Produced by Al Haines [Frontispiece: Jet brought the cane down on his head with full force.] MESSENGER No. 48 BY JAMES OTIS _Author of "Telegraph Tom's Venture," "Messenger No. 48", "Toby Tyler," "The Boy Captain," "Silent Peter," etc., etc._ THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY NEW YORK ---- AKRON, OHIO ---- CHICAGO Copyright, 1899 By The Saalfield Publishing Company CONTENTS CHAPTER I Jet II Trouble III The Kidnappers IV An Engagement V Baffled VI The Battle VII A Bold Attempt VIII An Arrest IX The Detective X One Prisoner XI Close Quarters XII The Encounter XIII The Snare XIV A Capture XV Assistance XVI On the Trail XVII An Old Friend XVIII Jail Life XIX The Dinner XX A Recognition XXI The Adirondacks XXII The Small Guide XXIII The Visit XXIV A Stern Chase XXV Jim XXVI Success XXVII Reconnoitering XXVIII The Struggle XXIX Bob XXX A Failure XXXI An Attack XXXII Harvey & Co. MESSENGER No. 48 CHAPTER I JET "What's your name?" "Jethro Lewis." "How old are you?" "I don't know." "Judging from the size I shouldn't say you were over ten." "My size 's against me, that's a fact; but I can run a good deal faster than some fellers twice as big." The manager of the District Messenger Station did not attempt to conceal a smile as the boy spoke thus earnestly, and continued the examination by asking: "Where do you live?" "Down on East Tenth Street." "Mother and father alive?" "Both dead. I'm boardin' with Mammy Showers." "As a rule we do not employ boys who have no parents." "Why not? Can't they shinney 'round, jest as well as other fellers?" "There is no question about that, but we prefer to have some one to look out for them." "So would I, but there's no use kickin' when a feller can't have all them luxuries," Jet said gravely. "It ain't so awful nice to hustle for yourself with a chance of bein' fired outer the house if the board ain't paid right up to the minute." "How have you been earning a living?" "Most any way that come handy. Sometimes I sell papers, an' then agin I black boots. I did think one spell of goin' into the theayter biz, but I couldn't git the right kind of a job. I can dance a good many of them perfessionals way out of sight, but the managers won't hire a performer what ain't got good clothes." Jet spoke in a business-like tone which evidently pleased the manager, for the latter said, after a short pause: "I will give you a trial, and----" "You couldn't do better," Jet interrupted gravely, "for if I can't hump myself ahead of that fat chump over there I don't want a cent," and he pointed to a very fleshy boy who was half asleep on a bench which extended across the rear of the room. "Here is a cap," the manager continued. "Your number is forty-eight. We'll find a coat which will answer until another is made, and you are to go to work at once. Can you read?" "Why cert." "Then study this book of distances so you may know how much to charge for service, and set on that bench until it is your turn to go out." Jet took the articles and was about to turn away from the desk when a very important question came into his mind. "How much money are you goin' to give me a week?" "Four dollars is the regular price for beginners; but there are good chances to advance if you attend to business." This was evidently satisfactory to new number forty-eight, for he did as directed, and was soon busily engaged studying the tariff of prices, seated beside the fat boy who was now slumbering calmly. For a short time Jet thought more about financial matters than of his lesson. Mammy Showers charged him a dollar and a half per week for a small room hardly larger than a cupboard, and two meals each day. He would now, providing he did not indulge in too many luxuries while traveling around the city, be able to save two dollars and a half every seven days, and it seemed very much as if he had fairly started on the highway to fortune. "Well, if they call this work I'd like to have two or three jobs of the same kind." Jet said aloud when he was tired of studying the printed instructions. "I've been here a little more'n an hour, an' haven't been called off the bench once." This remark appeared to arouse the fat boy to the consciousness of being alive, and on making great effort to sit upright, he noticed Jet for the first time. "Hello! You're a new feller; I s'pose," he said with a yawn. "Do you think I look very new?" "You've jest com here to work, haven't you?" "The way things look now I've come to set around an' keep the flies offer them young gents as has ter sleep forenoons." "You'll be glad to do that same thing before you've worked here a week. It's dull now, but wait awhile, an' then see how the fellers have to hump themselves." "Say, do you ever do very much?" Jet asked gravely. "I was out on a job yesterday that I didn't get through with till past midnight." "Do the fellers have to work so late as that?" "Once in a while. You have to go where the customers send you, an' some of the jobs are funny ones." "How far have you ever been on an errand?" "Up to Albany to bring down a dog for a man what was goin' huntin'." "Did you get him here?" "Of course I did." "It must have been mighty rough on the dog." "Why?" "'Caus he'd be away from home so long if he wasn't allowed to walk any faster than you can." "Think you're funny, don't you?" and the fat boy made ready to resume his interrupted nap. Before Jet could turn his attention to the tariff again the boy at the desk called loudly: "Number forty-eight!" and