Fighting for Fortune 26 – Franklin · Library Across
Literature · Crime, Thrillers & Mystery
Fighting for Fortune 26Crazy Meg’s Mark
18
Literature · Crime, Thrillers & Mystery
Fighting for Fortune 26
Crazy Meg’s Mark
FranklinEnglish
Let us see what that pair of young schemers, Tim Downey and Rodney Darringford, are doing all this time.
When the money was received, and after Tim had paid off Daley and Spofford, he and Rodney decided to join forces, and go off “on a good time” to Columbus, a large city west of Springfield.
“Life is too slow and risky here,” Tim had remarked, “and we would be suspected if seen with all this money.”
It was, indeed, a large amount for two boys to handle.
The boys left Springfield with the idea of going to Columbus, but did not.
Ten miles from Springfield they made a change in their plans. Here was located a noted summer resort, known as Eagle Cliff, and Rodney insisted on spending a day or two there.
“What for?” asked Tim.
“To cut a dash.”
“Who’s there?”
“A lot of snobs from the academy I used to go to. I’d just like to show them that I’ve got more cash than any of them.”
“All right, I’m willing,” assented Tim.
Both boys had rigged themselves up in the finest of clothes, and the amount of gaudy jewelry that Tim wore was enormous.
They tired of the humdrum life at Eagle Cliff in a day, and both decided to go on to Columbus.
“Suppose we drive there, and take in the fair at Chester and the races at Dover on the way?” suggested Tim.
“All right.”
The result was that they made an arrangement with a liveryman to supply a double team, and one morning they started for Columbus by way of a fine road lined by charming villages.
They drove recklessly, and in crossing a narrow bridge were so precipitate that they crowded several boys standing there to its extreme edge.
One little fellow fell over into the stream and was with difficulty rescued, but the indifferent Tim and Rodney only laughed at the anger and indignation of the boy’s companions.
Late that afternoon Tim Downey and his companion arrived at a place called Ridgeton, where they lingered long enough to get quite intoxicated.
The tavern keeper bluntly told them that they were not in a condition to pursue the journey, and that the horses were nearly exhausted.
“We’ll load up with a dozen bottles of champagne and go on to the fair at Chester,” persisted Tim.
Five miles on the road they became uproariously, intoxicated and wandered off from the road, finding themselves pursuing a sandy and yielding course along the shores of a lake.
A girl calling home the cows told them that they had better retrace their way to the road, but they were stubbornly determined to cross a swampy reach of land by a short cut, and kept on.
Darkness overtook them at last. They kept drinking more and more, quarreled, had a fist fight, and then Rodney, at last overcome with the wine, lay in the bottom of the carriage unconscious.
Tim, angry at the slow progress of the horses, lashed them with the whip. The animals became frightened and unmanageable.
They tore the reins from his hands, ran away, and colliding with a tree, the frail vehicle was dashed to fragments and both boys landed insensible among a wreck of wood and wine bottles in the swamp.
It was about midnight when Tim awoke. It was raining hard, and he lay in a puddle of water. Every garment he wore was soaked through and through.
To his stupefied mind, at last came the light, and he groped around and tried to make out his surroundings.
He stumbled over a wheel and other portions of the wrecked carriage, and finally found the lamp that was formerly attached to the whip socket.
About the only dry thing about him, except his parched tongue, was the inside of his tin match safe.
He managed to light the lamp. Then its rays showed that the carriage was a hopeless wreck, the horses gone, and that Rodney Darringford was lying in a stupid slumber in a water-filled rut near by.
Four of the bottles in the basket were intact, and Tim drained one feverishly.
“Here, wake up, Rodney!” he shouted to his companion, shaking him vigorously.
“Eh? Lemme be!”
“Wake up!”
“Won’t!”
But Tim maliciously switched Rodney until he aroused to wakefulness.
Then he gave him a bottle of wine, pocketed the two others, and taking up the carriage lamp, said:
“Come on!”
“Where are you going?” asked Rodney irritably.
“To find shelter. We’re in an awful fix.”
“Yes--clothes are spoiled.”
“And rig wrecked. It will cost us something.”
“If the man ever sees us again, yes. Ha! ha!”
The remaining wine buoyed up the flagging spirits of the two reckless boys and made them forget the chill and rain.
They floundered in and out of the swamp and finally reached the higher ground.
No lights showed anywhere.
Finally, between two hills where the uplands began, Rodney said:
Tim went on a little way. He made a discovery, and shouted back to his companion:
“Come on, Rodney!”
“What’s the matter?”
“Found a cabin.”
“All right.”
Rodney staggered after Tim. In a little grove a dismantled hut showed. It had no door, and the window apertures were sashless, but it was a shelter.
Tim entered it. The carriage lamp showed a bare interior, a broken bench, a stool, a three-legged table and an enormous fireplace.
Rodney lay down on the bench with a grunt of relief, but Tim, shivering with the dampness and cold, proceeded to gather a lot of wood outside.
He soon had a rousing fire in the fireplace, and found the door that had been broken off its hinges outside and propped it into place to keep out the wind and rain.
“Come, Rodney,” he said to his sleepy companion, “take off some of your clothes and spread them out to dry.”
Rodney reluctantly obeyed, and Tim did the same, and their coats, vests, hats and shoes and stockings were soon steaming before the fire.
