CHAPTER XXVIII JED STARTS FOR HOME

Only for an instant did Jed Hopkins and Jack Welsh stand motionless there on the edge of the pit, staring down at the gruesome sight the burning cotton disclosed to them. Then Jed sprang erect, his lips compressed, caught up the rope, and rapidly made a noose in one end of it.

“I’ll go down,” he said. “I’m th’ lightest, an’ I guess you kin handle me all right. Stand well back from th’ edge an’ git a good hold. Let it play over th’ rock here where it’s smooth. Ready?”

“All right,” Jack answered, taking a turn of the rope around his arm and bracing himself for the weight.

Jed sat down at the edge of the pit, placed one foot in the noose he had made, tested it, and then swung himself off. Jack paid out the line slowly and carefully, so that it might not get beyond his control. At the end of a moment, the line slackened, and Jack, looking down into the pit, saw his ? 314 ? companion bending over the ghastly figure crushed against the floor.

“He’s dead,” Jed announced, after a short examination. “He’s mashed right in. That box must o’ caught him square on th’ breast. He never knowed what hit him.”

“Who is he?” asked Jack, in an awed whisper, and then he started violently back, as something dark and uncanny whirred past his face,—for Jack was not without his superstitions, and the surroundings were certainly ghostly enough to impress the strongest heart. As he looked up, he fancied he saw two eyes gleaming at him out of the darkness; again there was a whir of wings past the lantern, and then he laughed aloud, for he saw his spectral visitor was only a bat.

“What’s th’ matter?” queried Jed, looking up in surprise. “I don’t see nothin’ t’ laugh at.”

“There’s a lot o’ bats up here,” explained Jack, a little sheepishly. “I was jest gittin’ ready t’ run—I thought they was banshees. Do you know who th’ pore feller is?”

Jed struck a match and examined the dead man’s face.

“No, I don’t know him,” he said at last. "An’ yet his face seems sort o’ familiar, too. Why, yes; it’s a feller who’s been workin’ around our stables. By gum! It’s th’ one thet druv th’ wagon! We’ve been lookin’ fer his corpse everywhere; an’ when we didn’t find it, we thought he was in ? 315 ? cahoots with th’ robbers an’ had skipped out with ’em! Now how do you suppose he got here?"

Jack, of course, could find no answer to the question, but stood staring stupidly down until Jed, by a mighty effort, rolled the box to one side, and passed the noose beneath the dead man’s arms.

“All right,” Jed called. “I think you kin lift him—he ain’t very heavy.”

And Jack slowly pulled the body up, hand over hand, the muscles he had acquired by long years of work on section standing him in good stead.

Then, as the ghastly face, hanging limply back, came within the circle of light cast by his lantern, he saw it clearly, and in the shock it gave him almost let the body fall.

“Good God!” he muttered. “Good God!” and stared down, fascinated, into the half-closed, lustreless eyes.

For the dead man was Dan Nolan.

Just how he had met death there at the bottom of that pit was never certainly known. Perhaps he had been sent down ahead to steady the chest in its descent and cast loose the ropes, and the chest had slipped or got beyond control of the men who were lowering it and crashed down upon him. Or perhaps he himself, helping to lower it, had lost his balance and fallen, only to be crushed by it as it, too, fell. His companions, terrified, no doubt, by the tragedy, had waited only to assure ? 316 ? themselves that he was dead, and had then drawn up the ropes and fled.

Some of those who knew the story of Nolan’s treachery to the robbers, believed that it was not an accident at all, but that his companions had deliberately used this method of avenging themselves and getting rid of him, now that his usefulness to them was past. Whether by accident or design, certain it was that Nolan had met his end miserably at the very place where his captors had intended him to die.

As soon as Jed was got out of the pit, help was summoned, for the box was far too heavy for two men to raise. The news that it had been found spread like wildfire, and a regular procession started for the mouth of the old mine to see it recovered. Among them was the paymaster, and, as soon as the box was hauled up, he produced a key from his pocket, turned it in the lock, and threw back the lid.

“Good!” he said. “They didn’t stop to open it. Knew they ran the risk of being held up and searched, and didn’t want any of the stuff to be found on them. They certainly had every reason to believe that it was safely planted here.”

“They didn’t have time t’ open it,” said Jed. "That lock was specially made—see how it throws three bolts instead o’ one. Nobody could ’a’ picked it. Th’ only way they could ’a’ got that chest open was t’ blow it, like a safe, an’ I don’t ? 317 ? suppose they was fixed fer that kind o’ work, comin’, as they did, straight from th’ pen."

“Or perhaps they was scared away by Nolan’s death,” added Jack. “I certainly wouldn’t ’a’ cared t’ stay here arter that!”

