CHAPTER IX
DICK HALLIARD
The conversation was not of a nature to improve the courage of theoccupants of the stagecoach, for, when children spend an evening inexchanging ghost stories, they find the darkness of their bed-roomsmore fearful than before.
Since the young gentlemen on the rear seat began to believe that ameeting with a stage robber was quite certain to take place beforereaching Piketon, they saw the need of an understanding all round.
The driver repeated that he never carried firearms, for, if he did, hewould be tempted to use them with the surety of getting himself intotrouble.
"If a man orders you to hold up your hands and you do it, why he aintgoing to hurt you," was the philosophy of the old man; "all he'll dois just to go through you; but if you have a gun or pistol, you'llbang away with it, miss the chap, and then he'll bore you; so it's myrule, when them scamps come along, to do just as they tell me; a man'slife is worth more to him than all his money, and that's me everytime."
"But you might be quick enough to drop him first," suggested Wagstaff,who would have preferred the driver to be not quite so convincing inhis arguments.
"Mighty little chance of that! You see the feller among the trees isall ready and waiting; he can take his aim afore you know he is there;now when you fellers fire at him it won't do for you to miss--remember_that_!"
"We don't intend to," replied McGovern.
"Of course you don't intend to, but the chances are that you will, andthen it will be the last of you!"
"But won't you be apt to catch it on the front seat?"
THE MEETING WITH DICK HALLIARD]
"Not a bit of it, for them chaps are quick to know where a shot comesfrom, and they always go for the one that fires; they know, too, thata stage driver never fights--helloa!"
At that moment, a bicycle guided by a boy glided silently along theright of the stage, turning out just enough to pass the vehicle. Theyouth whose shapely legs were propelling it, slackened his gait sothat for a few minutes he held his place beside the front wheels ofthe coach.
He was a handsome, bright-faced youth about sixteen years old, whogreeted the driver pleasantly, and, turning his head, saluted theothers, without waiting for an introduction.
"I'm afraid a storm is coming, and I shall have to travel fast to gethome ahead of it; do you want to run a race with me, Bill?"
"Not with _this_ team," replied the driver, "for we couldn't holda candle to you."
"I don't know about that," replied the boy, with a laugh; "there areplenty who can beat me on a bicycle."
"But there aint any of 'em in this part of the country, for I've seentoo many of 'em try it. Bob Budd bragged that he would leave you outof sight, but you walked right away from him."
The boy blushed modestly and said:
"Bob don't practice as much as he ought; he's a good wheelman, buthe's fonder of camping out in the woods, and I shouldn't be surprisedif there's a good deal more fun in it. I believe he expects somefriends to go into camp with him."
"Them's the chaps," remarked the driver, jerking the butt of his whiptoward the rear seat.
The bicyclist bowed pleasantly to the young men, who were staringcuriously at him and listening to the conversation. They nodded rathercoldly in turn, for they had already begun to suspect the identity ofthis graceful, muscular lad, of whom they had heard much from BobBudd.
Their country friend had spoken of a certain Dick Halliard who wasemployed in the store of Mr. Hunter, the leading merchant in Piketon,and who was so well liked by the merchant that he had presented himwith an excellent bicycle, on which he occasionally took a spin whenhe could gain the time.
Bob, who detested young Halliard, had said enough to prove that he hadtaken the lead in all his studies at school and surpassed every boy inthe section in running, swimming, 'cycling, and indeed, in all kindsof athletic sports. This was one reason for Bob's dislike, but thechief cause was the integrity and manliness of young Halliard, who notonly held no fear of the bully, but did not hesitate to condemn him tohis face when he did wrong.
"I hope you will have a good time in camp," said Dick (for it was he),addressing the two city youths.
"That's what we're out for," replied Wagstaff, "and it won't be ourfault if we don't; will you join us?" asked the speaker, producing hisflask.
"I'm obliged to you, but must decline."
"Maybe you think it isn't good enough for you," was the mean remark ofWagstaff.
"I prefer water."
"Ah, you're one of the good boys who don't do anything naughty."
It was a mean remark on the part of Wagstaff, who was seeking aquarrel, but Dick Halliard showed his manliness by paying no heed tothe slur.
"Well," said he, addressing the driver, "since you won't run me arace, I shall have to try to reach home ahead of the storm. Good-byeall!"
The muscular legs began moving faster, the big, skeleton-like wheelshot ahead of the stage, coming back into the middle of the highway,and the lad, with his shoulders bent forward, spun down the road witha speed that would have forced the fastest trotting horse toconsiderable effort.
"By gracious!" exclaimed the New Englander, with his chin high in air,as he peered over the head of the driver, "that youngster beatsanything of the kind I ever seen."
"I don't s'pose they have those sort of playthings in your part of theworld," remarked Jim, with a sneer.
"Yes, we have enough to send a few of 'em down your way for you folksto learn on. Bill, who is that chap?"
"Dick Halliard, and there aint a finer boy in Piketon."
"He's got a mighty fine face and figure."
"You're right about that; I want to give you chaps a little advice,"added the driver, turning his head, so as to look into the countenanceof the city youths; "I heerd what you said to him and he had senseenough not to notice it, but you'll be wise if you let Dick Halliardalone."
"Is he dangerous?" asked Wagstaff, with a grin.
"You will find him so, if you undertake to put onto him; mebbe heisn't quite so old as you and mebbe he don't smoke cigarettes anddrink whisky, but I'll bet this whole team that if either or both ofyou ever tackles him, you'll think five minutes later that you've beenrun through a thrashing mill."
The youths were not disturbed by this bold statement, which neitherbelieved.
"You're very kind," said Tom, "and we won't forget what you've said;when we see him coming 'long the road, we'll climb a tree to get outof the way, or else run into the first house and lock the door."
Bill had said all he wished, and now gave his attention to his team.The thunder was rumbling almost continuously, and now and then a vividstreak of lightning zigzagged across the rapidly darkening sky. Norain fell, but the wind blew blinding clouds of dust across thehighway and into the stage, where the occupants at times had toprotect their eyes from it.
A short distance from the road on the left was a low, old-fashionedstone house, but no other dwelling was in sight between the stage andBlack Bear Swamp, which was no more than half a mile ahead, appearingdark and forbidding in the gathering gloom. The trees at the side ofthe highway swayed in the gusty wind, and, when the flying dustallowed them to see, Dick Halliard was observed far in advance like aspeck in the distance. He was traveling with great speed, and thestage seemed to have gone no more than a hundred yards after theinterview when the young wheelman disappeared.
It was as if he had plunged under full headway right among the trees.Piketon lay about two miles beyond Black Bear Swamp, but since thewidth of the dense forest through which the public road wound its waywas fully a fourth of a mile, it will be seen that a considerabledrive was still before the stage.
The passengers would have viewed their approach to the woods withrelief, but for the fear of the highwayman. Its dense growth andabundant vegetation offered a partial protection from the storm, whichpromised to be violent; but the youths would have much preferred (hadthey dared to speak their sentiments) to stand bareheaded in th
ecoming storm than to encounter that "suspicious" party, who theybelieved was awaiting their coming.