Fritz to the Front, or, the Ventriloquist Scamp-Hunter Part 9

This village, for charity's sake, we will call Millburg, as that name will answer quite us well as any other.

There might have been a hundred buildings, all told, and it was evidently a fishing hamlet, as a number of small boats, and smacks, were drawn up along the beach.

Just outside the breakers, an ocean steamship, of small size and trim build, was anch.o.r.ed. Upon her sides was painted in large letters the word, "Countess."

"I don'd know petter I go down there, or not," Fritz muttered, gazing down upon the village. "I don'd vas know, neider, vich job I better look to, first--der smuggler pizness, or der girl pizness. For der latter I haff der bromise of five t'ousand dollars--for der former, I like ash not get paid off mit a proken head. Still I don'd vant to leave dis blace ondil I trip und trap der game, und turn id over to der law, for dis is der whole game, sure!"

After some deliberation he decided to go down to the village. The people would not offer him any molestation, probably, unless he gave them cause to suspect him, and he resolved to be constantly upon his guard.

Descending from the bluff, he walked along the beach, and finally entered the little burg.

It was rather a rough-looking place, built up of weather-worn wooden shanties, a few stores, and a sort of tavern.

There were, however, two imposing residences, on opposite sides of the only street, which were built of stone, and set down in large shaded lawns.

Pa.s.sing up the street, Fritz was the target for many curious glances of rough-looking men, who sat in their doorways, but, paying no attention to them, he entered the tavern and purchased his breakfast, to which he was able to do full justice.

Afterward he came out in the bar-room and sat down.

A half a dozen rough-looking fellows were lounging about, who, to judge from their looks, were in the habit of ingulfing more grog than was good for them.

Then the landlord, who kept a close watch over them, was the fattest specimen of manhood Fritz had seen; his girth was something enormous.

He was not a villainous-looking man, like the rest, and this fact impressed Fritz more favorably than anything else he saw about the premises.

During the forenoon a well-dressed, fine-looking man, with iron-gray hair and mustache, galloped up to the tavern on horseback. He looked as if he had been reared in luxury, for there was that haughtiness of mien that betokened the arrogant aristocrat.

"Good-morning, John," he said, as the tavern-keeper waddled to the door. "Will you send up a basket of champagne during the day, and a barrel of good ale--the champy for her ladyship, the countess, you know, and the ale for the villagers. Going to have a sort of a jollification at the lawn to-night, you know, in honor of the arrival of the countess, and want you all to turn out."

Then he galloped on, quite as airily as he had come.

"Who vas dot big-feelin' rooster?" Fritz asked, when John re-entered the tavern.

"That? Why, that's Honorable Granby Greyville," the fat man replied--"the rich haristocrat who owns most of the land hereabouts. A right big-feeling man, too, as you say."

"Granby Greyville, eh?" Fritz commented, under his breath. "Vel, dot ish funny. I thought sure dot was Captain Gregg, der smuggler, und I don'd vas so much foolished apoud it yet. I'll pet a half-dollar I find oud somedings pefore I leave der blace."

Resolved to remain a few days in the village for the purpose of prospecting, Fritz made himself at home about the hotel.

One suspicion after another was gradually occurring to him, and he was not slow to give them a thorough consideration prior to putting them to test.

Of all things, he was desirous of attending the "jollification," as the horseman had termed it, with a view of seeing the countess, who, he learned, had lately arrived from England, in her own steamship, for a few weeks' stay upon the Atlantic coast, and a visit to her prospective husband, Greyville.

During the afternoon a man entered the tavern, who evidently had "blood in his eye." His whole appearance seemed to indicate that he was anxious to have a fight with some one, and was not particular who it was.

He was a large, raw-boned fellow, with great muscular development; his face was large, with a bristling stubble of black beard upon the lower portion; his eyes were dark and wild, his hair silvered with broad streaks of white, and worn in a s.h.a.ggy, unkempt ma.s.s.

His mouth was large, and his teeth projected beyond his lips, in a horrible manner.

His attire, too, was ragged and greasy, with clumsy, stogy boots upon his feet, and a dilapidated hat upon his head.

On entering the room, he paused and glared around him, as if in search of some one on whom to vent his wrath.

"Well, Bully Jake, what'll ye have!" the tavern-keeper demanded, with a frown, for the ruffian was evidently an unwelcome intruder.

"Waal, I don't keer ef I do take a drap o' likker!" the man growled, glaring around.

"You to blazes! I mean, what d'ye want here?" Fat John grunted.

"A fureigner--a fureigner! Ye know I'm death on 'em, an' thar can't none o' 'em can stay around hyar, while I hev things _my_ way."

"What foreigner is there here, now?"

"A Dutch cuss, blarst his eyes! Thar he sets," and he indicated Fritz who was tipped back in one corner. "Oh! but I'll go through him, though! I'll pulverize and sow him to the seven winds of the earth."

Then, with a tragic stride, he made for Fritz, pausing but a few paces away from him, and shaking his fist fairly in his face.

"You, look!" the ruffian cried. "D'ye know who I am?"

"Vel, I d.i.n.ks I don'd vas haff made your acquaintance!" Fritz replied, retaining his seat, but on guard for an attack, if one was made.

"Ho! ho! I reckon not, an' ye'll wish ye never had, afore I git through with yer!" Bully Jake declared. "Behold in me, my furin rooster, Jake Jogagog, commonly known as Bully Jake, the Terror o'

ther Coast. I'm a cyclone, I am. Then, I'm prime minister ter his honor, Granby Greyville, an' from him I hev orders to demolish every furin craft wot sots anchor in his domains. Therefore, ef ye wanter escape teetotal annihilation, I'd advise ye ter _git_! Ef ye ain't seen goin' in less'n two seconds, I'll stamp ye out o' existence."

"Vel, when I gits ready to go, den I vil go, und not pefore!" Fritz retorted. "Uff you makes me any droubles, I plack your eye for you!"

"Oh! ye wull, hey? Oh! snortin' walrusses an' white-haired whales!"

roared the bully, and sprung savagely upon the young detective, as if bent on his certain destruction, Fritz clinched with him.

It was to be a struggle of brute strength now.

CHAPTER VII.

THE STRUGGLE.

Both were strong, active men, Fritz in particular being well supplied with all the necessary muscle and agility of the prize-fighter, although he by no means looked as if he was an "ugly customer" to handle.

After clinching the two men soon tripped and fell to the floor, where the struggle literally began in all its meaning.

"Oh! I'll show ye how ther howlin' porpoise fights!" Bully Jake roared, endeavoring to get a bite at Fritz's nose. "I'll chaw ye all up like a dish o' hash!"

"Vil, you, dough!" Fritz cried, finally getting his hands free, and clinching them around the bully's throat tightly. "I'll pet yoost a half-dollar you von't do noddings off der kind," and now getting the ruffian under him he gradually shut off his wind.

"Hold on! hold on! no chokin'!--no chokin', I say; it's ag'in' ther moral rules o' fightin'!"

"I don'd vas see id dot vay," Fritz said. "Eider you vas got to ax my parding for a.s.saulting me, or I vil choke off your breathe so you vil haff none to use."