he went forward quickly, well pleased that something had occurred to break the monotony. A summons had come from one of the hotels near by, and on answering it he found nothing of more importance than to carry a letter to a certain house in the immediate vicinity, but to Jet it was particularly agreeable work, since he was given ten cents more than the regular fee. "If all the messages turn out like this one I shall have a mighty good thing of it," he said to himself, in a tone of satisfaction as he returned to the station. Jet was called upon only twice more during this first day of his new work, and when he went home it was with the pleasing knowledge that he had received as presents fifteen cents. On the following morning he was at his post so early that some of the "night boys" made sport of him for appearing at such an hour, predicting that in less than a week he would have "sense enough to stay at home till he was wanted." He was not allowed to remain idle very long, however. "Number forty-eight!" the man at the desk called sharply, and Jet leaped to his feet. "Go to No. -- East Fourteenth Street. Here is your slip." Jet took the bit of paper and hurried away at full speed, to find that he had been sent to a bar-room which was by no means noted for bearing a good reputation so far as the honesty of its patrons was concerned. Seated at one of the tables were two men. The elder, tall and slim, and the other of medium height, but rather fleshy. "Come here!" the thin man called as the messenger entered, and Jet fancied that the fellow's full beard looked suspiciously heavy and black. "I wouldn't like to bet that all that hair grew on his face," Jet said to himself, as he approached the table, but he gave the matter no further thought, for it was his business to obey orders, and not criticize his patrons. "How long will it take you to go to the corner of Sixth Avenue and Fifteenth Street?" "Not more than ten minutes." "Take this satchel and give it to a party with red hair who is standing on the northwest corner." "Suppose there should be more than one?" Jet asked as he took the traveling-bag which was remarkably light in weight although it was apparently stuffed full to bursting. "The right man will ask your number, and you are to tell him it is one hundred and ten." "But he can see by my cap that I'm forty-eight." "Do as I tell you, and never mind about your cap, do you hear?" "Yes, sir." "He will give you something to bring back, and you are not to stop on the way, no matter what happens." "I'm not in the habit of loafing," Jet replied, just a trifle indignantly, and before he could say anything more the short man added impatiently: "Then don't do it here. Get on about your business, for we want the answer in the ten minutes you promised." Jet started at once, feeling decidedly hurt at the tone used by the men, and, walking as rapidly as the crowds on the sidewalk would permit, was soon at the appointed place. A rough booking fellow with a shock of red hair which looked quite as false as the tall man's whiskers, was waiting for him. "What is your number?" he asked nervously. "I was told to say one hundred and ten, but that isn't right." "Give me the bag, and take this back," the man said, as he literally tore Jet's burden from him, and thrust into the boy's hands a paper parcel so heavy that it required all his strength to hold it on one arm. Jet was on the point of handing this odd acting fellow the slip of paper that it might be signed according to the rules of the office, but before he could so much as take it from his pocket the man had disappeared among the throng. "I suppose it's all right," he said in a tone of perplexity, "but I wish people would let a fellow do as the boss insists upon." There was no time for delay if he intended to return within the ten minutes as had been promised, and he hurried away, arriving at the saloon only to be told by the bartender that the gentlemen had left some time previous. "What am I to do with this?" and Jet held up the paper parcel. "They said you was to go to this number on the Bowery. I reckon it's one of them cheap lodging houses." Jet took the card which was held toward him, and, stopping only long enough to read the written words and number, hurried off once more. This last address was, as the barkeeper had suggested, a small hotel, and on ascending the stairs to the tiny apartment called by courtesy "the office," found the tall man awaiting his arrival. "I thought you was a boy who didn't do any loafing," the gentleman said gruffly. "I haven't stopped a minute." "Who did you hang around chinning with?" "Nobody." "Haven't you been talking to that other messenger?" "Which one?" "The fellow you met." "I haven't spoken to anybody except the red-haired man, and he didn't give me a chance to do much talking." "What is your fee?" "Twenty-five cents." "Here's half a dollar. If anybody asks where you have been say that it was to the Stock Exchange. I don't care to have a lot of people talking about my business, and a quarter should be enough to make you hold your tongue." "Will you sign this slip, sir? the manager wants the distance and time on there." "Do it yourself, and put it down as I tell you." Jet obeyed, writing as the stranger dictated, and when he presented himself at the station once more the manager had no reason to believe he had been anywhere except to the Exchange. CHAPTER II TROUBLE Jet was not just certain, when he seated himself on