned the lever, . “You! ejaculated the conductor, looking at him doubtfully. son ‘““He will blow you up, sure as shooting,” cried Jack Blunt, from the crowd, *¢-You know ten times better than that, Jack Blunt,” retorted Billy. ‘Canse I’m one of your own ’prentices. There’s a sick man on this train, and a gal that’s a friend of mine. 1’m a- goin’ to take them home if I’ve got to run her through blood.” The train began slowly to move under his hand. Some of the throng seemed inclined to spring on the engine. “Take the shovel, Mr. Perkins,” cried Billy, fiercely. ‘* Split the head of the first man that getson, These ain’t no times to stand "bout trifles,” The mob apparently thought discretion the better part of valor, and hung back at these threatening words, and the fierce wielding of the shovel by the conductor, Their speed increased. In a minute or twe more they were gliding rapidly away, leaving the threatening mob far in the rear, ‘“ We're all right now, Mr. Perkins,” exclaim- ed Billy. “Vl take her through if there’s a mop at every station.” And take her through he did, despite a loud- talking gathering at Harrisburg, leaving Mr. Hamilton off at the station nearest his home, and reaching Philadelphia on time. CHAPTER XXIV. ON THE EDGE OF THE VOLCANO. THE first mutterings of the strike, which we have just heard, soon spread and deepened into a war which filled the whole country. It was on the 19th of July, 1877, that the events described in our last chapter occurred, On the evening of the same day, General Latta, then in Philadelphia, was telegraphed conce)n- ing the stoppage of the freight trains, and of the determination of the strikers to prevent their running. He immediately went west, making some inef- fectual efforts to disperse the mob, and finally, on the evening of the 20th, telegraphed to Gen- eral Brinton, at Philadelphia, for additional troops, being satisfied that there was no depen- dence to be placed on the Pittsburg militia, Billy weut west again on the 20th, after suc- ecssfully bringing in his train on the previous day. ie was an exciting scene in which our friend found himself, after leaving the train in Pitts- burg and making bis way through the streets ad oe the railroad, aus Breitman accompanied him in this rather difficult walk, for these narrow streets were almost choked up with groups and masses of men, who seemed to bave worked themselves into a state of intense excitement. : Threats against the railroad were freely in- dulged in; and brawny-armed, rougb-faced, Joud-voiced demagogues did their best to stir up the passions of the mob by the most inflamma- tory speeches, Billy, an eager adherent of the road, had bard work to keep his temper at these harangues, and to imitate the phlegmatic docility of his com- panion, “ See here, Hans!” he ejaculated, ‘I ain’t a- goin’ to stand by, and let the road be kicked to death by these jackasses.” “Yust you keeps mum,” Hans stolidly an-
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Billy, the Baggage Boy. swered. ‘t Afore much, somebody’ll pe plugging your head for a vool, An’ that won’t pe so nice, not much,” “They can hear me, if it?lldo them any good,” returned Billy. ‘‘{m fur the Pennsy, right or wrong, and I don’t keer a brass farthin’ who knows it,” & “Shut your tinder-box, boy,” cried a burly, leathern-aproned map uear by. ‘* What brings babies like you, blustering among men?” “ Now don’t you be buying me fur a baby,” was Billy’s vigorous answer. ‘‘’Cause why, [ doo’t think you’d find it easy to rock me in your cradle.” ‘** Hear the young sprig!” cried the man, with a hoarse laugh. ‘* What shall I do, boys? Wrap him in my apron and give him a dipin the Alleghany?” “ Bast toss him on your shoulder, Jake, and bu no some of the young conceit out of him,” replied a sharp-eyed comrade, “Come pack, Pilly? warned Hans, pulling at his comrade’s coat, “Not if I know myself,” returned Billy. “Sp039 I care fur this old horseshoe cobbler? Tain’t that kind of a hairpin.” Taere was a general laugh at this, and the blacksmith, with an angry exclamation, at- tempted to lay hold of his sauey young oppo- neat. Big as he was, he had not fully calculated the cap rbilities of a boy like our hero. Instead of making an effort to escape, Billy plunged heidforemost between the legs of the giant, Unfortunately for the latter, he was bending forward at tha moment, The consequence was he mide a headlong tumble to the ground, his arms and legs spread out, spread-eagle fashion, Before he could regain his scattered wits, Billy bad sprung up and danced an impromptu jig on his broad shoulders.. As the fallen man began to heave upward, with many a curse and groan, Billy shot nimbly through the mass, call- ng out to Hans: “Come ahead, Dutchy, ’Tain’t healthy there, I wouldn’t stay, if I was you, till that rusty old hammer rattler gits on his pins ag’in,” Tae crowd laughsd gool-humoredly, as it opened to let the boys through, Taoere was evidently little sympathy for tue fallen cham- pion. * In a little while more our brace of young friends came out of the contracte | streets onto the wide space occupied by the numerous rail- road-tracks, Here lay hundreds of baggage-cars, stretching in long traias over seemingly miles of track. Attached to them were numerous engines, with drawn fires, mounted guard over by groups of men of a different caliber from those whom the boys had encountered in the streets. Those had been idlers; workingmen whose day’s labor was done, storekeepers, women, and a decided sprinkling of boys—tse olla podrida of the streets of a manufacturing town. Thesa were men of one profession, and with a common purpose in the linesof their resolute faces, They were the railroad men, the strikers, who had de- clared that no trains should move until their cane aes were righted, and who were quietly, ut effectually keeping their word, “1f this ain’t fun, I dunno what fun is,” said Billy, with little thought in his young soul of what was in the near future, ‘ Sure’s you live, there’s Jack Blunt ’mong themstrikers. *Spect- ed to find him thar, though, arter yisterday.” * An’ dere’s old gum-drops, what I cals him,” remarked Hans, pointing in another direction, “Harry Bodkio, by gum!” ejaculated Billy. “Come away, Hans. I’m afeard Ill git sassy if I go talkin’ with these men.” “You not much like him now?” asked Hans, as they turned in another direction. “Never did,” replied Billy. ‘‘I’ve been du- berous of him fur a good while now. When I got carried off in that trunk, I thought Harry Bodkin helped the robbers,” Hans said nothing, but appeared to keep up a wonderful amount of thinking. They had not got much farther ere Billy grasped his compan- ion nervously by the shoulder. * Hold your horses Dutchy!” he cried, ‘‘ and guv a feller time to breathe, ‘‘Jist use your peepers to advantage now.” ‘Don’t see nix,” returned Hans, ‘t but smoke, and cars, and peebles.” “Tis Pop Baggage, or I don’t know a butter- fly from a hornet! And I bet he’s got a load of whisky aboard that'd freight the biggest of them cars till the axles squealed.” Hans looked rouna to see advancing toward them, by a path that seemed twice as wide as it was long, the familiar form of Jacob Baggage. “Now look a-here, pop,” exclaimed Billy, walking resolutely up to his father, ‘“‘ what I’m he ae to know is if yowre with them strik- ers?” “Wish I only knowed, dash) if I don’t,” mumbled the inebriated man, ‘S'jose that’s what I’m here for, But d like tes know.” “Ts only rum then. It ain’t dishonor to the Baggage fam’ly,” said Billy, in a tone of relief, “Td like you to ’splain next what size of a whisky barrel you’ve been bathin’ in?” ‘* In the old Monne—Monnegebaley,” muttered Jacob. “T thought so, It’s the Monongehaley River that runs past this town. And that’s what they eall the whisky arter. I knowed it weren't nothin’ less than a souse that got bim so sweatin’ full, File right, pop. Me and Dutchy's goin’ to march you off the field, like so many Pitts- burg millingtary, that allers marches the wrong way about,” “ You go ter grass,” hiccoughed Jacob. ‘‘ I’ve got this car ter tend, an’ I’m goin’ ter tend it till I die—or ’splode.” ’ ‘T wouldn’t keer to be too close by if you ex- ploded jist now,” said his dutiful sm. ‘‘Come on, pop. You've got to have this whisky sweated out of you, and jine the temperance s'ciety agin, It’s the railroaders made you drunk, and I'm goin’ to fetch you back to your sober senses ag’in, or melt a-tryin’.” Tt was no light task the two boys had under- taken, however, Jacob wasina glorious trim for building worm fence; but marvelously unfit for describing straight lines; and just as per- verse as Paddy’s pig, that could only be got in one direction by making believe to drive itin the opposite. : By the time then that Billy had got his precious
