CHAPTER III
COUNTING THE COST
Bart had quickly moved to one side of the cannon after lighting thefuse, and was about twenty feet away when the explosion came.
The alarming echoes, the shock, flare and smoke combined to give him aterrific sensation.
The crowd that had retreated down the hill in delightful trepidation nowcame trooping back filled with a bolder excitement.
They had indeed "waked the natives," for gazing downhill against thelights of the street and stores at its base they could see peoplerushing outdoors in palpable agitation.
Some were staring up the hill in wonder and terror, others were startingfor its summit, among them two village officials, as demonstrated by thesilver stars they wore.
"They heard it--it woke 'em up, right enough!" shrieked little Sawyerin a frenzy of happiness.
"Look yonder!" piped a second breathless voice. "Say, I thought I heardsomething strike."
Dale Wacker came upon the scene--not limping, but chuckling and winkingto the cronies at his back.
"Pretty good aim, eh, fellows?" he gloated. "Stirling, you're a capitalgunner."
All eyes were now turned in a new direction--in that whither the muzzleof the cannon was pointed.
The grounds of the Harrington mansion were the scene of a vividcommotion. The porch lights had been abruptly turned on, and theyflooded the lawn in front with radiance.
Bart gasped, thrilled, and experienced a strange qualm of dismay. Hediscerned in a flash that something heretofore always prominentlypresent on the Harrington landscape was not now in evidence.
The wealthy colonel was given to "grandstand plays," and one of them hadbeen the placing of a bronze pedestal and statue at the side of thedriveway.
It bore the inscription "1812," and according to the colonel, portrayeda military man life-size, epaulettes, sword, uniform and all--hismaternal grandfather as he had appeared in the battle scene where he hadlost a limb.
Now, in effigy, the valiant warrior was prostrate. The colonel'sservants were rushing to the spot where the statue had tumbled over onthe velvety sward.
"See here!"--cried Bart stormingly, turning on Dale Wacker.
"Loaded," significantly observed the latter with a diabolical grin.
A rush of keen realization made Bart shiver. He recognized what thefoolhardy escapade might have cost had that whirling cannon ball met ahuman, instead of an inanimate, target.
As it was, he easily calculated the indignation and resentment of thehaughty village magnate who was given to outbursts of wrath whichcarried all before him.
"You've spoiled my Fourth," began Bart in a tumult. "I'll spoil your--"
"Cut for it, fellows! they're coming for us!"
"They" were the village officers. Bart had made a jump towards DaleWacker, but the latter had faded into the vortex of pell-mell fugitivesrushing away downhill to hiding.
Bart put after them, trying to single out the author of the scurvy jokethat he knew had serious trouble at the end of it.
"Hold on!" gasped a breathless voice.
"Don't stop me!" shouted Bart, trying to tear loose from a frantic grip."Oh, it's you--what do you want?"
He halted to survey the person who detained him--the man who haunted thefreight tracks--to whom he had given money earlier in the evening.
"Come, quick!" the man panted. "Express shed--where your fatheris--trouble. Don't wait--not a minute."
"See here," challenged Bart, instantly startled into a new tremor ofanxiety, "what do you mean?"
But the forlorn roustabout could not be coherent. He continued to gaspand splutter out excited adjectives, fragmentary sentences.
"Plot--get you into trouble--father--I heard 'em."
Then as his glance fell upon the people coming up the hill, the officersin their lead, his eyes bulged with terror, he grasped Bart's arm, letout an unearthly yell of fear, and by sheer force carried Bartpell-mell down the other side of the hill with him.
"See here," panted Bart, as, still running, they were headed in thedirection of the railroad, "my business is here. Don't you hurry me offin this fashion unless there's something to it."
"Told you--express shed--robbers!"
"Robbers? You mean some one is stealing something there?"
"Yes!" gulped Bart's companion.
"Who is it?"
"Don't know."
"Why didn't you stop them?"
"I don't dare do anything," the man wailed. "I'm a poor, miserableobject, but I'm your friend. I heard two fellows whispering on thetracks near the express shed. Said they were going to steal somefireworks. I ran to the shed to warn your father. He was asleep in hischair. They might see me--didn't dare do anything."
Bart now believed there might be some basis to the man's statements. Heplunged forward alone, not conscious that he was outdistancing his latecompanion.
Reaching the tracks, Bart ran down a line of freights. The express shedwas in view at last. It was lighted up as usual, the door stood open,and nothing suggested anything out of the ordinary.
"The fellow's cracked," reflected Bart. "Everything looks straighthere--no, it doesn't!" He checked himself abruptly. "Here! what are youat?"
Sharp and clear Bart sang out. Approaching the express shed from theside, his glance shifted to the rear.
The little structure had one window there, lightly barred with metalstrips. Two men stood on the platform beneath it. One of them had justpried a strip loose with some long implement he held in his hand. Theother had just pushed up the sash by reaching through the convenientaperture thus made.
Bart bounded to the platform with a nimble spring. As his feet clampeddown warningly on the boardway, the man who had pushed up the windowturned sharply.
"It's young Stirling!" Bart heard him mutter. "Drop it, and run."
The speaker sprang to the ground and disappeared around the corner ofthe shed with the words.
His companion, who had been stooping on one knee in his pryingoperations, essayed to join him, slipped, tilted over, and before hecould recover himself Bart was upon him.
"What are you about here?" demanded the latter.
The prisoner was of man-like build and proportions. He did not speak,and tried to keep his features hidden from the rays of the near switchlight.
"Lemme go!" he mouthed, with purposely subdued intonation.
"Not till I know who you are--not till I find out what you're up to,"declared Bart. "Turn around here. I'll stick closer than a brother tillI see that face of yours!"
He swung his captive towards the light, but a broad-peaked cap and thepartial disguise of a crudely blackened face defeated his purpose.
Bart was about to shout to his father in front, or to his roustaboutfriend, whom he expected must be somewhere near by this time, when hiscaptive gave a jerk, tore one arm free, and whirled the other aloft.
His hand clenched the implement he had used to pry away the bars, andBart now saw what it was.
The object the mysterious robber was utilizing for burglariouspurposes, was the signal flag used at the switch shanty where Lem Wackerhad been doing substitute duty that day.
It consisted of a three foot iron rod, sharpened at the end. At theblunt end the strip of red flag was wound, near the sharp end theconventional track torpedo was held in place by its tin strap.
"Lemme go"; again growled the man.
"Never!" declared Bart.
The man's left arm was free, and he swung the iron rod aloft. Bart sawit descending, aimed straight for his head. If he held on to the man hecould scarcely evade it.
He let go his grip, ducked, made a pass to grasp the burglar's ankle,but missed it.
An explosion, a sharp flare, a keen shock filled the air, and beforeBart could grip the man afresh he had sprung from the platform andvanished.
At the same instant the flag rod clattered to the boards, and a secondlater, rubbing his face free from sudden pricking grains of powder, Bartsaw what had happened.
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The blow intended for him had landed upon one of the iron bars of thewindow with a force that exploded the track torpedo.
It had flared out one broad spiteful breath, sending a shower of sparksamong the big mass of fireworks in the storage room, and amid a thousandhissing, snapping explosions the express shed was in flames.