the bench to wait for another summons, whether he had done right in obeying the tall man so implicitly, but yet he could not understand how it would make any difference to the manager, since he brought back the amount of money which was the lawful charge for such service. "I'll ask one of the other fellows," he said to himself, and then the rush of business was so great that he almost forgot the incident of the morning. Until two o'clock in the afternoon he was busily engaged, and at that hour returned after having been to the post-office to mail a large lot of circulars sent by a particularly testy and disagreeable old gentleman. "You needn't sit down," the manager said sharply, as the boy laid the service slip on the desk. "Go with this man and see to it that you tell the whole truth." Jet looked in surprise at a gentlemanly appearing person who was pointed out to him, standing near the door, and asked hesitatingly: "What do you mean, sir?" "Exactly what I said. Don't keep him waiting, and come back here at once if they let you go to-day." This last remark was yet more mysterious than the first, but Jet did not have an opportunity to ask any more questions, for at this instant the stranger took him by the arm, saying as he did so: "Now walk sharp. I've lost too much time already." There was no other alternative but to obey, for the man literally dragged him through the crowds on the sidewalks, and continued on at a rapid pace until the two were at the entrance of Police Headquarters. "What am I to go in there for?" Jet asked, as he tried to hold back. "The inspector wants to see you," the man replied, and the boy ceased any show of resistance, for he began to realize that he was a prisoner, although on what charge he could not so much as guess. Ten minutes later he was standing in front of the inspector, and that gentleman was gazing at him scrutinizingly. "What is your name?" he asked abruptly, and when the answer had been given be continued by inquiring into all the particulars of his short life, until Jet cried in desperation: "What do you think I have done, sir?" "That remains to be seen," was the unsatisfactory reply, as, after writing down all the boy had said, the inspector summoned a man in the garb of an ordinary citizen, to whom he handed the paper as he said in a low tone: "Find out if this is correct, and come back at once." Then turning to Jet: "How long have you been a district messenger?" "Two days." "What time in the morning do you go on duty?" "Seven o'clock." "What was the first call you had to-day?" "To No. -- East Fourteenth Street." "Tell me all that happened there, and remember If you try to lie I shall know it." Jet, confused and bewildered by the strange position in which he found himself, did as he was bidden. Just for an instant he believed it would be only just toward the man who had hired him, to repeat what he had been told to say, but then came the thought that he was virtually under arrest and the truth should be spoken at every hazard. "Can you describe these men?" the inspector asked, when his short story was told. Jet did his best, not omitting to say that the hair of one and the whiskers of another looked suspiciously false. "Would you know them again?" "I'm certain of it. The tall man I could spot even if the whiskers were taken off." At this point the officer who had been sent to learn the truth of Jet's statement regarding himself, returned, nodded his head in a significant manner, and immediately disappeared through another doorway. Over and over again did the inspector insist on Jet's telling the story of his morning's work, and when fully an hour had been spent in this manner he said decidedly more kindly than before: "I believe you have spoken the truth, but you will be an important witness in a very serious case, and I suppose it is my duty to send you to the House of Detention." "Does that mean I'm goin' to be locked up?" Jet asked in alarm. "You will be deprived of your liberty, but it is very different from going to jail." "Don't do that! Please don't do that! I've just got a job where I can earn a good deal of money, and it'll knock me out of it. Besides," Jet added as a lucky thought occurred to him, "if I keep on about my business I may see them fellers again." "You advance a very good argument, and, in fact, I am depending on you to do that same thing, but how shall I know that you won't give us the slip?" "I'll stay right at the office, except when I'm out with a message, an' come here every night if you say the word." "Do you know of any one who would go bail for your appearance when wanted?" "Mammy Showers would tell you that I'll act square up to what I say." The inspector did not reply for several seconds, and then it was to say: "I'll take your word for it, my boy. You are to report to me, or one of the officers here, every twenty-four hours, and, in the meanwhile, if you get a glimpse of either of those men, follow him until word can be sent to me; but do not speak of this matter to any one." It was evident that this ended the interview, for the inspector rose to his feet, and Jet, overjoyed at the prospect of escaping imprisonment, hurried out of the gloomy-looking building. On his return to the office the manager, who was particularly busy at that moment, motioned him to a seat on the messengers' bench, and the fat boy, unusually wide awake, asked in a blood-curdling whisper: "Did you really have anything to do with that murder?" "What do you