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Billy, the Baggage Boy. 39 parent to bed in a small Pittsburg hotel they had traveled at least three times the requisite distance, and exhausted an amount of patience sufficient to build a very imposing monument to this useful virtue, CHAPTER XXV. A RIOT TO ORDER, ‘“WisH this bit of work were only put through,” remarked Billy, as be and Hans walked leisurely through the Pittsburg streets on the next day. ‘'There’s a lady friend of mine “bout to be spliced, and I’ve got an inver- tation to the fun. But there ain’t no slidin’ now.” “ What’s spliced?” asked Hans, curiously. “Why, tied up without ropes; jist tumbled in love and tryin’ to git cured of it, you know, ra Tm afeard she'll git cured migbty sud- en. ““Dat’s all French, Pilly. I don’t know nix pene you means,” answered the perplexed Dutch Oy. “ Why, married, that’s what,” said Billy, tes- tily, ‘‘and you don’t know no more English than a beetle. The lady I took on from Altoona, with her sick dad. Miss Claire, I mean. Well, she’s goin’ to be spliced next Monday to that queer chap, Jordan.” “So quick as dat, Pilly?” “Yes. Mr. Hamilton’s duberous he’s goin’ to peg out—die, you know. He wants the wed- din’ fixed sure afore there’s a funeral.” “Oh! yaw. Isee now,” remarked Hans, with an air of intense satisfaction, ‘ Der lady’s to pe married, and den he’s to godead. Den dere Il pea funeral. Yaw, dat’s govt,” and Hans laughed as if greatly amused, ““Tt's a thunderin’ good joke,” replied Billy, in disgust. ‘‘ Only I don’t jist see where the funny p’int comes in,” ‘OTain’t everypoty can,” returned Hans, still laughing. Billy subsided into contemptuous silence, and led the way from the quiet streets in which they had been walking toward the center of excite- ment. It was not many minutes before they found themselves in the vicinity of the railrond depot, and in the beart of a gathering mob. _ The boys maneuvered for a good position, and in doing so found themselves on the edge of a crowd in which loud talk was going on.. A tall, broad-shouldered fellow seemed the Penctpsl orator here. He had his back to the oys, but Billy was strongly attracted by some- thing familiar in his figure and dress. “T don’t keer what man it is,” he was ener- getically saying; ‘tI don’t keer if he flings the hammer or the file, if he’s at home at a switch or in a rolling-mill. It’s every man of you workingmen that’s to be tramped down by this bloody railroad monopoly, and to be shot down where you won’t be put down, But [ve a no- tion that you're not the men to stand it,” The burly speaker, at this point in his oration, turned round, so as to face the other portion of his audience. Billy caught one quick glimpse of bis features, and griped the Dutch boy’s arm with a force that made him wince with pain, “Hush, Hans! Don’t say a word,” Billy eeoty 4 whispered, ‘‘If I ain’t hooked the biggest fish out, then sell me.” “What kind of fish, Pilly? I see nix fish, no- how.” ° ‘* Tt?s a cross *twixt a whale and a shark,” re- plied Billy. ‘* Hold still, boy. 1 want to see that other chap closer.” Working his way through the crowd, our hero got within short eyesight of the street orator, who was just then indulging in some vehement opinions concerning monopolies in general, and the Pennsylvania Railroad in par- ticular. When Billy returned again to his waiting friend there was a very significant grin upon bis expressive face. ‘“*They’re nailed; sure as shootin’ !” he ejacu- lated. “If we aint in clover to-day, then there weren’t never a bee sucked honey. Keep your eyes skinned, Hans, We must watch them two men sharper than ever a hawk watch- ed a stray chicken,” ‘Dem men! Which? Der speakers?” Just so, Them’s them.” ‘ But dem’s who? Dat’s what?” “Hallo! old stupid. Don’t take yit, hey? Why, the Rights-of Men chaps. The murderin’ crew that hung Joe Blizzard, and flung the train over at the bridge. That tall one’s big Hughey that helped steal the trunk. T’other was the red-headed chap we fellered through the snow, I know the pair of them; and there’s a pile of money on their heads for the fellers that nabs them.” It was not long before the orators left their hearers, They did not appear to be acting in concert, yet Billy observed that they kept within sight of each other, and that they stopped at each separate group of men to in- dulge in inflammatory orations, ““Tf they split, Hans,” said Billy, ‘‘ 1 take big Hughey for my game. You kin spot t’other chap. And mind your eye, boy; fur if you let bim fling you I’m a-goin’ to comb your hair, lively.” 3 The two men thus followed seemed to have a very definite object in view. This was to arouse the passions of the mob, and to prepare the way for a violent demonstration against the road and the expected military force. This quiet pursuit of the boys had contipued for about half a mile when our quickwitted oung friend made another startling discovery. e continued for some distance further without saying anything, then remarked in a cautious tone to Hans:- ‘Fling your eye over your left shoulder, Dutchey, back to the corner of the big ware- house. See if you don’t spy a tall stoutish chap? He’sa good-looking feller, with a mus- tache, and striped legs to his pants. Don’t let him see you lookin’.” “Yaw,” said Hans, ‘ He’s dere.” “The fun’s gettin’ deeper, then,” replied Billy, ‘« That’s the coon that bu’sted jail. That’s George Howard. What the thunder be wants trailin’ these Commonistikers, gits me.” “How you know dat?” asked Hans, “Tseen him, Been watchin’ him these ten minutes, through the back of my head,”
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Billy, the Baggage Boy. “Nein! Nein!” cried the Dutch boy, in vigor- ous dissent. ‘‘ Dat’s all big nonsense, How you see through your head, hey?” ‘Tf I told you how to do it, Dutchy, you’d be as smart as ma; and I guess you’re smart enough now,” replied Billy, gravely. ‘‘ He’sarter them, there’s no rubbin’ that out, And if itain’t a queer joke (ll guvin. Set a rogue to watcha rogue, they say. Keep your eye on him, Hans, I’m afeard he’ll know me.” “How's dat, hey?” queried Hans. ‘* Keeb my eye on dat man in front, an’ on dat man behint. Now dat’s anudder big nonsense. Ain’é got nix eyes in back of my head.” “* Look round, now and then,” explained Billy. I'd guv a cow to know what Howard was arter. One of Big Hughey’s partners was hung, and tother shot. Maybe Hughey’s goin’ to be ven- tilated, Wish I had three pair of eyes now.” As thay proceeded down the lina of the rail- roai the crowd rapidly increased. It was very evident that the railroad men formed the small- est portion of it. It was composed chiefly of un- employed workman, and of men who had finish- ed their Saturday’s work, and joined the mob on their way home, They seemed hot and bitter against the rail- roai authorities, and formed very inflammabls materiul for the fire-brand orations of Hughey anl his associate, and of other similar dema- gozues who wera actively engaged in other parts of the excited mass, It looked very much as if a concerted effort was being made to stir them up to deeds of -vio- lence. Much was being sail about tie troops, and fierca threats uttered against them. Billy hal seen no troops, and ventured to ask what they meant. “The Philadelphia militia,” answered the man asked, ‘* They bave been inat the Unioa Depot this hour. I hear they are marching down Lib- erty street.” He had hardly spoken before the head of tie column apypearel, precaded by the sheriff’s posse behin‘l whom the gleam of muskets was visible. It was a dangerous march for these few hun- dreds of untried men, Ths wide space of the railroad-tracks, the alj>ininz streets, the steep hills that overlooked the roid, were alike filled with a danse mass of man, wh)se