CHAPTER III.
A THRILLING ACCUSATION.
The words rang through the car, startling the passengers, and causingthem to stare in astonishment at the man and the boy.
The man with the revolver was quivering with excitement, while Frank, atwhose head the weapon was held, seemed strangely calm.
Exclamations were heard on all sides.
"Black Harry!"
"Is it possible?"
"Not that beardless boy!"
"It's a mistake!"
"If that's Black Harry, his Braves are near, and there is liable to besome shooting before long."
"Sufferin' Moses!" came from the Jew, who owned the revolver. "Ish datder ropper vat ve read apout der baper in? Stop der cars! I vant to gedoff!"
"What do you mean by this crazy act?" calmly demanded Frank, lookingstraight into Mr. Walker's eyes.
"I mean business, and I am not going to fool with a fellow of yourreputation a minute! If you don't put up your hands, I'll send a bulletthrough your head immediately!"
"Then I shall put up my hands, for I have no fancy for having the top ofmy head blown off."
Up went the boy's empty hands.
"That's where you are sensible," declared the man with the foxy face. "Ihave dealt with your kind before, and I know better than to let 'emmonkey with me. I am a man with a reputation for catching criminals. Atthe sound of my name, the professional crooks in the East tremble."
"Walker does not seem to be such a very terrible name."
"Walker--bah! That's not my name!"
"No?"
"Not much!"
"Pray, what is your name, then?"
"I am Burchel Jones, the famous detective," declared the owner of thegimlet eyes, swelling with importance. "Out in this country the foolscall me a tenderfoot, but I will show them the kind of stuff I am madeof. When they want to catch their desperadoes and robbers, they shouldsend for a tenderfoot detective."
The boy laughed outright.
"You are more sport than a barrel of monkeys," he said, merrily. "Whatdo you think you have done, anyway?"
"I have captured Black Harry, the terrible desperado, who has beengiving them so much trouble out here of late."
"You think I am Black Harry?"
"I do not think anything about it--I know it."
"How do you know it?"
"By your face."
"Have you ever seen Black Harry?"
"Yes."
"When?"
"Last night."
"Where?"
"On the northbound Chicago, Rock Island and Pacific express."
"You were on that train?"
"I was, and I saw Black Harry's face when he was unmasked by RobertDawson--saw it distinctly. You are Black Harry!"
"You were never more deceived in all your life. My name is FrankMerriwell, as I can easily prove."
"Your real name may be Frank Merriwell, but you are the boy desperadowho is known as Black Harry, and you are the chap who shot Mr. RobertDawson."
The detective spoke with conviction, and it was plain that he reallybelieved what he said. The boy began to look grave, as the situation wasnot exactly pleasant.
"You came from Elreno to Oklahoma City on the first train this morning,did you?" asked the youth.
"I did."
"How did it happen that you took this train back?"
"I spotted you. The moment I saw your face I knew you, and I shadowedyou till the train started. I boarded the train with the determinationto capture you. I seldom fail when I have resolved on a thing, and I didnot fail this time."
"Then this is no joke?"
"You will find it is no joke."
"Well, I can't ride from this place to Elreno with my hands held abovemy head, as you must very well know."
"Of course you can't. I'll have to put the irons on you. Here, youngman, hold this revolver to his head while I handcuff and search him."
He spoke to Cholly De Smythe, who had been watching, with staring eyes,his jaw dropped, and a look of amazement on his face.
"Haw?" squawked the dude, aghast. "What ith that you want, thir?"
"Take this revolver, and hold it to this boy's head. If he moves, shoothim as if he were a dangerous dog."
"Good gwacious!" gurgled Cholly. "I nevah touched a wevolver in awl mylife! You will hawve to excuse me, thir."
"If you are determined to treat me as if I were a mad beast, I beg youto let some one who knows something about firearms handle thatrevolver," said the captive. "I will give you my word not to make anytrouble if you lower the weapon."
"Your word does not count with me," declared the crafty detective. "Iwouldn't trust you a second--not a second."
"I can show you my card, letters, and other papers to prove my claimthat I am Frank Merriwell, a traveler."
"Black Harry would be likely to have such letters and papers ready forjust such an emergency. That trick will not count."
"Oh, well, don't fool around with that loaded gun held up against myhead! Put on the irons, and give me a chance to rest my arms. Hurry up!"
"Shust led me dake dat revolfer, mine friendt," said the voice of theJew. "Uf dot poy tries any funny pusiness, he vill be deat, vid deraccent on der deat."
"Can I trust you?" cautiously asked Burchel Jones.
"Vell, I dunno. You can uf you vant to. I alvays make a bracdice ufdoin' a cash pusiness."
After some hesitation, the tenderfoot detective decided that he couldnot do better than trust Solomon, and the revolver was surrendered tothe Jew.
"Don'd you vink!" commanded Solomon, as he screwed the muzzle of theweapon up against the lad's head. "Uf you do, you vas a deat poy!"
The detective searched the youth, removing a handsome revolver from oneof his pockets. That was the only weapon found anywhere on his person.
Burchel Jones was disappointed, for he had expected to find "guns" andknives concealed all over the lad.