mean?" "There was a man killed an' robbed over on East Twentieth Street last night, and some of the fellers said you was down to headquarters tellin' the police all about it." "And it was the murderers I saw this morning!" Jet repeated aloud, astounded by the knowledge that he had possibly assisted the guilty ones to hide the evidences of their crime. "Then you was in it!" the fat boy exclaimed. "Now don't be a fool! I carried a bag for some men this morning, but that's all I know about it. Who was the murdered man?" "It's all in that paper Sankey left in his overcoat pocket. Get it an' you have the whole story. I wonder why they don't put you in jail?" Before Jet could reply to this question he was ordered to the desk, and from there sent to answer a call from the Union Square Hotel. Evidently it was not one of the regular patrons of the house who had summoned him. He found a gentlemanly looking party standing just outside the clerk's desk, who appeared particularly pleased on observing the number on his cap. "I want you to go with me to Yonkers, and bring back certain papers which must be delivered before six o'clock. Can you go so far?" "I will run over to the office and find out. You see I haven't been on the force very long, and don't know exactly what to do when the work will keep me so long away." "Very well, hurry as fast as possible, for I want to leave here by the next train." Jet ran swiftly back, and in a very few moments returned with the information that he was at liberty to go wherever the gentleman desired, so long as the office received the regular price per hour for his services. "There won't be any difficulty about that. You are to go to pier 466 North River, and wait there until I come. Don't stop on the way, for I shall probably ride down." "I thought we were going on the cars." "I changed my mind while you were away. We can get there just as quickly by boat. Hurry off, for I don't want to be kept waiting." Jet left the hotel at once, wondering why the gentleman did not give him a car fare if the business demanded so much speed, and on his way to the pier he heard the news-boys crying the particulars of the "Terrible tragedy on East Twentieth Street." "I'll see what the story is," Jet said to himself as he bought one of the papers, but he did not stop to read then lest he should arrive at the rendezvous too late. The gentleman was waiting for him on his arrival, but did not express any anxiety to start for Yonkers immediately. "You can go up to my room and help me stow away some baggage," he said, glancing around as if to make certain they were not observed. "Ain't this the Albany boat?" "Yes; but I reckon there's nothing to prevent our getting out at Yonkers." "I didn't know she stopped there." "You will probably have time to learn several things before you're many years older." "But this steamer doesn't leave till night." "I've made another change in my plans, and it doesn't concern you since a messenger's duty is to follow as long as he is paid for his services." This was said in such an angry tone that Jet held his peace lest he should give further offense, but at the same time the whole affair was beginning, in his mind, to assume a very mysterious aspect. The man motioned for him to walk by his side, and led the way through the main saloon to a state-room forward, where, through the half-opened door. Jet failed to see the baggage which had been spoken of as needing "stowing." "Go in," the stranger said impatiently, pushing Jet into the apartment, and following him. Then the door was locked, and the man carefully fastened both the shutter and window. Now the messenger was alarmed, and turned toward the door with upraised fist as if to pound for assistance, when a hand was placed roughly over his mouth. "Don't try any such game as that or there'll be trouble, you young cub," the man whispered, and almost before Jet knew what was being done a hard substance had been forced into his mouth and fastened there by a towel tied around his head. That he was a victim of foul play the young messenger could have no doubt, and he struggled with all his strength to free himself, but in vain. The stranger took from his pocket several lengths of stout rope, bound first Jet's hands and then his feet, after which he threw him roughly into one of the berths. "I reckon you'll lay there without making very much fuss, till I get ready to let you go," he said, as he treated himself to a long draught from a black flask. "When we do land at Yonkers, you can go back to Police Headquarters once more." The latter remark caused Jet to associate this adventure with the one he had had in the morning, and after looking intently at the stranger his suspicions became a certainty. "This is the short fellow who got me to carry the valise!" he said to himself. "They know about my goin' to see the inspector, and are bound to get me out of the way." The idea that his captor was a cold-blooded murderer, who probably would not hesitate to add another to his list of crimes, was far from reassuring, and the perspiration burst out on Jet's face as he thus persuaded himself he was in immediate danger of a violent death. CHAPTER III THE KIDNAPPERS Jet's captor appeared to be perfectly contented after binding the boy, and assuring himself that it was impossible an alarm could be given. He seated himself by the side of the berth, lighted a cigar, and began to read a newspaper, although the light in the room was far from