belligerent disposition was shown ia jaers and defiance of the troops, and an obstinate refusal to move when ordered. Billy had forced himself through the very heart of this mass, and was now within arm’s- length of Hughey, who had in some mysterious Manner b3come possessed of a musket, which he brandishad abova his head as he called upon the mob to resist, The troops now filed out upon the track at Twenty-sighth street, forcing the mob back un- til two tracks were clearal. General Brinton, in command of the troops, finding it impossible to force his way further, now ordered his men to ‘‘ charge bayonets.” This was the spark that set fire to the inflam- mable tempers of the people. Big Hughey’s musket, which he was roughly handling, went off in the air. Asif this were a signal a shower of stones was instantly rained upon the troops, ———— ee ———————————————————————————————————————————————————————————E————— ee a followed by several pistol-shots, A number of the militia were seen to fall. Big Hughey, with reloaded mnsket, now stationed himself in the corner of a side alley, from which he fired point-blank at the troops, loudly urging the men surrounding to clean them out, ‘ Kill every mother’s son of the hounds,” he yelled. ‘‘ We'll show them the kind of metal there is in Pittsburg.” At that instant there was the sharp crack of a musket in reply. The exposed man clapped his hand suddenly to his breast, and tottered on the stone to which he had leaped. “Tve got it! Ive gotit hard! Revenge me, boys,” he cried, as he fell heavily backward. A dozen arms were outstretched to receive hi im. “ Right through the breast,” exclaimed Billy, as he saw the blood oozing through the wound- ed man’s shirt. ‘‘ Poor fellow! Where shall we take you?” “Take me where I can be doctored,” re- plied Hughey, lying limp in the hands of his supporters, The firing had ceased. The troops held their ground, The scattered shreds of the mob were slowly returning. The man who held Hughey bore him slowly down the alley, and to a drug-store near by, where his wound was examined and dressed, ‘Poor devil! [ am afraid he has got his last sickaess,” said the doctor, on leaving the room. ‘““The ball seems to have touched the lungs, Get bim quickly to his home, men, Make him comfortable as you can.” They obeyed, receiving low-spoken directions from the wounded man. It was a small inn, not far away, to which they carried him. One of the most assiduous of his followers was our : riend Billy, who was bent on tracing his quarry home, Hans had long since disappeared, as Billy sup- posed, on the track of the second agitator who had been delegated to his watchful care. “ And as two boys can’t well go three ways at once, I s\pose George Howard's clean guv us the slip,” thought Billy, as he turned away. hat was his surprise, on looking round, to see near him the person just then in his thoughts, closely surveying the house to which big Hughey had been taken. “Aha! ‘The Chosen? is in the field again,” surmised Billy. ‘*‘ Anyhow, Hughey is past be- ing ventilated by him, that’s some comfort,” CHAPTER XXVI. THE ASSAULT ON THE ROUND-HOUSR, THE night that followed these stirring scenes was one of sleeplessness to all parties concerned, and of incessant alarm and excitement. The Philadelphia troops had retired from their exposed “position to the railroad round-house, placing sentries to guard the adjoining offices, So the night went through, the harassed sol- diers scarcely getting a wink of sleep, and al- most destitute of provisions. The first hours of that eventful Sunday found both parties on the alert, the infuriated mob closely besieging the round-house, and quite
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Billy, the Baggage Boy. a1 preventing the entry of provisions or aid from without, * As for Billy with whose share in the business we are more particularly concerued, he was on the field of battle long before daylight, refreshed by a sound night's sleep and a hearty breakfast. He met Hans near the Union depot, and his first demand was: “Got your man holed, Dutchy? You know the rations I pone you if you let him slide.” “Which of der mans?” asked Hans, backin from his energetic friend. ‘‘Dere was two had ter see, One backwart and one forewart.” “And I bet a cow’s horn you didn’t see neither,” : “Nein,” returned Hans, with vigorous ges- ticulation. ‘‘ While I was looking for der one, der t’other went. An’ while I was looking for der t?other, der one went. An’ den I looked fer der both, and dere weren’t none. An’ den der crowd comed in, and der shooting; you knows.” “Oh, yes! I know,” responded Billy, with su- preme contempt. ‘‘I know the kind of a’coon you are. You'd like me to have three pair of eyes, and two pair of legs. I promised to comb your hair, Hans Breitman.” ‘* Yust you keeps away, dat’s all,” cried Hans, backing belligerently. “Look at the little fighting-cock!” laughed Billy, in great amusement. ‘I shouldn’t won- der if he would be game fur around or two. But ’tain’t wu’th while scratching a feller’s nose *eause nature ain’t put no brains into his head. Tain’t bis fault, I s’pose. Come on, Hans, I won’t hurt you.” Hans obeyed this invitation very gingerly, keeping a good arm’s-length from Billy. This peace-offering seemed too sudden to be trust- worthy. “Got two of them holed myself,” continued Billy. ‘ George Howard and big Hughey. Like- ly we'll find the other speechifying to the mob,” They were soon in the heart of the mob, work- ing their way forward as only two boys can, darting under arms and Jegs in a way that dis- turbed the equilibrium of more than oue indi- vidual, until their pathway was paved thick with the curses and threats of the jostled citi- zens. Little cared our pee a ietective for all this, as he made his way, with Hans close at his heels, to the vicinity of the scene of the siege, the threatened round-house rising dark and desert- ed-looking in front, the dense masses of the swaying mob filling all the surrounding space. At this moment the crowd around the boys was disturbed and forced back by the onward surging of another portion of the mass, There seemed to be something heavy in their midst, which they were dragging onward to the front. In a few minutes more they opened and re- vealed the object to be a twelve-pound cannon which they had placed less than a hundred yards from the round-house, and _ trained it di- rectly upon that devoted building. At this juncture the quiet-seeming edifice awakened, iu a demand upon the crowd surrounding the gun to disperse. On their defiant refusal to do so a volley belched forth from the dark walls of the fort-like building. Its effect was terrible. A chorus of screams and cries arose and when the smoke had blown aside 1t was found that no less than eleven of the besiegers bad fallen, dead or wounded. At this dreadful punishment the others hastily fled back, not venturing to remove the victims of the fire until they had gained permission of the military to do so. “This is hot, Hans,” said Billy, cautiously. “S*pose we drop back a bit. *“Tain’t our fight, you know, end there's not a bit of use in us stop- ping stray bullets.” Hans appeared to think the advice as choice a . bit of common sense as he had ever heard from Billy’s lips, and they quickly retired from the almost deserted, exposed spot which they had occupied, They were now in the midst of the men behind the gun. A daring fellow was just advancing, with the hope of being able to discharge it before being seen. He reckoned illy on the vigilance of the sol- diers, however. The night was light enough to render him plainly visible, and there came a sharp rifle report from the round-house, just as he was about to Jay his hand on the gun. With a deep groan of pain the baffled volun- teer fell prostrate. A considerable time elapsed before any one ventured to repeat this perlous experiment. The body of the fallen man lay there, quite in- ert, and, to all appearance, lifeless, in dread warning to any further such daring attempt. Finally, from out cf the fuming mass, an- other started forward, creeping so that his form was ee. visible on the shadowy surface of the ground. He reached the gun apparently unobserved, and with foolhardy daring raised bimself erect, swinging his cap defiantly in