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Updated: May 19, 2025
Yet, as he turned to dash away, he found himself confronting the muzzle of a revolver held by the night watchman, who had been outside the yard at a little distance, but whom Josh's firing had brought back on the run. "Throw up your hands, Owen. You're my prisoner," said the watchman, crisply. But the ex-foreman much preferred being shot to taken.
Next morning Carshaw, a hard man when offended, visited Brown, Son & Brown, who had executed a large rebinding order for his father's library, and Fowle was speedily out of a job. The ex-foreman knew the source of his misfortune, and vowed vengeance. In the evening, about half past six, Carshaw was back in One Hundred and Twelfth Street.
"There's only one proper place on earth for you, Evarts, and that's behind the bars. Now, move right along, or I'll give you a worse walloping every time you stop or argue." Finding that nothing would avail with these determined captors the ex-foreman relapsed into sulks. However, he kept walking straight ahead, obeying every order addressed to him. Tom stopped briefly at the cottage. Mr.
Owen came down the spiral staircase, looking curiously about him. "I got your note, Mr. Farnum," began the ex-foreman. "What's the matter? Find you need me here, after all?" "Not for long," replied Mr. Farnum, coldly. "Owen, before you gave your keys in to Mr. Partridge you must have taken an impression of one of them and must have fitted a key to the pattern. Why were you here last night?" "Me?
Evarts was locked up on the new charge. The revolver taken from him was turned over to the police as evidence. The chums also gave their information that they had overheard the ex-foreman tell the negro that he intended to jump bail. But the greatest of all was the news of the plot to rescue the gambler prisoners now in jail. Then the chums started back to camp.
Hal Hastings heard, though he did not even take the trouble to answer, but struck out frenziedly, for his chum's calls for help now rang in his ears. There was the sound of a discharge, a sharp split of fire from a weapon that Owen held in his hand. A bullet struck the water just before Hal's nose, dashing the spray back in his face. "Come back here, I tell ye!" raged the ex-foreman.
"So you're back," he said at last in a low, harsh voice. "I'm back." "It would 'a' pleased me if they had put a rope round yore neck, Mr. Convict." Dave made no comment. Nobody could have guessed from his stillness how fierce was the blood pressure at his temples. "It's a difference of opinion makes horse-races, Dug," said Bob lightly. The big ex-foreman rose snarling.
Josh Owen was summoning all his courage, all his craft. Instead of looking frightened, he glared boldly at his accuser. "Who says I did such a thing?" he demanded, hotly. "Benson and Hastings saw you at your rascally work, my man." "Humph!" snorted the ex-foreman. "Who? Those boys?" "Yes." "Humph! I wouldn't believe those boys under oath, and you'll make a huge mistake if you do, Mr.
"Don't make the mistake of touching me," urged Tom, quietly, "but come along. This way out of camp!" Evarts swung suddenly, driving a fist straight at Reade's face. But the young chief engineer was always alert at such times. One of his feet moved in between Evarts's feet, and the ex-foreman flopped down on his back. "Come on, now!" commanded Tom, jerking the fallen foe to his feet.
"Of course I didn't," retorted the ex-foreman, defiantly. "You wrote a note to me that, if I'd come around here this morning, I'd hear of a job. I didn't come here to be insulted." "The job I mentioned in my note," rejoined Mr. Farnum, with a meaning smile, "is over at the penitentiary. Owen, you did come here last night.
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