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Copyrighted. 1889, by BIADLI AND Anna. Enwrad at the Peal Oflice at New York. N. Y., as Second Class Mall Mutter. Feb. 6, 1889.

 

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“WELL, I’LL BE sou) mm A mm: 03‘ PEANUTS, na- THAT BLAMED GALOOT DIDN‘T TAKE um mm A
GHOST,” CEUCKLED BILLY, As BE EMERGED mom TEE TRUNK.

 

2 Billy, the Baggage Boy. ‘

 

Billy, the Baggage Boy:

The Young Railroad Detective.

BY CHARLES MORRIS,

AUTHOR or “ DETECTIVE DICK." -‘ Tna BOSS
BOY,” “ WILL somuas.” “PICAYUNE
PETE,” ETC., no, ETC.
CHAPTER I.

A H U n '1‘ H E R o .

“THOUGHT this was me; but ain’t right sure
(1 it. Ain’t right sure of nothin’ now. Seems
as if I was hungr on wires, jist like a skeleton,
and might shake myself down into dr bones.”

Tue youthful speaker essayecl to 8 aka him-
self, but desisted, with a ground? pain.

“ Wonder how it feels when a feller drops out
of aballoun—’bout five miles high or thereaways?
There’s one thing I’ll but, and that’s this: there
ain‘t never no use stop in’ so sudden; ’specially
when the ground’s in t .6 way."

He looked indeel as if he had stopped too sud-
denly. His clothes were t )I‘ll and badly soiled.
Blood was oozing from a dozan ugly cuts on his
face and limbs. His right hand hung limp and
helpless. When he assayed to walk it was with
ahflting stop, as if he ind been lamcd.

“S’pose I’m a pictur‘," he muttered. holding
to a fence for support. “I jist [nought as well
to uk a hand in a scrinmage. Hope there won’t
nobody sheer me with a looking-glass. Does
anvho ly live ’bout hero, anyho v?"

He slnded his eyes and looke l across the .val-
ley. Several humans were visible at :1 consider—
able distance. The Smoke from others curled"
up int) the thin air, from behind the woods that
screened them. ‘

Not far off, in the other direction, came the
sound of wheels. He looke'l back, but no car
riage was yet in sight. I
. “S’pect it’s slipt oi} into some bv-road,” he
grumbled, angrily. “ ust my luck."

It proved not so, however. Around a turn in
the road came the c u'rlage, drown by a pair of
fine Kl‘lyfi. A colored coachman d rove. The
seat behind was occupied by :1 young lad v.

Quick as was the glance which the boy took
at this occupant of the carriage. he saw not only
that she was very handsome and richly dressed,
hut th‘ll} her expression was that of a gentle and
kio ‘on nature.

He left his support nn‘l stepped hastily out
into the road. But the effort was too much for
his strength. He reel‘il like a drunken man,
and t-ll prestrate in th ‘ vm-y track of the horses.

“Stop, Hugol Stop!” she cried, in quick ac-
cents of alarm. “ The poor boy: clid you notice
how he was coverel with blood? H» has been
bailv hurt."

Hu zo‘; hp curled unpleasantly as he. pulch up
the'hors w,

“ Got his face scratched. Bet on my notion.
Jlit lfit him crawl out do way.”

"No, no! he may die here in the road. Lift
him into the carriage.”

 

 

Hugo raised his hand in holy horror.

“An’ cubber dem new seats wid blood an’
dust, Miss Clan-e? Whuteber will mnssa say?"

“ It is no matter. The boy may die,” was her
imperious n 11:;wer. “ Do as I tell you at 011w.”

Hugo thus addressed, reluctantly complied.
He lifted t 1e youth from before the horsvs’ fact,
finding him to be helpless and apparently insen-
sible.

In a few minutes however, the conchman had
resumed his seat, which was now partly occupied
by the young Indy, the 1nd being lltlil in u re—
clining pgsition on the back seat of the carriage.

As thnyllrovo more slowly down the road she
examined the features of the boy with great in—
terest.

He might have been of any age from sixteen
to eighteen, and had in his face a peculiarly
frank, open expreSsion which showed even
through his SWODD. His features were cod,
despite their present disfigurement: an his
clothes, though poor in quality. Were neat sud
well fitting. Altogether she was pleased with
his appeirance.

They had not ridden far before his eyes opened,
and looked back with interest into hers. His
was a gray, rather ke-eu eye, round which a
lurking sense of fun always rested.

“ Whereabouts have I dropped now?” he
asked surveying the carriage. v

“ e found you in the road, just by the rail-
road track, badly hurt,” she replied, in her
musical and kindly tones. “ How came you to
be so injured?” .

“ Tumbled outer the moon. I guess,” he an-
swered, with a grimace. “Was just making
forty miles an hour when I touched bottom.
It’s enough toput a boy’s nese out of joint.”

She made no reply. and looked away with an
expression that troubled him a little. Just then
Hugo drew up at the gate of a mansion of some
pretensions, which stood back from the road.

“Drive in, Hugo: and then you must go for
the doctor at once," she said, anxiously.

In a few minutes more the wounded lad was
helped in and laid on a couch, several anxious
faces surrounding:

Hn 0. despite his former grumbling. was not
long In bringing the doctor. The latter saw
with surprise the injured nppclrunce of his pa—
ticnt, and asked a number of questions, getting
about as much satisfaction as the laly had got
before him.

Yet the boy. despite his odd answers, was not
rude or impolite in manner. Tnedoetor laughed
as he proceeled to dress his injuries, leavinz him
much more comfortable an-l presentable than he
had found him.

“Now, if it’s all one to you folks, I guess a
snooze [nought my," he said, looking round
with an eye that twinkleal with fun. “ When a
fellor’s been wide awake as long as I have, he
bezins to zit sl'ie‘py.”

“ How long- have you been wide awake?”
asked the doctor.

“ All my life,” replied the led, with an in-_
imitablo zrimnco, that set them all oil laughing.
Without further attention to them he closed his
eyes. and seemed, in a moment, to be lost in a.
deep slumber.

“I fancy you have a character here. Miss
Claire,” the doctor remarked to the young lady.

 

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v

Billy, the Baggage Boy. 3

 

“ He is certainly an oddity,” she replied. “I
only hope that will prove his worst fault. I
have, somehow, taken a fancy to him."

There was no sham about his sleep. It lasted
until the next morning, when he woke refreshed
by his rlumbers, but Weak and lame, while his
right hand was helpless.

" Don’t you think he is very pretty, Aunt
Claire?” spoke a childish voice by his bedsrde,
ere he had opened his cycs. _

“ Yes, Lucy; handsome and innocentlookmg,
and porvvrsc; I don’t know what to make of
him." came in Miss Claire‘s tones.

“See here,” said the boy, suddenly opening
[115 eyes and looking into their faces. “
yurned last night. 'Cause that blackbird of
yourn made me feel contrary, I s‘pose. And

’ve been ashamed of myself ever since.”

“ Asleep, were you not, ever since?” asked the
child, looking quizzicnlly into his eyes.

‘The boy gazed at the speaker, a pretty little
girl of some seven years of a ‘e.

“l tumbled out of tho lig tnin‘ train,” he re-
garked. “ That’s the whole long and short of

“HOW?” sheexclaimed,in astonishment. “Do ’

you mean that you fell from the cars?"

“ The Lightnin’-Express. Forty miles an hour.
Straight through from Pittsburg. Was sailin’
along like greased thunder, when the ground
jumped up and hit me, and the train slid on.
That‘s how it come.”

“ Are you a railroad boy?” asked Lucy.

“ You bet I am.”

“ In what position?" queried Miss Claire.

“ I sell peanuts and uindrops, and sich deli-
(‘ucivs of the seasUn. ad I bet there’ll be high
old tillli‘S when I turn up missing. The officers
of the road can‘t be spared.”

The boy had risen, and was now reclining
comfortably in an arm-chair.

“ Had we not better send word to the station?”
asked Miss Claire.

“Just what I was goin’ to purpose," be re-
plied, energetically. “ Telegraph them that I’m
all right, and will be on duty ag’in before the
sun hids us two more good-nights.”

” What name shall I tell them?" asked Miss
Clare, smiling at his oddity.

“ Billy, the railroad men call me. But you
telegraph William Baggage. And be sure you
spell it right, or they mightn’t reckernise me.”

“ Shall I send you up your breakfast?” asked
Misu Claire.

“ Well, snmetbin’ light, then. Half an oyster;
or a pigeon’s toe; or sich.”

She left the room laughing.

“ You’re queer,” said Lucy, nestling up to
him. ” Do you like tafly?"

“ If I don’t it’s queer!” he answered, enthusi-
astically; and their friendship was at once
cemented by tho olisP bonds of molasses tally.

Two or three days passed, during whivh Billy
was gradually recovering from the effects of his
fall. which proved not nearly so serious as might
naturally have been looked for.

During this time he had very little to say
about his accident, throwing adegree of mys-
tery around it by his quiet avoidance of all
questions. Even the energetic and direct queries
of Mr. Hamilton, Claire’s father, gained him no

 

more information than had been volunteered to
the daughter.

" He is a queer dick; and there’s something
behind all this," said Mr. Hamilton, aside.

“ You kin have the fun then of gueSsing what
it is,” thought Billy, who had overheard this re-
mark.

It was ev1dent that if they needed any infor-
mation they Would have to gain it by guessing,
for Billy was close—mouthed as an oyster. Vol-
uble enough, it is true, but letting out next to
nothing in the way of business.

Two or three days passed, and he rapidly re
gained his strength, though he was lame yet in
hand and foot,while his face looked like the map
of a battlefield done in court—plaster.

One afternoon, just on the shadowy verge of
evening, the boy limped into the rear parlor,
thinking it deserted.

He was mistaken. Claire Hamilton was there,
and with her a young gentleman whom Billy
had not seen the' e before. There was a sus-
picious separation to opposite ends of the sofa
when the boy entered which should have ad-
monished him to take his departure again forth-

With.

But Billy was not that kind of a boy. He
was one that never retreated. Through the
room he walked, his eyes fixed with a keen and
curious glance on the face of the young man.
He seated himself in a rockingchair, facing
them. ..

“Asorter nice kind of an evening,‘" he re—
marked, in an oflthand way.’

“ Yes,” replied Claire, absently. ~

“Dunno. though. It’s streaky to the west.
Mought kick up a rain yit. S’pnse you’re no
judge of the weather?"

" No,” answered the gentleman, with a savage
intonation.

“ Yes, and no. A few words go a long ways,"
remarked Billy, rocking himself nonchulantly
in the chair, and quietly surveying the couple
before him. '

It was evident that the gentleman was grow»
ing angry. Claire sprung up with a nervous
movement, saying:

“ Excuse me a moment.”

She hastily left the room.

Billy looked after her until she disappeared,
and then turned and faced her gentleman
friend."

This person was a well-built individual, of
middle hight, broad-shouldered, and full-chest-
ed. His face was one which most people ii ould
have called handsome. Its principal features
were the slern black eyes, with whirh he re-
turned the boy‘s cool stare, rather thin ii 5, and
a firm chin. is lip was graced hy a fu black
mustache.

“ Do you think you will know nae again?” he
sarcastically asked Billy.

“ Hope so,” replied the latter, easily. “ That’s
what I want to do."

“ Well, you are cool about it.” .

“ Always am, this kind of weather. See
What do you think took Miss Claire
out?”

“ Her fancy, I suppOSe."

“I‘ll bet high it’s a game to get rid of me,”
said the “Dhbdahed Billy. “ It's the old sayin‘,

 

4 Billy, the Baggage Boy.

 

ou know, ‘two’s company and three’s none.’
"pose I don’t know I ain‘t wanted?”

b“ You don’t act as if you know much of any-
t in .

“ ow don’t you buy me fur a know-nothin’,
if you want to make a bargain," replied Billy,
laughing. “I’d have slid straight off, only I
jist want to see how she’s goin’ to work it.
That’s all.”

He was interrupted by the return of the
yofung lady, who seated herself quietly on the
so a

“ I think my father wishes to see you," she re-
marked to Billy.

“ Bad?" asked Billy.
presence?”

“ He wishes to speak to you."

“ I guess I’ll git.”

The “ young gentleman” seemed very much
inclined to hasten Billy's pace. He half-rose
from his seat, but was restrained by a merry
laugh from Claire, who seemed to see Billy’s be-
havior from its ludicrous side.

But she had not quite got rid of the boy’s at;
tentions yet for that day.

It was two hours or more later, when he again
met her in the hall. ,

“ That chap sweet on you, Miss Claire?” he
asked.

“ I don’t think that a proper question, Master
Billy,” answered Claire, laughingly.

“ Is he sufl'erin’ for my

“ I’ve seen him afore, that’s all. and he mought.

have been in better company. He ain‘t all 0.
K., Miss Claire. Don’t keer to hurt your feel—
in’s, but a feller’s got to stick to the truth, you
know."

And Billy looked virtuously indignant, while
his bearer seemed not entirely comfortable.

 

CHAPTER 11.
A RAILROAD KING.

“Now jist you let up; if you want to keep
out the hospital. There’s a bit of advice for

on.

“If he don’t look like a, hospital rat himself.
then it’s queer,” and the boy speaker laughed
provokingly.

“ I can smash you into mincemeat yit, any-
how. An’ if you’ve got much more blowin‘ to
do, s’pose you jist go over to them lawyer chops
and git your will made.”

And the speaker pointed with his left hand to
a row of buildings, plentifully adorned in front
with signs of the legal fraternity. His right
hand was in no condition to use, being in an im-
promptu sling, while his face was scarred and
gafiched in twenty places. It was no other than

i .

Hg looked belligerent enough as he stood in
fighting attitude. foot and hand advanced, and
his keen eyes fixed on his antagonists.

But four sound boys tonne cripple was too
great odds, and Billy gave an anxious glance
around as the boys advanced in mass on him.

In a minute more he was in the heart of the
battle; striking, kicking, and receiving two
blows to his one. But not a step did he rem-at.
and not fora moment did he ceasa to chaflf his

063.
“ Come on, bully boys! Four to one ain‘t no

/

 

sort of odds fer Mudtowners.
see who‘s got the backbone.”

He was now catching it, fast and furious. It
was evident that, quick and alert as he was, he
could not hold his own many seconds more. At
this juncture a stronger hand took part in tho
fray, and the attacking party drew hastily back
from the assault of powerful reinforcements.

“Cowardly young hounds!" came in scornful
tones from a manly voice. “ Four to one, and
he a cripple! Make of! with you,or I will scorch
you as you deserve.”

They seemed to think he meant it, too, as they
hastily retired from the field of battle, waiting
until at a safe distance to hurl some opprobrious
epithets at this new opponent.

Billy looked up curiously at the stalwart man
who had delivered him from his peril. He gave
a start as he saw the face of his new ally.

“ Well, I'll be blowedl” he exclaimed. “ If it
ain‘t Miss Claire’s sweetheart, you kin take my
head fur a meat-block.”

“ And this is my young friend that fell from
the moon, eh’l'”

“ See here, neighbor; there’s somethin’ clever
’bout you. What mought your name be?” asked

Let her rip! and

“ All square. Jist wanted to know. Much
oblecged to you for driving off them hornets.”

“ And you had best be getting away from
their nest," replied Mr. Howard, as he walked
awa . “ They may return.”

“ wouldn’t keera cent furateapot full of
them, if I only had two arms,” returned Bilh ,
with 3. ruent glance at his lame hand. “ Guess
I‘ll make tracks. ’Tain’t no use waitin’ when
there’s a hammerin’ at the end of it."

And Billy walked off in a direction at right-
angles to that taken by Mr. Howard. His pace,
however, was very deliberate, and he seemed
lost in deep reflection.

He looked, again and again, after Mr Howard.

“ ’ ass I oughter foller that man,” he solilo-
quizedf “I’m an off‘cer on the Penney: that’s
one thing. Then there’s that sweet Miss Claire,
that he’s makin’ up to; that’s another thing.
Every teller that’s hallI a feller oughter fight fur
his ship and his gal, and I know there’s some-
thin' duberous ’bout Mr. George Howard.”

As he spoke he gradually changed his course
till he was on the direct track of the persnn
named.

The latter left Independence Square, where
these incidents had occurred. by the gate at
Sixth and Walnut streets. Billy was now but a
short distance behind him. _ .

For half a square this pursuit continued, then
the boy suddenly came toa dead snap.

“ ’Tain’t correck. ’Taln’t square," be said to
himself. “ He jist stood by me like a man.
Made them mud was git up and git. And
here’s me follerin’ of him. ’Tniu’t honor. Billy;
and when a foller like you goes back on honor
he ain't got uothin’ left. '1’" sw’ar I won‘t. follor
him another step if he’s got a plot to knock the
l’ennsy Riilroad into the middle of next week."

A minute more of thought, and a. new resolu-
tion seemed to come unto him.

“ Yes, I will,” he remarked, with decision.
“I’ll step up tothe office and see the kumeL

 

“vs’fi'i' . ’.

  

.‘Vi‘

 

    
   
   
   
   
   
   
    
  
 
   

 

p I

 

 

 

Billy, the Baggage Boy. 5

 

Ain't no use in a teller bein’ too modest and hid-
ing his taller-candle under a bushel measure,

V ’cordin’ toScriptur’.”

Billy walked rapidly on. like one who had

formed a fixed resolve. In doing so he unex-
iectedly found himself in sight again of George

oward, who had stopped and was earnestly
conversing with a person he had met.

Billy turned his head away, anxious, in his
honorable intentions, not to see any of Mr.
Howard’s associates.

“ Bet that’s a night-hawk,” said Billy, criti-
cally, as he passed on.

On Fourth street, some distance south of Wat
nut, stands a great granite building, into whose
doors ebbs and flows a constant rivulet of
humanity. It is hardly decided enough to be
calleda human tide.

The edifice contains the main offices of the
Bennsylvania Railroad 00., whose name is cut
11) enduring letters above its granite portal.

