A Young Inventor's Pluck Part 37

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 circ.u.mstances 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!"

CHAPTER XXV.

CHASING ANDY MOSEY

Jack's thoughts were busy as he hurried toward the sh.o.r.e, where he expected to meet farmer Farrell and the two prisoners.

"Pooler acts mighty queer to say the least," he told himself. "I can't make it out at all, excepting that I think we are on the edge of some discovery of importance."

It was dark under the trees, and he had to pick his way along as best he could. Once he lost the path and came close to running into a small brook flowing halfway across the island.

Never for a moment did he imagine that either of the two prisoners could get away from the farmer and his hired man.

But in this he was mistaken.

Corrigan was too tightly bound to help himself, but not so Andy Mosey.

The Irishman had been so near complete intoxication that it had not been deemed necessary to make his bonds extra strong.

But finding himself a close prisoner had sobered Mosey a good deal and long before the sh.o.r.e was gained he made up his mind to escape if he possibly could.

With a cunning that he had heretofore failed to exhibit he began to act as if he was more intoxicated than usual.

"Look out, or you'll go down!" was the warning of the farmer. "And if you do go down you can pick yourself up, for I shan't help you, excepting with a kick."

"Oi know me way," was Mosey's unsteady reply. "Oi'm comin'. Don't ye worry about me."

Just as the vicinity of the sh.o.r.e was gained Mosey slipped the bonds from first one hand and then the other, taking care that not even his brother-in-law should see him, for he was now thinking of saving himself only.

"Come, don't drag," came from farmer Farrell. "I am not going to stay here all night."

"Sure, an' Oi sthepped in a hole, the ould b'y take the luck!"

spluttered Mosey. "Oi'm comin' jhust as fast as Oi can!"

The farmer moved on and so did Corrigan and the hired man. Farmer Farrell had cautioned the hired man to keep an eye on Mosey, but the job was not at all to the fellow's taste and he was thinking of nothing but to get back home, where he had left a comfortable bed in the barn.

At last Mosey thought he saw his opportunity and dropped further behind than ever, acting as if he had lamed his foot. Then of a sudden he darted behind some trees and crashed away through some bushes.

"Hi! stop!" roared farmer Farrell. "Stop, or I'll fire on you!"

To this Andy Mosey made no reply, but increased his speed, so that he was soon quite a distance from the island sh.o.r.e. The farmer gazed around in dismay, first at Corrigan and then at his hired man.

"Go after him, you dunce!" he cried to the hired man. "I must watch this rascal. Didn't I tell you to keep an eye on the other fellow?"

"And I did, sir," was the weak answer. "He ran off before I knew it."

"Well, after him, I say! Don't stand there like a block of wood!"