"Oh, you're slick--you're slick!" he said. "But you can't fool me. Iknow how to deal with rascals like you. I have handled hundreds of'em--hundreds upon hundreds."
"You must be a very old hand in the business," said the captive, with alaugh. "Still, you seem to need assistance to capture a boy, who hasmade no offer to resist you, although he knows very well that you haveno legal right to arrest him."
"Oh, you are ready with your tongue--altogether too ready."
Having searched the lad, Jones produced some manacles, and snapped themon the wrists of his prisoner.
"There," he said to Solomon, "you needn't hold the revolver to his headany longer. I have him foul now."
"Dank you," nodded the Jew. "You vas much opliged vor der use of myrevolfer."
"Of course, of course."
"V'y you don'd puy dot revolfer, den, und gif a poor man a drade?"
"Oh, get out. I don't want it any longer."
"Vell, I am glad uf dat, vor it vas long enough alretty. Uf you like idso vel, v'y you don'd bought id?"
"I have one of my own."
"Vell, haf dwo. I gif you a drade on dat revolfer. I sell you datrevolfer vor elefen tollar."
"Don't want it."
"Ten tollar."
"Don't want it."
"Nine."
"No."
"Eight."
"Say, shut up! I wouldn't take it for five!"
"Vell, you may haf him vor your tollar, und dot vas less dan haluf vatid vas vort'. Shall I put a biece uf baper roundt id?"
"I won't buy it at any price."
"Moses in der pulrushes! Do you vant me to gif him to you? I vill daketree tollar, und dat vas der rock-pottom brice. Here you haf him."
But the detective still declined to take the weapon, which made Solomonexceedingly disgusted and angry.
"You vas der meanest man vat I nefer met!" he cried. "Uf I hat known howmean you vas, I vouldn't helluped you capture dot ropper! I hat betterdo pusiness vid der ropper anyhow."
Burchel Jones was well satisfied with himself.
At Yukon he sent adispatch to Hank Kildare, the sheriff at Elreno, saying:
"Have captured Black Harry. Bringing him in irons. Have Miss Dawson at station to identify him when train arrives.
BURCHEL JONES, "Private Detective."
Jones was surprised at the quiet manner in which Frank had submitted toarrest, but he felt that the lad had been cleverly taken by surprise,and had seen by the eye of the man with the revolver that the best thinghe could do was to give in without a struggle.
The boy saw it was quite useless to attempt to convince the man that anymistake had been made, and so, after the first effort, ceased to wastehis time in the vain struggle. He remained calm and collected, much tothe dismay of the some nervous passengers, who were certain the trainwould be held up by Black Harry's Braves, who would be on hand to rescuetheir chief.
Jones heard one man declaring over and over that he knew the train wouldnot reach Elreno without a hold-up, and the detective immediatelydeclared:
"If an attempt is made to rescue Black Harry, it will be veryunfortunate for Harry, as I shall immediately shoot him. I do notpropose to let him escape, to continue his career of crime anddevastation."
The boy smiled, in a scornful and pitying way.
When the train drew into Elreno, a great crowd was seen on the platformof the station, and, for the first time, a troubled look came to theface of the youthful prisoner.
"The whole town has turned out to see Black Harry and the man whocaptured him," said Jones, swelling with importance.
Frank said nothing; he knew well enough that such a crowd was dangerousin many cases. What if it were generally believed that he was, in truth,Black Harry, and the mob should take a fancy to lynch him? His chance ofescaping a speedy death would be slim, indeed!
The train stopped, and, with his hand clutching the boy's shoulder,Jones descended to the platform.
"Thar he is!"
The cry went up, and the crowd surged toward the two.
"Stan' back hyar!"
A man that was six feet and four inches in height, and weighed at leasttwo hundred and fifty pounds, forced his way through the throng, castingmen to the right and left with his muscular arms. He had a hard,weather-tanned face, and looked as if he did not fear the Evil Onehimself.
"Are you Burchel Jones, ther detective?" asked this man, as he loomedbefore Jones and his captive.
"I am, sir," was the dignified reply; "and this is Black Harry. Isurrender him to you, and claim the reward offered for his capture."
"Thet ther skunk known as Black Harry?" said the giant sheriff, inevident surprise. "He don't look like a desperado. Wal, we'll soonsettle all doubts on thet yar point, fer Miss Dawson is hyar, an' shewill recognize him ef he is Black Harry. Come on, boy."
Kildare, the sheriff, for such the giant was, again forced a paththrough the crowd.
In the station door, a woman and a girl were standing. The girl was notmore than seventeen, and was very pretty, despite the traces of griefupon her face.
Kildare led the boy up before the woman and girl, and he spoke to thelatter:
"Take a good, squar' look at this yar kid, Miss Dawson, an' see ef yerever saw thet face afore."
The girl looked at Frank, and then fell back, horror and loathingdepicted on her face. She stretched out one hand, with a repellentgesture, as if warning them to keep him away, and with the other handshe clutched at her throat, from which came a choking sound. The womanoffered to support her, but she sprang up in a moment, pointed straightat the youthful captive, and literally shrieked:
"He is the wretch who shot my poor father!"