the air, ‘his proved a dangerous defiance, A rifle-shot crack- ed again from the gloom-enveloped round-house, and with a cry of pain the fellow turned and ran hastily back, the arm which had waved the cap hanging helplessly by his side. He had gota vifle-bullet through the exposed arm. ‘Well, I wouldn’t buy that gun for the price of old bones, if I had to take it away from there,” reaarked Billy, in a soliloquy. The crowd seemed largely of the same opinion, for a half-hour passed without another volun- teer, The day seemed now not far from its dawn- ing. A dim line of light marked the far eastern sky, and the shadows of the night began to grow less dense. . At this juncture the babble of talk, orations, and threats,which had swelled to a hubbub in the crowd, was broken into by the tones of a keen, loud-speaking voice, that seemed at once familiar to our young friend, Billy. ; ““Ts there not a man among you,” it said, “that dare fire that gun? Halt of you are old soldiers, and not the men to let a handful of boys overawe you. If you can’t do it, then let a hundred of you rally to the gun. You can give them iron balls for their leaden bullets.” “By gum, Hans,” whispered Billy, ‘‘ there’s your man ag’in. There’s the Commcnistiker.” He was right. It was that passionate dema- cegue, again blowing up the embers of the fire
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42 Billy, the Baggage Boy. he had kindled. But the assailants were not so easily to be put into the traces. ‘“That’s good preaching,” cried one, con- temptuously. ‘‘ Now let’s see your practice, You've been blowin’ these two days now. It’s all very well for us to pull your chestnuts from the fire. Let’s see you fire the gun.” “Tnever yet asked a man to do what I was afraid to do myself,” exclaimed the orator, in a passion, ‘I will fire the gun, or die trying.” He was as good as his word. Not attempting to creep, as the last man had done, he sprung boldly forward, and in a minute stood beside the gun, a small, but erect and defiant figure. His hand was on the lanyard of the gun. The lookers-on beld their breath in the deepest sus- pense. For that one moment their very hearts were stilled in the intensity of nervous excite- ment. ; Then again came the sharp report of the rifle. But this time the aim had been less true. The man stood unhurt. There was a new excitement for the crowd. Simultaneously with the shot a second figure broke from the front of the dense mass of people and ran hastily forward. To his utter surprise Billy recognized the well- known figure of George Howard. ** Well, if this don’t beat gambling!” he mut- tered, between his teeth, ‘Is he goin’ to help the other fira the gun? Is all ‘The Ciosen? in the ring ag’in’ the soldiers?” But Howard’s object appeared to be diffe ent. “Don’t fire!” be exclaimed, waving his hand toward the round-house, “This man is my prisoner. I arrest him on the charge of murder! The law must deal with bim!” “Traitor!” was hissed from between the set lips of the Communist, as he seemed to be fum- bling in fis breast for a weapon. But the warning to the soldiers came too late. Again from the round-house darted a gleam of flame, again came the sharp report of a rifle. He turned half-round, and -then fell prostrate on his face, with both arms extended above his head. “ Dead!” came earnestly from Howard's lips. ‘* He has cheated the gallows!” CHAPTER XXVII. THE MYSTERY OF THE ‘‘ CHOSEN.” AT this startllng and tragie termination of the attempt to arrest the would-be gunner, a hush of wonder fell upon the crowd, All was stillin the direction of the round-house. The soldiers had evidertly caught Howard's words, or the meaning of his daring action, and for- bore to fire. Howard had leaned for a moment over the forin of the fallen man, as if 10 satisfy himself thit he was indeed dead. But Billy, who was in a good position for observation, noticed that when he removed his hand from the breast of- the slain man it contained some small object. George Howard walked deliberately back to the crowd, as if equally heedless of possible b»1- lets fron the soldiery, and of the angry locks and tbreatening words which were beginning to prevail in toe throng. Howard seemed to appreciate the danger in ness of an infuriated mob, He stopped stock- still, and coolly surveyed the threatening faces for a moment. “Do you know who that man was that lies dead back yonder?” he asked. No. e is one of us,” came from various ips. “You are honest men, I hope?” “We would like to see the man who dares say we are not,” responded a brown-faced old man, ° “If you are, then why do you claim friend- ship for murderers? That man is a fugitive from justice and the law, Heis responsible for the deaths of at least two men, and tbe injury of many others. It was he who cut the bridge near Lewistown last winter, and wrecked an Express train. I don’t know how many more murders he has done. Is this the man you claim for a friend?” “No, no!” eried the men, with a sudden re- vulsion of sentiment. ‘‘ We have nothing to do with murderers,” “Then [ am an officer of the law, and that man has only escaped the penalty of his crimes. Of course you do not own such associates.” Howard walked resolutely forward, and the crowd respectfully made way for him, their dis- trust removed by bis bold bearing and his shrewd working on their feelings as honest working- men. They remembered that the dead man bad been a stranger to them all, and a sinister-look- ing stranger at that. “ Tf that ain’t a cute dodge, then I don’t know beans,” said Billy, in an aside to Hans. ‘‘ But I don’s b’lieve it’s all gospel as George Howard preaches, I’m a-goin’ to foller him and see where he fetches up. ’Twixt me and you, Hats, I dunno quite what to make of bim.” With some effort the two boys extricated themselves from the thick of the throng, and entered the less densely-packed mass through which Howard was now slowly threading his way. At this moment the attention of them all was attracted by a loud, excited outcry from the people. A quick surge forward carried our friends with it despite themselves. Looking eagerly forward in the direction of this move- ment they saw a lurid glare tinging the mists of the early morn with a blood-red gleam. The surge of the throng carried them to the end of the street which they had just entered. Gazing forward an alarming spectacle met their eyes. The fierce rioters had set fire to the leng lines of freight-cars which filled the tracks of this part of the read, and the flames were already ascending in long wreaths into the air. “Tt’s gittin’? hot there, Hans, It’s gittin’ hlaziu’ hot,” ejaculated Billy. ‘ ’m afeard our friends is goin’ to git their whiskers scorched if they don’t make tracks mighty sudden— But where’s George Howard?” There was no George Howard in sight. He had become separated from them in the move- ment of the crowd, ‘““No matter. I know where to lay my finger on him when I want him,” said Bully, phil- osophically. ‘‘And I’m kinder anxious to see this out.” which he stood, and the wolf-like bloodthirsti-! ‘Yaw. Idinks so, too,” remarked Hans, f ’ ‘
