Frank Merriwell's Son Part 18

A man and a woman were making their way through a strip of timber where the shadows were thick. They were almost running, the man being in advance. He carried a bundle, from which at intervals came a strange, smothered cry, like the wailing of an infant.

"Oh, Selwin, Selwin," gasped the woman, "I can't keep this up! I'm ready to drop now! Can't you go a little slower?"

"And have those human hounds overtake us?" snarled the man. "Curse them!

They're like bloodhounds on the scent! I've tried every trick to turn them off our track. I've doubled and turned, I've crossed ledges and waded streams, but I fear to hear them behind us any moment!"

"You were mad, Selwin--mad!" gasped the weary woman, whose garments were tattered and torn, and whose hands and face were scratched and bleeding.

"I told you how it would be! I told you we could not carry this mad scheme through!"

"I will carry it through!" he grated. "If we can keep away from them until darkness falls, they'll be unable to follow us farther."

"But the whole country will be aroused! We can't escape! I say it was madness!"

"How in the devil did they find it out so soon?"

"I knew they would--I knew it! The other child----"

"Looked enough like this one to pa.s.s muster for a few hours, at least,"

he interrupted. "Satan take the brat! Hear it squall!"

Again a smothered cry came from the bundle.

"Don't hurt it!" pleaded the woman. "Don't handle it so roughly!"

"Hurt it? Furies! I'd like to strangle it! Here's a path. We'll follow that."

The path soon brought them into an old wood road, and they mounted a wooded hill, the woman desperately stumbling along at the heels of the man. On the hillside they came upon a deserted hut. Through the trees they could see the sun sinking redly in the west.

"Oh, stop, Selwin--stop a little while!" entreated the fatigued woman.

"Let's rest here."

He halted and scowled as he stood in thought.

"They should be somewhere over to the northeast," he said. "I wonder if I could see them from the top of the hill. I'll try it. Here, take the brat, Bessie. I'll be back in a few minutes."

He tossed the bundle into her arms, whirled and rushed away up the hill.

The woman sat down on the trunk of a felled tree. She opened the bundle and gazed sadly, almost lovingly, on the face of an infant. The little eyes looked up at her, seemed to recognize her, and something like a smile came to the child's face.

"Poor little Frank! poor little Frank!" she breathed. "It's a shame--a brutal shame! Oh, why did I ever consent! Even though I have hated your father, I love you! It's drink that's turned the brain of Selwin Harris!"

The baby began to fret and cry.

"You're hungry, darling," muttered the woman. "Oh, what brutes we are!

What a wretched thing I am! I've always been bad, and I always will be.

Still, a n.o.ble man loves me. Oh, Berlin, Berlin, you will despise me now! Even though you loved me through all the past and for all of the past, you'll scorn and despise me now! Well, what does it matter? You found me at last, and you forced the truth from my lips; but it was too late--too late!"

Bitter tears of mingled sorrow and shame welled into her eyes and blinded her. They fell from her cheeks upon the cheeks of the fretting child.

"Oh, Frank--oh, little honey boy!" she sobbed. "I hope you may never live to know such wretchedness as I have known! Better that you should die now! Better you had never been born! Why was I born? Why was I set adrift in this wretched, wicked old world? Not one thing in life has ever gone right with me!"

A crashing sound gave her a start, and she saw the man returning on a run. As he pa.s.sed a corner of the old hut one foot seemed to break through the ground, and he went down. With some difficulty, he drew forth his leg from a hole into which he had plunged. Pausing, he looked down into that hole, and far beneath he caught a faint mercurylike glitter.

"An old well," he muttered. "The brush and deadwood had fallen over the mouth of it and hidden it. I came near dropping in there myself."

"Are you hurt, Selwin?" called the woman.

"No," he answered; "but I came mighty near falling into a trap."

As he approached her she observed a look on his face that gave her a shuddery chill.

"Let me take the child," he said.

"No; I'll carry him a little while. Did you see anything of the pursuers?"

"See them?" he snarled. "Curse them, yes!"

"They're still on our track?"

"Following it like hounds--like hounds! There are four of them. I know Merriwell and Hodge. The other two are boys. One of the boys is leading, and he runs, stooped forward, with his eyes on the ground. No Indian ever followed a trail more accurately than he has followed ours."

"No Indian?" cried the woman. "You say he is a boy. Then it must be young Joe Crowfoot! I've seen him. He's one of the boys at Merriwell's school. He is a full-blooded Indian."

"That accounts for it!" rasped the man. "That explains my failure to deceive them. The rest of the pursuers are far away on the main road. I saw them. They're in a carriage. Give me that child, Bessie."

He sought to take the baby from her.

"What are you going to do?" she asked, her hand shaking as she put it up to hold him off.

"There's only one thing to be done. If we're captured with the child in our possession, we go to the jug. If the child is not in our possession and cannot be found, we can swear we know nothing about it. The other one----"

"You're still mad, Selwin Harris! Would you murder this helpless infant?"

"Murder?"

"Yes. There's murder in your heart--in your face! I see it!"

"Look here, Bessie; there's only one show for us to escape. That kid has enc.u.mbered me frightfully. I couldn't help you. That child out of the way, I can help you. We'll dodge them until it gets dark. I'll drop the brat into that old well and pull the brush over the opening. I can do it so that the well will not be found. We'll go back a short distance on our tracks and then turn off. They'll turn at the same point and follow us. There's no time to waste. Let me have the brat."

She fought him with all her strength.

"Never! never! never!" she panted. "You'll have to kill me first!"

In a moment or two he realized that, unless he beat or choked her into unconsciousness, he could not take the infant from her.

"You're a fool--you always were!" he raged.

"Yes, I'm a fool!" she flung back. "I was a fool to ever have anything to do with you! Back yonder somewhere in the carriage that is following us is a man who loves me--a n.o.ble, manly, honest man. I knew him first, and he would have married me. Had I not run away from him, I'd be his wife to-day, and I'd be an honest woman."