good owing to the blinds being closed. Jet was lying in such a manner that he could see the fellow's face plainly, and was now able to understand why he had not recognized him before. At the saloon he had a heavy moustache and rather long hair. Now his face was smooth and his head closely shaven. His face had then been so white as to be pallid, whereas it was now bronzed deeply. In addition the man's clothing was of the most fashionable make, while in the morning Jet had seen him clad in coarse, badly fitting garments. "There's a big difference in his looks," Jet said to himself, "but yet I don't understand why I was such a fool as not to know him when he first spoke." Messenger number forty-eight had ample time for reflection, for fully an hour passed without any change in the relative position of affairs, and then came a low, quick tap at the door. When it was opened the tall man, now without a beard, and wearing a pair of green spectacles, came quickly into the room, locking the door carefully behind him. "I see you've got the cub," he said, bending over Jet to make certain of his identity. "Yes, had him here an hour." "Have any trouble?" "Not a particle. He was the first to answer my call, and I took that as a sign we should get away without leaving a trail." "We can't lug him around the country with us." "You're right but we can drop him after he's where it'll trouble him to get back." "There's a safer way." "I know what you mean, Joe, but I don't like to do any more of that business than's necessary. The last one couldn't have been avoided, but this can." "It's a big risk to carry him up the river, and he'd better be dropped." "We'll talk about that later. Have you heard anything new?" "Not much. After this cub came from headquarters a detective was sent down to the Bowery, and by this time it is known pretty well what we looked like. The afternoon papers say the police are following a good clew, but you know what such talk means, Bob." "Is the stuff salted away?" "All except what we need for a couple of months. The boys can send us more if we conclude to leave the quiet little place we're bound for." Then the two men had recourse to the flask, and after taking a hearty drink the one who had been called Bob proposed to go outside for a moment. "You must be a fool to think of such a thing," Joe said angrily. "You are not done up so well but that some body would be able to recognize you. We are lucky in getting under cover without trouble, and here we stop till morning." "It's going to be mighty dull work staying in this coop all that time." "Not half so bad as a cell in the Tombs." The two men relapsed into silence for a time and Jet lay watching them as he tried to devise some way out of a position which was fraught with danger. It seemed impossible that he could aid himself, bound as he was, and exceedingly improbable any one would come to his assistance. Study as he might Jet could think of no way to extricate himself and he said mentally after racking his brain in vain: "I don't see any way out, but there's no use in giving up hope till a fellow is obliged to." The men alternately drank and smoked during the remainder of the afternoon, but said very little more regarding their flight. When the steamer started Jet expected to hear them decide what was to be done with him, but in this he was mistaken. As the hours wore on he fell into an uneasy slumber, despite the painfulness of his position, and during this time of unconsciousness the matter must have been settled. It was yet dark when the steamer arrived at Albany, and, very much to the prisoner's surprise, the two men left the room, fastening the door behind them. Then Jet heard a noise as if something was being done to the lock, after which a deep silence reigned. "They're going to leave me here, and have put something into the lock so the door can't be opened in a hurry," he said to himself, and during the next ten minutes he struggled desperately to free himself. The bonds had been adjusted by an expert, and he might as well have tried to fly as to hope to remove them unaided. He was both thirsty and hungry, and every limb ached from being so long in one position. It seemed an almost endless time before the sounds of people moving proclaimed that the passengers were leaving the steamer. Then another long interval, during which he could hear the noises of the city, and finally some one knocked on the door of the room. If he could have cried out then his term of imprisonment would have been speedily ended. "Some fool has broken the key in the lock," he heard one of the servants say after trying several times to open the door. "We may as well wait till the engineer can come up." Jet was rapidly losing heart. He counted the minutes, as if such a course would make the time pass more rapidly, and was so thoroughly exhausted when, at nearly three o'clock in the afternoon, the work of picking the lock was begun, that he could not have made himself heard even had the gag been removed. The engineer was not a skillful locksmith, and half an hour elapsed before the door was opened. Even then it was several moments before the bedroom stewards perceived the prisoner, and instead of unbinding him at once they ran in search of the purser. When that officer arrived Jet was released from his uncomfortable position, but his mouth was so dry and parched that he could not speak. The boy realized that he would be questioned closely, and remembering the inspector's