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Billy, the Bagg2ge Boy. There was evidently some movement in pre- paration among the soldiers. Billy maneuvered for a better position, and was almost in front of the burning building, when the gates suddenly opened, and the bead of the line of troops march- ed out. Leaving the scene of destruction on the rail- road, where train after train of cars was burst- ing into flames, and the spirit of plunder was succeeding to the thirst for indiscriminate de- struction, Billy led the way rapidly back into the town. “Big Hughey’s our game now, Hans,” he said. ‘And I wouldn’t be afeard to bet a brass dollar that we'll find George Howard somewhere "bout the same shanty.” The Dutch boy had no reply to make to this shrewd observation, but trotted contentedly along beside his readier companion, satisfied to er Billy think for him as well as to talk for im, They soon reached the small inn to which the ene man had been taken on the previous ay. ‘* How's the chap that got ventilated yisterday gittin’ along to-day?’ asked Billy, boldly, of the barkeeper. “* One hundred and twenty-seven,” replied that individual. “One hundred and twenty-seven what?” “Folks that’s asked that same question to- day,” returned the barkeeper. “* Keepin’ count, bey?” retorted Billy. “ Chalk us down for two then. Is he alive, or has he kicked the bucket?” “ Just kicking at it,” said the grinning bar- keeper. ‘* We've got some bizness with him,” continued Billy. ‘‘ Friends of bis’n, you know.” ‘So has the man that’s in there now.” “Tall, good-lookin’, black mustache?” asked op “That's his photograph.” ‘* We was to ax for bim,” Billy coolly replied. ““Where’s the room?” “Second story. Just at head of stairs.” Wasting no more words on this short-spoken fellow Billy led the way into the hall, and up the narrow flight of stairs. As he approached the door at the landing the sound of voices was heard within, through the crack of the partly-opened portal, ‘Stand where you are, Hans,” whispered Billy. ‘‘l want to git closer and hear what’s goin’ on inside.” He was soon with his ear to the door, without a single conscientious scruple against the sin of eavesdropping. The voices within were now perfectly audible to him. ; “TL s'pose you’re one of us,” spoke in a feeble tone the rasping voice of big Hughey. ‘But you ain’t in the circle of ‘The Chosen.’ I have nothing more to say.” = “There are none of them left alive,” replied the voice of George Howard, ‘The fight to- day has wiped them all ont, except myself and the ‘ Chosen Master.’ [ demand from you the name of the ‘ Master.’” ‘“‘On what authority?’ demanded Hughey. “Prove that you are an accepted member of the * Chosen,’” as ? “By this token,” replied Howard, banding sometning to the dying man, which seemed to Billy to resemble the object he had taken from the dead man. For Billy had advanced his head so far that be was able to see the occupant of the room. He saw, to his surprise, the wounded man take the object with an air of the greatest reverence, and press it to his lips. “It is enough,” he murmured, the token,” ‘ ‘* The ‘ Master’s’ name?” asked Howard, bend- ing his head down to catch the rapidly-enfeeb- ling voice, The answer came low, but clear and dis- tinct. “John Jordan.” ** Ha!” cried Howard, with an involuntary morement of surprise. The eyes of the dying man fixed themselves with a look of sudden distrust on his face as he fell backward with a feeble groan and expired. “Dead!” said Howard, placing his hand on the lips of the prostrate man. ‘“ Dead, and all his secrets with him, unlessI can find the full proofs on his person. 1 have played off one of the villains against the other well. But John Jordan! Can it be that he is indeed the mys- terious Jeader of this gang of murderers, «hem I have been pursuing so long? John Jordan! A man whom I had every reason to suspect, yet never dreamed of suspecting of such crimes as t! ese men have committed.” “Tf he’s that kind of a tent-pin, then you'd best be up and gittin’ quick as ligbtnin’,” ex- claimed Billy, bursting into the room. ‘“‘Ha! What do you mean?’ cried Howard, turning in deep surprise. “T. mean that John Jordan is to be spliced to Claire Hamilton inside of twenty-four hours, If you want to save her ycu’ve got to make the biggest headway home, fer every telegraph wire’s down, and every ingive within ten miles of Pittsburg is turning into ashes and old iron, ““T recognize CHAPTER XXVIII. ON THE HOME TRACK. GEORGE Howarp and the two boys hurried rapidly through the streets after leaving the bedside of the dead man, It was now approaching midday. The streets everywhere were full of excited pecple, most of them hurrying toward that point where cenve clouds of smoke, shot through with the red tinge ot flame, told of the work of destruction stil! going on, Never had the Iron City been so alive with excitement, so full of wild deeds to be repented and atoned for in its calmer moments. “Tt is a bad business,” said Howard, shaking bis head. “Better fur you,” hroke in Billy. “There won’t nobody try to.nab you, while all this is goin’ on.” ~ “Tt is an ill wind blows nobody good, you see,” returned Howard, langhing. *‘* Cc me this way, boys, We must try the telegraph office at once.” “No use,” replied Billy. ‘The wires run along the track. They are all down by this
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TITIES, Billy, the Baggage Boy. time. the telegraph to fetch it up. think it a dodge.” “ What’s to be done then?” asked Howard, in momentary perplexity. ‘Nothin’ short of an ingine and a good head of steam will do the work,” remarked Billy. ‘But how?” returned Howard. ‘‘ Where is the engine? And if we had it who is to take it through?” “I s’pose you want to save the gal from gettin’ spliced to a murderin’ vagabond like we’re told this John Jordan is?” queried Billy. “Yes!” was the answer, in tones of unexpect- ed fierceness, “Then we've got to git the ingine, that’s all,” continued Billy. ‘*They’re burrfin’ them up, by wnolesale, here in Pittsburg. But Pittsburg ain’t all creation, and there’s ingines somewhere, that our legs or horses’ legs has got to take us to.” “ Dat’s der talk, Pilly,” exclaimed Hans, with enthusiasm, ‘* You don’t see half the difficulties, my boy,” said Howard, ina tone of despondency. ‘‘ Sup- pose we should find an engine, do you imagine, fora moment, that we would be allowed to take it? And where, in thisstrike, could the engineer and fire be found to run it?” “ Here’s der engineer!” exclaimed Hans, pat- ting Billy proudly on the shoulder, *“ Pilly’s der boy to run der engine.” “Tt wouldn’t be the first one I’ve sent spin- nin’,” said Billy, modestly. ‘‘ And fur fireman, there’s Pop Baggage. He’s as sober as a two- year-older by this time. If the two Baggages, Pop and Biily, don’t fetch her through, then don’t talk.” ‘* But we haven’t found the engine, nor the order for its use,” remarked Mr, Howard, doubt- ful in mind as to the possibility of the boy’s Utopian scheme. ‘‘ The best we can do, I fear, is to seok the nearest telegraph office outside the city, and send a messageon, If the wires are not down further on!” ** Dey say der wires is cut at Harrisburg,” re- plied Hans, ‘““ We're goin’ through by steam,” said Billy. positively. ‘* Mr, Cassatt, the vice-president of the road, is af the Union Depot. He knows ma and I van git an order from him, On bizness of the road, you know,” and Billy gave a very knowing wink. ‘‘ Hans, you take Mr. Howard to our hotel; the Pine Alley Continental. See that Pop Baggage is as straight asadie. Tell him there’s work cut out for the fam’ly. I'll be there soon.” Ina minute be was off, like a shot, darting through the thronged streets, Howard looked after him dubiously. “Ts the boy trying a lark with me?” he asked, half to himself, ‘*Nein! nein!” returned Hans, energetically, * Pilly’s no lark. You comes to der hotel. Yust as Pilly says.” Howard, affected by the earnestness of man- ner of the bovs, followed Hans, though half- angry with himself for what might possibly prove a fatal loss of time. They found Jacoh Baggage there, sober as a judge, having given aay s word of honor not to touch, taste, or andle, They mought What’s more this thing’s too far gone fur | ial ——— Yet they were all impatient enough before the young embassader arrived, for more than an hour had elapsed since he set out, “ All serene!” he cried, ‘* Let’s have our din- ner now, pay our bill, and slide.” ‘“ You got the order?” asked Howard, with in- tense eagerness. “Yes, Had a big job to find Mr. Cassatt, The Union Depot is all in a blaze, Goin’ into smoke and ashes faster than sin. It’s a chance if all that part of the town don’t go, There's everlasting lightnin’ loose, now I tell you.” “This seems correct,” remarked Mr. Howard, examining the written slip of paper which Billy bad handed him. ‘ But how in the world you ever got it out of Cassatt!” *Piled up lies bigger than three meetin’- houses, and made him swaller them all,” began Billy. Then, with sudden compunction, he con- tinued; ‘No, I didn’t, neither. I told him just what was up, and got on the right side of his soft heart. Guy him your name, too, I'llswow, if he didn’t know you like a book, But let’s go for that dinner, We mought need the eatables afore we git another chance at them,” Howard, despite his impatience, recognized the truth of this caution, and the four made short work of a hearty dinner, ‘We've got to git