Up the broad steps and through the door
walked Billy, his head up, and an assured ,look
upon his hrnest and frank features.

“ Where’bouts does the kurnel hang out his
shingle?” he asked of a person who stood in the
broad hall.

“The colonel, eh? Oh, certainly! You will
find his office upstairs. In the second story.”

“ Much obleeged,” replied Billy, walking reso-
lutely up-stairs.

There was a moment’s hesitation, such as any
one nu ht feel on approaching the throneroom
oi the ‘reat Mogul. But the boy was not the
one to turn back after having set his hand to
the plow. He plunged forward, almost coming
into collision with a black-whiskered guard of
the door.

Billy drew back a pace, and looked defiantly
at the resolute sentry.

“ Ain’t no use gittin’ sour ’bout it,” he said.
“ Jist tell the home] I want to see him."

“ What name?” asked the supercilious sentry.

“ ’Tain’t no matter. Tell him it’s an officer of
the road.”

“‘ What officer?”

“ General distributor.”

“ Distributor of what?”

“ Oh! peanuts and bananers. Guess you’ll
want to look at my naturalization papers next.”

“ Well, you can‘t come in,” answered the door—
keeper, sourly. “ The colonel is engaged.”

“Jist tell him I’m here, will you, Johnny?"

“ Why, you saucy little hound l” exclaimed
the man, angrily. “ Make yourself scarce, now,
if you don’t want to be kicked down-stairs.”

“ Never was kicked by a jackass,” replied
Billy, defiantly. “Don't b’lieve it’d agree with
my constertution. Come, now, slowy: tell the
kurnel I’m a-waitin’."

. With a muttered imprecation, the angry sen-
tinel started for the boy, who stood his ground,
boldly. The battle likely to ensue was nipped in

_ the bud by an imperious voice that came from

the office, within.

“ What is the matter, J ohn? Who is there?”

The belligerent suddenly drew back, and an-
swered in a depreciating tone:

“ It‘s a beggarly young cripple, sir. An im-
pudent little varlet who insists upon coming in-
to your office.”

 

“ A cripple?” asked the voice. '

“ Yes, but not a beggar,” replied Billy, indig-
nantly. “ I’m an off’cer of the Pennsy, and
there ain’t none of them but u hat gits his rations
reg’lar.”

“ Come in, sir,” spoke the voice, decisively.

With a highly aggravating wink at his dis—
comflted antagonist, Billy strutted into the
room, not deigning him a second look.

The apartment in which the lad now found
himself was an elegantly appointed ofljce, richly
and tastefully furnished.

But Billy had e es only for the gentleman
who sat at an o ce—desk in the center of the
room.

His eyes were keen and alert, and looked up
at his visitor with an expression that meant
business. A look of surprise marked his fea-
tures as he saw Billy’s scarred face.

“ What is the matter with you, boy?” he ask-

ed.

“1 gist Stepped off the lightnin’ train, that
was a] —or got kicked off.”

“ What train ?" asked the colonel.

“Number Four. Through Express."

"‘ And what was your business on the road?”

" Oh! varieties. Newspapers and provisions.
I do the fancy work.”

“ I have heard of you,” he said, quickly. “I
heard you were missing from the train, and re—
ceived a telegram about you from up the road.
Sit down. You look weak. Now tell me all
about it.”

“Yes, kurnel,” said Billy, confidently, as he
seated himself. “ I happened into the baggage-
car, on see. Found the agent‘out, and a hard-
faoe cuss makin’ hisself at home. He was jist
flingin‘ a bit of a trunk out the side door when
I froze onto his coat-tails, and hollered like
thunder.”

" You look, as if you might make a good
watch—dog." remarked the colonel.

“ The feller drapped on me like an elephant
on a. poodle—dog,” continued Billy. “ He was
one of them chaps that's got cast-iron arms and
brass muscles, and I wa’n’t any more 70011th in
his grip than a slice of cheese in a monkey’s
claws. He jist h’isted me outer the car door as
if I was a bag of dried apples, and helped me
with the toe of his number twentyr cowhideS.
You should jist have seen me plowin gravel!

The colonel leaned back in his chair, looking
abstractedly at Billy.

“How soon will you be read for duty!”

“ Soon as I‘m called on,” rep ied Billy. “ But
I hope the Pennsy will be able to‘ git along a
week or so without me, till I kin shake my bones
into their places.”

“Very well," said the colonel, with a. wave
of dismissal. “ Report here when ready.”

f‘ O. K,” returned Billy, bowing himself out,
With a gratified look on his young face.

 

CHAPTER III.
BANS, THE GUM-DROP BOY.

BILLY was a Philadelphian. He had a father
and mother, as all good Philadelphians have.
And the Baggages lived in a house of their own,
which is another of the perquisites of virtuous
Pbiladelphians.

 

 

6 Billy, the Baggage Boy.

 

'l‘ln's “Baggage car,” as we may call it, was
one of a train of similar cars on an up-town
srroet. it was a modest, two story mansion,
built upon the smallest piece of ground’that such
an cdifive could well be squeezed upon.

inside the element of picturesqueness continued
to reign. Chairs which seemed to have been
picked up from twenty lumber-rooms; no two of
the same pattern nor broken in the same w.-iv.
Limping tables and scalloped crockery. Carper,-
less floors. and a stovo held up at one corner by
a brick. Such were a. few of the more promi—
nent features of this domicile.

For it must he confessed that the elder Baggage
was a piece of hell baggage. He was too fond
of his cups to care much for the amenities of
domestic intercourse. If the lady of the house
had a sour temper, she had plentiful excuse for
it, and, poor thing, she had a. sweet heart at
bottom.

Billy loved his mother, despite the frequent
sharp ruhs he received, and it was the hope of
his hea rt to be one day able to relieve her from
the sharp struggle with poverty and discomfort
which had become almost second nature with

her.

For all that be much preferred the days he
spent on the road to the hours which he wore out
at home.

“ Lookee here, you Bill!” hiccoughed his
father, trying hard to balance himself on a.
three legged chair. “Like to know when you
’spect to git to work ag‘in? This thing’s played
out, Dashed if ’tain’t. ’S if a gen‘loman of
edriiontion an’ a scholar ain’t got nothin’ to do
hu'l’; keep idle vagybones like you. Don’t see

“ Ohl shut up, Jacob, and let the boy alone!”
exploimad the mother from amid her pots and

ans. “ Just look at his face.”

“Like to know what bizness he’s got with sich
a. face,” replied the tipsv father. “ Never
beered of his dad tumblin’ off a train. Oh, no!
he's too stiidy-hoaded for that. Dunno what
the hoys i4 onde of ilOwhdays.”

“They ain’t made of chalk and cheese, any—
howl” protested Billy, “else I’d be ground into
powder ‘l'l’ll‘l mashed into pancakes. Jist like to
see Vol) try it on yourself, dad. Bet there
wouldn’t he nothin’ left of you butasmell of
had whisky.”

“ Now jiet hear to him mommy!” whimpered
theinebrinte. “That’s his respeck for his oll
daddy. M1 that’s t'iilel and slaved night and
morning to keep n ’spnotnble family—"

“ What family?" sharplyintm'ruptcl‘l the wife.
“ That of Joe Dangles, the whisky-seller, down
at the corner?”

“ Oh, woman l” began the drunken father.
“ Oh. woman, in thy hours of oase—J’

His quotation met with an unfortunate inter—
ruption. The chair on which he had been saw-
ing to and fro for the last five minutes‘suddonly
gave way beneath him. and chair anl sitter
came with a crash to the floor.

Billy ran to hit him up.

’ “ Lewe mo ’lone!" grumbled the father.
“Don't ’sturh thepoor old broken-hearted dad.
A thankless child’s better nor n serpent‘s tooth,
as the good book says: 1111' well I know it.”

Billy Lat go his log-like parent in disgust. His

 

 

 

M

eyes were full of mingled pity and horror as he
looked down upon him.

“ Let him alone!" cried the sorely-tried
mother. “He’s just liken pig. He’s at home
rollin; in the dirt.” I

“ if over I let any of that rattlesnake p’izen
pas: my lips, I only hope I’ll choke on it,” said
the disgusted son. “Don’t you keel". mummy.
I‘ll look out for you. And Billy ain't never
goin’”!o set his brains afire with disguised strych-
nine.

Withaquick jerk of the door behind him,
that rattled the crazy mansion to its founda-
tions, Billy left the house, his face full of min—
gled emotions.

He strode down the street with a step that
was hastened by the exhaust steam of angry
thoughts. His lameness had nearly disappear-
ed, and his arm was out of the sling. His face.
too, was rapidly throwing of! its top-dressing
of court-plaster. Billy would Soon he himself
again.

“ Hey! little chap,"cried a. voice at his elbow.
“ Dali’s a. great pig hurry you’re in this morning
now.

Billy quickly turned, to see a youth of about
his own age, whose broad Dutch face was beam»
ing with good-humor.

“Hello! Hans,” he exclaimed, throwing off
his depression instantly. “ Is it yersolf now,
sure as shootin" too?” .

“Yaw. Me dinks so," replied Hans, with
great gravity.

“ And what brings you here?"

“ Mine feet.” returned Hans.

“ What, them canal boats?” returned Billy,
looking down questionineg at-his frien.i’s huge
supports. “Looks to me as if you’d brung
them, stead of them bringin’ you. An’ no fool
of 8. “ob neither.”

“ aw; (ley is goot to stand on, and to walk
on,” replied the imperturbable Dutch boy. “ Big
footses is better as oot. Any fool knows dat."

“ An’ [ain't no 00], that’s the reason I don’t
know it,” said Billy, laughing. “ What you do-
in‘ off the road, Hans?”

“ Comed 01! at eleving. Don’t go on till sev-
ing. Dat’s how,” returned Hans. “ Au’ gum-
drops is riz. dat's more. ’Specielly do silber-
plated. double-Larrel kint."

“Why don‘t you rig them up yourselves?
That’s the way I used to do," replied Billy.

“_ So we}: goin’ ” Hans answered, with '1 mys-
terious w1nk. ‘ Du’re ferry gout, too. Calf’s
foot jelly and shoemaker’s wax. Nix, Billy.
Don't say nufiin‘. Dey sticks nice to the teef;
(let‘s ’lll. Ao’ n. nice pictur’ on de box.”

Blllylnughed merrily at Hens’s new idea in _

the manufacture of gum-drops.

“ Put in plenty of swaetenin' and make them
slick good, Hans; and they're sure to take.
Hello! What's that?"

Hens followed the direction of his friend’s
eyes, but snw nothing except a group of three
men talking, a short distance before them.

“ Don’t see nix fire, nor nuffin’,”said Hans.
“ What for you pinch my arm?"

” The men there. Look at them, close. Hans,”
replied Billy. in a cautious tone. “I‘ll bet a.
row they’re down on Penn”. Seen that teller
afore with the clipper-built hat, and that Wears

y,
.14,

    
 

 
   

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Billy,‘ the Ba ggage Boy. '7

 

his duds with more style than a tailor’s dummy.
There thcy go, Fuller them close, boy. Hole
them. and fetch me back word where they go.”

“Yaw. Dut’s goot. But what for?” asked

Hans.

“ I’ll tell you :iftnrwnrds. Don’t hang fire
now, if you kccr a brass farthin’ fer old Pennsy,”
urged Billy. pushing Hans off.

The Dim-h hoy moved away with a lumbering
step, his llig cycs fixed on the three men who
were slowly walking on in front, lost in earnest
Convvrsation.

“ It‘s the chap that was talkin’ to Howard, or
else I’m a sold coon!” said Billy, earnestly, to
himself.

He stood looking after Hans, his feet an»
easily shifting, as if with anxiety to follow his
agent. .

“Wish he hadn’t mixed in lhat little scrim-
mage in the Square,” muttered Billy, discon-
tentedly. “ Like first-rate to track them, but a
follcr’a got to he hon’ablc. A Pennsy boy ’thout
honor ’d be like a pig ’thout an ear. Thunder—
in' lucky, though, that Hans Breitman was on
hand.”

Anrl with this queer idea of honor, that kept
him from pursuing the suspected parties, but
freely allowed him to put another scout on the
vigour, Billy impatiently waited the return of

ans.

.He had not as long to wait as he expected,
either, for the broad-built Dutch boy soon came
lumbering back.

“Quick work, Hans, my boy,” cried Billy,
eagerly. catching him by the coat. “ What
luck? Hole the foxes. eh?”

“ Yaw," answered Hans, sturdily.

“ Where was it? Have you the house? Num-
ber and street?" v

“ Nix boilsen," returned Hans.

“ Nix? What the thunder. then?”

“Lager,” replied Hans, bringing his hands up
with a sign of drinking. “Yonder. De corner,
at Heinrich Oitshlanger’s.”

“ The deuce!” exclaimed Billy, in deep dis-
gust. “ Well, if‘ you ain’t a high old scout.
Holed them in a lager beer saloon. J ist as good
as nailing a rut hole in a board—yard."

“ Yaw I" repeater] Hans. “ Two lager, ein
weiss. Goot now I tells you.” ,

“ Well, if l wouldn’t like to sell you for a
curiosity,” snarled Billy, looking discontentedly
at his friend. I’d ’19 hot high nobody couldn t
be so dumb. And I’d lost if anybody ’d brung
you up.”

Ami he walked away. leaving Hans gazing
after him in dazed astonishment.

“ Sven their faces and rigs, anyhow.” con-
tinued Billyto himself. “It mayn’t be quite
honor. but a feller can’t help seein’ what he sees.
And I’m square with you now, George Howard,
So look out for your eye if I run across you
ng‘in.”

It was two days after the date of this occur-
rence that Billy appeared again in the Pennsyl—
vania Railroad ofl‘ice.

“Ready to report on duty, kurnel," henn-
nounced, with his usual modesty. “Sound.
hand and foot, and rubbed my face dowu with
emery.”

The colonel looked him over, then turned and

 

wrote for a few minutes, handing Billy a sealed
note.

“ I have inquired about you,” he said. “You
are a good boy, and are promoted. Take thisto
Mr. Reynolds at the West Philadelphia depot.”

“ Thank you, kurnel,” said Billy, with a
grateful look. “ I won’t go back on you; you
kin bet high on that.”

CHAPTER IV.
LIFE on DEATH.

“ FOR the first snow of the season this means
work," exclaimed a hrakesman, coming hastily
into the baggagecar, and stampin till his
feathery coating flew from him in white clouds.

“ Snowing, ch?” questioned the baggage-,'
master, looking up from the account book over
which he was poring.

A peal of youthful laughter rung through
the car.

“Wh , an earthquake mcught slide under
Harry odkin’s feet when he had his eyes glued
into one of them figuring books, and he not
an ounce the wiser.”

It was the merry voice of Billy Baggage.
This young gentleman was coiled up on a trunk
near the door of the car, looking out into the
flency atmosphere.

They were running at the rate of forty miles
an hour, eastward from Harrisburg, through a
driving snow-storm that shot in long white lines
past the swift train, and bluiied out every ob—
ject from sight at a few rods distance from the
cars.

“Where are we?" asked Harry Bodkin.

“ Near Lancaster. So far as a fellow can see
in this confounded storm,” replied the brakes-
man. going out again to the car platform.

“Shouldn’t wonder if it’d make sleighing,"
yawned Billy, lazily.

“Hang the sleighin . If it don‘t make
trouble for tre cars, 1’] be satisfied,” rejoined

Harry.

Billy sat looking wisely at the baggage-
master, as the latter dived again into the page:
of his book, and became oblivmus to all things
e se.

“Seen that teller, George Howard. at the
West Philly depot, yesterday," muttered Billy,
in a half soliloquy. “Talkin’ to one of them
queer ’coons that he’s so thick with.”

“ Just you take my advice, and don’t bother
yourself about George Howard,” remarked
Harry, looking up with an odd smile. “ Young
chn like you often get along best by ’tending
to t weir own business.’

“That’s all mighty nice,” cried Billy, indig-
nantly. “But I ain’t forgot how the harm}
give me a lift into this here baggage-cor, and
I’m not going back on the kurnel. You Won";
say there ain’t been trouble on the mad lately?”

“There have been some desperate efforts to
wreck trains.” admitted Harry.

“That‘s what I mean: and that's trouble,”
nersistcd Billy. “ Now, jist sure as shootiu’,
Howard’s gang has got a hand in this businem.
I’m workin’ for the Pennsy overhand and under-
hand, and, if I kin smell out the rats that’s play-
in’ their tricks, l‘ui jist the boy that‘s goin‘ fur
them.

 

 
   

8 Billy, the Baggage Boy.

 

Harry Bodkin looked up, with an amused ex-
pression, at his indi ant young friend.

“ Just you keep c ear of this fellow Howard,
if you don’t want to be sold cheap,” remarked
Harry, with a satirical laugh, losin himself im-
mediately again in the pages of his ook.

Billy got up and walked about the floor of the

.. cannot quite satisfied with the turn the conver-
I'sation had taken, yet not deeming it advisable
' ’to interrupt him again.

At this moment there sounded the shrill whis-
tle of the locomotive.

“ There’s Lancaster,” exclaimed Billy, opening
the door of the car, and stepping out to where
the brakesman was holding his solitary vigil.

The train careened and lunged onward still,
through the snow that lied the air like a de-
scending cloud. The brakes had been alpplied,
and the cars were rapidly coming to 9. ha t. The
sheds and buildings of a considerable city
showed dimly through the white mist. In five
minutes more they came to rest before the long,
plain depot building at Lancaster.

Billy leaped from the train and took a boy’s
header up through the snow. Quite a number
of passengers left the cars and stamped their
way into the station, half-blinded by their sud-
den plunge into the chilling, fleecy atmosphere.

Hurrying back, Billy nearly ran into two
gentlemen who were about getting aboarl the
train. An imprecation at the boy’s awkward-
ness broke from the lips of one of them. Billy
drew back, takin them in at aglance, where
the long gleam mm the depot light fell dimly
upon them.

