CHAPTER III

BOB AT THE HALF-WAY HOUSE

When Bob and Frank Landes entered the dining-room and looked around at the guests present, they saw nothing of James Casco.

“Most likely in the bar-room,” said Frank. “He is a pretty heavy drinker.”

They did full justice to the spread, and then the young man lit a cigar, and Bob followed him out on a side piazza, which was almost deserted.

Frank had hardly seated himself, when a door at the end of the piazza opened, and James Casco came out.

The scar-faced fellow had been drinking freely, and the habitual scowl upon his face was deeper than ever.

“So you are here, eh?” he said, abruptly.

Frank stared at him.

“Did you address me?” he demanded, coolly.

“I did, and you know it. What do you mean by following me?”

“I was not aware I was following you.”

“It’s false!” cried Casco. “You’ve been following me all the way from New York.”

The young man jumped to his feet.

“See here, Casco, I want you to shut up. I have not been following you, and I am not in the habit of being addressed as you have addressed me. The quicker you get out of here the better.”

“Humph! So you fancy you can bluff me?” sneered the scar-faced man.

“It’s no bluff, I want you to take back what you said.”

“Take back nothing, Landes. You are a sneak--and worse, and----”

Casco did not finish. Drawing back, Frank left out with his right hand and Casco received a slap on the cheek that sent him staggering.

“The next time you address a gentleman be careful what you say.”

With a howl of pain and rage, Casco gathered himself together.

Bob looked on with keen interest. Frank seemed to be well able to take his own part, and so the youth saw no reason to interfere.

Muttering something under his breath, Casco now sprang to the edge of the piazza and looked around. No one appeared in sight. Bob was standing in a deep shadow, and in his rage the scar-faced man did not notice him.

Suddenly Casco put his hand into his pocket and drew forth a short club. It made Bob start.

“I’ll see how you like that, Landes,” cried Casco. “Here you are!”

Jumping forward, Casco attempted to hit Frank Landes on the head, but before the club could descend, Bob rushed forward and hauled Casco back.

“Better call the landlord,” he said to Frank. “This man ought to be arrested.”

“Never!” muttered Casco. “Let me go, or I will strike you!”

Casco began to struggle, and Frank Landes jumped in to help Bob. They had just succeeded in disarming the scar-faced man, when Casco uttered a peculiar whistle.

“What does that mean?” queried Bob.

“I don’t know,” muttered his companion. “Get up,” he said to their prisoner.

Casco had hardly arisen, when two men rushed around the corner of the hotel. Each wore a slouch hat, and in the darkness nothing could be seen of their faces.

“Help me!” cried Casco. “We must get away from here.”

“But the plan, Jim, that----” began one of the men.

“It’s all up,” muttered Casco. “Quick, help me.”

Both of the new arrivals at once fell upon Bob and Frank. The youth and the young man fought well, but they could not overcome the other three, and by the time the landlord and a number of his guests arrived the two had Casco free, and then the three assailants made off in the darkness, Casco carrying his short club with him.

“What’s the trouble?” demanded Fitt, the keeper of the road-house.

Frank and Bob related their story. All crowded around, and listened with deep interest.

“I thought that chap was up to no good,” said Fitt. “I took him to be a gambler.”

“He does play cards,” said Frank. “Do you know those other men?”

Fitt shook his head.

“The three of them landed here this afternoon,” he said. “They hired a front room, but brought no baggage. I told ’em they would have to pay in advance, and this Casco pulled out a fat roll of bills and settled on the spot. The roll of bills and his general way made me suspicious of him.”

“I wonder where he got the money?” mused the young man. “When he was discharged from our house, he was compelled to make up a deficiency in his accounts, and he then claimed he was without a dollar.”

“Maybe he didn’t give it all back, or else stole some since,” ventured Bob. “He looks thoroughly bad.”

“You may be right.”

“Shall we go after the rascals?” asked Fitt. “All three ought to be in the lock-up.”

“I don’t know which way they went,” returned Frank. “Do you, Bob?”

“I thought they cut around the back. Is there a road in that direction?”

“Yes, Martin’s lane comes through, and meets the road alongside the railroad track,” answered the hotel-keeper.

“Then perhaps they took that road,” suggested Bob. “If you say the word, Frank, we’ll go after them.”

“Couldn’t find ’em in the dark,” said Fitt, who was too scared to venture on such a quest.

“I’ve got pretty good eyes,” laughed the youth.

A hurried consultation was held, and Frank and Bob started off alone, Bob carrying a revolver Fitt had loaned him, Frank being supplied with a weapon of his own.

On the two went until Bob came to a sudden halt, and plucked Frank by the sleeve.

“Hush!” whispered the youth.

“What did you see?” came in a low tone.

“Do you see that stack of hay over yonder?”

“Yes.”

“I’m pretty sure I just saw a man dodge behind it.”

“Only one?”

“Yes. But the whole three may be there. Wait here for a few minutes.”

“What do you intend to do?”

“Go back a short distance and jump the fence. There is a ditch there, and I think I can crawl along and get on the other side of that hay-stack.”

“Hadn’t I better go along?”

“No; you watch out on the road. They may make a dash, and then you will have to go after them. My idea is to see if they are there without letting them discover me.”

“And if they are?”

“Then I’ll give you a signal--a whip-poor-will cry--and you can hurry off for help, and we can capture them. Understand?”

“Yes, but the danger----” protested Frank.

“I don’t mind it. Now, I’ll be off. Watch the hay-stack, and listen for the whip-poor-will cry.”

And with these words, Bob slipped into the shadow of some near-by bushes, leaving Frank standing by a tree in the lane, alone.

Frank stood perfectly still for several minutes and then moved silently toward a stone near the fence, intending to rest until he should hear from Bob in one way or another.

