Stratemeyer Edward
A Young Inventor's Pluck: or, The Mystery of the Willington Legacy

CHAPTER XXII
HEAPS OF MONEY

Mont was right. Far out on the fast-darkening waters of the stream was a small rowboat, with Corrigan at the oars, and poor Deb huddled up on the stern seat.

Jack's heart sank within him.

"He's out of reach," he groaned. "Oh, what fools we were to let him dupe us at the mill."

"I suppose he was afraid to trust us to let him go," said the young man. "Can't we do something?" he asked, disconsolately, as he stepped to the top of a rock to get a better view.

"Come down!" cried Jack, pulling him by the coat. "It's no use letting him know that we have tracked him so far, or he'll do his best to mislead us."

"That is so," returned the young man, and he hurried into shelter. "I suppose he intends to join Mosey and Pooler."

"It's a good thing he didn't know we had been to the island," said Jack. "Suppose we take Meg's boat and follow?" he added, suddenly.

"We would never be able to cope with those three men. If we had arms it might be different. But we haven't as much as a toy pistol."

"Never mind, I'm going," was Jack's reply, and he made for the cove where the craft had been left.

"Then I'm with you," Mont returned, and he followed.

At the water's edge both gave a cry of disappointment.

The boat was gone!

"Of course, Corrigan took it," said the young machinist. "He knew this was the place to look for Pooler's boat."

Mont shook his head dubiously.

"I guess you're right. What's to be done now?" he asked, slowly.

Jack cudgeled his brain for an instant.

"I'll look around. There must be other boats. Of course we haven't any right to take them, but we can't stand on ceremony in a case like this."

He ran down the beach and soon came to a tiny craft tied to a fallen tree.

"Just the thing," he exclaimed, untying the boat and jumping in. "Tell you what to do, Mont. I'll row out and keep them in sight, while you run over to Farmer Farrell's for assistance. Get him to come, and other help, too, if you can, and row directly for the landing. If you don't find me there, fire a pistol shot, and I'll come as soon as I can."

This hurried arrangement was agreed upon, and Mont made for the lane that led to the farmer's homestead.

Jack shipped the oars, and tired as he was, pulled manfully out into the stream. The other boat was no longer in view, but he had carefully noted the direction it had taken, and now headed exactly the same way.

He pulled for five minutes or more, and then looked ahead.

He was chagrined to find that the other craft was still out of sight.

Resuming his seat, he redoubled his efforts, sending the spray flying in all directions.

Presently the island loomed up before him, and straining his eyes, he sought for some signs of his sister and her abductor.

But though he looked in all directions, and even rowed a considerable distance up and down the irregular shore, not a thing was revealed.

"Well, I'm stumped!" was his rather slangy but forcible exclamation. "I'm positive they're not far off, and how I can be slipped in this fashion gets me! Wonder if he has gone up to the cottage?"

Jack ran the boat up the beach and landed. It was now very dark, and he had no little difficulty in finding the right direction.

Finally he struck the path, and three minutes' walk brought him to the clearing. A bright light was burning in the cottage living-room, and cautiously approaching one of the side windows, he peeped in.

At the table, his head nodding sleepily, sat Mosey, with a glass and bottle close at hand.

"He must be alone," thought the young machinist. "Wonder where Pooler is?"

In his disappointment, he was about to return to the shore, when the door leading to the garret stairway opened, and Corrigan appeared.

He did not utter a word, but closing the door behind him, he locked it carefully.

Jack was pleased to see him. He instantly surmised that Deb had been brought to the place, and was at the present instant probably locked up in the room above.

He was bound to rescue her at all hazards, and looked around for some available weapon with which to defend himself if the occasion required.

A small axe lay near the doorstep, and he picked it up. It was ah ugly looking thing, and he felt better when he had it where it could be brought into instant use. Both of the men were desperate characters-one of them had tried to take his life-and he was resolved to run no more risks.

"Oi suppose we can't go back to Corney any more," remarked Mosey, as he took the bottle and helped himself freely. "Ye'll be up fer stealin' and-"

"You'll be up for something worse," finished Corrigan, with a forced laugh. "You're right, Andy. The place is getting too hot to hold us. We'll have to clear out soon, I'm afraid. Where is Max?"

"Gone to the cave."

"What for?"

"Oi don't know, leastwise he thinks Oi don't."

"Which means that you do," remarked Corrigan, suggestively.

Mosey unclosed one eye with great deliberation.

"Oi do that," he replied slowly.