The boy started as his uick eyes recognized
the smartly-dressed man w om he had seen talk-
ing with Geor e Howard, and in the short,

uat man wit him, one of the three whom

ans Breitman had tracked to, the lager-beer
saloon. /

He followad them quietly into the car. It was
empty, with the exception of a half dozen per-
sons gathered near the further end. The two
new passengers took a seat out of hearing of the
conversation proceeding between these persons.

Billy took a seat just behind them, coi ing him-
self up so as to be invisible OVer the high-backed
seats. His movement had been masked by the
rattle of the car-wheels, which were again in full

pla .

Byut few words passed until after the conduc-
tor had taken up their fares. He looked down
on Billy inquiringly, but was greeted with a
wink by that young gentleman, and passed on
smilingly.

The smartly-dressed passenger now rose and
walked forward to the water-cooler at the front
end of the car. He looked keenly around him as
he returned. Billy was quite lost to si ht, swal-
lowed up into the deep seat in whic he had
coiled his small pro rtions.

“ Guess we can ta k safely," said the man. in
a cautious tone, as he reseated himself. “ You
might have let the cat out, Jack, there at the
depot."

“A mix is as good as a mile,” growled Jack,
in ahoarse tone. “And if you thought I was
going to let any out loose you reckoned on the
wrong terrier."

“ I hoped you were too smart."

 

“I don’t make no brags on smartness,”rev
turned Jack. “ It’s chaps like you, Joe Blizzard,
that’s smart. I’m only wideawake.”

“ I don’t think neither of you would set a river
aflre very soon,” thought their lurking eaves—
dropper.

Their conversation continued for some time in
a lower tone. But Hill had sharp ears, and not
a word escaped him. nd certain facts of ex-
treme interest came to his alert senses. His head
was raised above the level of the seat, in acute
eagerness to follow this highly interesting con-
ference. '

It continued for half an hour nearly.

“Where is that s t, Joel I don’t quite know
the lay of the land t ereaway.”

“It is at the turnpike crossing, about four
miles the other side of Whitehall,” replied Joe.

“ And it will be dark as blazes."

“ Certainly. It is half dark now with the
snow. At Six o‘clock it will be pitch dark. I am
half sorry for Bill Bounce, the engineer, but if
folks won’t be warned there must be some sharp
exam les.”

“ ou’re a blasted nice bunch of sentimentali—
ty,” growled Jack, with an oath. “And as for
t e snow, I don’tsee it.”

Billy glanced out of the car window. It had
indeed stopped snowing. The sun, not far from
its setting had broken through a rift in the
clouds, an was throwing long, level lines of
light across the pure white mantle that envel-
oped the earth as far as the eye could reach.

The two men ceased talking% and settled them-
selves into easier postures. illy took the o
portunity to glide from his seat and step uno .
served to the car door.

He opened it quietly and passed out to the plat-
form. The boy was dee 1y excited; his face was
flushed. and his hands 0 inched with a deep in-
dignation.

“Well, if it ain’t a devilish business, then I
don’t know beans. And if I don’t circumvent
them there’ll be thunder to pa . If I don't do
it, sell me for a soft-shell clam.

He stood in deep co itation for several min-
utes, thought after t ought, plan after plan,
passing through his youn brain. Then, with
a slight shiver in the coo air, he entered the
next car and fixed himself in an empty seat,
looking out eagerly as mile after mile and sta-
:ion after station were passed by the swift

rain.

Coatesville. Downington, Paoli, Reeseville,
and other stations were shot past without a
stop. They were rapidly apggaching White:
hall. Billy got up, appropria and concealed
a brakesman’s lantern under his coat, and
waited with nervous impatience.

The whistles of the locomotive sounded long
through the darkness.

“ Whitehall at last,” Billy said with a deep
breath. "The next station, and l must do it,
if I git kicked out of the service for my ins.
There ain’t no big things without ris s in
them."

Five—ten minutes more. The boy rose and
went out on the platform buttoning his coat
tightly about him as he felt the keen night air.
Again a whistle sounded from the engine in
front.

.9 »-»-~.-f~*~“~'  

 

   
 

     
 

 

 

Billy, the Baggage Boy. 9

 

“Now for it!” Billy set his lips tightly to-
gether. “ If they ain't got the perliteness to
stop themSeIVes how’s a feller goin’ to git ofl?
’thout ringing the car-bell?"

. A moment more, and he had grasped the
signal-r0 , and given the conductor’s signal
to stop t e train.

This magnate of the road was seated smoking
a quiet Cigar with his friend Harry hodkin in
the baggage car, when the rope rattled sharply
over 1118 head, and in an instant more the speed
of the train be an to diminish.

“ What the euce does, this mean?” he cried,
starting up suddenly and running back through
the train. “Who pulled that rope?”

There was no answer. No one seemed to
know. The train had come almost to a full
stop when the irate conductor again signaled it
to iroceed.

l 6 did not notice a light figure mnning quick—
ly across the snow to t a shelter of a neighbor-
ing building.

" That’s done," said Billy, drawing a long
breath. of relief as he saw the tram again
gathering headway in its onward progress.
“ Now for the turpike crossin . Hillel ’

This last exclamation was van in a tone full
of surprise and dread.

The boy staggered as he looked about him,
With eyes that seemed ready to start from their
sockets.

_“ May I be chewed up alive by a donkey!” he
eguculated, rubbing his forehead vigorously.
‘ It‘s Whitehall, or I never seen it, and I’m a
good four miles out of the wail.”

The clear tingle of sleigh-he s rung out n n
the night-air, mingling with his words, an a.
smart cutter shot past him, drawing up in front
of a house about twenty yards awn ,

Billy stood looking at it with dilhted eyes, a
bold purpose slowly forming itself in his brain.
A voung man s rung from the sleigh, and step-
ped uickly up 0 the house.

“ our miles,” soliloquized the boy. “ Four
miles. and only twenty minutes to do it in. It
must bedidl There‘s life or death in the air,
and I’m not goin' to have a murder on my con—
scienge, if I have to bu’st something or kill a

oss

Down the street he ran. The time for thought
was 1:. Action was now demanded.

W th aquick spring Bill was in the slei h
and had seized the reins.- e neXt instant t e
impatient horse was OR at full Sileed down the
road, jerking the light sleigh rapi y through the
un broken snow.

But the new driver had taken more than he
bargained for. He found that he had more than
the sleigh on his hands, as a loud scream broke
on the air behind him. Half-turning in his seat,
he made out the form of a woman in the seat
behind him.

It was almost an imprecation that broke
from the boy’s lips, as he the whip,
find brought the lash shrewdly on the horse’s

ac

“ Neck or nothing new l” he muttered.

It was quite an imprecation that came from
the young man, who had 'ust discovered the
theft of his sleigh, and had eard the calls for
help of his lady friend.

 

But now, in the distance behind them, the
thud of a horse’s hoofs could beheard. They
were pursued. A ray of light across the road
showed the forms of two men, on horseback, on
their track.

The young kidnapper only set his teeth more
firmly, grasped the reins with the hand of a
driver, and used the whip freely.

“ I’m going to put her throu h if all Chester
county turns out!” he exclaim , “ or if the hoss
dro inhis tracks. Dead hose is better than
d men.”

“ Who are you?” asked the woman behind him,
with more courage. “That is the voice of a.
mere boy.”

Billy turned quickly, a light breaking over
his countenance.

“ Miss Claire, or I don’t know peas from
pumpkins!” he shouted. “ And you ain’t afeard
of me? Why, I’m only Billy Baggage, the boy

ou picked up on the railroad trac , you know.
The idea of me hurting you 1” _ 1

Claire Hamilton, for it was she, gave a sigh
of relief as she recognized the boy.

“ But-” she be an.

“ Not a word. 0 you hear that screechl”

“ The en ine whistle?”

“ Yes. 17’s the Through Frei ht from Phil] .
There’s deviltry afoot tonight, is Claire. f
1 don’t git to the crossin afore that train, it’ll
jist go to eternal smash. e’ve got to do it, or
else you and me’s murderers.”

The light sleigh shot like a meteor over the
surface of the snow. Not far behind came on
the two horsemen, shouting fierCel y for the run—
away to stop. From the 0
low roll of wheels was an i 19. And now the
head-light of the en ine glared out like a great '-
eye across the white reast of the snow.

It was an exciting moment. Billy had drawn
the lantern from his coat and flashed its  1;
upon the track in their front. The devx h
scheme was apparent. A rail had been torn n
and laid across the track. Just he and stoog
several men, as if awaiting the term la wreck-
ing of the swiftly coming train.

“ It’s now or never 3” cried the boy, h
his horse up, by main strength, on the very
verge of the rails.

In an instant more he had sprung unri ht up— "
on the seat, and was swinging the red gm: of
his lantern wildly to and fro through thestill
night air.

“ God send they see it!” exclaimed Claire,
whose hiart was full to bursting with the ex-
citement of the scene.

The horsemen were now nearly upon them-
The devoted train came on with a thundering
roar of wheels. There were no signs of a slack-
ening of speed, and it seemed too near now for
any human appliances to save it from its doom.

And at that instant the whip of the foremost
horseman, who had not comprehended Billy's
action, struck the lantern from his hand, deal»
ing it into the snow. ” ‘

“ My God, you’ve murdered them! ground
the boy, sinking down nervelessly into the
519' h.

End the red loam. of the engine light glared
like the eye of 00m into his white face.

ite direction the .

.3   w ,,

 

10 Billy, the Baggage Boy.

CHAPTER V.
THE waaoxnas ON THE BUN.
“ALMOST simultaneously with the fall of the
danger signal from Billy’s hand, came the shrill
whistienof the locomotive, sounding “ down

The boy’s devoted effort had not been in vain.
The engineer had not failed to see his light; nor
was the train so near, nor moving so rapidly, as
he had imagined.

Under the vigorous pressure of the brakes its
speed quickly lessened, and it soon came toa
belt on the very verge of the torn-u rail. Two
minutes’ delay in giving the signu and its de-
struction would have been inevitable.

“ Thank God!” broke in fervent accents from
Claire? lips. “They are safe. And my brava

b0

ghe turned to Billy, but he was no longer in
the sleigh. How or when he had left it, she had
no idea.

The horse was growing very restive. Claire
stooped and caught the reins, but her hand was

werless to restrain the startled animal. A
ow cry of alarm broke from her lips.

Fortunately one of the horsemen perceived
the danger. Dashing| precipitale past the
slei h, in an instant e had the horse by the
g d, and was forcing him back with a strong
an .

“ Do not be alarmed, Miss Hamilton,” be ex-
claimed. "‘1 can hold him. There’s no dan—

er.

“ Thank you,” said Claire, sinking back into
the sleigh. “ I was startled, I admit.”

The engine was pulling and throbbing like a

' wild animal chafing a ninst restraint. A dozen
men hurried forward rom all partsof the train.

“ What is loose, here?” cried a hoarse voice,
as the engineer sprung hastily to the ground,
and came forward, lantern in hand. “ Who
gave that signal?”

“ There’s thunder to pay 1” exclaimed a voice
on the other side of the engine. “ Here‘s a rail
up and spiked across the track! Ten feet more,
my Roy, and there’d been prayers to be said for

you. ,

The throng gathered hastily, with exclama—
tions of alarm. ’The engineer came up to the
sleigh With his lantern. He peered curiously
me: e.

“Which of you gave that signal?” he asked,
in his hoarse voice.

“ Neither of us,” replied the horseman.

“I saw a man on horseback dash across the
railroad. Was it he?”

“No. That was my companion. He is in
pursuit of the wreckers, whom we saw yonder
not three minutes ago.”

“ Thunder! It must have been one of you.
The light did not swing without hands,”

‘ “ It was a boy," said Claire, in her low, sweet
voice. “A young lad 'who ran away with me
and my sleigh together, and frightened me
badl , too.” ‘

“A boy?” questioned the engineer, incred-
ulously. “How did he know of this business?
Ran away with you, you sa 1”

“I know nothing more, she replied, “He
seems to have known. He was wild_to reach
here before the train. There is his signal-lan-

 

tern,” pointing to the red light which still burn-
ed on the white surface of the snow.

” But I have seen no boy,” said the engineer.
By this time all the men had gathered round,
and were listening eagerly to the conversation.

“ He disappeared just as the train stopped,”
returned Claire’s friend. “Fearful of me, I
suppose. He ran away with the sleigh, and I
was chasing him up."

“ Blame my eyes, if he ain’t true grit, tlzen !”
exclaimed one of the train-hands. “ There’s
some of us would have been smashed into the
next world this minute, only for. him. Is he u.
poor boy? Do you know him? If he is. I’m
shot if Tom Scott sba’n’t give him a lift.”

“ I have met him before,” responded Claire,
rather eagerly. ' “ He is employed on the rail-
road now. He says his name is Billy.”

“ Billy Bagga e. Whewl” whistled the en-
gineer. “ Is it t at young scapegrace'l Know
him? I bet we do. The little rogue. He’s got
more back—bone than half the men on the line.
1f 1 don’t hug him till he squeals the next time
I see him, it’l be‘queei‘.”

There was the glitter of tears in the man’s
eyes despite his roughness of speech. He grasp-
ed Claire’s hand in his strong gripe.

“ 1 thank you for your share in it,” be warm-
ly exclaimed. ‘ " You won’t object to tell me
your name. ma’am?”

“ Claire Hamilton,” she timidly replied.

“ I won't forget it soon,” he responded.
“ Now, boys, let’s get this rail laid a ain.”

“ Can we be of any use?” asked C ire’s gen-
tleman friend. 7

“ Yes," was the abrupt answer. “ Drive
back to Whitehall. Telegraph east and west
that there’s trouble at this point. No help
wanted, but let other trains move careful."

In two minutes more the sleigh was rapidly
returning, while the train-men were getting out
their tools preparatory to repairing the line.

Meanwhile Adam Clark, the horseman who
had ridden in pursuit of the wreckers, passed
rapidly up the‘ dim road, his only light being
the white reflection from the snow, his horse’s
footfalls lost in the thick carpet which covered
the earth from sight.

He had not gone far before a dark patch on
the white snow was visible a short distance in
advance.

“ Stop!” he - shouted, without a moment's
question to himself that these were the men he
had pursued. “ Stop, villains! Turn and trudge
back. or it will be worse for you. I am armed,
and I will shoot on the spot the man who die-
obevs me."

His voice had in it a fierce, resolute ring that
meant work. But in his somewhat hasty courage
he had not calculated on the number or the spirit
of the men he had to deal with.

“ Listen to the popinjay!" cried one of them,
with a hoarse laug . ‘ And he's one to three,
too, which is bad odds for us."

“ Too near supper time now to turn back for
your cold victuals," cried another, jeei'ingly.

“ Halt! this instant! or by Heaven, I’ll shoot
you in your tracks 1”

He put his hand in his pocket for the pistol
which should have been there but wasn’t. His
talk of being armed was mere blaster.

 

 

l. o .  wwmw -WWW‘
c , i , » .

JWWW  . ..

 

 

 

Billy, the Baggage Boy. 11

 

Not so with his antagonists. Clark suddenly
found himself covered with the muzzles of three
pistols. and a. hoarse voice cried out:

“ If you had as many lives as two cats we
could blow them all out of you before you could
count ten. So keep your barker shady, my bold
young nipjack. And don’t try toblow after this
till you’re sure you’ve got the Wind to keep it

Clark looked from one to the other, complete-
ly nonplused. The tables had been turned on
him with a vengeance.

“ You’re a brave sort of fellow, and that‘s the
kind of man I like.” continued the speaker.
“Else I’d wing you for your impudence. Get
back now. quick as lightning, for. my finger is
getting nervous. And we don’t keer three
curses what you tell about us.”

Without a word or a look more he turned his
horse and rapidly retraced his path. not quite
sure but that one of the reckless villains might
take a fancy to send a bullet after him.

He had ridden back nearly to the train when
he met Several of the hi-akesmen coming up the
road in pursuance of the directions of the‘ eagle
near.

“ Are you armed?" he cried.

H No 3'!

“ Then turn back. I have met therascals; the
have revolvers and the spirit touse them. It Wi l
nevervdo to let such bloody-minded devils es-
ca 6.

2 turned his horse and rode rapidly away
again. They looked after him for a minute, un-
til he was swallowed up in the darkness. But in
their souls he still rode on, instinct with fire and
energy. , v Y

He was hardly out of sight before thefugitives
leaped the fence, and ran sci-om an open lot,
screened from the road by whim of low bushes.

“ I’ll bet a cow they don’t track us,” said

one.
“ I don’t know,” responded another, anxious-
ly. “There are our marks in the snow. They
will last a week in this field.”
“The snow ain’t all down yet,” replied the
third. “ And ‘ it is broken dewn there in the
next road. The horse-tracks there will hide our

- footprints.”

They did not know that there was a pursuer
already upon their trail. .x

The disappearance of Billy needs explanation.
The boy, smart as ‘ he was, had not a men’s
knowledge of the world and its ways. Seeing
himself pursued so fiercely by two determin
horsemen, it did not occur to himthat his object
would be plentiful excuse for his suspicious ac—

' tion.

‘ In the exoitement attending the approach of
the train he had escaped unseen.

He, waited in sight of the road until assured
of the safety of the care, than hurried away
across an adjoining field. .

As it happened, he was on the exact track of
the fugitives. He was beyond the fence and in
full hoarin of the scene between them and
Adam Clar ._

Dark as the night was, their track in the vir—

' gin snow was easily followed, and Bill kept so

incautiously near as‘to have their she owy out—
lines constantly in eight.

 

He had paused a moment, with a vague con-
ception of some sound behind him. Before he
could turn, however, a sharp pain shot through V
his head; a. Sensation as of a flash of lightning
gleamed in his ejes; he fell like a log to the
ground, dead or insensihle.

“So much for that coon,” saidadeep voice I
behind him.

