United States or Tanzania ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Referring to the insensible detective. "No, leave him to me, old fellow. You have done your complete share in disposing of the man-tracker. I will complete the work." "Better dump him in yender." "No." Perry Jounce said no more, but moved swiftly away in the gloom. Then August Bordine hastened for assistance.
The change had been made at a way station, without causing remark among the passengers, the most of whom were not through for the great city. Once New York whelmed them, the scheming villain and poor Nell would be lost forever to the man-tracker of the West. There was a suspicion in the brain of Dyke Darrel that he scarcely dared whisper to his own consciousness.
Now that the man-tracker was off the trail, Barkswell felt better. He had concocted a tremendous plot that his theft of the diamonds came near despoiling. It was not his wish to have Rose know of the existence of his wife. If necessary, the villain had resolved to put that wife out of the way forever.
This old log hut has had its day, and we could not put it to a better use than to make a mausoleum for the man-tracker of the West." There was no hesitating after this. The two men moved swiftly away in the gloom that surrounded the burning cabin. A choking sensation caused the reclining man in the cabin to stir uneasily. Presently he opened his eyes.
"Never mind brothering me. I don't want you to trouble me again, you understand, until " "Till that man-tracker goes under?" "Exactly." "You bet I won't." Then Barkswell moved on his way, and the tramp disappeared in the bushes. "Ho! So Mr. Andy don't like for me to call him brother," uttered the tramp, gutterally. "Wonder if he's forgot that he married sister Iris. I must look up the old girl.
He found a hack, and had the insensible detective borne to his home, which was not reached until nearly midnight. When the man-tracker opened his eyes, he found himself in a cozy room, snugly ensconsed on a huge sofa, with the fumes of a hot sling in his nostrils. "Taste this, Mr. Keene, and you will feel better." It was August Bordine, with a hot drink for the detective.
"Dyke Barrel! Ah! fiend of Missouri, I have good cause to remember you and your work. Do you know, Watson, the fate of your poor uncle?" "Well, I should smile if I didn't," answered the young man. "He died in a Missouri dungeon, sent there by this same Dyke Darrel, the railroad man-tracker. Hate him? Of course you do, but not as I do.
I've got the softest snap but for one thing." "Wal?" "An infernal man-tracker from Gotham is out here on my lay. He may prove troublesome." "I've seen him Sile Keene." "Yes. Put him off the track, Perry, and I'll make it an object." Then the hunter laid a gold eagle in the hand of the tramp. An avaricious gleam filled the man's wicked eyes. "You can count on me, brother."
"And this is your work, August Bordine, after all the confidence I placed in you," uttered the detective, in a rebuking voice. "It was merely a game of wits, Mr. Keene. I was too smart for you, in spite of the fact that you're reputed to be the sharpest man-tracker in Gotham. I think it would pay you to hire me for a spell." "This, then, was a put-up job?" "That's about the size of it."
Word Of The Day