CHAPTER XXII.
HANK JONES AGAIN.
Hot with fever, August Bordine lifted his aching head for the dozenthtime to listen for the returning tread of the queer old peddler.
A glad bark from Tige was the first announcement the sick young man hadof the return of his queer friend.
"Tired waiting?" queried Shanks, as he burst through the bushes andconfronted the engineer.
"Very tired," moaned the feverish lips.
Then August put his head upon his hand and regarded the peddler with alook of anxious inquiry.
"Did you bring a horse?"
"No, I didn't," answered the peddler abruptly.
"Then you have deceived me," and the sick youth sank back with a groan.
"Nothing of the kind," answered Shanks. "I've learned some tremendousnews since I went from here this morning."
"News?"
"Yes. Twon't be safe for you to go back to the city."
"Not safe? What do you mean?"
"This is what I mean," said the peddler, sinking to his knees andadjusting the black patch carefully over his eye. "The whole burgh is ina state of excitement over the discovery of the murderer of VictoriaVane."
"He has been discovered then?"
"Wait. A squad of police went to your house this morning and hunted highand low for you. The papers say that August Bordine murdered theRidgewood girl, and that he fled last night from the city to escapearrest. What do you think of that?"
"It's all false."
"I suppose so, but if you should fall into the hands of the officers justnow, you wouldn't be given half chance for your life."
"But who started this yarn?"
Bordine was deeply interested, and he sat up now and forgot for the timehis aching head and weakened body.
"It seems to be the murdered girl's brother who is engineering thesearch. He is determined that his sister's murderer shall be brought tojustice."
"That is right of course."
"Yes, but the evidence points strongly to you. I think, with a speedytrial, you could be convicted, I vow I do, Mr. Bordine. Dare you go backand risk it?"
"I am innocent--"
"True, but you _seem_ guilty. The girl, they say, was stabbed--"
"Yes, with a small dirk."
"Exactly," with a start.
Perhaps he was wondering how the young engineer knew so much if he wasguiltless.
"Can you tell me what kind of a knife it was?"
The single eye of the questioner was fixed in a keen gaze upon the faceof August Bordine.
He seemed growing suspicious again.
"It was apparently a two-edged blade."
"Apparently?"
"Yes. Of course I could not tell exactly, since the wound was not easilyexamined."
"I see. Then you have not seen the knife--the dagger that found the lifeof Victoria Vane?"
"Certainly not."
"And yet it was found in your room."
"Impossible!"
"It is true. That evidence alone might hang you."
"My soul! what does, what _can_ this mean?" groaned the young engineer,sinking back to the rough blanket, weak as a rag under the revelation ofthis strange man.
"It means that a plot exists for your destruction, and the elevation ofanother," answered Hiram Shanks, slowly and with deliberation. "Doubtlessyour journey last night was a part of the plot. I confess that somethings puzzle me, yet I am assured that your death is necessary to thesuccessful issue of a plot."
"I cannot understand it."
"Nor I, fully."
Then a short silence fell between the two men, during which the eyes ofBordine examined the face of the queer little peddler keenly. At lengthhe said:
"Mr. Shanks, will you answer me a question?"
"A dozen, if you like."
"Only one?"
"Well?"
"Who are you?"
"Hiram Shanks."
"Yes, but you are no ordinary man."
"Why do you think that?"
"To look at you, one would think--"
Then the engineer came to a sudden pause, and seemed embarrassed.
"I understand what you would say," remarked the peddler, with thefaintest smile imaginable. "You imagine I will feel offended if you speakthe truth, and say that I look like a battered, old tramp, but I shouldnot. I will tell you the truth, young man. I have seen better days, butmisfortunes came upon me, not singly, but in platoons, until I found mylife a wreck. A wicked woman, poor whisky, and a reckless heart havebrought me mighty low. I do not expect to rise again, but I have resolvedto reform and pass the remainder of my days in honest endeavor.
"I turned to peddling from a natural liking to handle goods. I lead awandering life now, and expect to till I die. I mean, however, to helpyou all possible, since I am assured that you are a good man and innocentof crime. My advice was once listened to; may I not hope that it will beagain? Heed what I gay, trust me, and all will yet come out right. Whatdo you say?"
"That I am unable to disobey at the present time, at any rate," answeredthe engineer. "Which may prove to be a blessing in disguise, after all."
Then queer Hiram Shanks came to his feet, and gazed sharply about him.
"I am not sure that this is the safest place that could be found," hesaid, "yet it isn't a place that people hunting for criminals would beapt to look. On the whole, I think you had better remain here untilnight, at least."
Then the peddler whistled to his dog, and walked away, leaving the sickman alone in the fisherman's shanty.
"Who is guilty? that's the question," muttered Hiram Shanks when once outof hearing of the sick man. "Bordine certainly doesn't act like a guiltywretch, and I, for one, believe him innocent. I must run down the guiltydogs, however, if I would save an innocent man and win the five thousanddollars reward."
Then the peddler hurried from the vicinity, accompanied by his dog.
Bordine fell into a troubled slumber, from which he was awakened by asound from the murmuring creek.
Instantly his senses were on the alert.
He felt anxious to be at home, to alleviate the fears that he knew hismother must undergo on account of his continued absence.
"Somebody is coming," he thought.
Then he listened as he could with the beating fever in his head.
The dip of a paddle!
It was this that had wakened him.
He roused to a sitting posture and gazed through the open side of theshanty down toward the water.
A man had just landed from an Indian canoe, and stood on the bank,regarding him in evident astoundment. August could scarcely repress acry.
And no wonder.
In front of him, not ten yards distant, stood the man who attempted tomurder him the night before in the lone cabin near the creek falls.
The astoundment was mutual.
Evidently the man was none the worse for the fright he had received overthe grave of his victim in the shanty cellar. He stared at the recliningform in the fisherman's shanty as though doubting his senses.
After a moment he advanced, and gazed fixedly into the face offever-stricken August.
"So!" he exclaimed, and in that one word there was an immense amount ofmeaning.
Then he walked up to the bunk and stood within a few feet of the sickman.
"Hank Jones, what are you doing here?"
"Well, that's a nice question," sneered the villain as he thrust his handto his hip pocket. "How in nature did you escape from the creek? Didn't Ihit you when I fired?"
With the words the villain drew a revolver.
"It seems not."
"Then I'll make sure of it this time."
"This is unfair," remonstrated August, feeling that he was at the mercyof his enemy, and anxious to gain time, for night was fast falling, andwith it the peddler and his dog would doubtless come.
"All is fair in war my friend."
"Why did you attempt to murder me last night?"
"For purposes of my own."
"You concocted a falsehood about Silas Keene and led me into a trap."
"Not entirely false," returned the villain. "The detective was hurt, andhas since died."
"Since last night?"
"No, before that, but I will not palaver with you. I set out to rid theearth of my rival in business, and this is the way I do it."
The speaker thrust forward his revolver and fired.