“Well, whatever the cause, the money’s here,” said the paymaster, and closed the lid again and locked it.

The evening shadows were lengthening along the path as Jack climbed up to the little house back of the railroad yards, and softly opened the door and entered. Mary was in the kitchen, and, at the sound of his step, turned toward him, her face very pale, her eyes asking the question her lips did not dare to utter. Jack saw the question and understood.

“He’s dead,” he said, briefly.

“Oh, Jack, not that!” cried Mary, her face gray with horror. “Not that! I didn’t mean it! God knows I didn’t mean it!”

“Don’t worry. ’Twasn’t me killed him. T knowed I couldn’t do it. But I’d ’a’ took him back to th’ pen, myself, an’ waited t’ see him locked up.”

Mary drew a deep breath of relief, and the colour returned to her face again.

“Thank God!” she said. “I was prayin’ all night, Jack, that you wouldn’t find him; I was so worrited t’ think that I’d let you go like that! And yet he wasn’t no better than a snake!”

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“Well, he’s gittin’ his deserts now,” and Jack told her the story of the finding of the body.

Mary listened to the end without offering to interrupt.

“’Twas God’s judgment, Jack,” she said, solemnly, when he had finished. “But,” she added, with a quick return of housewifely instinct, “you must be half-starved.”

“I am purty hungry, an’ that’s a fact,” he admitted. “What’s that you’ve got on th’ stove? It smells mighty good,” and he sniffed appreciatively.

“It’s some chicken broth fer Allan. Would y’ like some?”

“A good thick beefsteak ’d be more in my line. How is th’ boy?”

“Comin’ on nicely,” answered Mary, as she hurried to the pantry. She reappeared in a moment, bringing back with her just the sort of steak Jack was thinking of.

He stared at it in astonishment.

“What are you,” he demanded, “a witch? Do you jest wave your wand an’ make things happen?”

“Oh, no,” laughed Mary. “I bought it this mornin’,” and the steak was soon sizzling temptingly in a skillet.

“And you’re sure th’ boy’s comin’ along all right?” he asked.

“Th’ docther says he kin set up day arter t’-morrer. ? 319 ? He’s got his side in a plaster cast, an’ says he’ll keep it there till th’ ribs knit. He says that won’t take long.”

The doctor, as will be seen, counted on Allan’s perfect health and vigorous constitution; nor did he count in vain, for two days later he permitted the patient to rise from the bed, helped him carefully to descend the stairs, and saw him comfortably installed in a great padded chair by the front window, whence he could look down over the busy yards.

“Why, it seems like old times,” he said, smiling, as he sank back into the chair. “It isn’t so very long ago that I was sitting here with a bullet-hole through me.”

“You certainly have had your share,” agreed the doctor. “It’s just about two years since I cut that bullet out from under your shoulder-blade. What did you do with it?”

“Here it is,” said Mary, and taking a small bottle from the mantelpiece, she showed the little piece of flattened lead inside.

“You’ll get over this a good deal quicker,” went on the doctor, reassuringly. “You may walk around a little, only be careful to move slowly and not to bring any strain or wrench upon the side. I’ll look in once in awhile and make sure you’re getting along all right,” and with that he was gone.

At the gate, Allan saw him meet a mail-carrier, ? 320 ? and pause to answer a question which the carrier put to him. Then he jumped into his buggy, and drove away, while the carrier mounted to the front door and knocked.

“I’ve got a registered letter here for John Welsh,” he said, when Mary opened the door. “Is he here?”

“Here I am,” said Jack, “but th’ letter must be fer some other John Welsh. Where’s it from?”

“It’s from Coalville.”

“Then it’s fer you, Jack,” said Mary, quickly.

“All right; sign for it here,” said the carrier, and presented the card and book.

Jack signed silently, and waited till the door closed behind the carrier.

“I don’t believe it’s fer me,” he said. “Who’d be sendin’ me a registered letter?”

“The best way to find out is to open it,” suggested Allan.

“Here, you open it,” said Jack, “an’ if it ain’t fer me, shut it up agin. I’ve heerd o’ people bein’ sent t’ jail fer openin’ letters that didn’t belong to ’em.”

“Very well,” assented Allan, and tore open the envelope and drew out the letter.

Jack noticed how his face changed and his hands trembled as he glanced through it.

“Put it back, boy,” he cried. “I knowed it wasn’t fer me. Put it back!”

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“Yes, it is for you, Jack,” said Allan, looking up, his eyes bright with tears. Listen:

“‘Mr. John Welsh,
           “’Wadsworth, Ohio.