out of tais town by way of the hills,” said Billy, when they once more found themselves in the street. ‘‘ It’s a river of fire down the railroad way.” ‘*1t is fascinating in all its terror,” exclaimed Howard, with an involuntary shudder. ‘The destruction there must be terrible.” They hurried on as rapidly as possible, It was not long before they left the scene of ruin behind them, When they had proceeded some four or five miles in this direction they descend- ed from the ridge into the valley. Behind them the flame-lit volume of smoke hung like a vast wall, shuSting them out from the apparently doomed city behind it. They found themselves near a small hamlet, but it was deserted save by a woman or two, and some children, “No possible chance of getting a vehicle here,” remarked Howard, after some question- ing. ‘‘ We must trudge on.” The afternoon was rapidly waning when they at length walked into a somewhat larger village, sufficiently removed from the Tron City to have some of its inhabitants left at home, Here Howard succeeded in procuring a car- riage, with a driver to take them to a railroad station where there was some hopes of procuring an engine, This hope proved fallacious; there was none there, They learned, however, that there was a passenger engine at a station some ten miles further down the road, “There is nothin’ for it,” said Billy, with a grimace. ‘‘ We've got todrive on. I s'pose we kin giti another hoss here?” ‘* Horses are more flentiful than engines, I fear,” remarked Howard, in a tone of nervous impatience. ‘If we should fail—” They were away again inside of ten minutes, Howard imparting a share of his energy to the horse, and getting more speed out of a sorry animal than Nature seemed to have implanted in it,
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Billy, the Baggage Boy. 45 Yet, the afternoon wes waning rapidly. It! was quite six o’clock when they at leugth drew rein at the depot in a small town, their eyes gladdened by the sight of an engine standing trauquilly ou a side track near the station, “Good luck at last!” screamed Billy, dancing in bis exultation. ‘‘ Good luck allers comes to them as bunt bard furit. Her fires are out, but it won’t take much to set them blazin’ ag’in. You take the order in, Mr. Howard.” Howard had not waited for this command, He was already in the depot, investigating the station-agent. “Allright!” he cried, joyfully, when he again appeared. ‘‘ She will be fired up and ready for us inside of an hour.” “ And it’s supper time now, and our journey has made me as hungry as a bear,” remarked Jacob, ““Yust so. 1 feel dat way myself, too,” re- turned Hans, _ As there was no more agreeable way of pass- ing the necessary time, Jacob and the two boys proceeded to hunt up the wherewithal of a substantial supper. The impatient lover how- ever, was in no mood for eating, but stood with dissatisfied eyes, devouring every step of the slow process of firing up the cold engine. Gradu- ally the steam began to show its presence ina slight hiss about the safety-valve, Howard hastened back to where the others were yet Jingering over the pleasures of the table, “Hurry!” he cried. “Steam is up. We must be off without a moment’s delay,” ‘* Sandwiches is goot, Mr, Howard,” remarked Hans, invitingly. “Then bring some in your hat,” exclaimed Billy, springing up from the table. ‘‘ Mr. How- ard is right. That weddin’ comes off early in the mornin’, and we don’t know what stoppages we may have to run through.” There was little time lost in getting under way. In ten minutes more they were flying down the deserted track at a rapid pace. Billy, with his hand on the lever, and bis keen eye on the track; Jacob hurling the coal on the new- kindled fires; Howard devouring the distance before them with his eager vision, and Hans lying soberly backward, masticating one of his sandwiches, And down the roa‘, with clatter and clank, rolled on the fire-breathing iron horse. CHAPTER XXTX. A PERILOUS FLIGHT. Frw words passed between the four travel- ers, thus thrown together in*that long journey. George Howard was too wrapped up in his own thoughts snd anxieties to have any time for | words. Billy Baggage felt the responsibility of his perilous position too deeply, and Hans was too sleepy for any indulgence in talk. As for Jacob Baggage, he hurled fuel from time to time into the craving mouth of the fire- eating engine, and in the intervals leaned upon his shovel in grimy silence. Up and up the mountains they climbed, Through the tunnel at the summit they passed. Round the Horseshoe Bend they curved, and be- gan todescend the downward slepe leading to Altoona, ‘What is der ret light?” exclaimed Hans, who had risen from his bard bed for a look ahead, ‘The danger-signal set!” cried Billy. ‘‘ Then there’s trouble brewin’, sure shot!” ‘““We had test stop at thestation and inquire,” suggested Howard. Acting upon this suggestion Billy slackened up the speed of the engine as they drew near the red light that threw its alarm signal far along the track, Coming toa dead halt at the signal-station, Howard sprung from the engine ane entered the small building, where the sleepless operator was keeping watch. Reappearing after a minute’s absence, he ex- claimed: ‘*Wecan run ahead, with care. There has been talk of obstructing the road at Altoona; but the operator does not know if it has been done, “All correck!” exclaimed Billy. ‘ We're a-goin’ to save Miss Claire from that hound, or bu’st somethin’, that’s sure.” He had started the engine as he spoke. George Howard sat back in gloomy silence, with com- pressed lips and a dangerous look upon his face: Jcbn Jordan’s villainous scheme was in danger from this resolute and indignant lover. And soon, in the distance, the lights of a city smote through the dark vail of night. ‘* Altcona,” said Billy, briefly. With set lips and throbbing hearts they ran into the perilous city, every eye being bent for- ward in close scrutiny of the track, while the speed of the engine was gradually slowed until she moved at little more than a walking pace, Tbe depot lights shone upon a crowd of men, gathercd upon the platform and the track, their tones and motions full of excitement as they gazed upon the coming engine. ‘*Ts the coast clear?” asked Billy, bis hand up- on the lever. “T can’t tell yet,” replied Howard. “There seems to be something on the track beyond the men.” 2 In a minute more they steamed into the sta- tion, coming to almosta halt. They were in- stantly surrounded by hundreds of excited men. ‘“Who is aboard?’ ‘“ Stop that engine!” “Board her!” and a dozen other exclametions arose, as a half-score of stalwart men flung them- selves on the slowing locomotive. : Billy, with compressed lips, still kept his hold of the lever, saying, in a low voice, to Howard: “Can you make out that thing on the track, now?” ** By heavens! T was mistaken!” came the ex- cited reply. “It is only the heavy shadow of the water tank. The light bebind it has thrown it black and solid looking across the road. Put on full steam, Billy. We must run through, now, if it is through bullets.” Billy looked warily around at the men who were hanging on the engine, striving to clamber in, but preventing themselves by their very numbers. ; “Stop her!” cried an authoritative voice. ‘“Some of you men take her out of that young hound’s hands.” : i 3 ‘Open the fire doors, pop,” exclaimed Billy, as if inclined to yield,
