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Updated: September 15, 2025
When he stood up in a Front Room and Unfolded his MS., and swallowed the Peppermint Wafer and began to Bleat, no one in the World of Letters was safe. He would wallop Dickens and jounce Kipling and even take a side-swipe at Luella Prentiss Budd, who was the Poetess Laureate for the Ward in which he lived. Consequently his Views on Recent Fiction carried much weight with the Carries.
And, unlike his few other natural foes, Lad had never been bidden to leave it unmolested. This memory came to him, in the midst of his blues. He eyed the loathsome suitcase through quizzical half-shut eyes, as it rocked and careened at his feet with every jounce of the car. And into his brain shot the devil of mischief.
"I aint a-goin' to tell you, Sile Keene!" The tramp came to his feet and bent threateningly across the table. "Ha! you know me?" The detective whipped out his revolver. "Too late, pardner!" There was a horrible grin on the face of Perry Jounce. On the instant an object shot from above full upon the head of Keene, and he sank lifeless to his chair! Robbed of her precious jewels!
"You shall not live to thwart me, Perry Jounce," hissed Barkswell, as he pressed his companion in crime to the floor, and crushed his knee down upon his breast. "Mercy!" again gasped Jounce. "No. You would grant none to me. It would not be safe for me to permit you to live." "But, hasn't I did my duty by you, pardner?
The man in the shanty sprang swiftly after, anxious now to prevent the escape of his intended victim. If Bordine escaped them the country would ring with the news of the attempted tragedy. Dashing with the swiftness of a deer, Jones passed over the bulky form of Perry Jounce, and caught the outlines of the fleeing engineer moving directly toward the foaming creek. He had him now.
The detective had promised to report before now, his visit to the saloon and interview Perry Jounce, the tramp. "Why did he not come?" "I can't stand this much longer," murmured August, as he sat still under the burden of pain, waiting for some news from Keene.
A low, gutteral laugh was the only answer vouchsafed to this by Mr. Perry Jounce. "You know the job was a botch?" "I don't know nothin' about it." "Well, anyhow, Andrew does, and he refuses to pay a cent until somebody goes up for the murder of that girl. Do you understand?" "No, I don't!" The eyes of the tramp still fixed themselves in an ugly glow on the countenance of Keene.
One glance he cast at her, then he turned and strode from the place. Another instant and he stood facing Rose Alstine, whose pallid face and flowing eyes quite startled him. "Heavens! you here?" he ejaculated, settling back in a tremor of dismay. Perry Jounce uttered a grunt of satisfaction when he saw that the detective was beyond power to know him for the time.
Keene, nearly senseless, was rolled upon the damp floor, upon his face, and his hands secured with a cord at his back. "There, I reckon he won't give no more trouble," said a voice that the detective recognized as that of Perry Jounce, the tramp. "Confound his picture," grated Barkswell. "I believe the scamp would have been too much for me if you hadn't come just as you did."
"I should think so," was the dry response. "Help yerself to refreshments." Jounce tapped the bottle with a dirty finger. Keene, however, was wise enough not to indulge. He saw before him but one man, and if treachery was meditated, he believed himself a match for this one easily. "Now, then, perceed." "First, Mr. Jounce, we'd best come to an understanding," declared the disguised detective.
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