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"It is Wacker, sure," he breathed, "for that is the same sound made by the little alarm clock he bought at the sale this afternoon." The last vibrating tintinnabulations of the clock died away as Bart discovered his enemy. Lem Wacker's burly figure and white face were discernible against the direct flare of an arc light. He seemed a part of the bumpers of two cars.
Bart's patience was tried. His eyes flashed, but he stooped and picked up the pages and replaced them on the dry goods box. "Don't you do that again," he warned in a strained tone. "Why!" yelled Wacker, rolling up his cuffs. "I'll trim you next! 'Don't-do-it-again! eh? Boo! bah!" Lem raised his foot and kicked over the desk, papers and all.
The train cleared the tracks as he reached the spot where Wacker had disappeared. At that moment above the jangling, clumping activity of the yards there arose on the night air one frightful, piercing shriek. Bart halted with a nameless shock, for the utterance was distinctly human and curdling.
Lem Wacker's evil face leered down upon him. "Don't you holler!" ordered Lem. As he spoke, he leaned over the railing. The waste box held a mass of cotton that had packed some of the parcels disposed of at the sale that afternoon. Lem grabbed up a handful, and forcibly stuffed it into Bart's mouth. "Wacker! Wacker!" gasped Colonel Harrington in affright, "don't don't hurt him. This is dreadful "
As he neared the switch shanty where Lem Wacker had been on duty the day previous, he noticed that it had been opened up since he had passed it last. Some one was grumbling noisily inside. Bart was curious for more reasons than one. He placed his load on the bench outside and stuck his head in through the open doorway. "Oh, it's you, Mr.
At the head of one was scrawled the name "Wacker," at the second "Buck," at the third "Hank." Bart wondered if he had better try to interview Lem Wacker. He decided in the negative. In the first place, Wacker would not be likely to talk with him if he did, he would be on his guard and prevaricate; and, lastly, as long as he was asleep he was out of mischief, and helpless to interfere with Bart.
"My flag's gone, too," muttered old Evans, turning over things in a vain search for it. "I'll have a word or two for Lem Wacker when it comes to settling day, I'm thinking. He comes up to the house late last night and tells me he don't care to work for me any longer." "Did he?" murmured Bart thoughtfully. "Why not, I wonder?" "Oh, he flared up big and lofty, and said he had a better job in view."
The young express agent did not have to search for the stolen money package. It protruded from Wacker's side pocket. As he glanced it over, he saw that it was practically intact. Wacker had torn open only one corner, sufficient to observe its contents. Bart placed the envelope in his own pocket. "I'm fainting!" declared Wacker. Bart crossed under the bumpers to the other side of the freights.
Whatever price the rich Colonel Harrington was paying Lem Wacker for his coöperation, it was not enough to blind that individual to a realization of the fact that accident had placed in Wacker's grasp the great haul of his life, and he was making off with this fortune, leaving the colonel in the lurch. The latter stood shaking like an aspen, his face the color of chalk.
"Cut for it, fellows! they're coming for us!" "They" were the village officers. Bart had made a jump towards Dale Wacker, but the latter had faded into the vortex of pell-mell fugitives rushing away downhill to hiding. Bart put after them, trying to single out the author of the scurvy joke that he knew had serious trouble at the end of it. "Hold on!" gasped a breathless voice.
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