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46 Jacob Baggage obeyed without a word of dis- sent, the hot gleam from the fire luridly lighting up the whole scene, and strongly illuminating tue set, resolute faces of those on board tie en- gine, The crowd hung back an instant, expecting an im nediate compliance with their demands, The next instant Billy had put on full steam, an isnatebing the shovel from the yielding hands of his father, stood brandisbing a shovelful of hot coals from the fire. “Hands off, every risky mother’s son of you!” he shouted. ‘‘ Let go, or [ will scorch you from head to heel!” He enforced his order by a liberal sprinkling of the burning coals rigbf and left of the engine. The men who had been clinging to the sides, leaped and tumbled backward in every form of exreme haste. The engine, at the same moment, under the sudden pressure of steam, leaped for- ward like a living thing, “ Stoop for your lives!” erie] Howard. ‘‘ They will fire!” His warning was none toosoon. A dozen bul- lets swept harmlessly over their heads. A deri- sive laugh was the only answer as they swept onward through the scattering throng, and ina moment more were beyon! all danger of stop- page. e How’s dat for high?” roared back Hans, at tho baffled raob. ‘‘Like ter have some gum- drops, hey? Ten cents a box, fresh unt goot,” Oa into the night again, and the city of peril faded and died out beyond them, and the lonz miles of mountain scenery opaned before them, A clock, from soma belfry in the State capital, struck the hour of three as they rolle1 at length into the tranquil streets of Harrisburg. ‘* We must stop hers, no matter what comes of it,” said Billy. ‘* Our old lady is getting dry. She must have her drinic.” ‘*T hope, then, that the strikers are all safely asleep,” remarked Howard, with some anxiety. It seemed to ba so, in fact, when they stopped at length in front of the water-tank. Oaly two or three men were visible. Billy recognized one . of thess at a glance, as a faithful servant of the ron, “Oa official bizness, Jake?” the boy cheerily cried. ‘* Water us up and let us off.” Jake looked suspiciously at the solitary engine, * All right,” he said at length, proceeding to adjast the water-tuba and turn on the water from the tank into the empty reservoir of the enzine, During this colloquy George Howard had re- maimed in the background, sitting back in the tender, with his face well shaded by his hat. He did not quite like the light from the depot lantern. The number of men present were gradually re- enforced as the minutes went on. At least a dozen persons stood round the engine, when at length the water was turned off at the tank, Ono of thpsa, a sharp, ferret-eyed personage, gazod keenly int» the faces of our four friends, “Who are you all?’ he asked, curiously. “Stand up there, my man with theslouched hat. I wonld like a closer Jook at your phiz.” Billy, without heeding this imperative demand. | i “Start her!” said Howard, in a low tone, toj carriage. Billy, the Baggage Boy. ‘Hold there!” cried the other, sharply. ‘TI know you now, my man! It is George Howard! It isthe escaped prisoner! Ou. ywour life don’t start the engine!” Without a moment’s heed to this command Billy moved the levers. The life-giving steam passed into the cylinders. In a moment they were slowly moving. “Tn the name of the law!” yelled the officer, springing aboard the engine, and essaying to take her control out of the hands of the deter- mined boy. Then ‘or the first time did George Howerd show his true metal. So far he bad, with a gloomy indifference, left the direction of affairs in the efficient hands of our youthful hero. Now he sprung vigorously to his feet and grasped the officer in his stalwart arms. “1 am George Howard!” he cried, ‘‘ Here is your Harrisburg thief-taker! Catch him, some of you, or he may get a broken neck for his pains.” In an iostant the officious officer was flung headlong into the midst of the bystanders. Only some extended arms saved him from dangerous contact with the flagged pavement, “Put on all steam!” shouted the aroused man. ‘Come on, the next of you that wants to arrest George Howard!” But nobody seemed to care to try that per I- ous conclusion. In a minute more it was too late for interference, The engine had gathered too much speed to be safely boarded. For the next four hours they ran through a more settled district, where the reckless spead of their previous journey could not be safely indulged in. Day had long sincedawned. Howard’s wate! pointed to the hour of seven, hundreds of curi- ous eyes had looked with wonder on this solitary engine as it shot through the clustering stations of a thickly-inhabited district, ere at length they reached the station nearest the residence of Mr. Hamilton. ‘“‘On time! Hurrah for our side!” shouted Billy. triumphantly, as he brougbt the engine toa dead hat. ‘‘ We’ve got a good hour afore the weddin’. Run this machine on the siding,. Harry,” he cried, to the station-master. Fifteen minutes after they were in front of a substantial mansion some distance back from the road. Bidding them wait, Howard entered the gateway leading to this house. In ahout ten minutes he appeared again, driving a high-step- ping black horse, The others lost no time in stowing themselves away in the carriage, and the horse was put at his best paces by the stern-faced and hard- handed driver. Not another -vord came from Howard's lips, It was evident by bis face that there was a surge of growing passion in his soul. He made no movement but to look at his watch, as he drew up in front of Mr. Hamilton’s well-known house, “ Hight o'clock,” said Billy, drawing his breath hard, ‘* We're jist on the hour.” The horse was drawn up with a strong hand, and Howard sprung with a quick leap from the Tn a minute more he had reached the porch of the house, thrown open the door
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Billy, the Baggage Boy. 47 . = without pausing to knock, and disappeared within. Billy lost no time in following him, leaving the otbers to more deliberate movements. It was a striking scene in which they found themselves. A group of persons were gathered in the large parlor of the mansion. The central figures were Hamilton, lying, pale-faced, on a oouch; a wan-faced minister, book in band; and before him Claire Hamilton in bridal robes, be- side the bridegroom, Jokn Jordan. There was a strange look of doubt on the beautiful face of the bride. ““If any one knows cause—” came from the thin lips of the mimster. ““T know cause!” cried an imperative voice be- hind them, excitedly interrupting. ‘Turn to me, John Jordan! Turn, wretch and murderer] who has dared to peril that pure soul! I wil, give cause enough.” “Who is this?” cried Jerdan, turning with very pale face, ‘“1t is I, George Howard, thet denounces you asa murderer! Yes, and as the leader of the Ceadly band of * Tie Chosen!” With a loud curse, tie villain drew a pistol and leveled it with deadiy aim at Howard. Claire Hamilton threw herself with a scream before the threatened man, flinging her arms up protectingly. At the same instant Billy caught the arm of the infuriated villain. The pistol exploded but it was John Jordan himself that fell with a deep groan to the floor, P CHAPTER XXX. GEORGE HOWARD’S STORY. THE scene vasa thrillmg one. The screams of the women present, the forward rush and exclamations of the men, the fall of the wound- ps all made up a tableau of intense inter- est. Howard hurried the unresisting form of Claire from the room, her eyes closed as if they would shut out the horror possessing her. up his little friend Lucy, who was screaming with fright. and carried her bastily away. But, Strangest of all, the invalid, Mr. Hamilton, in anticipation of whose death this wedding had been hurried forward, sprung involuntarily from bis couch, and ran forward with all the energy of a hale man. He bad fallen prostrate after his excited movement from his couch, and bad been borne insensible to bed. But the intense excitement of the moment had made a radical change in that stubborn effection of the’ brain with which the doctors ba:! proved unable to cope. Bot we must take our readers forward to an hour in the sfterncon of that same day, in which the persons in whom we are chiefly in- terested were gathered in a small room in the Hamilton mansion. Billy and his father, of course, were present, the former with little Lucy snuggied up fo him as if for protection from the terror that. still beset ber. Hans, too, was present, but he had » snuggled himself up securely in a window corner, where there was an opportunity fora uiet nap, or a surreptitious indulgence in gum- ‘ODS. Billy caught As for George Howard and Claire, they seem- ed to have arrived at a private understanding for her face bad lost its look of unrest and doubt, and rested on him with a quiet confi- dence which she had never accorded to Mr. Jordan, Still, the effect of her recent nervous excitenient was still upon her, and was shown in involuntary tremblings of the hands and lips, which she strove in vain to repress, As for Mr. Hamilton, he had insisted