“’Dear Sir:—As you are no doubt aware, the Coalville Coal Company offered a reward of five thousand dollars for the recovery of the chest, with contents intact, which was stolen on the night of the 10th inst. Mr. Jed Hopkins and yourself succeeded in finding the chest, and an examination proved the contents to be undisturbed. It is with great pleasure, therefore, that I enclose the company’s check for twenty-five hundred dollars, your share of the reward, and the company desires also to thank you for the great service which you assisted in rendering it. Please acknowledge receipt of check.

“Very truly yours,
        “‘S. R. Alderson,
            “’President.’”

For a moment, Jack stood staring at Allan, incapable of utterance; then, by a mighty effort, he pulled himself together.

“But that ain’t right!” he protested, violently. “I didn’t find th’ chest! I didn’t do nothin’! It was Jed Hopkins. I jest went along! I didn’t do a blame thing! I won’t take it!”

Mary looked at him, her face alight with love and pride.

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“That’s right, Jack!” she cried. “We don’t want nothin we hain’t earned honest—we won’t wrong nobody in this world!”

Allan sat looking at the slip of pink paper he held between his fingers.

“I don’t know,” he said, slowly. “It seems to me that you are certainly entitled to a portion of the reward—perhaps not to half of it. You surely helped some.”

“If I did, I don’t remember it,” said Jack. “Besides—”

A knock at the door interrupted him. Mary opened it, to find a tall, lean figure standing on the threshold.

“Why, it’s Jed Hopkins!” cried Allan. “Come in! Come in!”

“Sure I will,” laughed Jed, stooping a little as he entered the door. “An’ how is the kid?”

“The kid’s first-rate,” Allan assured him, clasping warmly the great palm held out to him. “Mary and Jack,” he went on, turning to the others, “this is the man who saved my life. He was on fire himself and the flames were all about him, but he stopped long enough to get hold of me and pull me out.”

“Oh, shet up!” protested Jed. “I didn’t stop at all. I jest sort o’ hooked on to you as I was goin’ past.”

Mary came up to him, all her heart in her face.

“We can’t thank you,” she said. "They ain’t ? 323 ? no use in our tryin’ t’ do that. But if that boy’d died like that—it—it—it would ’a’ broke our hearts."

“An’ this is th’ feller they think I’ll rob,” broke in Jack.

“Rob?” repeated Jed, looking at him.

“Do ye think fer a minute,” cried Jack, fiercely, “I’d take one penny o’ that reward? Not me! I didn’t earn it! Here!” and he seized the check from Allan’s fingers and crushed it into Jed’s hand. “Take it. It’s yourn.”

Jed, his face very red, stared from the check to Jack and from Jack to the check. Then a queer twinkle came into his eye.

“Oh, all right,” he said, “if you feel that way.”

“I do,” said Jack, “an’ so does Mary,” and he watched until Jed had folded the check and placed it in his pocket. “Now,” he went on, with a sigh of relief, “I feel better. O’ course you’ll stay t’ supper?”

“O’ course I will,” answered Jed, promptly, and Mary bustled away to prepare the meal.

And when it was served, half an hour later, Jed was given the place of honour between Jack and Allan, with Mamie and Mary across from him.

“Well,” he said, looking around at the smoking dishes, "this reminds me of old times, afore I pulled up stakes an’ went West. I was born in New Hampshire, an’ didn’t know when I was well ? 324 ? off, an’ so run away like so many fool boys do. I ain’t had a home since—an’ I’ve never had th’ nerve t’ go back thar an’ face my old mother that I deserted like that. You see, I jest want t’ show you what a good-fer-nothin’ skunk I am."

“You’ve got a home right here, if you want it,” said Mary, quickly, out of the depths of her heart.

Jed cleared his throat once or twice before he found the voice to answer.

“Mrs. Welsh,” he said, “I’m a-goin’ back now, jest as fast as a train kin take me. I wanted t’ come over fust an’ say good-bye t’ th’ kid. He’s clear grit. But I won’t never fergit them words o’ yours.”

At last he pushed his chair back from the table and rose.

“Th’ best meal I’ve eat in twenty year,” he said. “But I’ve got t’ go—my train starts at six-ten. How much do I owe you?”

“What!” cried Jack, his eyes flashing. “Owe us? Ye don’t owe us a cent!”

“Do you take me fer a dead beat!” shouted Jed. “I’m a-goin’ t’ pay fer that meal. Here,” he cried, and fillped a folded bit of pink paper out upon the table, “take that. It’s wuth it.”

Allan alone understood, and he began to smile, though his eyes were wet.

“You infernal galoot,” went on Jed, excitedly, "did you suppose fer a minute I’d take that ? 325 ? money? I was never so near lickin’ a man in my life! Take it, or by George, I’ll lick you yet!"

And with that, he jumped on Mamie, caught her up, kissed her, and fairly ran from the house.