It was one of the fugitives, whh hurried on—
ward after his comrades. using as a cane the
cudgel with which he had floorid the incautious
boy, whose lifeless form was left prostrate in the
snow.

 

CHAPTER VI.
RAILROADEBS IN COUNCIL.

IT boasted of the name of “ Saloon,” did Joe
Dungle’s premium up—tcnn resort for those in,
need of spirituous comic rt. Yet some of the ir-
reverent neighbors dignified it by no higher
title than that of “Grogshop,” and there were
others who satirically called it “ Dangle’s
Whisky Mill.”

Despite its detractors. Dangle’s Saloon did a
th iving business. Th( re was a flow of thirsty
visitors to its bar, and out again into the thirst—
producing atmosphere. Around the bar-room
sate dizen nien engaged in conversation that
needed frequent dilution. Others came in and
passed through, apparently to some room be-
yon .

And among them came the smartly-dressed
and rakish individual whom we have met, by
the name of Blizzard~George Howard’s ec-
quaintance. -

It was a socondstory front room, furnished
for assemblies of this ntiture, and was moderate— ,
1y well-filled with the men whom we have seen
passing through the bar-room. They were scab
ed about the room, eagerly conversing, and by
the loud tones and excited manner of most of
the speakers it was evident that, the objects)!
the meeting was one of vital interest to them.

“ I tell you all it’s just robbery—wand l for one
don't feel like letting myself be robbed.”

The speaker waved his hand in emphasis to
his words, with a flowing cup of ale clasped be-
tween his fingers.

“Lord! how are we going to help it?” asked
another, a stout, dumpy, shrewd-faced fellow.

“ Help it! A railroad ain’t hearien and earth;
and we’re white men, I think,” protested the
first speaker. ‘

“ It is easy to talk about kicking ag’in’ it,”__
said a. third speaker, more calmly, “ but what
good is it goin’ to do? The colonel says ten per
cent. is goin' to he took ofl’ of us. Very good.
That’s a big fish at one end of the line. Now a 1
'little minnow at t’other end kicks. and says, 3 I
won’t sta nd it.’ What comes arterl The. little
fish is kicked ashore, that’s all. The big fish
swims on.” _

“ A good many little fish weigh as much as
one big fish,” replied the first 5 ker. .

“ That‘s all stuif !” cri Joe Blizzard.
“Smash up a train here. and a train there. and
let them know what it’s for. They won’t—” ,

“ Drop all that!” exclaimed ashril] voice from _
behind them, and a shock—headed, snub~nosed
men pressed forward. _ “ No sich incendiary
measures won‘t do, While we’re smashing trains _

 

  

 

12 Billy, the Baggage Boy.

we’re smashing body and soul of our own com-
rades. Think of that, boys. I’m the chap as
can bu’st the head of any devil that says train-
smashing.”

The speaker glared so fiercely at Blizzard that
the latter was fain to nip in the'bud his intended
answer, and withdraw to another part of the
room.

“It is a devilish business, that’s a fact,” said
another person, who had entered unobserved.
“ It was tried on last night, just beyond Haver-
ford Station. A heavy freight train came with-
in an ace of being broken into kindling wood.
It wasn’t the cars, though. But there was Bill
Bounce, one of the best engineers 'on the road.
and a dozen more good men. Suppose they had
been murdered?"

The speaker stood forward, showing a hand-
some face and a stalwart frame. It was the
well-knit and well-dressed form of George
Howard.

“ They were warned, blast them!” muttered
Blizzard, between his teeth. “ If they won’t
take warning they make their own funerals.”

Howard’s eyes were fixed warningly on the
face of the speaker. But the words spoken were
not intended to be audible. Blizzard moved
away, as if he could not bear being closely
looked at.

“ That's not th p’int,” exclaimed another.
“ We come here to 1k over the strike.”

Before any action could be taken, a tipsy man
struggled to his feet.

“ I’m a law-erbiding citizen. I’m Jacob
Baggage, and the Bugga es are all gen‘lemen.
Be calm. teller-friends. epress your agerta-o
tion.”

And the virtuous expression on his face showed
that he meant it.

“ Is this him? Is this the agitator?" asked a
brawny-armed railroad man. taking,r the tipsy
man by the shoulder with no gentle hand.

“ That’s him!” said Blizzard, with a comical
blink in his eye. '

“Here goes with him, then.” mrl Mr. Big-
gage was started on an uncomfortable run tothe
door.

“ I ’peal to you, gen’lemenl" he cried, waving
his arms desperately. “I ’peal to you as a teller
engineer. Run a canal-boat once from Manny-
unk to the Falls. An‘ is this my reward! Me——-
a firstrclass, spink-spank, high«up, old boss of a
instertutiou; to be rolled out like a bar‘l of
condemned red-eye! I ’peal once more, teller-
natives—” /

But this lust appeal was lost in the for dis-
tance, as he was trundled incontinently out of
the room, and sent rolling down the steep stairs,
fetching up at the bottom a groaning ba 1 ol.’ hu-
manity.

The true agitators, whose sins had been thus
vicariously stoned for, kept discreetly quiet for
the remainder of the meeting, satisfied that this
was no proper opening for the promulgation of
their peculiar views. ‘

Yet some of the railroad men were violent
enough in their ideas, stopping short, however,
of anything like damage to life or limb, while
advocating a strike, with decisive measures
against the property of the company.

As for George Howard, whatever his ultimate

 

 

views, he was on this occasion on the side of
those who advocated submission to the com-

pany.

This was the view of the majority of those
present, and the few extremists were forced to
yield to the sober good Sense of the great mass
of the meeting. ‘

Even Joe Blizzard changed his tune, and came
out as an advocate of submission. Yet he
took an opportunity to say in an aside to
Howard:

“Ain’t you getting thunderingly meek and
docile? I never saw such a lamb.”

“ Best float with the tide when it’s too strong
to swim against it," was Howard’s refily. “ If
we want to keep any influence over t 958 men
we must move with them.”

“ That’s nice,” said Blizzard to himself, after
Howard had turned away. “But I’ve got my
ways. too, and I don’t trust you altogether.”

His ways seemed to be shared by others there,
to judge by his mysterious comedngs and coh-
ferences.

 

CHAPTER VII.
BILLY LIONIZED.

BUT we must return to the young hero who
had just so. distinguished himsPlf in saving a
train from destruction, and whom we left lying
insensible upon the freezing snows of a lonely
country road.

Fortunately his senses soon returned, and he
woke to find himself chilled to the bone, and
at a loss for some minutes to tell where he was,
or how he came there.

In a minute or two more a small group of
horsemen rode up to him. They drew reinas
they saw him trudging along the road, one of
them calling out to him:

“ Which way have you come, boy?”

“ From behind me,’.’ answered Billy, not lik-
ing "this imperious tone. “ Goin’ on to ahead of
me.

“Hello! You’ve gotasmart young rooster
there, Clark,” said another horseman. ‘

“ They grow them smart 'down our way.
True grit. and game to the backbone,” replied
Bill . walking on.

“finl I’ll' swear if this ain’t the youngster
that run away with the sleigh,” cried Clark.
“ Own up, boy, was it not you?"

“Dunno what you‘re hlowin’ ’bout now," re-
turned Billy, edgin toward the fence, with in-
tentto run for his 1i rty if necessary. “Seen
a sleigh go by here like greased-lightnin‘ a bit
ago. Maybe somebody stoled it arterward.”

“ Hold, Billy,” said Clark, laughing at the
distrust of the boy. “ You saved the train like a
hero; 5 » you needn’t fear us, we won’t hurt
you. We are after the devils who tried to
wreck the train. Have you seen them?"

“ You bet!" cried Billy. energetically. “ One
of them wrecked me, ’bout a mile back here. on
the road. Guv me a clip with a club that
would have beaten my brain-pan in if it hadn't
been made of cast-steel."

“ Ahl that is interesting," exclaimed another
of the horsemen. “Do 'you know which way
theylwent?" _

“ Left me in the snow, dreamin’ of what sort
of grub I’m goin’ to have for tomorrow’s break.

‘5.~... .
V ,

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Billy. the Baggage Boy. ' I 18

fass.”retorted Billy. “Found it sich a com-
for’ble bed that I forgot to look arter them."

“ Good-by, then,” said Clark, laughing. “ We
will look after them.” ..

Giving reins to their horses the cavalcade
swept on, leaving Billy standing alone in the
road.

He had made about a mile further in his
lonely journey, when his keen eyes caught, in
dim gloom of the night, the dark outlines of
several figures in advance.

Remembering his former misadventure, Billy
drew warily to the shelter of the roadside hedge,
and approached as closely as he dared. He now
distinctly made out the forms of three men.

“Treed ag’ml” he muttered. “I’m in luck
lac-night.”

He had not far to follow them. In lam than
five minutes they passed through a. gateway in
the hedge, and made their way to a house that
stood a short distance back from the road.

The young scout reached the gate in time to
see them enter and disappear within the door-
Way of the house.

“I’m going to have a squint in, anyhow,”
thought Bill . “ There’s a light at the back
winder. on’t hear if I git a clout on t'other
side of the head.”

In a minute he was at the window, his eyes
glued to the pane. He took but (he look,
through, then dropped hastily down, and made
the best of his way out of the line of light.

“ Jist as I thought,” he muttered. “I knowed
George Howard had a finger in that pic. There
he is. big and busy as ever. Dunn'o the others.
but I’ve got him nailed, anyhow. I’m bound to
post Miss Claire ’bout him. And there’s a barn,
too. Wonder if I can git in? Kay‘s as good as
feathers these times.”

He was successful in making entry unseen.
In five minutes more our young adventurer was
buried to the neck in a bed of hay. In ten
minutes he had made a long journey into the
land of Nod.

The sun was well up the next morning when
Billy opened his eyes and gazed questionineg
around at the situation.

“ They‘ll swear I‘m a tramp. sure. if I don’t
circumvent them," decided Billy as he crept to
the opening, up which he had climbed the pre-
vrous evening.

“There’s nothin’ here but cows and bosses,
anyhow. That’s some comfort. They can’t
blah on a feller. If there ain’t no two-legged

critters now nosing ’rouud. Don’t see nothin’ 4

on two legs ’cept a rooster. Guess I’ll sneak out
the back door.” ,

He was successful in his enterprise There
was nobody in sight from the rear of the barn,
and he crossed the barnyard gingerly to an or-
chard that lay beyond. Stealing along the fence
of this he soon put a considerable distance be-
tween himself and the house, unnoticed by some
men who were repairing the fence on an adjoin-

ing field.

‘So fur, so ,” remarked Billy, drawing a
breath of relic . “ Mightn’tbe healthy fur me to
be cotched ’round here by George Howard and
his gang. S’pose they’d twig me? I’d be in fur
a hot Crristmas, sure."

As he talked to himself he hurried on over the

 

now frozen surface of the snow. There had been
a sprinkle of rain later in the night, and it had
tightened to a firm, slippery crust.

Billy enjoyed the slipping and sliding for
awhile, but the demands of a. hearty appetite
began to remind him that breakfast time was
passing.

He trudged on along the snowy road and
through the chill northerly wind, beginning to
get a little tired of the monotony of a morning
gnbroken by the pleasant excitement of a break-

ast.

“ There’s a house now that's got a generous
front door. fur as I kin see with the sun in my
eyes. Bet I’ll try it, anyhow.”

Billy slipped over the glassy fence, and slid u
a tree-lined path on which only a double-join
boy could have kept his footing. He reached
the house without a fall, and made his way bold-
ly up the steps to the front porch, giving a ring-
ing knock on the door.

“ I’d bet I’ve seen this place afore,” he solilo-
quiaed, “only I’ve got so much of the. sun in
my eyes. There’s a kind of familiar feel in
these timbers, as if I’d had my feet on them
store now.”

The door opened, and Billy’s eyes, half-blinded
by the glare of the sun on the snow, essayed in
vain to make out the form befoie him.

“ I’m a poor orphing,” he began. “ I’m from
Philly. I ain’t no tramp though, noliow you kin
pile it. But a bit of hreakiass wouldn’t go
crooked jist now.”

A merry child’s laugh hrrlze into his awkward
effort at begging.

“ Well, I’ll declare if it isn’t Billy the Baggage
Boy I" cried 'a musical voice. “ You don’t know
howrlglad I am. And letting on not to know me,
too V

Billy dashed his hand across his eyes, and
looked around him again.

“ I’ll swow, if this don’t best!” he said.
“ Didn’t know I was inside of ten miles of here.
It's Mr. Hamilton’s for sure. And this is Lucy?"

“Of course,” replied the child. “Who else
would I be? Come in now, you can’t see any-
body out there.” ‘

Graspin his hand in both of hers, she drew
him into 17 6 house and closed the door behind

1m. .
“ If you only knew!” she exclaimed, dancing

around him. “And to think of your coming
here and not knowing it! It is just too funny
for anything.”

“ Oh! I was jist cavortin’ round the country,
that's all,” said Billy deprecatingly. “ Got the
looks of things tied up into a bow-knot and
couldn’t git them flattened out. I see my way
clear now, though.”

“Where?” asked Lucy. :

“ In them bright blue eyes of yourn, little gal.
There’s breakfass, and everything that’s nice,
shinin’ out 0’ them.”

“Oh! now!” cried Lucy, tapping his hand in
punishment. “ But come right away. You
must be hungry, Billy.”

“ Hungrv? I could gnaw right through a
stone wall."

She grasped his hand and drew him onward
rapidly, as if afraid he might make an assault
on the stairway or the front wall of the house.

 “‘26.-.. .  . . .,.. ,, _..-... . V v. _. 4.... ..

 
 

Billy, the Baggage Boy.

 

“ You don’t know i" she exclaimed. “Aunt
Claire told us all about it. She said you were
ever so brave, and queer, and outrageous. And
that you saved ever so many men from bein§
killed. And that— Oh! you dear, good boy,
can’t talk about it.”

And she sprung up and kissed Billy with all
the fervor of her pure young soul.

“ Now jist you shot up, Lucy,” said Billy,
with a look of shame. “ Ain’t no use tryin’ to
make good dollars out of nickel-plated brass like
me. . S’pose we discuss that broukfass, and stop
discussin’ nonsense.”

But that long and deep breakfast ended, as
all sublunarv things must end. It was a happy
day that Billy passe L and he was lionized to an
extent that did not quite agree with his sense of
justice. ‘ .

“ For it weren’t so much arter all, jist swing-
in’ a lantern,” be ex laiued. “ And ii it hadn‘t
been fur Miss Claire s sleigh it would have been
all up with them. So Iguess it was as much the
hoss as me.”

The sun soon softened the hard crust of the

snow, and Billy’s sliding with little Lucy in the
back ard, was change for a. sleigh-ride with
Miss élaire, and the boy was happy in the swift
motion, and the bracing air, and the merry
jingle of the bells.
. “ Don’t let that sleigh catch us, Miss Claire!”
he exclaimed, as an echoing jingle came from
down the road. “The feller is makin’ his best
,p‘ice, and I know he’s countin’ high on passiu’
our team.”

Claire stirred up her horse, but it was no
match for her pursuer, and they were soon over-
hauled by a natty little sleigh, drawn by a quick-
stepping bay horse.”

“ Who have you there, Miss Hamilton?" cried
the gentleman driving. “ Why, 1 declare, it is
our boy of the railroad rescue. Where in the
world did you pick him up?”

It was the voice of Claire’s friend, Adam
Clark. .

“ Didn’t catch them last night, I reckon?"
Billy grimly inquired.

“ No We found their tracks, but could not
trace them far.”

“ Kuowed it,” was Billy’s short rejoinder. -

The two sleighs kept side by side for some dis-
tance, a running flre of'small talk being kept up
by the gentleman and lady, to the exclusion of
their silent listener. who sat back with his eyes
fixed critically on Mr. Clark’s face.

“ Is he sweet, too?” asked Billy, after the
slei hs had parted company.

“ ho? I don’t understand you," Claire cold-
ly replied. -

“ I see that. No matter. He ain’t quite my
style, that’s all. Better than t’other one,
though.”

“ What other one?"

_ “ Guess you oughter know.” replied Bill , look-
ing up at her critically. “ That Howar chap.
Gnv you some p'ints ’bout him More, you know.”

, She looked at him silently for a minute, a
fit any expression in her dark eyes.

“ I have not forgotten what you said,” she
answered. “ Have you anything more to

so i”
'y‘ More than I’d like, Miss Claire,” said Bmv,

v

 

hesitatingly. “Won’t hurt your feelin’s it I
come right out now?”

“ You may speak plainly,” she returned, in a
strangely emotionless voice.

*‘ it was only a s’picion afore.” he replied.
“Now it’s a sure jig. George Howard had a
hand in that bizness last night. I seen him in
it gist as plain as 1 see you this minute.”

. t was with a sound like a chokin sob that
she dropped her vuil. The boy loo ed at her
with earnest pity.‘ He then grasped the reins
from her loosened hands, and drove silently
homeward.

It was by an early train the next day that
Billy made his way back to Philadelphia, leav-
ingasdee unseen effects of his work behind
him as in its evident results.

It was for these latter that he was hailed with
acclamatl'on at the depot building. Tidings of
his doings had reached the city, and he had to
repeat his story a. dozen times to various lioniz«
ing groups.

It did not take him very long to get tired of

this sort of business, and he at length broke
away from his much-praising friends, exclaim-
mg:
“ There never weren’t no use runnin’ a thing
into the ground. And I ain’t a-zoin’ to be
bugzed into a brain—fever ’cause I happened to
swmg a lantern jist the right nick of time.”

CHAPTER VIII.
ON THE ROAD.

A MONTH has passed since the date of our last
chapter. Billy is again on the road, at his old
position in the hagga scar.

Harry Bodkin was usy with pen and paper
and knitted brow, working out some dismally
complicated enigma of freight.

Two other men were in the car, a conductor
and an Express—agent, busily engaged in conver—
sation.

Billy’s reverie was brought to an end by the
tones of a familiar voice behind him.