on be-* ing brought down to the room, and the look of vital interest in bis face showed a very different condition from the dull, half glazed appearance of his eyes before the shock which bad so favorably affected him. “What I went to know is,” began Billy, con- stituting himself the spckesman of the occasion, ‘‘who Mr, George Howard is, and what he is; fur if I ain’t 8 mightily mistaken little ninny. he’s been playin’ possum jist the worst. Shet my eye up, bad. know that.” ** Old Nick is never so black as he is painted, answered Howard, ‘I acknowledge that I have been playing a part. My tongue bas been seal- ed for several months past. Iam free to speak now. I bave been a detective in the em- ploy of the Pennsylvania Railroad Company, engaged in ferreting out a most dangerous hand of criminals.” ‘*“A detective!” broke involuntarily from more than one mouth, “Tt was the ‘Chosen’ then! The train- smashers! The murderers!” exclaimed Billy, springing to his feet in his excitement. . “Exactly. It was that hand of desperate and mystericus criminals,” ‘‘And youwere employed to detect then?” asked Mr, Hamilton, * The railroad officials have Lnown of the ex- istence of such a mysterious bard for a long time,” said Howard, ‘Bu. all their efforts to trace them proved in vain. Finally I was put on their track with the understanding tkat I was to take the most-cxtreme measures, even to exposing myself to the utmost misrepresentation in the task of unearthing them,” He pressed the hand of the beautiful woman by his side, ber eyes looking down into his with an expression of the deepest trust and affction, “ T put myself in communication ut once with all the disaffected,” he continued, “‘ and seemed of them all the most disaffected. Gradually I must have become known to some of the mem: bers of this band as one of a disposition and views similar to their own, for distant over- tures were made to me which I went more than half-way to meet.” ‘* T seen you ”—cried Billy, ‘tI seen you talk- in’ to Joe Blizzard. It was that set me to s’pecting you.” “Yes, He was one of my conquests,” con- tinued Howard. ‘I gradually extended my ac- quaintanceship among the band. But I failed to overcome a lurking distrust on their part, and to learn the nature of their schemes, This much I did Jearn, that there was an orgsnizing head who used the others merely as tools. I knew that to break up the band this leader must he discovered. But they kept his secret well, [ could not learn it.” “ Tve got to say this much, Mr, Howard,” re-
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Billy, the Baggage Boy. marked Billy, incredulously, ‘‘and 1 can’t help | sayin’ it, though I have let up on you a bit. And what I mean’s this: Your story don’t hold water none too well. How ’bout gittin’ ‘rested, and goin’ to prison, and breakin’ jail, and knockin’ that Harrisburg loon off the cars?” Howard laughed at Billy’s distrust. He con- tinued as follows: * My going to prison and escaping were parts of a scheme, by which I expected to overcome the distrust and gain the confidence of these vil- lains.” ‘¢ But to be arrested as you were!” said Claire. * And to hurt me so by your strange demeanor! You forced me to doubt you.” ** We have John Jordan to thank for all that,” continued Howard. “ The officers who were to arrest me thought it a bona fide business, In some way Jordan discovered that they had a warrant against me. He knew that I was in company with Miss Hamilton in the car, and took the jealous opportunity of informing them of my presence, What to do, I hardly knew, Claire. I could not destroy my plans at that advanced stage. I had to submit to the arrest.” ie trailed the chaps into Pittsburg?” ask- ed Billy. i ‘Just so. I was watching them through the whole of the riots, in hopes that some chance might reveal their leader to me. I saw that I was not alone in the task, but that our two young friends here had an object similar to my own. “T tracked big Hughoy, as one of them was called until he was mortally wounded, I then followed Carlton, the other, until be put him- self in a position where death was sure to follow, in his effort to fire the gun at the round- house, | saw that but one course remained. By arresting him I might save his life and the secret, that would otherwise die with him. I attempted todo so; but too late. He was killed.” “T seen him go under,” cried Billy, eagerly. “You took something from his breast-pocket,” ‘7 did not imagine any one detected me at that,” replied Howard. ‘It was a secret badge of the order that enabled. me to overcome the doubts of big Hughey. With his last words, as the boys here know, he revealed to me the well- concealed name of the leader of the terrible * Chosen.’ ” “ And that name?” asked Mr. Hamilton. ‘Was John Jordan.” A shudder passed through Claire Hamilton’s frame. Her face grew, for the moment, deathly pale. She clung to Howard’s arm with both her hands, as if for protection from some dreadful menace, And didn’t I tell you what was up?” ex- claimed Billy. ‘*’Bout splicing and all that? And got the order fur the ingine? And sich a gay old ride as we had, this way, all last night; and sich a, fight fur it! You never seen the like.” “T can never thank you too much, my dear young friend,” said Claire, taking both his hands in hers, and pressing them warmly. ‘I owe to you my escape from a horrible fate, and—” “ And I owe even more,” exclaimed Howard. ‘*T owe to you my love and all my future happi- ness.” His effort to shake Billy’s hand proved quite as much a caress of the slender form of J Claire, who yielded with utter confidingness to | his arm, “And I ow3 you my daughter's happiness, and my life,” came in feeble but earnest accents from the grateful invalid. “ And I own you!” exclaimed Lucy, spring- ing gleefully into his arms, “Then jist run off with me, Lucy,” returned Billy, ‘‘ and let us havea high old time ’mong the doll babies, Ill be gettin’ too big fur my bocts, sure, if I stay here much longer.” Lucy, nothing loth, carried him off to her play-room, heedless of what further explanations might be needed. CHAPTER XXXI. FINALE. OF course all this was followed by a wedding. {¢ would not be in the nature of things otherwise. George Howard and Claire Hamilton did get married—there is no doubt of that. But the marriage was not solemnized until] Mr. Hamilton was sufficiently recovered to be able to attend church, and see his daughter made happy in the inspiring presence of a multitude of sympathetic friends. You may be sure that Billy and Hans fo:med two of that highly interested audience. And for that matter ‘‘ Pop” Baggage, in all the im- portance of perfect sobriety and new clothes, was present. And by his side, ycung again in her pride in her reformed husband, stocd the much-enduring Mrs. Baggage. Not years, scarcely months have passed since this occasion, and we do not have to follow cur characters far down the stream of time to see on what shore they have stranded, or in what current of weal or woe they are still drifting. George Howard and his bride are just out of their honeymoon, and have gone to house keep- ing in the most approved modern style, in a sweet little nest in Chester valley. As for the Baggage family, they have got in- to bettcr circumstances since the father has be- come a thoroughly sober fireman, and since Billy’s salary has been raised, and the railroad superintendent has promised, some day, to make a man of him, They have left their tumble-down, up-town baggage-car, and have settled in a neat little yalace-car mm the West Philadelphia suburb. As for Hans, he is still Billy’s most ardent follower, and yet makes gum-drops his ultima- tum of existence. ; Billy is a frequent visitor to the new home of the Howards. It is sonear a station on the road, and he can’most any time jump off and run over just to see if they are all well, and if Lucy has forgot him yet. THE END. BEADLE’S POCKET LIBRARY. 266 Guy's Boy Chum; or, The Forest Waif’s Mask. By Capt. omstock. 267 Glant George’s Revenge; or, The Boys of “Slip Up” Mine, By Buckskin Sam. Issued Every Wednesday, Beadle’s Pocket Library is for sale by al! Newsdeniers, five cente per copy, or sent by mail on receipt of six cents each. BEADLE AND ADAMS, Publishers, 98 William Street, New York, iq