caution, he resolved to tell no more than was absolutely necessary. Therefore when the officers of the steamer insisted on being told how he chanced to be a prisoner, he simply related the story of the capture, without entering into particulars as to why the men should do such a thing. His account was looked upon with suspicion, and after questioning him yet more closely the purser said: "The boy is lying for some purpose, probably to get a free passage. Why would two men want to steal a fellow like him?" "I've told the truth," Jet replied earnestly. "Don't you suppose I could have stowed away easier than by being tied up till I couldn't wink, an' waiting for you to come an' find me?" "That sounds reasonable enough, but at the same time I don't believe the story," the purser said severely. "Get ashore now, and if I catch you on this boat again you'll have considerable trouble." It was with difficulty Jet could walk, owing to the cramps in his limbs, but he hobbled ashore at once, thinking that for a boy who had simply tried to do his duty he had been badly used. It was necessary he should return home at once, but he had no money. He was hungry, and yet had nothing with which to purchase a meal. His entire hoardings were in a box at Mammy Showers' house, and he did not have the value of a penny about him. "It's a mighty tight fix," he said reflectively, as he walked up from the river front, "and what makes it worse is that the inspector will be certain I've run away because I had something to do with the murder." There could be no question but that he was in a bad scrape, and the more he thought of it the more serious did the whole affair appear. "Hello, Johnny! Whater you doin' up here?" Without really thinking he was the one addressed, Jet looked around, and saw a small boy in district messenger's uniform beckoning vigorously to him. "Was you calling me?" he asked, as he crossed the street. "Sure. Ain't that a New York cap?" "Yes." "Whater you doin' here?" "That's what I'd like to know," Jet replied ruefully. "Well say, what's crawlin' on you? Run away, eh?" Jet was in that frame of mind when to confide in some one is a relief, and he told him the same story the purser of the steamer refused to believe. His new acquaintance listened attentively, and when Jet had concluded, asked: "What do you s'pose they wanted with a feller like you?" "I don't know." "Hadn't anybody's else money, eh?" "Not a cent, an' I'm no richer now." "What kind of lookin' duffers was they?" "Dressed pretty well, the short one was." "Did the other one wear green spectacles, an' was he tall?" "Yes, have you seen 'em?" "There was a couple of duffers hangin' round the other depot waitin' for the train, an' I wouldn't wonder if they was the ones. The short feller bought two tickets for Cooperstown Junction." "How did you happen to hear all that?" "I went after some parlor car tickets for our boss." "Has the train gone yet?" "It oughter left at seven this mornin'." "An' it's most night now, so they've got off." "Was they runnin' away from somebody?" Just for an instant Jet was on the point of telling this brother messenger the whole story, but he checked himself in time and replied: "I should think they'd want to after playin' such a trick on me. Say, how am I goin' back to New York?" "I dunno 'less you walk; I don't reckon you wanter stow away on the boat?" "You bet I don't." At this moment the Albany messenger remembered that he had been sent on an important errand, and said as he turned to go: "I'll be through work at six o'clock. Come around by the office an' we'll have another talk." Food, not conversation, was what Jet most wanted just then, and as his new acquaintance departed in great haste he walked aimlessly along the streets wondering what could be done. "The inspector thinks by this time that I lied to him, and---- By gracious, why can't I follow those fellows? That's jest what he told me to do!" This seemed like a lucky thought, and without realizing that he had no means to prosecute even the shortest search, Jet went rapidly toward the depot. CHAPTER IV AN ENGAGEMENT It was necessary for Jet to inquire the way to the depot spoken of by his new acquaintance, and after arriving there his helplessness seemed more apparent than before. Passengers coming and going paid no attention to the boy, save to push him out of their road, and he was even more alone in the hurrying throng than he had been on the street. After wandering to and fro, trying to screw up courage enough to ask the conductor for a free ride, and failing in the effort because none of the train hands would give him an opportunity to speak with them, he sat down on a truck and mechanically plunged his hands in his pockets. The paper purchased on the evening previous was the only thing which met his touch. "I might as well find out about this murder," he said to himself, as he unfolded the printed sheet. "When a feller is readin' he kinder forgets how hungry he is, I reckon." To give the printed account in all its details would require too much space, since there were no less than five columns in Jet's paper. The substance was to the effect that a well-known merchant, residing on East Twentieth Street, had been found on the floor of his library the previous morning, his skull crushed in as if with some heavy instrument like a crow-bar, or a burglar's jimmy, and the safe, which was known to have contained money and bonds to the amount of forty-six thousand