“Where’s your money, Rodney?” asked Tim.
“In my pocket.”
“Hand it out.”
“What for?”
“Take it out and see.”
Rodney did so. He now knew what Tim meant. The roll of bills and even the interior of the wallet that contained them were a mass of wet rags, almost reduced to a pulp.
The new, crisp bills were matted together and discolored so much that he looked alarmed.
“Same way with mine,” said Tim. “We’ll have to separate and dry them.”
“You do it. I’m sleepy.”
“No; you must do your share,” retorted Tim.
They soon had the broad stone in front of the fireplace covered with the water-soaked bank notes.
“Hello! these papers are pretty nearly done for,” said Tim, as he drew a large envelope containing documents from his pocket.
“What’s that, Tim?” asked Rodney curiously.
“Some papers I took from young Ellison on board the Spray.”
“What are they?”
“Oh, something about the Ellison murder. They’re no good.”
“Hold on.”
Tim had made a motion as if to throw them in the fire.
“What’s the trouble?”
“Don’t destroy them.”
“Why not?”
“They may be important.”
“They’d prove we were thieves if they found them on us.”
“Well, dry them with the rest, and I’ll see what they are in the morning.”
“Just as you say,” and Tim spread the papers out to dry alongside of the bank notes.
It was a curious picture that the interior of the rude cabin presented half an hour later.
A fortune lay on the hearth, and near it slumbered the stupefied boys.
The scene had an outside spectator, although the boys little suspected it.
At the window, just as they began talking about the bank notes and the papers, and spreading them out to dry, a strange, weird face had appeared.
A wild pair of eyes gleamed in at the scene, and the same eyes peered in at the door as it was stealthily lifted out of place half an hour later.
At the door appeared a strange figure. It was that of a woman, old, haggard, with bedraggled attire, and face and eyes that seemed to indicate that she was some homeless wanderer, bereft of her reason, and accidentally strayed here.
For all that, there seemed to be a purpose in her visit. She moved about stealthily, and her gleaming glance was fixed on the papers and bank notes on the hearth.
Chuckling, muttering, she gathered up the last one of them, thrust them into a bundle under her shawl, and then stole toward the door again.
Halfway to it she paused. An elfish, crooning laugh escaped her lips. She drew a bottle filled with blood-red liquid from beneath her shawl, dipped her finger in it, and then deliberately marked an X on the forehead of each of the sleeping boys.
“Blood!” she muttered. “I’ll mark them, too, for they spoke that name, Ellison. Money and papers! ho! ho! Crazy Meg will go to the bad man with the knife who scared her so, ho! ho!”
Then the woman disappeared as silently as she had come to the cabin.
It was broad daylight when Rodney Darringford awoke. He gazed around stupidly. The door was out of place, and the fire was out.
He looked startled as he glanced at the hearth, and recalled the night previous.
“Tim! Tim!” he cried. “Wake up. Say, did you gather up the money?”
“What money?”
“The bank notes we spread on the hearth to dry.”
“Not I. They’re there.”
“Well, they ain’t.”
“What?”
“No.”
Tim sat bolt upright and stared blankly at the hearth.
“You’re joking, Rodney?”
“I ain’t.”
“Just wake up?”
“Yes.”
“Wind blew them into the corner of the room.”
“None there, and the door is down. Some one has been here.”
“The money is gone?”
“Yes, stolen.”
“We’re beggars.”
“Worse--thieves!”
The worst was soon known. The money was gone.
The only plausible theory was one admitting that some dishonest prowler had discovered the money, and taken it.
The blow was a terrible one to the boys, so much so, that when Rodney noticed a blazing red X on Tim’s forehead, he did not even remark it, and Tim was too dejected and overcome to notice that on his companion’s brow.
They donned their coats, and made a hasty scurry around the cabin, but no trace of the thief or booty was found.
Then they grew irritable, and fell to quarreling, and then again began planning what they would do.
“I’m dying of hunger,” said Tim, “and I’m going to find some place to get something to eat at.”
“Where?”
“Portsmouth must be near here.”
“Yes; only a few miles, I guess. I’m going back home.”
“And leave me?”
“We’ve got no money. We can’t even get a meal.”
“Yes, we can. The thief has taken all our money, but I’ve got my jewelry. I can sell that.”
The boys finally left the hut. In an hour they came to a crossroads tavern, beyond which lay the little hamlet of Portsmouth.
The tavern keeper was busy at his bar arranging some bottles, when Tim entered the place, followed by Rodney.
“Say, mister,” he said, “can we get a meal here?”
“I reckon so.”
“We’ve got no money.”
“No trust to strangers.”
“But I’ve got a watch and chain here,” pursued Tim. “We were robbed last night of all our money. We want to stay here a day or two, and if you’ll give us a meal and something to drink first, I’ll send my friend to the town yonder to sell the watch and pay you.”
The landlord hesitated, but finally said:
“I guess it’s all right. No games, now.”
“Oh, no; you can keep the watch for security and send to town yourself, if you like.”
“No, I’ll trust you, only one of you stay here while the other goes for the money.”
“That’s all right.”
“Sit down at one of the tables. I’ll order your breakfast for you.”
The boys did so, removing their hats.
As the tavern keeper came back with some dishes, he stared strangely at them.
“Hello!” he ejaculated. “So you’ve seen Crazy Meg, eh?”
