CHAPTER XXV.

DEAN MERCER IN JAIL.

It would be impossible to describe the consternation and alarm that overwhelmed Dean at the words of Judge Oglesby.

He essayed to refute the terrible charge, and could not speak. In a flash, he saw the position he was in.

Disguised, already branded as a thief, he had been found by the judge with a box of valuables in his hand.

The real thieves had escaped. Who would believe Dean Mercer’s story of the true facts of the case?

There had come a thundering knock at the front door of the house, and the judge hastened to open it, to admit a half a dozen excited men--the ones Marcus Ellison had just called to his aid.

Then there was hubbub and confusion. In horror they regarded Dean Mercer, and then just as Dean in a transport of anguish tried to shout out his story and avow his innocence, he was seized and borne from the house.

Ten minutes later he was locked up in the corridor of the little town jail, and in the outer room he could hear excited voices discussing the events of the night.

“Worse and worse!” wailed Dean, utterly crushed and frightened. “Oh, this is terrible!”

Yes, it was terrible. Circumstances were against him. He was doubly condemned now, and he sat down on a bench in the corridor and tried to think it all over and wonder what the outcome of it all would be.

The town marshal came in. He glanced at Dean with a stern face.

“Well, boy, you’re in a pretty bad fix,” he said.

“I am innocent, sir!” he gasped wildly.

The marshal shrugged his shoulders incredulously. “Don’t try to lie out of it,” he said harshly.

“But the real burglars----”

“Nonsense! a fiction!”

“Can I see Judge Oglesby?”

“He don’t want to see you.”

Dean was left to himself again.

An hour went by--two. The jail became quiet and deserted again.

“Hist--Dean! Dean!”

Dean Mercer could scarcely believe the evidence of his senses.

From a barred window some one had spoken his name. He approached it and peered forth.

The window looked out on the rear of the jail lot. There stood Marcus Ellison.

“Marcus!” gasped Dean.

“Yes. Hist! don’t talk. We have work to do. I know all about it. There’s only one thing--escape!”

“But they believe me guilty?”

“Stop talking, I tell you,” persisted Marcus. “You are lost if you don’t escape before daylight.”

Without fully dreaming of the weight his decision was to have on his whole future life, Dean Mercer hesitated before accepting the alternative held out to him by his friend. It was the crucial moment in his career.

While he knew that Marcus Ellison was sincere in his determination to help him, he did not like the idea of running away under such circumstances as he must if he escaped from the jail. It seemed far worse to him than his flight from the reform school.

“I--I do not believe I had better do it, Marcus,” he finally said.

“Do what?”

“Why, run away from here--break jail.”

“Oh, fudge! it isn’t breaking jail in the real sense. You are innocent, you know.”

“Then I need not fear the result if I stay.”

“But you can’t prove your innocence at present. Remember you are leaving here just to get the evidence you need. I’ve got trace of Tim Downey and we can run him to earth. Once we’ve got him cornered the rest will be easy.”

“But if I leave here in this way, everybody will feel sure that I am guilty. Marcus, I prefer to remain and fight it out.”

“Whew! I didn’t know but you had more common sense,” replied the other, showing by his words and manner that he was disgusted by this flat refusal to accept his assistance.

“Pardon me, Marcus. I know you mean all right. But I could never lift up my head again if I should do it. It seems so cowardly. I know I am already a fugitive, but I prefer not to try an escape from here in the way you suggest.”

“It is easy enough. I have the tools with which to do it. I can saw a couple of bars in short order. Once you are free, you and I can bend our wits toward running our enemies to earth. But we are losing valuable time, and I am taking a lot of risk in doing this.”

“I know it, Marcus, and I shall never forget it.”

“Obey me in this and you will come out O. K. If you’d done it at the house when they were robbing the judge, you would not have been in this box.”

“I know it, Marcus. But don’t take any more chances for me. I am resolved to stay here and meet my fate.”

“Then it’s because you haven’t the sand in you I thought you had. Good night and pleasant dreams.”

“Good night, Marcus. I wish you well. Take good care of yourself.”

A moment later the form of Marcus disappeared from the narrow orbit of Dean’s range of vision, and he knew his last friend had left him alone.

“The worst of it is he is provoked at my action,” thought the young prisoner. “I hope I have done what is for the best. I wonder what will happen to me next.”

With these far from pleasant thoughts, Dean sank back upon his rude couch, but not to sleep.

His mind was too active with the peril hanging over him. In the long, painful hours that dragged away on leaden wings he thought of many things.

Breakfast had been eaten the following morning at the home of Judge Oglesby and he had repaired to his study, when Eva and Manly, who were discussing the new development in regard to Dean Mercer, discovered a man coming hastily toward the dwelling.

A second glance disclosed the identity of the early caller, as he advanced at the peculiar rolling gait of one used all his life to being on board of a sailing vessel.

“It’s Jack Carboy!” exclaimed Manly. “I am so glad he is coming.”

“So am I,” declared Eva. “Among them all he seems to be the only one who has faith that Dean Mercer is innocent.”

“Besides you and me, sister.”

“Yes, Manly. But I can’t understand this last affair.”

“Avast there, shipmates, I mean, lad and lass,” greeted the newcomer. “These air hard seas to sail.”

“What is the trouble now, Jack? And what has brought you here so early?”

“The b’y, lass. Is it true they hev run down his sloop and moored him here in this landlocked harbor?”

“You mean Dean Mercer, Jack?”

“Ay, ay, miss. I heerd o’ it. He’s in prison. Lass, he hain’t done nothing to deserve this.”

“I believe it, Jack. What can be done to save him?”

“Throw a rope to leeward.”

“I do not understand you, Jack. Tell us in plain English what you know about Dean. You have heard how they have arrested him for breaking into our house, and that he is now in the lockup. Oh, Jack! what can we do to save him?”

Half an hour’s consultation followed during which Eva got a more complete account from Jack Carboy of the burning of the _Spray_ than she had ever obtained before. At its conclusion she said:

“I tell you what I am going to do. Father is too much worked up over the whole affair to give Dean any consideration. So I am going to see Mr. Montague. I do not believe he thinks Dean wholly to blame. Come, Manly, let’s go at once.”

Having come to this decision Eva started immediately to visit the lawyer at his office, accompanied by Manly and Jack.

They found Mr. Montague alone and willing to talk with them. In fact the lawyer was glad to have some one willing to speak of his young friend in a sympathetic manner.

“They are all against him,” he declared. “I cannot yet think he could have been so lost to the teachings of his good mother, to say nothing of the example set him by all of us. Go ahead, Miss Oglesby, and tell me all you know of the unfortunate affair.”