“ Dat’s fine fun, ain’t it? I dinks so. Anyboty
see Pill i”

“ Hu lo, Hans!” cried Billy, springing up sud-
denly. “ Got through, hey? Sold out all your
lnzjin—rubber gum-drops?"

‘Yaw. bretty near,” replied Hans. taking the
seat which Billy had vacated. “ Pig run on
gummers. What’s that news, Filly?"

“ Say, Hans, maybe you don‘t recollect the
the big, black-whiskered, canvas‘bxck duck I
p’inted out to you jist now?”

“ Yaw,” said Hans. throwing himself back
with a proud look. “ He pougIt dree pone of
gum-drops. Level head chap. at’s your sort.”
“ Now won’t somebody take him out and
drown him?” cried Billy, in a tone of intense ag-
gravation; .

“Hallo, youngster, what’s the matter?" cried
the conductor. looking up.

“ I’ll tell you, Mr. Perkins. Do you know the
chap that kicked me out of the car last summer,
and come near leavin’ nothing of me but a
grease-spot?”

“I have not forgotten the circumstance,” re-
plied the conductor. .

“ l’d go a. bannanar that he’s aboard the train
this blessed minute.”

 

 

 

 

one

l


    
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Billy, the Baggage Boy. 15

 

“ Where is he, Billy?” asked the conductor.

“ In the palace car,” re lied the boy. “ He‘s
a, high old boss, he is. ut he don’tshut my
eyes up with a palace-car ticket. He’s workin’
up his little game sure.”

“ There has been something loose about the
road for a good while now,” declared the Ex-
pressageiit. “ Baggage and Express packages
have been walking 01f without blinds, and it is
about time there was a hauling over the coals.
We have a. set of regular foxes to deal with.”

“ Put yourself on their track, Billy,” Harry
Bodkin said, with a peculiar smile. “It you
grub them I’ll share the plunder with you.”

“I’m a little young to turn thief-catcher,”
replied Billy. “And I don’t think I’d quite
like the job. But it" you’ve got any other sort
of light and respectable work on hand, I’m
your boss.”

It was a tune very like “Yankee Doodle”
that Billy whistled as he walked through the

I car with his hands thrust deep in his pock—

ets.

The agent and the conductor laughed at the
boy’s remark as they left the car. He follow—
ed them as soon as he had finished his tune. He
found Tom Erskine, the agent, alone in the Ex-
press-car.

“ I hope you ain’t busy,” said Bill , hunting
a seat among the multiplicity of pac ages that
covered the floor of the car. “ I’ve got some-
thin’ to tell you, Mr. Erskine, that ain’t fur
everybody’s ears”.

The two confederates Were plunged for the
next hour into a deep conversation in which
Billy impressed his opinion strongly on the
agent, and a regular plan of action was blocked
out. '

And now we must leap with the reader over
several days, in which our hero and his new ally,
Mr. TomErskine, had kept themselves busy.

Billy had no scrnples of conscience against
following the man with the red necktie, and had
succeeded in gaining some points of great value
in the furtherance of their plans. I

That same day the man with the red necktie
fell again under the keen eyes of Billy.

A peculiarlycshaped trunk had been placed,
momentarily, on the platform at Pittsburg, af-
ter being checked, and the youthful scout had
caught sight of the party under his surveillance
practicing some quick manipulations about this
piece of baggage. ‘

The train was an hour on the way when our“

young detective sought Tom Erskine in the Ex-
press—car. -

“All 0. K.” he announced. “He’s bit; and
bit deep.” '

“ The check—-”

“ Yes, ves.” said Billy, with a hasty look
around. “ He’s bit, that’s enough. Least said,
now. soonest cured. But if somebody calculates
to find di’monds and silk han’kerchiefs in that
thine” dry-goods box. somebody’s goin’ to be
so d

“ Checked for Where, Billy?” .

“ Lancaster~1 want you to hire some special
private bizness with Harry Bodkin jisl; afore we
git there. A job ain’t half a job. that’s got too
many noses in it- and it I’d be oin' to take in
Harry, I wouldn t ’a’ took you n.”

 

“ I’ll get him out. Don’t you fear,” replied

Tom.
It was dusk when the train stop at Lan-
caster. Harry Bodkin hurried bac from his

half hour’s conversation with Tom Erskine to
put off some trunks which were checked for
this point. Among these was the black leather—
covered Saratoga, which had been under Billy’s
surveillance.

“ I'll be shot if that trunk don’t seem to have
got heavier since we put it on at Pittsburg," _
cried Harry, as he tugged away at it.

“ Where in the thunder is Billy?” called out
Harry, in a vexed tone. “ He is a good band at
being out of Sight “hen wanted."

Billy remained out of sight during the balance
of their journe '. Nor did be torn up when the
train reached hiladelphie. He had, somehow,
mysterious] disappeared.

Meanwhi e the trunk was rolling along a. sub-
urb was Lancaster, in an open wagon, whose
jolting brought something that sounded not
unlike groans from the huge leather

 

CHAPTER IX.
BILLY’S DEBUT.

WE must follow the fortunes of the runaway
trunk which we left rolling through the streets
of Lancaster.

Two men were on the seat of the wagon, the
driver, an evident son of the Emerald Isle, and
a small, dark-featured, sour-lookin man, who
held firmly to the side of the bumping convey-
ance.

“ Good gracious. I wish I’d got mylife insured
before I trusted myself in your patent jumper,”
he grumbled. .

“Sure it’ll settle your supper, anyway;and
that’s something,” replied Pat. “ If you ever
rid in a jannti’ng—car, in the old country, you’d
be sweariu’ this was a feather-bed.”

“ g‘hen Heaven save me from your jauntiug-
car.

“ Here we are, Pat,” he cried. aftera minute’s
silence. “ Lead 3. band now, lad, and oi! with
the trunk. I suppose that's some of your Irish
{sing/clones, too, to help with trunks and the

1 e.

“ We’re always read to do a good turn,” re-
lied Pat, cheerily. “ .here’s something in an
rishman’s skin that makes him good-natured

'whether he will or no. But it’s a heavy trunk
you have here, mister, What’s in it for all the
world?” -

“ Nothing but clothes. "

“ They must have been put in with a piledriv-
er, then. I could have swore it was paving-
stones.” grumbled Pat, as he helped out with
the heavy trunk.

The house they had stopped at was one of a
row of three-story bricks, in an outer sheet of
gigs togn. The snow-clad fields lay in full view

you . ~

The heavy burden was carried in and deposi~
ted in the upper room. In a minute more the
rattle of Pat’s wagon could be bound, to the tune
of a cheery song with which he beg-allot! 1 his

Wfl. .
‘y W hat luck?" came in a hoarse voice tram a

_ large, hlack-whiskered man. who seemed 13b

 

 

 

18

    

Billy, the Baggage Boy.

 

sole occupant of the house. “Any prying, or
di. his questions?”

“ ot a bit. The check
. Your share was done well
checks.”

“ And yours in bringing the trunk,” respond—
ed the lar 9 man. ‘ I’vea notion we’ve gota
prize, Tim. ’

“ Is Joe here!" _

“ He’s stepped down to Gordon‘s to wet his
whistle. I expect him back soon."

“ All right. I wish we had a key to this
clothes-box. And Tim made a vigorouseil'ort to
raise the lid.

“Wait till Joe comes," responded the large
man. “ He’d open it if it had sixteen combine:
ties-locks. Joe 9 a perfect genius with a keys”

“ Well, then, for'Satan’s sake, let’s hunt some
thing notable. I’m as hungry as a starvad cow.
Whatever’s in the trunk will wait." '

Yet there is suchathing as being too sure,
and Tim made a serious error in his confidence
that the contents of the trunk would wait.

His conclusion would, no doubt, have‘been a
natural one with any reasonable trunk. But
this weighty prize was just one of those odd af—
fairs that can’t be brought to listen to reason.
Hardly had the door closed behind the the two
men before a user fumbling noise commenced
within the dar colored, high-topped affair that
had been deposited at one side of the room.

The fumbling continued, accompanied with a
scratchin sound, and immediately afterward
lfolllgiwed y a sharp click, like the opening of a
no .

The noises ceased, and perfect Silence reigned
for the space of a minute. Then any man in the
room would have been sur rised to see a. slow
upward movement of t e trunk lid. The
gradual motion continued. until an opening of
an inch in width appeared. There was nothing
to show the cause of this movement. The room
was quite dusky in the fading light of the day,
and all looked dark through this opening.

Suddenly the door of the room opened, and
down went the automatic trunk—lid.

“ Where the fire did I drop my pocketbook?”
growled Tim, as he peered keenly about the
room. “ Danced stupid of me. Oh! here it is.”

As he stooped to pick up the lost purse he was
Lass-tied by a queer, husky, smothered sound
from the direction of the trunk.

“ What the blazes is that?” he ejaculated,
staring with wide-open eyes into the vacancy
before him.

The noise was repeated, a rumbling, husky

sound.

“ Good Lord!” muttered Tim, backing slowly
toward the door, his brain fnll of superstitious
fears. “ I wonder if the old shanty’s haunted?
.Ii  "Joe was here; he don’t fear ghost nor

8V .

01-0 in; behind him he grasped the knob of the
door. is startled e es fixed on that shadowy
corner of the room om which .the sound had
seemed to come, but which was now of deathly
silence. _ ‘

The door opened to his nervelum h nl. and,
with scratch spring he leaped through it, closing
it with a hang behind him.

t; Almost at the same instant the lid of the

r

was all correct.
in changing the

trunk flew up, as if it was a living thing, and a

‘ sound not unlike a laugh came from within it.
In the dark opening appeared a short figure,

whose face only showed plainly in the gathering

gloom.

"‘ Well, I’ll be sold for a pint of peanuts, if
that ain’t too good for anything,” spoke a
chuckling voice, as the figure stepped out onto
the floor. “ Couldn’t help coughin’ if I’d ’a'
bn’sted, tryin’, and began to think the jig was
played. But if that b amed guloot didn’t take
me for a ghost, there’s no use talkin’. I'm, iiist
as stiff as an oak log, and dunno whether ’m
made out of bones or out of timber.” '

The boy danced about the room, trying to
limber himself up.

“ Sich a thunderin’ joltin’ as I got! I could
ha’ Sworn that they had me strung up by a string
and was heaving paving-stones at me. Hadto
groan a hit to ease my feelin’s. Guess though
thleig’ thought it was the old trunk.”

eminded that the trunk lid still stood wide
open he quickly closed and locked it.

“ we’ll give them the trouble or gettin’ it
open, anyhow,” he decided. _“ If their hopes
has got to be ’iled, it ain’t fair to s ’ile them
all atBoncch‘lg st bi‘e’ak it to ’em s ow. find
now, ill gage, t s time you was ma in‘
yourself genres. No tellin’ how soon that feller
may be back to take another sniff at his ghost.
If they cotch me here you mought trade what
was left of me to-morrer fora link of Bologny
sausage.”

But Billy’s retreat was intercepted. As he
opened the room door, with intent to make his
esca from that dangerous localit , he heard
the ower door of the house open an shut, and
loud voices of persons who had just entered the
rooms below.

Billy looked intently around him. Things now
were comingtotoo close quarters. Escape must
be made at once from that room if he had to
jump from the window.

He saw that he was in a narrow unfurnished
room, with one window and three’doors. Hasti-
ly opening the nearest of these he found it to
lead into a closet.

Bing tried the expedient of squeezing himself
into 1: is reoe tacle, but found it_too narrow for
a‘ boy of half is size.

"‘ And I’m a Jack to think they wouldn’t look
there the first place,” he muttered, as he tried
the third door.

This opened and revealed
room, from which another
ward.

“That‘s 0. K,” thought Billy, closing the
door behind him.

He stooped down and tool: 01! his shoes. which
he slung» over his shoulder, after tying their
strings together.

“ I ain’t goin’ to leave till things git hot.” he
muttered, “ and than I don’t want to stump out
in these stogies. A feller’s got to walk like a flv
on a tight—r0 , troBElt out of a place like this
without bein has .” '

His soliloquy was broken by the abrupt en-
trance of the three men to the room he had just
left. They carried a light which illuminated
the room, and shone with a red glare into their

beyond it a smaller
oor opened ont-

 

races.

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

I live.

Billy, the Baggage Boy. I?

 

“Yes, you needn‘t be afeard but what I’d
knowed you ag’in,” was Billy’s mental remark.
“ You didn’t need to bring a candle to light up
your handsome counternances. But who’s your
new crony? Wh don't he turn his phiz this
way? Ah, yes! thought I knowed him. It’s
that same smart rooster l seen talkin‘ to George
Howard, down on Fifth street that day. I’m
lgettin‘ this gang down to fine p’ints, sure as you
we.

While these thoughts were gassing through
his mind, the three men, whom e had been sur-
veying through a slight crack in the door, were
lookin curiously about the room.

“ W ere’s all your ghosts, Tim ?” asked Hugh-
ey, the black-whiskered man.

“ Well, I hope I may be ralaned fora donkey
if there ain’t something heavier than aghast
has gone out of this trunk. Try it for yourself,
Huguey; then mebbe you won’t find so much to
laugh at.”

“By the blue blazes, Tim!” cried Hughey,
jerking the trunk lightly onto its end. “ f
you’ve been playing with us—”

“Playing!” ejaculated Tim, with a sniff of
contempt. “There’s something loose in your
upper story, ain’t there? Open it, Joe. The
thing’s locked yet, whatever’s got out.”

It did not take J as Blizzard lon to overcome
the mystery of the look. In less t an a minute
he had thrown back the lid of the trunk.

“ Empty, by the horns of Moses!” he cried.

“ Empty! And where’s the stud that made it
so heavy 3’

“And the noise I heard!” exclaimed Tim,
suddenly. “It might have been a cough, or
something like. Good gracious! could we haVe
been played on? It’s a decoy, as sureasyou
Spread yourselves, boys. there’s some-
body alive got out of that box.”

His warning was instantly taken by the
others, who ran quickly out of the door, Joe
Blizzard hastily examining the closet and the
window, and making his exit by the door
through which Billy had gone;

But no Billy was there. He had melted away
like a shad0w, and left pure emptiness in his

place.

Very few minutes snfliced to make a thorough
Search of the house, but nothing living was
found in it, and the curses were both loud and
deep. with which this result was greeted.

T ey went out of the door together, leaving
Hughey behind in the house.

Tim half-stumbled ovar a boy that was
crouched down upon the door-step, busily en-
gaged in tying his shoestring.

“ You’d best git, you young rascal. What
are you doing here?" he asked. testily. .

“ A teller ain‘t doin’ no harm tying his shoes
on,”retorted the boy, drawing the string into
one of those boy’s knots, which only a knife will
open.

“ Did you see anybody leaving this house?"
asked Joe, with a cursory glance at the boy.

“Yes, a slim sort of a. 0 up. He slipped out
jist now, asif he kinder wanted~ fresh air.”

"Oh! come on, Tim,” exclaimed Joe._ “No
use wasting time on this cha . You might as
well try to get blood out o a horse-chestnut.
You take up the street, I will go down this way.”

 

The boy paid no further attention to _ biz:
questioners seeming to think the tying of a
good hard knot the first duty of life.

They had not got far, however, before he
raised his head and looked keenly after them.

“ Ain’t it queer how folks will tumble over a
gold mine at home, and go nosing away cfi’ for
it?” he asked himself shrewdly. “ If they’d
seen me a square off they’d s“ ore I was the
J ack-in-a-box:‘but they never thought I’d le
so risk as to squat down on their own door-
ste . ou’ve got a young chap that calls his-
sel Billy on your track, and if you shake him
off easy I’ll make my wili and jump overboard,
that’s all.”

And with his hands deep in his pockets, and
whistling a defiant tune, Billy swaggered care-
lessly down the street.

CHAPTER X.
c n E C K M A 'r x: D .

IT was with infinite unconcern that Billy
walked along the street containin the house in
which he had bagged his train-rob rs.

Not for a minute did he let the doubtful man-
sion escape, his close supervision. Not a fly
could have left the house unseen. Billy chuckled
silently to himself.

“Sure as you live there comes Tom Erskine
now.”

Billy moved nearer tLe house as his friend,
the Express-agent, approached. The latter was
acconi anied by tn 0 or three other men.

“ Ba 10! Jack," he cried._ “ So ou’re outof
your box. Up jumped the lid an out jumped

ack hey?"

“ Elot much of a Jack in a box," returned
Billy. “ And where’ve you been? If] hadn’t
been smart as a steel-trap I thought have gone
up  sassage meat. And all a-waitin on
you.

“ No matter, Bill
never, y’ou know.

“ ou bet it is. Ain’t I Billy, and ain't I run-
nin’ thi ‘ job? When I take a thing in hand it’s
put through, that's all.”. >

Tom looked at him intently for a minute, and
then burst into a loud Mugh.

“ Crow away, my young rooster,” be ex-
claimed. patting Billy approvingly on the shoul-
ders. And now where’s this den?”

Billy scratched his head as if not finite liking
the tone of his friend, and he menta resolved
that Tom Erskine should see that B' y was no
braglgart.

“ his way!” he ordered, in a rather sharp
tone. “ That house with the white shutters.
They are safe there, I know, for I tracked them
back there fifteen minutes ago, jist arter they’d
done hunting fur me." >

Tom and his com nions followed their young
leader, stopping in rent of the suspicious house
and viewing it with critical eyes.

“ Billy, just you shoot round to the back street.
They may be slippin out back while we are
sliding in front. An take carethat the glass
don’t grow under your feet.” _ -

It was with a quick start that Billy received
this warning, and his heart leaped as a sense of
criminal remissness came upon him. Thebacl;

boy. Late’s better than
ow about the game? Is it

I

 

 

 

Billy, the Baggage Boy.

 
 

 

doorl Good heavens, there was a back door,
and he had acted as if the front door was the
only possible exit from a housal

He leaped away like a young colt, shot round
the corner of the block, and was speedily looking
down the narrow and dark street that ran along
the rear of the houses.

