Harper's Round Table, October 8, 1895.

by Various.

THE COPPERTOWN "STAR" ROUTE.

BY W. G. VAN Ta.s.sEL SUTPHEN.

The Happy Thought, as will be remembered by those who have read "The Longmeadow Toll-Gate," was a new departure in bicycle construction.

Although provided with pedals that could be used in an emergency, its real motive-power was derived from naphtha applied through a pair of cylinders built upon a modification of the hot-air principle, and working directly upon the rear wheel. The oil was admitted drop by drop to the cylinders, mixed with air, and then exploded by a spark from an electric storage battery. The speed was regulated by the flow of oil, and the operator had only to touch a hand-lever to get any rate he wanted from one up to thirty miles an hour. The power could be instantly shut down either by closing the oil valve or by cutting off the electric current. Finally, the machinery had but few working parts, and was therefore not liable to get out of order, and in its operation it was absolutely safe, there being no boiler, and consequently no possibility of an explosion.

The Happy Thought, which had been built by Mr. March for his son Fred, was a double machine, the steersman occupying the front saddle and the engineer sitting behind. In general appearance the Happy Thought resembled the ordinary "tandem," the only noticeable difference being in its huge pneumatic tires, which were fully four inches in diameter. The idea was that they would ride more easily over rough roads, would not slip in mud nor sink in sand, and would be less liable to puncture.

It was nearly a year since that memorable night when Fred March and his partner, Jack Howard, had run down the bank robbers, and the Happy Thought had saved the Jefferson Court-House Bank $20,000 in hard cash.

Within the last six months copper of fine quality had been discovered in the hills west of Fairacre, capital had been attracted, a smelting plant was in process of erection, and business was booming. The works of the Copper Company were situated some thirty miles away, and a large force of men were working night and day to get the plant in running order. The company were building a branch road to connect with the railway that ran ten miles to the east of Fairacre, but at present the only means of communication with the outside world was the wagon-road, which had been constructed over Razor-Back Ridge. The government had been persuaded to establish a "Star" mail route from Fairacre to the copper camp, and Fred, with the a.s.sistance of his father, had succeeded in obtaining the contract for himself and Jack. It was a semi-weekly route, the trip days being Tuesdays and Fridays, and for two months the Happy Thought had run regularly between the two places, leaving Fairacre at one o'clock in the afternoon and returning the same night.

It was shortly before one o'clock on Friday, the 31st of August, and the Happy Thought was standing in front of the Fairacre Post-office, ready for her regular run. Jack, oil-can in hand, was giving a last look to the bearings, while Fred, with the mail-bag strapped to his shoulders, stood by occasionally glancing at his watch. It was almost time to start, but the boys were also agents for the express company, and Mr.

Simmons, the Fairacre agent, seemed to be in no hurry about making up his consignment.

"One o'clock," growled Fred. "I don't believe he has anything for us to-day;" and then catching sight of a beckoning finger through the dusty window-pane, "Come on, Jack, he wants to see us both."

"This way," said Mr. Simmons, briefly, leading the boys to the back room. The room looked into an enclosed yard, but Mr. Simmons drew the curtains carefully. Then going to his safe, he unlocked it, and took out a thick square package. "To-morrow is pay-day at the works," he said, slowly, "and there's wages for three months coming to the men. The company always has it sent up by express from the city, and $10,000 is a tidy little sum," he concluded, tapping the package gently with his knuckles.

"Of course we'll be careful," began Fred.

"In course you mean to be," interrupted Mr. Simmons, gravely; "but I know what boys are, and you're awful careless about your receipts."

Fred blushed as he remembered an entry on the Tuesday book for which they had somehow neglected to obtain the necessary signature that acknowledged delivery.

Mr. Simmons slipped the package in the express bag, locked it, and handed it to Jack. "Good-by and good luck," he added, "and be sure you get your receipt."

The bag with its precious freight was quickly strapped to Jack's back, and a few moments later the Happy Thought was ploughing down the dusty road at twenty miles an hour.

The distance to the copper-works was a trifle over thirty miles, but at least twelve miles of it was steady up-hill work. Once across Razor-Back Ridge, it was better travelling, and the Happy Thought generally made the whole trip in a few minutes over two hours. The road was reasonably smooth and hard, but the afternoon sun was hot, and the boys thought longingly of the cool woods that covered the further side of the ridge.

However, the Happy Thought pushed steadily along, and they had nothing to do but to keep her on her course.

"Fifteen minutes late," said Fred, as they slid gently over the summit, and slowed down to oil the working parts. "But it's an easy run, now, and we'll be in Coppertown by half past three--that is, if n.o.body stops us on the way," he added, with a short laugh.

"But you don't think--" exclaimed Jack, looking up.

"Of course I don't; but there may be more persons than one who know of the money that's going through to-day. There isn't a house between here and Coppertown, and you know that 'Smooth Jim' broke jail ten days ago, and is with his gang again."

Jack looked disturbed.

"But I don't expect to see the gentleman, and anyway we can run if we can't fight--eh, old girl?" and Fred gave the Happy Thought an affectionate pat as he sprang into his saddle.

"I suppose it's what we're carrying that makes me feel nervous," thought Fred, as they rolled smoothly along in the cool dense shadow of the beech-wood. "There's half-way," he muttered a few moments later, as a blasted pine-tree flashed past. "We are doing better now, and the machinery is working like a watch. That was a great improvement to m.u.f.fle the sound of the exhaust; we run along as quietly as a cat walking on velvet."