"Do you think it's money, Andy?" asked the other, as he seated himself on the edge of the table.

"It's not anything else, Dennis, me b'y," was the reply.

"How much do you expect to get from him?"

"Not one cint. Oh, but he's a close-fisted miser. Oi know him!" and the Irishman rubbed his chin savagely. "He owes me many a dollar, so he does!"

"Suppose we take what we ought to have by force," whispered Corrigan. He was slightly pale and his lips twitched nervously.

"Oi'm wid ye," replied Mosey, rising to his feet. "Oi was thinkin' of the same thing myself. Max is no good any more. Come on!"

With an uncertain step the Irishman moved toward the door. In an instant Jack stepped behind the opposite side of the building.

Corrigan followed his brother-in-law out, and both walked toward the woods on the right.

The young machinist watched them out of sight and then ran into the cottage.

Unlocking the stairway door, he mounted the steps hastily.

"Deb! Deb!"

"Oh, Jack! is that you?" came a voice from the darkness.

"Yes. Where are you?"

"Here, over here, this way!"

Groping his way along the rafters, the young machinist soon held his sister in his arms. In a trice he cut the straps with which Corrigan had bound her.

"Are you hurt?" he asked tenderly.

"Oh, no, but I was awfully frightened!" declared the girl. She was trembling like a frightened fawn, and clung to him closely as he carried her down the ladder and into the open air.

"We'll go over to the shore," said Jack; "I think Mont is there. He was to follow me."

When they reached the edge of the water, they found that the young man had just landed. He was accompanied by Farmer Farrell, one of the hired men, and Meg, who had insisted upon coming along to show the way.

In a few words Jack introduced Deb, and related what had occurred.

"And now I believe these men mean harm to this Max Pooler," he said in conclusion. "If I knew the way to the cave I'd follow them at once."

"I know the way," put in Meg. "Pooler thinks I don't, but I found it out one rainy night by followin' him."

"And will you show us?" asked Jack, eagerly.

"Yep, if you want me to," replied the young girl. "Come on. 'Taint far."

"Hurry up, then. I have a feeling that every minute is valuable."

Meg led off at once, Jack and Mont following first, with Farmer Farrell close behind, and Deb helped along by the hired man, who lagged considerably, having no desire to expose himself to possible harm.

"'Taint very pleasant," said Meg, as they journeyed over rocks and stumps, and through a copse of thick undergrowth, and then over a shallow stream.

Quarter of a mile brought them to a ravine, near the center of the island.

"Here we are!" exclaimed the young girl. "There's the mouth of the cave."

She pointed to a huge rock, split directly in the center. Without an instant's hesitation, Jack entered, followed by the rest.

Bang!

A pistol shot rang out ahead!

"They've shot him, sure?" exclaimed the young machinist, darting forward.

A turn in the passage brought him to a small square chamber hollowed out of the rock, and furnished with a table and two chairs.

He was utterly bewildered by the scene before him.

On either side of the small opening stood Mosey and Corrigan, the former with a smoking pistol in his hand. Between them lay Max Pooler, a wound in his shoulder.

But the scene upon the floor of the cave was what riveted Jack's attention. There, scattered in every direction, were gold and silver coins, amounting to many thousands of dollars.

CHAPTER XXIII
THE MISER'S TREASURE

As he stood in the cave on Blackbird Island, Jack thought he must be dreaming-the smoke and shining gold and silver all dancing before his eyes.

Mechanically he moved forward and grasped hold of the pistol in Mosey's hand. The Irishman was so astonished that he relinquished the weapon without an effort.

"Stand right where you are!" commanded Jack, and he pointed the pistol so that it was nearly in range of both men.

"Cornered!" cried Corrigan, as he looked toward the cave entrance, now blocked by Farmer Farrell and his hired man, "and at the last minute, too."

Meanwhile, Mont had gone down on his knees, and was bending over the prostrate form of Max Pooler, who was bleeding profusely from the wound in his shoulder.

Picking up one of the heavy cloth bags that had contained a part of the scattered coin, the young man clapped it hastily over the bleeding spot, tying it in position with his handkerchief-an action which checked the flow considerably.

"My gold! My precious gold and silver," shrieked Pooler, never deigning to notice the effect of Mosey's hasty shot. "Put it back; put it back in the bags! Oh, don't let them take it! It's mine! All mine!" he whined.

"Never mind," put in Jack. "Don't worry. What's yours shall remain yours. Guess we have them safe, eh, Mr. Farrell?" he continued.