Having seated himself the young man drew out his pistol, and examined it to make sure that it was in proper condition for use.

It was then that he made a discovery which caused him to utter a low cry of dismay.

The weapon was empty.

“That’s a fine state of affairs,” he muttered to himself. “And the cartridge box in my satchel, too. I ought to be kicked for not looking at the pistol before we left the hotel.”

Frank was thoroughly put out, but this did no good, and, with something of a sigh, he restored the useless fire-arm to his pocket.

“I ought to have something,” he went on. “I wonder if I couldn’t cut a stick somewhere in the bushes.”

He arose once more, and getting out his pocket-knife proceeded to cut a sapling, which he quickly reduced to quite a respectable club having several hard knobs at one end.

“There, I reckon if a fellow got that on the head it would make him see stars,” thought Frank. “It isn’t as good as a loaded pistol, but it’s better than nothing.”

Quarter of an hour passed, and still he heard or saw nothing of Bob.

“He’s making slow work of it,” soliloquized the young man. “I presume he wants to make sure and not walk into any trap. Dear me, but this is lonely, and I half wish I was back at the hotel.”

Another quarter of an hour passed, and Frank arose to walk to a spot several yards away, and thus obtain a different view of the hay-stack, which was all of two hundred feet back in the meadow lot.

Scarcely had he walked a rod when a shadow crossed his shoulder.

He wheeled about to see what was there, but no one was in sight.

What did it mean? Had a night bird swept near, or had he merely imagined the shadow there?

He grasped the club a little tighter, and listened with strained ears. A faint crackling sound reached him, coming from a distance but a few feet away.

Again he swung around. A form leaped directly before him, the form of James Casco.

“Casco!”

“You are right, Landes. So you are following me again.”

“I am following this time, yes. Stop where you are.”

“What do you mean?”

“Move another step, and you will be sorry for it.”

And Frank drew his empty pistol, and pointed it.

Casco was somewhat dismayed, but only for a second. Then he rushed at Frank.

At the same instant came a whip-poor-will cry. In the excitement, however, the young man did not notice it.

Casco rushed in, and knocked up Frank’s weapon, at the same time uttering the same whistle he had used on the hotel piazza.

Knowing that this was a call for help, Frank tried to run away. Casco promptly tripped him up and then came down on the young man.

“Do you give in?” he demanded.

“No,” returned Frank, firmly.

Without ado the scar-faced man brought down his club upon Frank’s head. It was a vicious blow, well directed, and with a groan the young man fell back insensible.

“He’ll not worry me again, I reckon,” muttered Casco, as he surveyed the inanimate form before him. “I suppose I might as well go through him now I have the chance. By Jove, this is starting on the new career for certain! No backing out after this.”

Casco bent over Frank’s form, and began a rapid search of his victim’s pockets. He brought to light a roll of bills amounting to seventy dollars, a number of letters and documents, and several things of less importance.

“A pretty good haul,” muttered the thief.

Just then the bushes parted, and one of the men wearing a slouch hat came over the fence.

“Where are you, Casco?”

“Here, Barker, I’ve knocked him out.”

“Him? Who?”

“The fellow I had a row with at the hotel. I felt certain he must be somewhere around here.”

“Humph! You seem to have a grudge against him.”

“I have. It was he exposed me in New York. I might have had that snap yet if it hadn’t been for him.”

The man called Barker chuckled, as if what he had been told was a joke.

“What was his pockets worth?”

“Not much. A handful of change and these letters.”

“What will you do with him?”

“Throw him in the ditch, behind the bushes. They won’t find him so easily.”

“All right.”

The two caught up the limp body, and, taking it to the ditch, threw it in.

In the mean time Bob had crawled along the ditch to a point almost directly behind the hay-stack. It was so dark here that he could see but little, but his ears were on the alert and, by listening intently, he made out the faint murmur of voices.

He could not make out what was said, and, after waiting for several minutes, he ventured a couple of yards closer.

Then he beheld the two men in slouch hats in low but earnest conversation. Casco was nowhere to be seen.

Making sure that he was not discovered, Bob drew still closer to learn, if possible, what had become of the scar-faced man.

“Well, Grogan, what do you think of Casco’s plan?” he heard one of the men say.

“Sure, an’ Oi think it purty bould, Barker,” replied Grogan, who was undoubtedly an Irishman. “’Tis a foine way to make money widout workin’.”

“It’s not so fine if you get caught,” replied Barker. “To my mind it’s rather risky.”

“Sure, an’ how could it be? If Casco gits in wid the----”

“Hush! What’s that?”

Barker sprang up from his bed on the hay.

“Phat did yez hear?” demanded Grogan, in alarm.

“I heard some kind of a noise.”

“Perhaps ’tis Casco comin’ back.”

Barker looked around, and Bob did his best to keep out of sight. His foot had struck a dry stick, which had snapped in two, making quite a loud report.

The two men went on talking, but Bob caught only a few words to the effect that inside of a week Casco would have some plan ready in all its details.

“They are up to no good,” thought Bob. “I think their talk means robbery on a large scale and nothing else.”

Presently from the road came a sharp whistle. Barker again jumped up.

“It’s a signal from Casco,” he said. “Something is wrong. Look around here, while I go and see what it is.”

He hurried off. Grogan sprang up a moment later, and almost immediately sighted Bob lying in the long grass.

“Who be yez?” he demanded, pouncing upon the youth.

Bob at once gave his whip-poor-will signal to warn Frank.

“Stand where you are, you rascal,” he said to Grogan.

“Bad cess to yez!” cried the Irishman. “Do yez think Oi’m to be overpowered by a b’y? Indade not.”

He rushed at Bob, and a desperate struggle ensued.