“ Nobody there ” said Billy, drawing a breath
of satisfaction. ‘ And Tom Erskine ain’t got
the Ian h on me yit. S’posa they had slid, and
arter a l my blowin’l is would ’a’ been jist
terrible.”

He leaned against the corner fence and waited
with exemplary patience.

“I wonder if they they’ve caught them—or
been caught?” soliloquized Billy, as he uneasily
shifted his position. “Them chaps is goin’ to
be hard coons to tool with, and Tom hadn’t
enough folks with him. Don‘t like to tell him
so, thou h, for he’s one of that kind that knows
too muc for a boy to Peru them anything. The
only way with that kind is fur to let them go
through the mill and find out for themselves."

Billy’s remarks were brought to an abrupt ter-
mination by the sudden opening of a gate down
the alley, and the appearance of several men,
unrecognizable in the gathering gloom.

They looked right and left, and, after con-
versing fora minute, one of the men went to
the right, while the others turned up the alley
toward the young detective.

The latter awaited them with no very com-
fortable feeling, for his quick eyes now recog-

. nized Tom Erskine. Could the robbers have
given him the slip after all, and have escaped
from the house while he was meandering about
with his eyes on the front door?

" Sol you‘re a cute young rat, you are,"
ej icuiated Tom, as he came up. “ Where‘s your
game now?"

“ Weren’t they in the house?” asked Billy,
rather timidly.

“ In the house? Thunder! There is nothing
in it but an empty trunk. They have given you
the slip as clean as if you’d never seen the back
door of a house."

" Good gracious!” cried Billy, in a tone of
vexation, ‘ you don’t ‘spect a teller to have his
eyes a mile apart at the same time?” a

“ 0‘s! dry up, Billy,” res onded Tom. “You
know you were sold; an sold bad. Well
we’ve got to try and chase up these thieves, and
I supp )33 you can be of some nee in that job, at
least.”

“Not much," exclaimed Billy, planting him»
self sturdily. “ You’re so blamed smart, and
I'm so blamed dumb, that I’m kinder afeard I
might sp‘ile everything. So I guess I’ll let you
paddle your own canoe”

And Bill meant it, for he was ofl‘ like a shot
assmn as a had delivered himself of this de-
cided answer. Tom looked after him in sur-
prise as he ran hastily along the street, disap-
pearing in a minute around an adjacent corner.

Billy kept on without a pause until he had
reached the vicinity of the railroad. He made
his way in this direction almost without inten-
iaon, by a sort of intuition, or an attractive in-
fluence in the rails.

The pull of an engine came welcomer to his

96“ u be neared the road, A train rolled into

 

     

view from the depot. It was the afternoon
eastward Express, which had stopped for wa-
ter.

With an alertness born of long practice, the
boy caught the hand-rail of a car and swung
himself to the steps, though the train was now
gaining dangerous speed.

There was a shame-faced look on his face as
he went through the cars. The passengers look-
ed up as he passed, but he had no eyes for the
right or the left; straight onward onl bent his
view. He finally made his way into t e palace-
car. There were several people seated near the
end at which he entered, but the other end of
the car seemed deserted. Without even notic-
ing the nod of recognition of the car attendant,
he made his way forward, and sunk down into
one of these empty seats, near a curtained com-
partment.

His attention was arrested by some familiar
voices, and he listened to try if he could recog-
nize the speakers And now not only tones but
words came to his ears.

“ Some decisive measures mUSt be taken,”
spoke a rather imperious voice. “ It Will never
do for this state of things to continue. Do you
think the detectives are alert?”

“ Oh! yes, but they have not got on the right
track yet. However, we have something which
may rove a clew, if it pans out right."

“ hat‘s Mr. Perkins,” said Billy to himself.
“ I know the other, too, if I could only catch
him.’

“ What is it?” asked the decided voice.

“ There was a decoy trunk taken on the mail

.train, which has gone through just ahead of us.

Instead of clothin it contained a young chap,
cute enough to smel out the gang if he gets half
a chance.”

“ We call him Billy. He is as smart ass.
monkey. One of that kind of India-rubber
boys whose neck can’t be broken.”

“ I know him,“ replied the other speaker.
“ He is sharp and wide-awake.”

"Yes, as wide-awake as a donkey injinsl”
cried a loud, querulous voice near them.
“There ain't no use battering up Billy Bag-
gage, for he’s sold out at a cheap auction, and
brung his worth in snlt. So you best cut him
outer your books, Colonel Scott.”

“ Who is this?” exclaimed the colonel, start—
ing up and looking out of the door of the alcove.

lI’m that ixientercai individual. Billy,” said
the boy. “ I twigged the rascals. but they
flung me, and I’ve got nothin’ more to say. But
if anybody catches me orowlu' ag’in 1 hope
they'll serve me like they would a sassy. half~
grown little chicken, that's all.”

Without waiting for answer or comment
Billy ran hastily from the car, leaving his two
auditors lost in surprise.

CHAPTER XI.
A LOVERS’ QUARREL.

“ICOULD not answo-r, sir; particularly as I
never reel-ived the letter in question.”

The speaker, Claire Hamilton, stood with her
hand resting on the top of a low stone well be-
side which she stood. her slender, shapely form
drawn up erect, and her eyes looking straight
forward with a steady unflinching gaze,

 

 

 

 

 

Billy, the Baggage Boy. 19

 

George Howard, for it was he to whom she
spoke, clutched tightly the cane which he held,
his eyosfixed on the lines which he was nervous
ly drawing in the ground at his feet.

He lifted his head and darted a quick, straight
glance at her as she spoke.

“ You are growing rather formal, Claire,” he
said.

“ Yes,” she replied, in an indifferent, tired
voice, her eyes turning to gaze down the valley.

“ And why? If I am privileged to ask.”

“It is this,” she hastily cried, her hand seek—
ing her pocket. “ I have had reason, abundant
reason, to distrust you, George. This will ex-
plain what I do not care to put into words, even
to you.” _

She had extracted a letter from her pocket,
her hand shaking nervously as she presented it
to him.

“ What is this?” he asked.

“Read it,” she replied, resting he: hand again
on the wall, as if for needed support.

With a wuss that grew colder and sterner as
he read, he proceeded to peruse the letter.

We will give it to the reader in a verbatim
copy:

“1‘3me, Jan‘ary 20. 1877.

“ MY DARE Miss Guam-I’d writ afore only I
hadn‘t nothin‘ to write about. I don’t want ter put
beens i'i yer coffee now. but it must he did. I don’t
like ier have that feller goin’ on a courtin’ of you,
Miss C‘are, when he‘s all I said an‘ wuss. I hope
you ‘ain't forgot whatI told you ’bout him store,

cause it's gospel. every word. I know what it is

when a gal gits belt of a lovyer. fur I’ve been there.

That's to say somebody else’s been the gal, and I’ve

been the lovyer. But there's laces where we‘ve

fiohto stick pins in, no matter ow much anybody
o era!

“ And it‘s what I‘m wantin’ to tell yer now, is how
me and Tom Erskine, of the Adams Exp. cooked up
8. dodge to nail them trunk robbers, that was playin’
hob on the road. I ain’t got room now, to tell you
the whole game, nor how they gin me the slip, but I
got my eyes on them, and that’s wuss than runnin’
a two-inch anger in a pine lank. .

" And who do you think t iey was! Why, fist-them
cronies of George Howard that he’s as .fhick With as
bees in a merlasses barrel, and that I ve. seen him
a-talkin’ to, often. Particular; was that low-born
chap lhut wears his hat on three hairs, and puts on
a rig as it he own‘ (1 the Conternental. I want ter
do the square thing by you, Miss Clam, as long’s
you've been etch a friend to me. nni I wouldn‘t say
a letter, let alone a word, ag‘in’ George Howard fer
a gold "mine, jlst to hurt yer feelin’s. only I know it’s
a lame shame fer you ter have yer eyes shot up by
any hoes-fly like that. . .

" That’s ‘nuff said. I’ll post you in the whole
hizness the fu‘st time I git up your way. Till
then jist keep an eye open fur t at chap, and don’t
let him buzz in yer ear that boss-chestnuts is l'u’st
cousin to peanuts. .

“ Yours, respectively,
“ BILLY."

Howard’s tone grew colder and harsher as he
read this inviting epistle. As he finished it,
it dropped from his hand, and he turned to
Claire with his sternest expression of counte-
mince.

Her band now clutched at the hard stone
on which it rested, and her color came and
went as she watched with intent look his ex

pression.
- “ So, this is the head and front 01! my offend-

 

ing! This l” and he spurned the fallen letter
with his foot. “If Istand condemned on the
strength of such a precious document as that—
Pshawl to think of the fastidious Claire Ham-
ilton havmg such a correspondent, and pre-
senting me this farrago as evidence of Heaven
knows what! It seems to me that this inter-
view has been unnecessarily rolonged, and
you ,will not object to my bidding you good-
day.

She made no sign in response to his ceremoni—
ous bow, b her eyes continued to follow him
as he walk with a stern tread up the road,
never once turning until he had disappeared
around a curve.

Then she snatched up the fallen letter and
crushed it in her nervous grasp.

“ Not for one instantbas he denied it,” she ex
claimed, in atone full of gain. “ lie dare not!
It is all too true.” As she spoke she slowly tore
the letter into shreds. “It is other eiidcnce
that has taught me what he is—and what his
manner but confirms. And yet—I loved him!—
Iloved him! despicable as he has been to win
my love, with his base record.”

Her voice had risen almost intoa wail. Start-
ing suddenly she flung the shreds of the torn let-
in a white cloud upon the air, and walked with
a nick, uneven step along the frozen path.

he was high up upon a road which wound
upward still unto a wooded crest, while her path
led downward toward the valley. A hundred
yards up the slope stood “the white sturcoed
house at which she had been visiting. There
was no other habitation visible until the road
entered the mist—shrouded valley.

' At the turn before her the road reached the
lower level, h which it was a mile or more to
her home. et she was not destined to reach it
unmolested. A- peculiar voice caused her to
raise her eyes. Before her stood three men, ey-
ing her with looks that were not very reassur—
ing. 

“Excuse me, miss,” said the one whose voice
had aroused her, “ but maybe you can tell us
how far it is from here to Bryn Mawr?”

She looked distrustfully at the smartly—dressed,
vulgar—faced speaker.

“ I do- not know the exact distance,” she re
plied. “ But any one around here can tell you.” »

She would have walked on, but one of the
three. a black-whiskered, large-built man, stood
directly in her way. I , .

“ That ain’t altogether a civil answer, young
woman,” he said harshly. “ And it ain’t the
liimli1 of an answer that we’re going to he put on?
wit ."

Claire was erovring alarmed. She looked
with a frightened glance about her.

“ But indeed I do not know.” she faltered,
“ or I would be glad to tell you.”

“ It ain‘t Bryn Mawr, it’s Hestonviiie we
want.” replied the third man. “S’pose you post
us where that is.” .

“ I believe Hestonville is just this side of the
city.” she answered, essaying to move on. But
the large man stood immovably in her path. V

“ I don’t see any occasion for any such hurr ,”
he protested with a hoarse laugh. “ And we 6
got some more questions to ask you yet.” =

She stood looking at them like a startled bird.

 

     

    

20 Billy. the Baggage Boy.

 

Suddenly something in the appearance of the
foppishly-dressed man gave her a new idea, re-
calling some of Billy’s descriptions. She spoke
quickly and impulsively:

“ I know you now! I have heard of you!
You are George Howard’s confederatesl”

An odd glance passed between the three men,
and the large one burst into a coarse laugh.

“ We have heard of him afore, young woman,”
he confessed; “ and he is a neat-built chap, and
woman of his Word. Ehl Joe?"

“ One of us, sure enough. She’s hit it there,”
responded Joe Blizzard, for it was be, looking
with an amused expression at the others. “I
knew George had a lady friend somewhere here-
aways. He’s told me about it himself. But
never in a bragging way. Oh! no, George’sa
gentleman."

“And we don’t want to' detain you, young
woman. but we want a keepsake to remember
you by,” spoke the large man.

Claire was to.) overcome with this confirma-
tion of her doubts about George Howard” to
heed what they were saying. She attempted to
walk on, but her arm was seized by Joe Bliz-
zard. who exclaimed:

“Come, madam, not so fast! . We can’t get
along; without the time, and we will have to
borrow your watch.”

But, Claire had caught what had not yet
reached their ears—the sound of boots beyond
the turn of the road. A loud call for help broke
from her trembling lips.

The three men started and looked at each

, other as a voice answered her call, and the
Si‘uick tramp of a. horse was now plainly audible.
flh‘2y drew together, as it prepared to show

; t.

' The next instant the horse turned the curve.
A cry of glad recognition broke from Claire’s

‘ lips as she saw the rider. It was the gentleman
who had accompanied Adam Clark in the pur—
suit of the runaway sleigh, and who had
driven her back while Clark rode on in chase of
the wreckers.

The gentleman tightened his rein as he came
up, his eyes glancing inquiringly at the scene
before him.

The peculiarly stern look ofthe gentleman
rests! upon them. They shrunk as if abashed
by his gaze. which as full of command.

“ Bigone!” he cried. his hand in his pocket, as
if feeling for a weapon.

Though his opponents were three to one. they
seemed in some way awed by his manner.
They turned and walked up the road, leaving
him alone with Claire.

“ Do not leave me, Mr. Jordan l” she ex—
claémed, as he seemed about to riJe on in pur-
sul .

“Not until I see you safely home,” he re-

‘ - sponded, springing from his horse, and giving

her his hand, “though I would have liked to
punish those rascals.”

CHAPTER XII.
A HOME CONFERENCE.

BILLY. sat in the shadows of the paternal
mansion, instinctively, however, seeking what
shreds of sunshine came through the wonder—
fully patuhed window.

 

 

Mr. Baggage, Sn, as usual, occupied a chair
with only three sound legs, and kept himself in
a. state of nervous delirium, trying to preserve
its uilibrium.

“ nt that’s gitting off the subjeck pop. You
was a—goin’ to tell me all about that bizness
down to Joe Dangle’s,” said Billy.

“Yes, Bllly,” he remarked. “As I was say-
in’, they guv me a hint to go.”

“ What kind of a hint, pop!"

“ A might convincing one,” responded J acob.
rubbing his ck reflectively. “ Anyhow, I got
down-stairs ’thout walkin’ down, nor slidin‘
down the banisters.”

“Kicked down, hey?” asked Billy, with a
laugh that was not very reverent. “ Who was
these chaps, pop?”

“ Mostly railroaders. Fellers that talked
nuthin’ but brakes, switches, and puttin’ her
through. and ooalin up. But the bosses among
’em was a diff’rent sort of cha .”

“ And what was the game?” asked Billy.
“ Gearing up a strike ag’in’ the Pennsy, I
s’pOSB?”

“I guess that’s what’s hrung the railroaders,"
said his father, pulling his hair reflectively.
” The other ’un’s wanted bread ’thout work, and
cabbagers ’thout plowin’, and a plug in the head
fur every coon that didn’t think jist what they
thunk.”

“ I’ve hearn them talk,” remarked Billy.
“ It‘s mighty good logic fur the teller that’s got
an empty pocket and don’t enjoy work. But
not fur ’ristocrats like me and on, p0 . And
what are they goin’ to do rig in’ the gennsy?
That’s what I want to git at.”

‘-‘I went down-stairs store they cum to that
p’int, Billy.” replied Jacob, straightening up in
his chair. “ I allers think it’s best not to wait
alter gettin’ a hint to go. But they ain’t flung
me,yit. If I can’t lead I can fuller.”

I “ There’s somethin' more acomin’ then, pop?”
in uired Billv, catching the careening chair.
“ ou’ve see’d more than you‘ve been a‘tellin’i”

“ I’ve see’d them Internationalisters, and I’ve
follered them," returned Jacob, with drunken
gravity. “ I was down to Tim Lenning’s.”

“ And, how ’bout Tim Lennings, pop?” asked

Ema,
“ all, as I said, I was jist lubricatin’ with a
drop of old rye, when in sailed one of them
strikers. I knowed him as quick as a crow
knows a cornfield. He didn’t imbibe at the bar,
but jist slid on. Afore ten minutes there was
{our more of them slid somewhere inside.”

“ Dive in. Let‘s have the purtic’lars.”

“ Ain’t none,”.said Mr. Baggage, mysterious-
ly. “ You won’t blah, Billy!”

“ Did I ever blah?” asked Billy, indignantly.

“ Now don‘t you git on our ear,” remarked
the father, bringing his wa tzing chair to a halt.
“ There‘s a whole beehive full of them strikers,
that‘s enough. And jist now the railroads is
their clover-field. They’re down on train-rob.
hers; that ain’t their game. Their g'une’s to
smash up, and wreck, and sp’ile. The railroad;
is got to put up wages, or be bu‘sted._ And
what’s more. they’re workin’ up the injineers
and brakemen. and all the railroads; and it
there ain’t 3 equally bu’st-up store anybody
smells it, then there’s no use gabblmg,"

 

  

  

9..

.t ’m

 

 

 

Billy, the Baggage Boy. 21

 

“J ist you mind that, pop, and don’t be gab-
blin’,” remarked Billy, impressively. “ Them’s
dangerous cusses to blow about. Let’s me and
you and mom salt it down and keep it shady.”

“ That’s sensible, Billy,” exclaimed “ mom ”
from among her pans. .

“ Do they meet there reg’lar?” asked Billy.

“ Mum’s the word,” replied Jacob.

Down went the chair at this juncture, and
down went Jacob. Up came Jacob, and away
slid the chair, pro )elled by a vigorous kick.

“Burn the old c eer, anyhow! I don’t b’lieve
it come in the Mayflower,” he muttered.

 

CHAPTER XIII.
A SECRET CONCLAVE.