"Looks so," replied the sturdy farmer. "Anyway, I reckon I can keep 'em from going through this door-the pesky critters!" and, with his gun ready for use, the farmer stationed himself in the middle of the passageway, with Deb, Meg and the hired man behind him.

"What's the cause of this row?" asked Jack, hardly knowing how to proceed, the whole affair having happened so unexpectedly.

He looked at Corrigan and then at Mosey, but both of these discomfited individuals remained silent.

"They were trying to rob me of my gold and silver," cried Pooler, "But they sha'n't do it!" he added, vehemently. "It's mine, all mine."

With his restless eyes rolling wildly, the miser-for Max Pooler was naught else-reached out his uninjured arm, and clutching the pieces of money within reach, stowed them away in his bosom.

"Better keep quiet," suggested Mont, placing his hand on the bandaged shoulder. "Your wound may be more serious than you think."

Max Pooler started.

"Do you-you think so?" he asked in a hoarse whisper.

"Not being a doctor, I can't say anything certain. It depends on what direction the bullet took."

"Can I do anything?" put in Deb at this juncture. She had pushed her way past the farmer, and now stood by the young man's side.

"I guess not, Deb," Mont replied. "We haven't much at hand in the shape of hospital supplies," he added, soberly.

"Suppose we try to get him up to the house," suggested Farmer Farrell, without removing his eyes from the two who had caused all the mischief.

"I won't leave my gold and silver!" howled the miser. "Leave me here. Never mind my arm; it will soon get well. Only take those two men away."

Max Pooler struggled to his feet. The movement caused him intense pain, and he uttered a sharp groan.

"We can't do as he wishes," said Jack to Mont. "He might die, and we would never forgive ourselves."

"I know it," replied the other. "But it will be a hard matter to separate him from his money. Besides what shall we do with Mosey and Corrigan?"

"That's a sticker. If we had a rope I 'd bind them tighter than they ever bound me."

"There's a rope in that chest," put in the miser, who overheard the last remark. "Tie 'em up-don't let 'em get away."

"It's sorry ye'll be for sayin' that," exclaimed Mosey. "Oi'll tell-hic-all-"

Corrigan caught him by the arm.

"Shut up!" he whispered in his ear. "Can't you see Max is excited? Let him cool down. You will be getting us into a heap of trouble presently."

The rope in the chest was long and heavy, and Jack picked it up with considerable satisfaction.

"You first, Mosey," he said, "and none of your fooling, mind."

"That's all roight, Jack, me b'y. Oi'll not run a shtep. Never-hic-moind the rope," returned the Irishman in his oiliest tones.

"I won't trust you, Mosey," returned the young machinist firmly; and, assisted by Mont, he tied the man's hands behind him, and his feet in such a manner that he could barely take a walking step.

"Now your turn," said Jack to Corrigan.

"What are you going to tie me for?" asked that individual in pretended surprise. "I didn't shoot him."

"Perhaps not, but you were perfectly willing to have him shot. Come, quick. I'm not going to argue all night."

Corrigan saw that Jack's patience was exhausted, and that the young machinist was not to be trifled with. He submitted without another word.

"Well, what's to do now," asked Farmer Farrell, when the job was finished.

"Suppose we row them over to the mainland and march them to Corney," suggested Jack. "It's half-past eight now. We can reach there by ten."

"I'll get my wagon, and we can drive over," returned the farmer. "But what of this man here? We can't leave him."

"Carry him up to the cottage," put in Meg, who had thus far been a silent spectator of what was passing. "There's medicine there, lots of it. It came from-"

Max Pooler glared at the girl.

"Shut up, will you?" he snarled. "How many times have I got to tell you to make you mind?"

"You can say what you please," replied the girl boldly, "and I will, too. I've left the island for good, and don't care what you do."

The miser turned pale with rage.

"What!" he cried, harshly. "Leave me! Why, you good for nothin'-"

In his anger he raised his wounded arm as if to strike. Jack sprang forward to defend the young girl.

But his caution was unnecessary, for at the same instant Max Pooler gave a sharp gasp of pain, and wavering backward and forward for a second, fell heavily to the floor.

Deb and Meg both gave a shriek, Jack and Mont turned the wounded man over on his back.

"Is he-he dead?" asked Deb. She was white, and trembled all over.

"No, only exhausted," replied Mont, after applying his ear to the miser's breast. "His passions hold him completely under control."

"Then he is to be more pitied than blamed," said the girl, sympathetically.

