The Ocean Wireless Boys and the Lost Liner Part 25

"Who was the hackman who drove them away?" demanded Sam.

The old woman started, but swiftly recovered her composure, if such it could be called, and flourished her stick wildly.

"Tell you what, buckra," she yelled; "you go 'way. No bodder me no mo'.

Me, Mother Jenny,' 'spectable woman. Wha' yo' t'ink, buckra, yo' fren'

come to harm by my place?"

"I didn't say so. I merely asked the name of the hackman who drove them away?"

Sam knew how important it was to keep his temper with the old crone.

"How much it wort' yo' fo' me to impart dat imflumation?" asked the old woman, leering hideously through a cloud of smoke she blew out of her wrinkled old lips.

"I'll pay you well for it," struck in De Garros, who had cabled for and received a large remittance. Poor Sam was almost "broke."

"Fi' dollar?"

De Garros nodded. The old hag stretched out a shriveled claw.

"Gib me de money, buckra," she croaked; "gib me de money here in dis hand."

"There you are," said De Garros with a gesture of disgust and annoyance.

The aged crone burst into a scream of wild laughter. She shook with mirth and then shrilled out in her high, cracked voice:

"He drove a brown horse, dat's all I know. Now go look fo' him yo'

ownselves!"

CHAPTER x.x.xI

LOOK FOR A WHITE HORSE

It was useless to try to recover the money, and the two friends had to walk off minus five dollars and followed by the derisive laughter of the hag.

"At all events, she gave us one clew," said Sam hopefully; "the man drove a brown horse. We must look for every driver in Kingston with a brown horse."

"As it so happens," commented De Garros, "that is no clew at all, for I happened to notice that the equine in question was a white one."

"Better still. A white horse should be easier to run down than a brown one," declared Sam. "Hullo, there goes one now!"

They halted the driver, but he declared he knew nothing of the matter, having been out in the suburbs all the morning.

"Oh, well, there must be other white horses," said Sam, as the man drove off and they turned to take up the quest afresh.

"I believe, too, I'd remember the driver if I saw him again," said De Garros.

"Better and better. I'll bet we'll have good old Jack back with us before night," declared Sam hopefully. "At all events, we've got something to work on now."

"That's so," agreed De Garros. "But if we've got to interview every owner of a white horse in Kingston, we've got our work cut out for us."

"I don't care how hard I work, so long as we can find some trace of Jack," declared Sam positively.

An aged negro driving a dejected-looking white horse jogged by. The horse was plastered with dust till it was difficult to decide on what his real color might be.

Sam stopped De Garros by a tug at the arm.

"Stop that fellow," he said; "there's another white horse."

But oddly enough it was the darky who pulled up without any admonition to stop. He checked his aged beast and addressed De Garros.

"'Pears ter me lak you am de party wot addressed dat young man wot was a-helpin' an-nudder gen'mun inter mah equipage dis mawn-in'?" he said.

"That's right!" cried De Garros. "You're the man we've been looking high and low for. Where did you take him?"

"'Bout five miles out down de Castle Road, 'Busha,'" said the old man.

"Five miles out down the road?"

"Yas, Busha, an' den dey takes him an' puts him in an awfulmobile and runs off wid him. Ah t'inks to myself dat ain' des right. When Ah gets back to town, Ah's goin' to hunt up dat gen'muns wot spoke to him dis mawnin' and acquaint him with de circ.u.mplexes."

"Great Scott! This is a clew, indeed. Do you know where they were going to take him?" choked out Sam.

"Yas, Busha. I hear dem say de Lion's Mouf."

"The Lion's Mouth!"

"Dat's right, ma.s.sa. De Lion's Mouf ol' time name fo' a mighty big hole in de groun' out at ol' Don Pedro's Castle. Don' n.o.body hardly never go dar. White folks don' know 'bout it. n.i.g.g.e.rs all scared ob dere bein' a ghos'. Ah was dere once when Ah was lil' an' dat's all I know 'bout it."

De Garros, with the excitable nature of his race, was hopping about from foot to foot. As the old negro finished speaking, he burst out:

"Do you want to make some money?"

The old man's eyes popped out of his head. Here was another chance to make money. Things were coming his way. But he deemed it well to be prudent.

"Oh, as ter dat, I ain't particular. Ah'm right tired an'--"

"Put your horse in the stable and meet us here in half an hour. It will be worth your while. I want you to guide us to the Lion's Mouth."

"Berry well, Busha. Ah'll jes' put up ole Whitey, he's nigh tired out, an' Ah'll be right back."

"Good; hurry. Now, then, Sam--"

"Where are you going?" demanded Sam, carried off his feet by the volcanic activity of the young Frenchman. "What are you going to do now?"

"Get about a mile of rope and then charter the fastest auto they've got in this town," was the reply.