WE will pass over the adventures of Billy for
the next ten days, though they were days in
which his time off the road was well fillei With
occupation, preferrin to let him tell in his own
manner the story of his doings during this period
of time.

We now find him in the handsomely—up inted
private oilice of the railroad superinten out, to
which the plea of important business had ad-
mitted him, together with his coadjutor, the
gum-drop boy, ans Breitman.

“ The hull thing jist la s in a nutshell, kur-
nel.” he remarks. “ And ’m the boy that’s in
fer cracking the nut.”

“ If you do I don’t want you to bring me any-
ghing but the kernel,” replied the railroad presi—

\

ent.
B.‘l‘lAll right. I’ll try and shell it out,” returned
I y.

“ Have you anything to shell out just now?”
“ Well, then, we’ve Jist holed the biggest nest
-of wasps on ever see’d, me and Hans. Ain’t

that so, ans?” .

“ Yaw,” came in guttural tones from the
Dutch hoy.

“What, the strikers?”

“Yes. J ist’a nest full. And they was a- oin’
to play Hail Columby with the old Penney. ey,
Hans?”

“ Dat was yust 80,” returned Hans.

“Pshawl the vaporings of such men are of
small matter-to me, it that is all you haveto
tell,” said Colonel Scott, impatiently.

“ You know, kurnel, there’s been thieving,
and robbing, and sich work on the road lately;
and tryin’ to l 'i’st trains into splinters, and all
that. I’ve neeu mixsd up in it a bit myself.”

“I know that, my boy.” .

“I’ve been chopped into sausage-meat; and
run away with by a gal in a sleigh; and yanked
oil! for dr -goods in a trunk; and ginnerally
used as if ’d been bought and sold. And Hans
knows it.”

“ Yaw," proceeded from the Dutch boy’s cor-

ner. ,

“And how about the three men who slipped
out of the back door while you was watching
the front?” asked the colonel smiling.

“Oh! that was ’cause I idn’t have double-
barreled eyes, and couldn’t see throu h the back
of my head," replied Billy, in an o -h'and way,
though his’ face rew very red. “I at your
houndson thetrac ,anyway. I don’t ear that
they cotched them.’

 

“ Not yet,” said the colonel. “ Would you
know them if you should see them again?”

“ Like a boss knows oats.”

“ Then keep an eye open, my boy. There’s
one of them in particular, the man they call
Blizzard—would you know him ?”

“ Like a pig knows corn.”

“ He Is a dangerous man. It is important that
he should bearrested, If you should see him,
Billy—”

“ Nufl’ said,” interrupted Billy. You’ve said
the word and Joe Blizzard’s my game. He won’t
shake me easy.”

“Don’t talk of this.”

“ Mum’s the word,” rejoined Billy. “ You
hear that, Hans? What’s the word 3”

“ Mum,” replied Bans, in a stage whisper.

“ That’s as safe as if it was dead and buried,”
continued the young detective. “But you ain’t '
hit the worst egg in the lot yit, kurnel.”

“ Ah I" replied the colonel, quickly. “ Who is
this worst?”

“ It’s the chap that‘s called George Haward. I
dunno if you‘ve hes-red of him afore or not, but
I’ve been a-watching him like a hawk watches a
hen. He makes all the pistol-balls that these
fellers shoot. If you want to bring down the
hull caboodle, jist nab the bottom chap” ‘

“ Yes. And I know of George Howard,” re-
plied the colonel, with an odd smile. “ His
turn will come yet. For the present I am not
quite ready to deal with him.”

“ Tell you what it is, kurnel, you don’t know
it all,” responded Billy, With great earnestness.
“Do you know he’s been talkin" love, like all-
possessed, to jist the sweetest, pnrtiest, nicest gal
that ever growed in Chester valley ?"

“ I didn’t imagine that things were so bad as
that,” replied the smiling colonel.

“ I uess there won’t be no breaking hearts,“
replie Billy. “ The al couldn’t been so deep
in love with him, for notice there’s sweetmeats
atwcen her and another six-footer. She looked,
at him as if she thought he was 3 him of sugar;
and he looked at her as if he thong tsh’e was
beeswax and honey. Weren’t that so, Hans?
You see’d it all.”

“ Yaw," replied Hans. “ Ynst so, (lat was.
Ynst like a Dutchman luf gum-drips.”

“ Can you describe him l” asked the colonel.

“ Six foot. Broad shoulders, Black whiskers.
Handsome as a picture. Kind of fierce—lookin’,
too, when he ain’t blinkin’ at the gels.”

“ His name?” inquired the colonel.

“ Jack Jordan—or John Jordan.”

The colonel n ade no reply, but sat for a min-
ute with his face resting on his hand, in a mus-
inz attitude. Billy watched him keenly, but
failed to detect what was passing in that active ,
brain. He looked up snddenly,-after a moment's
thou ht, saying: .

“ End n0w about these strikers, Billy?”

“ They’ve been holdin’ meetin‘s, kurnel, along ' '

with railroad folks, tryin’ to raise trouble on
the road.”

“ That’s no secret to me. boy.”

" S‘pose not ” retorted Billy. “ There’s meet-

in’s that ain’t rrailrosders to git into. butthat My

smart young coons like me and Hans, gits
invited to. Hey, Hans?”

 

 '* if: '7': : ~~§~7~—r-.~~'_rvr:$-~t+"1~t: 

Billy, the Baggage Boy.

 

“ Yaw,” replied Hans, halfaslipping off his
perch.

“ Of course we was inside a closet.”

“ Come to the point, boy,” said the colonel,
with quick decision of tone. “ Who were these
men? Had you seen them before?"

“There was only four of them; and they was
the inside ring of all these strikers. They had
black masks on so we couldn’t see their faces.
But if one of them wasn’t George Howard
then I’m not goin’ to trust my eyes ag’in.”

“ Hal You are sure of that?” Did you over—
hear them?”

“It was the coldest-blooded bizness you ever
heard, kurnel,” replied Billy, with great im—
pressiveness. “You’ll hear from them soon,
i’ur you’re to be noticed that the wages of the
men must be put up instanter, if not sooner.”

“ And what’s to happen if they ain’t?”

“ There’s to be the biggest strike that was
eger heard of engineered in these parts, fur one
t ing.

“ You remember their place of meeting?”

“ How’s that, Hans, hey?”

“ Yaw, yes, spec’ so.”

“Jist like a book. kurnel.”

“ Was there anything more?”

“ Only that they’re down on robbers, and all
that sort of critters. ’Tnin‘t plunder they want.
It’s the rights of man, that’s what they kept
saying.”

‘ Very well,” said the colonel, shortly. “ I
want that man Blizz ml, remember that, Billy.
If you see him don’t let him escape your eyes.
John!”

‘f Yes, sir," said his doorkeeper, entering.

“ Show these boys out.”

“ Billy followed as if he thought the dismissal
was rather curt; and Hans as if it was a wel-
come relief.

CHAPTER XIV.
TRACKING JOE.

Ir was the mail train west from Philadelphia.
February was now far advanced. and the ex-
treme cold of the early winter was exchanged
for mild, springlike weather. During the pre—
vious nightfihowever, a light sprinkle of snow
had fallen, and its thin white coating lay but
half concealing the darker surface. The sky
was overcast, with clouds that promised more
snow ere the day should pass.

Tom Erskine had been shifted to the Express-
car on this train, and Detective Billy and his
friend Hans found it convenient, for reasons of
their own, to travel today by the same line.
They were in Tom’s car, and a very inter-
esting conversation had sprung up between the

res.

“ When I called on the kurnel—he’d' sent me
a letter. you know, requestin’ an interview."

“ Oh! come, Billy.” cried Tom. “ What’s in
the wind, anyhow?”

“ Only that there’s a party of pirates that’s
goin’ to run the Pennsy on their own hook,” re-
plied Billy. ‘

“ How do you know all this?” .

“ The knrnel told— That’s to say ” continued

,Bllly, noticing Tom’s belligerent loo , “ that it’s
g.

 

all so. And there‘s to be traiuvsmashin’, and a
row all ’round.”

“ I don’t know how you came by all this
Billv,” said Tom, seriously, “ but it looks as i
thm-e was something in it. There have been
three attempts made to fling trains from the
track insiide of the last three weeks,”

“ And nobody knows who’s a-doin’ it," inter—
pointed Billy.

“ It is all a mystery.”

“ I’ll tell you, then," continued Billy, very
solemnl . “ It’s all them strikers, and if the
kurn1el on’t knuckle down there'll be ructions
out.

“ I wonder if the chaps that carried you off
3}) the trunk belong to the same gang?” said

om. *

“ No,” replied Billy.

“ Have you kept your eyes open, Billy!” asked
Tom, laughing. “‘ You said you would know
your three trunk~porters. What’s the report?”

“ Know them? You kin bet on that. I’d
know Joe Blizzard anyh0w. Ain’t seen ’em yet.”

“ Nein,” corroborated Hans.

“ Look here, Dutch!” cried Billy, angrily.
“ I’ll knock nine teeth down your throat if you
don’t quit a-sayin’ that. Do you s’pose us gen-
tlemen ain’t got no nerves?”

“That’s good Dutch, Billy,” said Tom.

“ I don’t keer. Nobody’s got nnright spoutin’
Dutch this side the ocean. That’s one of the
diiflkilties I s’posed they emigrated from. The
idear of ships sailin’ acrOSs the seas jist to fetch
High Dutch ver. When there’s plenty of cod
English abo t too. It’s wuss than caster oi .”

“ Do you know what he is talking about,
Hans?” asked Tom mischievonsly.

“Noin,” replied Bans, with his stupid look.

“ Of course he don’t," asserted Billy. “ Come
away, Hans. He’ll have us a-fightin’ next, and
that won’t be good fur your nerves.”

“ Yaw. Dat’s goot,” cried Hans,with a laugh,
as if he had caught the point of a most stupend-
ous joke.

Tom Erskine laughed too, as the boys left the
car together.

Billy was making his way—toward the rear
end of the train, followed lumberineg by Hans.
Our hero’s eyes, always alert, seemed particu-
larly no this morning, as he passed by the lines
of seated passengers, not letting a face escape
his quick scrutiny.

They reached the rear end just as the train
came to a halt. Billy coiled himself into an air
occupied seat, followed by Hans, who noticed a
peculiar smile on the lips and sparkle in the eyes
of his silent friend.

Not until the train had got well under way
again did Billy speak, as if he wanted the noise
of the wheels to drown his voice from the other
passengers.

“ I seen Joe Blizzard.”

“Oh, nein!” replied Hans, in astonishment.

“ You mought think 30," continued Billy,
“ the way he was manufactured. ' Charcoaled
eyebrows, and whiskers set out with porticoes.
A wig as, black as a crew’s Wing. and a big
patch across his nose. And what was wusx the
seediest-lookin’ concern you ever seek]. That
was the biggest disguise out. It’s a wonder I
knowed the bird with his fine feathers picked.”

 

‘ ;-. we...

       
 

 

 

   
 

   

 

 

 

 

  
  
  

  

  

Billy. the Baggage Boy. 28

 

“ Dat ca u’t be—sure,” said Hans, incredulous-
ly. “ ’Taiu’t Sho Blizzard, I t. Maybe you
ain’t so smart as you t’inks, Pil y.”

“ I’d know him if he was rolled down hill in a
tar-barrel,” replied Billy. “And what’s more,
Hans,” here his voice dropped to a. whisper,
“ there was three of them French cusses in the
same car.”

“ Dem we seen from (101' closet?”

“ J ist that crowd. I know them like I know
pumpkins.”

“ Don’ p’lieve it nix,” declared Hans.

“ Don’t, hey? Then foller me, hot foot, that’s
all. I’ll pinch you, or stick a pin in you, or
pnl' your h-iir, when I want you to look. March
ahead, Hans, and look alive when I give you
the signal.”

Witha rueful look Hans passed on through
the car, hardly liking to trust to the tender
mercies of Billy, yet not venturing to resist the
orders of that imperious youth.

Entering the next car in advance Hans felt a
slight pull upon his long locks.

“ Now look alivel” came in aloud whisper at
his ear. “ The French chaps are in them middle
seats. and Joe Blizzard near the front end.”

Hans used his eyes with all the scrutiny of
which he was capable, but failed to recognize
any familiar face. He would have stopped
near the front of the car. but received a hint
from Billy to kee on. Reaching the outer
platform, he turn back, saying:

“ ‘Ter tiifcll I don’t know nix chap in ter
car.

He just then caught sight of as crestfallen a
visage as it had often been his lot to see. Billy,
for once in his life, seemed utterly non lused.

“ They couldn’t have sunk through t e floor,
or dried up and blowed out the car winders.” he
ejacu ated. .

“ In ter nex’ car, maybe,” suggested Hans.
“ Dat’s what I dinks.”

“ Thunder, Dutchy, we’ve made a stop since I.
see’d them!” Billy suddenly exclaimed. “ I bet
a brass cow they got off at Reescville. You
stay here. I‘ll push through, and see if they’re
in the train, or if the conductor let them 011'.”

Five minutes elapsed ere Billy returned. His
face was full of information.

“ They’ve dished us, Hans! Sli ped oif at
Reeseville, the whole tour. And ere we are
not a mile‘ from Paoli. There's nothin’ fur it
but to git on? and foot it back.”

In a very few minutes more the train drew up
at the Paoli’ station, and the two bo took the
opportunity to seek the firm earth. hey found
the air a little keen as they started on their long
trudge back, just cool - enough to make them
step out freely. They walked on for over an
hour, with no appearance of the town of which
they were in search. .

“Look you here,” cried Hans. at length.
5 Where’s der place dat we was goin’ for to fint,

e 3

‘ Do you see that steeple over the hill?”

“ Yaw. See him well.”

“That’s Reeseville. Or else we’re lost. It’s
one or t’other sure. Keep one eye open fur
tracks, Hans. Our game mought ’a’ put out

Hans had occasion to put this warning into
practice. ‘

“ Hello! mine hoss, Filly. Here’s der gum-
drops now.”

Billy turned to find him eagerly pointing
downward. Our hero's quick eyes at once
caught the indication, is plainly-defined foot-
print in the snow.

“ I’ll score one fur you, Hans,” he cried. “ It’s
the fu’st time I ever cotched you with your eyes
open and mine shut. Now if it’s only J 09 Bliz—
zard’s boot that made it. What’s that over
there by the fence?”

“ Where?" asked Hans, rotating his dull eyes.
“ Dare ain’t nix ’g’in der fence?”

“ Here,” said Billy, running quickly forward.
“ Three tracks, by golly! Sure as shootin’ it’s
Blizzard and the strikers.

“ An’ where’s dey goin’?” asked Hans.

“ Blizzard’s goin’ his road, and they’re oin’
their road. And his road and their read 100 to
be mighty near the same road. It’s my notion
there’s motions out, Hans.”

“ Yaw. I s’ ose. How’s dat?"

“ They wasn t together on the train, that’s
sure. But they set watchin’ Blizzard. And they
got off arter he did, and t’other end the car.‘

hat’s what the conductor said.”

“ An’ what’s der next fling?”

“ They’re arter him. That’s my notion. And,
the kuruel told me I wasn’t to lose sight of him,

ans. Jist you keep your left eye on my coat—
tail. I‘m a-goin’ to strike out in this track, and
you kin strike out in my tree .”

The trail was very plainly defined in the thin
snow, and Billy hurried forward at the top of
his speed. He soon reached a piece of under-
growth, through which p'rogress was not so easy,
and the trail proved more diflicult to follow.

“ It’s goin’ to be a little hard to foller, Bans,”
he remarked. “ Here’s more bushes, and the
snow’s thinned out. There’s a kind of queer
chill gitting holt of me. Dutcby.”

“ Yaw. Me too feels all creepy like,” respond.
ed Hans, shuddering.

“ Maybe it’s only the cold wind," said Billy.
“Keep your eyes sharp open, boy. What kind
of a queer fruit is that on the tree there?”

Hans looked to the tree indicated, a large oak,
with a strangelooking parcel depending from
one of its lower limbs.

The two boys hastened through the brush:
wood, their hearts heating with nervous appre-
hension as the bundle assumed a more and more
significant aspect.

“ See here 1” cried Billy, in a tone of dread,
“- the snow’s all trampled. There’s been running
and soothing, too, here.”

“20h. Lord I” y'elled Hans, who had advanced
while Billy was examining these marks. “ Ohl
shust come here, Filly! It’s der man! It’s dei-
Plizzard, sure!” v

Billy ran hastily forward, the dread parcel be-
ing now plainly defined as a man.

As he drew near it swung slowly round, and a
livid, lifeless face confronted him, the unmistak-
able face of Joe Blizzard.

He was hanging by the neck to a branch of

 

from town ’cross lots.”
They had not taken twenty steps further ere

      

the tree, and was quite dead. ,
With a yell of mortal fear, Hans turned and

 

24

Billy, the Baggage Boy.

 

went crashing back through the bushes, roaring
at every step as if a ghost was at his heels.

Billy felt a momentary impulse to do likewise,
but bravely repressed it, and walked resolutely
up with the purpose of reading a wide placard,
which was placed conspicuously on the dead
man’s breast.

 

CHAPTER XV.
THE BAND or Inn CHOSEN.

“ BILLY.”
fi“'1‘hat’s"me,lknrnel. That’s my every—day,
shirt sleeves, bare—footed name. When I’m
standin’ on my dignity I sign myself William.
Don’t ’low nobody to call. me Billy on Sunday

, nor holidays. But as long as it’s you, kurnel, I
won’t mind.”

- “ Have you looked for-the man I directed you
to find for me?”

“ {I hev.”

“ Have you seen him?”

“ I hev see’d Joe Blizzard.” -

“Ah! And what next? You know your in
structions." ‘

“ I was to put the perlice on his truck,” replied
Billy, with a peculiar look. “ I hev handed over
what was left of him. Blizzard’s safe. He won’t

V bother you no more, kurnel.”

“ Why, what do you mean 3” asked the colonel,
hastily. '

“Blizzard’sstepped out. Vamosed, Gone un:
der. Slid. Passed in his cheeks.”