The wound had again commenced to bleed. Mont adjusted the bandage that had become displaced, but this seemed to do little good.

"I will run to the cottage, and get anything you want," put in Meg, gazing with softened features at the unconscious form.

"All right," replied Mont, and he named several things which he thought might be used to advantage. "And don't forget plenty of linen, and some cotton if you have it," he added.

The young girl started off at once, and soon disappeared in the darkness.

Meanwhile the two prisoners were growing restless.

"Guess me and the man can march the pesky critters down to the boat," said Farmer Farrell, who was weary of watching the pair. "That is, if you don't mind going through the woods with us," he continued to Jack.

"Certainly, I'll go," answered the young machinist. "Will you stay here, Deb?"

"Yes, I may be needed," replied the girl. "We'll have to dress the shoulder when Meg returns."

A moment later the party started off, Mosey and Corrigan in the center, with the hired man behind.

Hardly had they left ere Max Pooler returned to his senses, and sitting up, suddenly looked around.

"Gone?" he ejaculated. "Did they leave my money? Did they leave me my shining gold and silver?"

"Yes, it's all there, so don't worry," replied Mont gently. "You must keep quiet; it is bad for your shoulder when you move."

Max Pooler lay back, and eyed the young man suspiciously.

"You talk as if you meant well," he said, "but no one can be trusted nowadays. Who are you?"

"Oh, never mind that," replied the young man, "just keep quiet."

"But I want to know your name," persisted the wounded man.

"My name is Monterey Gray."

The miser leaped to his feet, his teeth clenched, and his eyes rolling frightfully.

"It's a lie!" he shrieked. "Monterey Gray is dead! – died years ago! He died on the yacht! I saw him. Oh, you can't fool me! His ghost is in the falls, but he is dead; and his gold and silver-oh, you can't fool me! This ain't his; it's mine, all mine!"

CHAPTER XXIV
A GLIMPSE OF THE PAST

The miser's wild and unexpected revelation was certainly a most astonishing thing to Mont Gray. As we know, he had surmised that this strange man knew much of the history of the past, and he had already decided to put several questions to Max Pooler on the first available opportunity. But such a statement as he had just heard took away his breath, and he stared at the prostrate man, scarcely able to move.

Deb, too, was astonished, but, woman-like, paid more attention to the effect upon the young man than to what was said.

"Oh, Mont, isn't it awful?" she exclaimed, catching him by the arm. "What makes you so pale? What is that man talking about?"

"I can't say, exactly," he replied, in an oddly unnatural voice. "My father's death is a mystery to me. This man can unravel it, I suppose, if he will," he added, as he knelt down, and turned Pooler once more on his back.

The face of the wounded man had lost all color, and his heart seemed to have stopped beating.

"If we only had some water it might help him," said Mont. "Although I can't make anything out of a case like this."

"There's a brook just outside," returned Deb. "Wonder if there is a cup anywhere around?"

In one corner he found a can, such as is used in preserving vegetables. It was empty, and, taking it outside, she washed it thoroughly, and returned with it full of pure, cold water, with which they bathed the wounded man's head.

"He is suffering more from the excitement than from the pistol shot," observed the young man, as he worked away.

"I suppose being surprised by those two men was the start of it," replied Deb.

The miser was rapidly regaining his color, and his forehead felt like fire. Soaking the handkerchief in the can, the girl bound it over his temples.

Presently Pooler grew restless. He did not open his eyes, but moved his body from side to side uneasily.

"He is coming to," whispered Mont. "Perhaps you had better go outside. He may become violent."

"Never mind if he does," replied the girl; "I think I ought to stay, and I won't care so long as you are here," and then, as Mont gave her a grateful smile, Deb suddenly blushed and turned away her face.

"My gold and silver! It's mine, all mine!" muttered Pooler to himself. "Monterey Gray is dead, and it belongs to me, all, all, all!" He gnashed his teeth. "Oh, why did I go on that accursed yacht-evil is always sure to follow! My gold and silver! All mine!"

A long silence followed, broken only by the irregular breathing of the exhausted man.

"He has passed into a stupor," said Mont. "How long it will last I cannot tell."

Presently Meg returned, carrying a number of bottles and bandages.

"Brought all I could carry," she declared. "Hope there's what you want there."

Deb looked over the list and fixed up a dose which Mont poured down the wounded man's throat.

Meanwhile, Meg picked up the scattered coins and tied them up in the various bags that lay upon the table. How much there was they could form no estimate, but it would certainly run up to thousands of dollars.