dollars, was broken open and empty. The theory of the detectives was that thieves had entered the dwelling for the purpose of robbery; but having been surprised by the owner, killed him in order to make good their escape. A large tuft of hair in the dead man's hand told that he had grappled with his murderers, and the overturned furniture spoke of a long and desperate struggle. Singular as it may seem none of the other occupants of the house had heard any unusual noise, although the uproar must have been great for some moments, nor was any shock perceived when the safe door had been blown off. It was as the paper stated, the most mysterious of the many detective-baffling crimes which had been committed in New York city, because of the fact that such a deed could have been done without alarming any one in the vicinity. Nothing was said regarding the men for whom Jet had carried the satchel, because at the time the article had been written the police were not in possession of this very valuable clew. Jet had finished reading the article, and was studying the matter in his mind without being able to arrive at any definite conclusion regarding the course he should pursue, except that he was eager to follow the men who had treated him so roughly, when a stranger halted directly in front of him. "You don't seem to be very busy." "It kinder looks that way for a fact." "Taking a vacation?" "A good deal more of a one than I want. I'd like to pick up some kind of a job that would pay a little money between now an' bedtime." "Live here?" "In New York. A couple of duffers hired me to come here, an' then skipped without payin'." "So you're stranded?" "You'd think so if you didn't have a blessed cent, an' was hungry enough to eat up the whole town." "Do you want to earn money to take you back to the city?" "I'd rather go to Cooperstown Junction." "Then you'd be worse off than you are here, for it isn't any town." "That's where I want to go all the same." "I can give you a chance if you'll work your way." "What do you want me to do?" "I've got a minstrel company on the road, and wouldn't mind paying the traveling expenses of a smart boy who will distribute programmes and make himself generally useful." "A show! Say, I can do a mighty good turn at dancin', and give some of these fellers what think they know it all, a few points." "Step out and let me see what you can do." Jet was by no means bashful; in a few seconds he was dancing as spiritedly as if such discomforts as hunger and fatigue were unknown. "You'll do," the stranger said, approvingly, when the boy ceased his efforts. "I'll take you along, and pay a little something if you'll do a turn." "You can bet your life I will, but I don't want to go any farther than Cooperstown Junction." "Very well, there'll be plenty of time to talk about that part of the business, for we shall make three stands between here and there. Take this money to buy something in the way of a lunch, and in twenty minutes we'll start." Jet was overjoyed. By this arrangement he saw an opportunity to follow the alleged murderers, and at the same time earn money to return to New York if necessary. Probably if he had told his new employer the whole story that gentleman would have advised him to call upon the inspector without delay, rather than try to run the criminals down himself. As it was, however, he believed he knew exactly what course to pursue, and had little doubt as to succeeding. Two sandwiches and three boiled eggs were the provisions he purchased to break his long fast, and when the train drew out of the depot the amateur dancer, seated by the side of his employer, thought he was very fortunate. Cobleskill was the town where Jet was to make his first bow before the public, and with a costume which was rather "off color" because of having been contributed in fragments by the different members of the company, he stepped on the stage feeling just a trifle nervous. To the surprise of his professional companions Jet gave a really presentable performance. It is true some of his steps were not exactly artistic, but he made up in quantity what might have been lacking in quality, and the applause received was enough to make him proud. "Say, my boy, you'll make a success of this thing if you do a little studying," the manager exclaimed when Jet finished his turn. "I'll give you ten dollars a week and pay all your expenses if you want to keep on the road with us." "I don't reckon I'll stay more than the three nights we talked about, 'cause you see I've got some work to do when we strike Cooperstown Junction." "You'll be glad enough to drop it when you see what kind of a place it is." During the remainder of the evening Jet had nothing to do save watch the other performers from the wings, and but for the fear that the inspector might send an officer to arrest him, he would have enjoyed himself hugely. On the following day he took part in the street parade at the next stopping place, and during the afternoon read everything concerning the tragedy he could find in the hotel reading-room papers. He did not gain any great amount of information, however. The particulars of the murder were related at greater length, and it was said that several promising clews were being followed, but no details were given concerning the work of the detectives. "Jest as likely as not I'll surprise people before this thing is over. If I can get on the track of them men Something is goin' to happen for a fact." He had already