There was a touch on his shoulder, and the Happy Thought came to a dead stop.

"Against orders, I know," said Jack, leaning forward and speaking under his breath, "but look back there."

The dead pine-tree was still visible some four hundred yards away, but there was something fluttering from one of its branches--a piece of red flannel rag.

"A signal," said Fred, shortly, "and it means that somebody is after us--after _that_," and he pointed to the express bag. "We've got to go on, for some one is certainly behind us. We can't stay here and be gobbled up, and a rabbit could hardly get through that laurel scrub.

Besides, there's just a chance that it doesn't mean anything, after all.

We'll run ahead carefully, and if it comes to the worst, we'll cut everything loose and make a dash for it. There's nothing short of a rifle-bullet that can catch us."

"Let her go," returned Jack, briefly.

A quarter of a mile further, and the boys began to breathe easier. They were on Breakneck Hill now, and there was nothing suspicious in the look ahead. Half-way down, and as they swung around a curve Fred's heart suddenly seemed to leap up into his mouth. His eye had caught the momentary gleam of something moving in the thick foliage that bordered the road at the bottom of the hill. He recognized it in an instant--the silver mounting of a pistol. He turned and shouted to Jack.

"Crack! crack!" and Fred felt the wind of a bullet as it sung past.

"Crack! crack!" but that was wider of the mark. The Happy Thought under full speed had bounded down the hill, and the danger-point was pa.s.sed.

He could hear faint shouts behind him and the short quick tramp of horses' hoofs. Was it possible that they had escaped?

With fingers tightly clutched on the handle-bars Fred kept the Happy Thought in the middle of the road. The road-bed was smooth and hard, but the front wheel was acting oddly. There was something that looked like a white patch on the tire, and, yes, there could be no doubt about it, it was leaking badly. Evidently the tire had been cut by a bullet, and in a few seconds more the air would be out of it. Just ahead was a curve which for the moment would put them out of sight; they must stop in time to take to the woods. In his excitement Fred put his hand behind him and shut off the oil. The Happy Thought stopped just around the curve, and Fred jumped off and looked around.

_Jack and the express bag had disappeared._

In his bewilderment and dismay Fred hardly knew how he managed to get himself and the Happy Thought under cover before the pursuing hors.e.m.e.n swept by at a slashing gallop. There were four of them in all, heavily armed, and with their faces half concealed by clumsy masks. Fred recognized "Smooth Jim" in the leader of the party, and the sight was not rea.s.suring, even though he was now looking at that gentleman's back.

Half mechanically he got out his repair kit, and began to patch the leaking tire. "Where was Jack?" was the question that seemed to dance in letters of fire before his eyes. Could he be lying back there in the road with a bullet in his head? Was he a prisoner?

But wait a moment. If Jack was in their hands, why had _he_ been chased?

The money was in the bag strapped to Jack's back, and the money was what they were after. But wait again. Was he sure that the hors.e.m.e.n were pursuing him? Might they not have been making their own escape, having secured their booty? In that case Jack had been left behind, wounded or dead. There was but one thing to do, and that was to steal cautiously back and find out.

It had taken Fred some ten minutes to mend the tire and come to this conclusion. At the point where he had made his way into the thicket a small brook, locally called a "branch," crossed the road, and he had been sitting on its bank. As he rose to his feet he happened to glance upstream. There was something floating down with the current. Only a piece of bark. But stop! The little craft carried a miniature mast made from a hazel twig, and in the cleft at its top there was something white--a bit of folded paper.

A signal! A message! Fred watched it eagerly as it came nearer. Twice it grounded against an overhanging branch, but the current swung it clear again. A moment more, and it was in his grasp. A note, and in Jack's handwriting. Fred tore it open.

"Make no noise. Don't go out on road. There is a scout on each side of you. I am a hundred yards upstream with a sprained ankle.

Can you get the H. T. up here without noise? Have a plan.

"JACK."

A few minutes later and Jack was telling his story. He had been pitched off his seat by a sudden lurch just as the Happy Thought began her headlong rush down the hill, but had alighted unhurt in a clump of laurel. Seeing that Fred had safely run the gauntlet, he had made his way into the scrub and worked cautiously down the hill, keeping parallel with the road. On coming to a little bluff that overhung the stream he had caught sight of Fred in his covert by the road-side, and also of the hors.e.m.e.n who had started in to beat the bushes. A shout would have betrayed them both. He must creep down and give Fred warning.

Unfortunately, in descending the bluff he slipped and sprained his ankle. Capture seemed certain. And then came a brilliant thought. The water that flowed past him also ran by Fred. Might it not carry the warning message? The rest you know.

Jack had spent the time in making for himself a rough pair of crutches, and was now able to hobble along.

"A quarter of a mile further upstream there's an old wood-road," he went on, in answer to Fred's eager query. "I can manage to take care of myself if you can get the machine up there. The road will take us straight into Coppertown, and we'll save the money yet."

It was difficult work up the stony bed of the branch, but it was finally accomplished, and the Happy Thought was again under way, though at a reduced speed, for the wood road was not in very good repair. Three, five, ten miles, and the boys began to breathe freely. It looked as though fortune had turned in their favor at last.

"It seems to have grown hazy," said Fred, a few moments later, "and the sky and the sun are as yellow as gold."

"My eyes are smarting," returned Jack, with a cough. "I believe it's smoke; and look there!"