Evidently, Max Pooler had not dreamed of being surprised while counting over his hoarded wealth, and the demands of Mosey and Corrigan, who probably had some hold upon the miser, had led to an immediate quarrel.

While Meg was still at work, Jack returned, somewhat flushed from hurrying.

"We don't know what to do with those two men," he said, after taking a look at Pooler, who still rested quietly. "That hired man is afraid of his own shadow, and Mr. Farrell hardly thinks he can manage them alone."

"Suppose you go with them," suggested Mont. "I can get along here alone, and when you come back you can bring a doctor."

The young man's idea was thought by all to be a good one.

"But what will you do?" asked the young machinist of his sister.

"I'll do whatever you say, Jack," was Deb's reply.

"I'll stay here, if it's best," put in Meg. "I ain't afraid of anything on this island."

"Perhaps you had better remain, too, Deb," said Jack. "I'll be back with the doctor just as soon as I can."

"Wonder if we can't get this man up to the cottage," put in Mont. "He'd be much better off in his own bed than here."

"We can, but carrying may make his wound worse," returned the young machinist.

"It isn't that which worries him the most. It's his money and his conscience," declared the young man, as he eyed Pooler meditatively.

"Then come; we'll lock hands and make an armchair for him to ride in."

Not without considerable difficulty they raised the man between them. He now uttered no sound, and his weight was that of a dead body.

Meg led the way, carrying the lantern which she had taken from the cave. Deb brought up the rear, her overskirt weighted down by as many of the bags of the coin as she could carry, which Jack advised should be taken along.

It was a long and tedious walk, for the greater part in the dark. They rested twice, and both Mont and Jack gave a sigh of relief when they deposited their burden upon a temporary bed in the front room of the cottage.

"There, now you'll have to get along the best you can," said the young machinist. "I suppose Mr. Farrell is wondering what keeps me so long. Good night all;" and off he went toward the shore.

Meg brought some extra blankets from the other beds, and Mont prepared a resting place for the unconscious man, placing the wounded shoulder in as comfortable a position as possible.

"You had both better try to secure a little sleep," he said to the two girls. "I can get along alone. If I need help I will call you."

After some discussion both Deb and Meg retired to what had for many years been the latter's resting place, a small chamber at one end of the garret.

Mont kept a constant eye upon his strange patient, frequently rearranging the pillow, and watching that the bandage did not slip from the shoulder.

There was an anxious look in the young man's face as he moved about, and it soon vented itself in a brief soliloquy.

"This man knows all about the past," he whispered to himself. "He knew my father, and he knows uncle Felix, I must help him to recover and, there-" he rubbed his hand over his forehead; "If I only knew the truth!"

He noticed that the brow of the miser gradually grew hotter, and that the man's restlessness increased every moment.

"I don't know of anything else I can do," said Mont to himself. "I hope Jack will hurry back with the doctor."

It was not long before Max Pooler was tossing from side to side.

"My gold and silver," murmured the feverish miser. "My shining gold and silver! You shan't take it away! It's mine. Ask Felix Gray if it ain't."

Mont started.

"What did you say?" he asked bending low over the tossing form.

"Water, water!" moaned Pooler, paying no attention to the question. "Give me a drink of water, I'm burning up!"

Mont took up the pitcher which Meg had filled at the spring, and held it to his lips. The miser took one sip, and then pushed it from him.

"Ha! ha! you can't fool me!" he screamed. "You're in the water-the same old face! Haven't I looked at it many a time from the deck of the Kitty? But you're dead, yes dead, and you can't tell anything!" and he fell back on the bed with a groan.

"You must keep quiet," said Mont, who, to tell the truth, was highly excited himself; "you are wounded in the shoulder, and will fare badly if you don't take things easy."

But Pooler either could or would not pay any attention to Mont's advice. He kept muttering to himself-at one moment apparently in his right mind and at the next talking at random.

"Who did you say you were?" he asked during a lucid interval.

The young man did not reply. He knew that under the circumstances to do so would only excite the man.

"Oh, I know-Monterey Gray. But you're not. Monterey Gray is dead," and the miser chuckled.

"You are thinking of my father," said Mont finally.

Max Pooler glared at him.

"'Tain't so!" he cried, and then, after a pause: "Who was that other young man?"

"My friend, Jack Willington."

"Willington!" gasped Pooler, rising up. "Both of them; and they have come to take away the money! But Monterey Gray and Martin Willington are both dead, and the gold and silver is mine! Didn't I tell you so before? It is all mine!"