begun to speculate on the anticipated triumph when he should, unaided, bring the guilty men to justice, as his gaze fell on an advertisement displayed in large type: INFORMATION WANTED. A suitable reward will be paid for information as to the whereabouts of Jethro Lewis. The said boy is fourteen years of age, medium size, curly hair, and when last seen wore a suit of grey clothes with a district messenger's cap, on which were the figures 48. Address X. Y. Z., _Herald_ office. "The inspector is after me," Jet whispered as the paper fell from his grasp. "Now my jig is up, an' I reckon there's no chance but that I'll have to go to jail." Jet tore the advertisement from the sheet lest it should be seen by some member of the company, and then went at once to the theater, where he could remain screened from view of the townspeople. The one thought in his mind was that all would be well if he could get on the track of those who had kidnapped him, and he blamed himself severely for not having gone straight on to Cooperstown Junction, instead of remaining with the company, but how that might have been done while he was penniless was something he did not attempt to solve. "I won't stay any longer than to-night," he said to himself as the curtain was raised for the evening's performance, and the stage manager warned him to be ready for his cue. "There must be some way of getting over to that place without waiting for the company." On this night he felt more confidence in himself, having had two rehearsals with the leader of the orchestra, and at the signal went before the audience confidently. On the previous performance he had not dared to look at the people, but kept his eyes on the stage. Now, however, he glanced around, and the dance was hardly begun before he brought it to a close, the musicians gazing at him in surprise. The cause of his sudden stopping was startling enough to have disconcerted a much older performer. Facing him, and not more than two rows of seats from the stage, sat the two men he was so anxious to meet. "Go on!" the leader of the orchestra whispered hoarsely, and from the wings he heard the angry command of the stage manager: "Get to work, boy! Do you want to queer the whole show?" Jet nerved himself to begin the dance, but he was so exceedingly awkward that several of the audience guyed him, a fact which deprived him of the small remnant of self-possession remaining. Without stopping to consider what the result might be, he ran at full speed from the stage, and the spectators hooted and yelled derisively. "What is the matter with you?" the manager asked fiercely, as he shook Jet until his teeth chattered. "Them men are there!" the boy cried brokenly. "I must go right out an' get hold of them." "You'll go and stay, you little villain! If you couldn't dance I wouldn't say a word, but I know what you are able to do. Where are you off to now?" "I want to change these clothes so's I can go around to the front of the house." "What for?" "Them men are there, an' I've got to find out where they're stopping." "What are they to you? "Don't stop to ask questions now, but let me go!" Jet cried, impatiently, as he tore himself from the angry man's grasp, threw off the stage costume and ran from the building. With no idea his enemies had recognized him, he continued on without fear until reaching the corner of the building, where one of the men was standing half hidden by the shadow. The fellow's hand was raised, and as Jet came up he struck the boy a crashing blow on the head with a stout stick, felling him to the ground like one suddenly deprived of life. CHAPTER V BAFFLED When Jet regained consciousness he was lying on the ground alone, feeling dizzy and suffering from a most severe pain in his head. He raised his hand as if to relieve the anguish, and found that his hair was matted together with a certain sticky substance, which, by aid of a light from a near-by lamp, he discovered to be blood. From the theater music could be heard, thus telling that the performance had not yet been brought to a close. It was only after the greatest difficulty that Jet rose to his feet, looked around for an instant as if expecting another attack, and then staggered toward the stage entrance. He spent ten minutes covering a distance of twenty yards, and, on opening the door, was greeted by one of the company, who had evidently come out for a breath of fresh air. "You had better not let the manager see you until after he cools off a little more, for---- What is the matter, lad?" This last question after the boy's pale and blood-stained face could be seen. "Somebody struck me." "Struck you? It looks more as if they had been trying to kill you." "Perhaps that was what they did want to do," and Jet half-seated himself, half-fell on a trunk. However aggrieved the members of the company may have felt because of Jet's failure, none of them were so hard-hearted as to ignore the fact of his suffering. Those not on the stage were immediately summoned by the boy's questioner, and in a very few seconds a messenger had been sent in search of a surgeon. "Don't bother about me; I'll be all right in a little while," Jet managed to say, and then he fainted. It was soon found that the boy's injuries, while severe, were not dangerous. The scalp had been laid open to such an extent that half a dozen stitches were necessary to close the wound,
{'title': 'Messenger No. 48 by James Otis', 'source': 'Project Gutenberg', 'lang': 'en'}