“ Why, you young villain, do you mean that
the man is d

“I found him,” rejoined Billy, mysteriously.
“ There was a bit of string round his neck, with

't’other end twisted ‘bout an oak limb. I s'pose
he’d broke it, if he’d been heavy enough.”

" Do you mean that he was hung?"

, “The string was too strong for him. kuruel.
There weren‘t no salvation for poor Joe Bliz—
zard. It was out in the woods, with snow on
the round, and the trees a—groaning above.”

T a colonel sat down on a, trunk in the car,

r and gazed fixedly at the speaker. .
bo‘fghis is none of your confounded jokes,
gNary joke," protested Billy. with positive
emphasm. “ You ain’t heafn tell of it ’cause it
only turned out last night. They left the train
at Reeseville. Joe Blizzard and three men that
follered unbeknownst to him. We trumped back
from Paoli, me and Hans, the gum-drop Dutchy.
Strucldtheir trail in the snow. The three men
(I knowed them), they was sneakin’ behind
fences. Dunno what Blizzard was utter. Takin’
a short out somewhere, I s’pose. It were a ter-
rible short out he took, that’s sartain.”

Billy drew a long breath as he took in thequ
force of Blizzard’s step from time to eternity.
The boy’s: race had rown very serious.

“ And you found im—hanqing in the wood?"

“ You dunno what a start it guy me,“ contin«
ued Billy, “when he swung round and showed
his face. “ I do b’lieve [’6 ’a’ run if I hadn’t to
Stand still to keep that domed Dutchy in coun-
tenance. He was so skeered that I thought he’d
shake all his teeth out, and all his toenails 05.”

“Thisis a strange business. You knew the

men, you any!”

 

“ I seen them afore. There was a paper
pinned onto the co'rpus. I’ve brung it here.”

Billy, with much effort, extracted from his
pocket a closely-folded sheet of white paper,
which he slowly opened as he continued to talk:

“ We follered them, kurnel: me and Hans, and
some of the folks around. There was the three
tracks in the snow. Blizzard’s track didn’t go
no further than that tree. There his track was
wi ed out—forever.”

illy paused and rubbed his eyes, which were
suspiciously moist.

‘ We follered them to Paoli. That’s where
they took the cars, and their track was wiped
out—but not forever.”

By this time he had succeeded in unfolding
his paper, a coarse White sheet, of about six
inches in length by four in breadth. It was
written over, in a rou h but vigorous hand-
writing, in ink, as if it ad been prepared pre-
viously to the murder.

The colonel, who had been more excited by
the boy’s narration than, he cared to let appear,
took the paper from his extended hand, and
strode vigorously up and down the car, reading
its contents. .

“Can you read, boy? Do you know what
this is?” he asked.

“ I kin read, and I kin write and I kin cipher,
and I kin pla base-ball, and I kin stand on my
head, kurnel, ’ declared Billy, proudly. .

The colonel looked as if divided between his
inclination to laugh at him and to kick him.
He turned away with a shrug of his shoulders,
and read the paper aloud, as he continued to
pace the car:

“ To all whom it may woncern :—

“This is the body of a perjured traitor. Seek not
his executioners. for they shall not be found. We
are, sworn to war against monopolies for the Rights
of Man. This man took our oaths, and then became
a common thief. Such is his fate. War to the death
against monopoliets, the rope for perjurers and
thieves. Such is our oath.

I “ THE BAND or THECEOBEN."

He slowly folded the paper and placed it in
his. ocket, a deep, fixed purpose in his eyes.

“ know it all by heart,” said Billy. “ They’re
a high-minded set of reprobates, they are.
They’re goin’ to make the Pennsy guv in to
them if thev smash half the trains on the road,
and kill folks like sheep. But they won’t let a
poor little thief like Blizzard carry 01! an empty
trunk on his own book. ‘Tain’t hinder they’re
after, but what they call princip e.” ‘

“ All their efforts, so far. have been to destroy
freight-trains,” remarked the colonel, reflec-
tiVBIY.

“ Jist so,” replied Billy. “ You got a kind of
warnin’ from them, kernel, the last time the
wages was out?”

“ Yes,” answered the colonel, absently.

“ Signed like thlsi”

“ Var much. It was signed, ‘ The Chosen.’ "

“ An you told them to go to old Sam, and
that you wouldn’t knuckle to no such repro-
hates?”

“ I defied them,” answered the colonel.

“ But you ain’t goin’ to make no more cuts in
wages, kernel?1 asked Billy.

“ Not if I can help it, my boy. But let these

 

 

Billy, the Baggage Boy. 25

 

fellows beware how they seek to drive me. In
times of war extreme measures are 'ustifiahle.
You know how to hold your tongue, illy?"

“ If you tell me to he mum, that's the word.
'I wouldn't blah then it there was a bag of do]-
lars on every word.”

“ Then keep secret what l have said today.”

“ Mum’s the word," replied Billy. closing his
mouth with both hands. while his honest eyes
glittered into the colonel's. , -

“ These murderers must be found,” continued
the colonel in a reflective tone, “it it is in the
power of the law. I want your deposition, my
boy, of all the minute facts connected with your
knowledge of them. Here we are in the city,”
as the train slowly slackened speed at the depot.
“ Take a cab at once to my office. Or stay, we
will go together. There must benot a moment’s
delay.”

In five minutes more, Billy was seated in a
carriage with the railroad superintendent, and
rolling rapidly toward the office of the great
railroad magnate.

CHAPTER XVI.
THROUGH WIND AND SNOW.

11' proved no easy task to apprehend the mur-
derers of Joe Blizzard. The police authorities
were 1put. actively at work, and given every
possib 9 source of information, not the least im-

ortunt lpart of which was the evidence of our

ero Bil y.

But their efforts had been so far in vain. At
least a dozen men were arrested, as having
some possible connection With the affair.

r Meanwhile Bill had not been idle, as will
appear from a litt e conversation between him
and Mr. Baggage, Sr., about this time.

Jacob Baggage was in an unusual condition
for him. He was sober.

“And that ain’t all,” he said, positively, to
his son. “ I’ve swore 011'. It was a solid swear,
too, Billy. ’Tweren’t none of your dry oaths,
that‘s got to be lickered‘ but a ‘80 help me
’Mighty;’ and that’s what never go back on.”

“Glad to hear it, dad,” said the hopeful ju-
venile, possessing himself of his father’s three-
leg ed chair. “I didn’t know jist what your
so i swear was; I’ve Seen you try it in so many
shapes that didn’t hold water.”

‘_‘ You never heered me say ‘So be] me
’Mighty’before,” protested his father. “ hat’s
a—leanin' on other strength than our own, Billy:
and a feller’s own strength won’t ca him for
ag’in’ the smell of whisky. I b’lieve it‘s jist the
powerfulest thing out, boy; and I don’t keer if
you put old Samson hi ~ f ag’in‘ it. I’ve got
seme strength yet; but, sakes, it’s jist nothin’
ag’in’ the bottle.”

“ I’m wonderful glad to hear that you mean
it." replied Billy, rocking on his unsteady seat.
“I’ve been a workin’ fur you, pop. I’m some
guns now with the kurnel; and do you know
I’Ve got you back your old job?”

“Whatl” cried the father, springing up and
clapping his heels in delight. ‘ Firing up? ~0n
tgzdol’d Volcano? Now, that's a good deal too

I
3 “It’s firing, pop. But the old Volcano ex-
ploded. So’tain’t that. But you’re to report
to-morrow morning, and you’ll be put on a

 

good injine. Allers nervided you shet down on
the whisky. That’s the heading of the pro—
gramme.”

“So help me ’Mighty, Billy, I won’t tech it '

ag‘in. But you ain’t jokin’, boy? [declare I
hope you ain’t jokin’.”

The old man’s voice was full of pathetic ap—
pea .

“ I never joke, pop. ’Specially when I’m in
earnest,” said Billy, solemnly. " I’ve done my
sheer, and I want you to do yours."

The boy had too much business on hand to
have much time to spend in the shadows of the
paternal mansion, and we soon find him bound

westward again on the “afternoon Aocommoda- *

tion.”

It was not on duty however, that he took this
trip. Billy had been growing very fond of his
little friend Lucy of late days, and v. as off on a
visit to this little charn « r.

Leaving the train at U e nvrr-st station, he
made his way over to 1 LP 1-3; milton mansion.
As he neared the house te came face to face
with a gentleman approaching from the opposite

direction, and whom he at once remembered to - ‘ '

have seen before.

It was Mr. John Jordan, the gentleman who
had displayed such singular influence Over the
robbers, and had rescued Claire Hamilton from
a. serious danger. His intimacy at the Hamilton
residence had grown rapidly since' that occa-
sion.

Lucy was glad enough to see Billy, and on—
pered around him with childish glee.

“ See here, Lucy,” asked Billy, as if influenced
by a sudden thought, “ Does that George How-
ard ever come here now?”

“ No,” she replied. " And I don’t know why,
for he was a nice man, and I liked him.”

“ What is this other man’s name?"

’ “ That is Mr. Jordan,” she answered, with a
grimace.

“ He ain’t so nice then i’”

" I don’t like him,” said the candid child.
“Nor I don’t believe that Aunt Claire does
either, for all she tries to look like it.”

“ He’s sweet on Miss Claire, I s’pose?”

“ You won’t say nothing. Billy, if I tell you a
great secret?" asked the child, eagerly. .

"You couldn't drag a word from me with
oxen,” replied Bill , solemnly.

“Stoop down, illy,” Lucy whispered in his
gar. "‘I do believe there is going to be 8 Wed-

in l ' ‘

“ What! Miss Claire and Mr. John Jordan?”
cried Billy, in surprise.

“Now that's quite too loud,” Warned Lucy.
“ It is on] a little bird that has Whispered it to
me yet. would not have Aunt Claire know I
have said such a thing for the world? _

“ Are you going on west tonight. 131111in or will
you spend the night here?” sai Mr. mnton,
who 'ust entered the room. _

“ ve got to make tracks,” replied the boy.
“My train will be along in a couple of boom I
jist run out here ahead.”

“ I will kee you company then.” said Mr.
Hamilton. “ am going as far as Pittsburg."

9‘ You are l” cried Lucy. “ But it is snowing.
Your shoulders are quite white.”

“ A little snow won't hurt Billy and me,” sai‘

‘ W ibrrwé‘ni‘ ’sul in“

?

 

 

 

 

26

 

Mr. Hamilton, as he entered his carriage at the
loot. “Kiss your sweetheart good-by, Lucy,
nnd tell Aunt Claire that I am going.”

“ I have no sweetheart, and I don’t kiss boys,"
replied Lucy, tossing her head saucily. “ Billy
and I like one another. Ain’t that all, Billy?
And we are not sweethearts.”

The impulsive child darted off into the house,
and returned in a minute with Claire, while Mr.
Jordan appeared more slowly in the background.
The parting between father and daughter Wis
very affectionate.

Billy. amid all Lucy's warm attentions, Cool-l
not help noticing how Mr. Jordan hzul re-
mained in the background, and the somewhat
cool and distant manner of Mr. Hamilton toward
him.

“ He ain’t in the daddy’s books anyhow, if he
is in Miss Claire's," thought our hero. “ It’s the
lop-sidedest hizness I know of, and if there ain’t
a bu’st—up somewheres about the concern afore
long then I’m an ignoramus."

They took the train at the nearest station at

v which the Express stopped. It was approaching
night, and Mr. Hamilton took a sleeriingrcai',

Billy going forward to his station in the bag-

gage-car.

Our hero, however, when he set himself to it,
could have siumbered soundly stretched on a
tight-rope, or poised on a row of pins; so his
trunk top was high old luxury to him.

Westward of Harrisburg, in the mountain
rogiOns which began to grow in tire ti'anerus—
guehanna regions, the snow grew heavier, and
had gathered in certain gorges till it was with
difficulty that the strong engine tore her way
through the growing impediment.

Lewistown was passed. They were ap-
proaching the wilder and more mountainous
region.

“ It’s thundering thick to-night,” ejaculated
the engineer, peering out into ‘the gloom, and
soundinc1r his whistle shrilly, as he knew by in-
stinct that the Petersburg station was close
ahead.

The engine was slowly gathering speed again
asshe reached the bridge. Suddenly, without
a moment’s warning, the end of the wooden
structure gave way under the weight of the
heavy engine, tumbling with a terrific thud into
the frozen stream below, and dragging the train
with it. ____

CHAPTER XVII.
BILLY’S PATENT EXTINGUISHER.

INSIDE the cars all was terror and tumult.
Means of anguish, cries of fear and pain, echoed
through the darkness. The foremost cars were
badly broken. In one——the sleeper—4m omin-
ous light glared redly on the night.

Our hero had been roused from his sleep by
the sudden break in the speed of the tnin us it
plunged into the snow-bank in the cut. With
boyish curiosity he left the car and stood on the
platform, looking forward at the toiling engine.

He was still leaning out from the side of the
car, looking forward. when the bridge gave
way and the locomotive plunged headlong into
the abyss.

The sudden check in the motion had as sudden
and unexpected an influence on Billy. Torn

    

    

Billy, the Baggage Boy.

loose from his hold he was hurled like a rocket
through the air, whirling heels over head, an»!
finally plunging deep into the snow-bank. The
white, thick carpet did one good deed. It broke
Billy’s fall, and he scrambled out with no worse
result than to have the cold snow ground into
his hair and skin, as if rubbed. in by the fingers
of a shampooer.

He had brought up on a heap o“ rails under
the snow. Tearing up one of these, atiihe cry
of alarm of the conductor, be commenced his
sweeping assault on the windows of the burning
car.

“Drop that rail!” yelled the passenger, at
Billy’s defiance. “ Drop it, or I will drop you!”

“ Here, you chap, if you want to lend a band,
pass up some of that snow 3” cried Billy, sharply.

The passenger, who was alert and active
enough, and Who caught the lad’s idea at a
glance, hastened to gather up great handfuls of
the half-frozen snow, and pass it up to the im~
perative young worker.

“We’ve struck ile, sure as shootin’l” cried
Billy. “ In goes the snow, and out goes the fire!
I can’t see a spark left, and we’ve got snow
enough to spare to put out ten volcanoes and
two or three blast furnaces.”

It was true; he had conquered; the fire was
quencher]; the deeper voices of the men added
their base to his shrill treble; Billy was the hero
of the hour.

The rear cars, by this time, were nearly em ty
of passengers. They had esca ed with no no
ther harm than some sore bru ses and cuts, the
forward cars having taken the brunt of the dis-
aster.

“ And I want a volunteer to go back for
help ” shouted the conductor.

“ l‘m your man," said the red-haired passen-
ger, buttoning up his coat. .

“ One is not enough,” exclaimed a second per-
son. “ A fellow might fall or freeze in this
wind. I’ll go with him."

“ And I!” cried Billy. “If two’s better than
one, three’s better than two. That’ s my ’rith-
metic.”

“ Keep the boy back,” said the second volun-
teer. “We don’t want him. This is work for
men.”

“ You need not go, Billy," said the conduc-

r.

“Oh, very well,” responded Billy. “I don’t
know as I’m overly anxious to have my nose and
toes frost-bit.”

He walked forward along the train, while the
two volunteers, bundling themseves up as close-—
ly as possible, set off down the track, tramping
through the deep snow with a long, sure stride
that showed they were well chosen for the task.

Had not the conductor and his associates been
too busy to heed what was going on elsewhere,
they might have seen, about five minutes after-
Ward, two other figures heading down thetrack,
lost to sight in a minute in the darkness of the
night.

“ I’m desp’rat’ afeard of them two chaps,
Hans Breitman,” said Billy Baggage, for these

were our two young friends. “They were too
And there’s a 100k

 

thundering anxious to $0.
'bont them, t 10. NOW, it‘d be a b'ui hizness to

havo any gum game now. We mought have a

Billy. the Baggage Boy. 27

 

Frei ht bu’stin’ into the stern of that train and
knoc in’. everything to eternal smash. Guess
we’ll foller, anyhow, Hans.”

" Yaw. Dat’s it. Pilly. Me don’t care not
von gumalrop," responded Hans.

For a mile. two, three miles, they trudged on
nnd on, some 1 arts of their way being easy from
the sn0w having drifted from the track. In
others it was heaped into almost impassable
ridges. They had not overtaken the men in ad-
i nnoe, but their path in the snow was ever visi-
ble to the boys.

With ener y the boys went on, though they
were chilled the bone b the fierce winds, and
yrowing very weary o the long, dragging
tramp through the deep snow.

They turned a short curve in the road, and
there, not very far before them, gleamed out the
(-1 or light of the§longed-for signal-station.

“ Heyl hurrah! We’re all right, Hans! Cheer
up, old chap. In a minute more we’ll be along-
side a hot fire, and forget there was ever cold
weather.”

It was little more than a minute when he
broke into the station, pushing the nearly-
frozen Hans before him, and shouting out loud—

] .

y“ Telegraph right and lefti lnstanter! There’s
n bridge smashed! The Through Express is
hn’stedl And there’s the very thunder to pay
generally 1” .

CHAPTER XVIII.
THE RELIEF TRAIN.

As may be imagined, the operator at the sig—
nal-station—startled from a doze by the sudden
interruption of the two boys, and the wild ex-
clamation of Billy—leaped up in apprehension
of an attack in force by armed tramps, or the
running of a lightning train through the walls
of his frail edifice.

He was somewhat reassured on seeing only the
brace of half» grown lads, one rostrate on the
floor, the other rubbing him di igently. and try-
ing his best to shake him into a return of his
flown senses.

“Set the danger signall”oried Billy. as he
ran from the station and returned with both
hands full of snow. with which he began an
ene etic rubbing of the Dutch boy’s face and
ban 5. “There’s blazes to pay ahead, and the
next train will go to eternal smash. Here’s a
young chap that’s a’most a corpsus for histramp
through the snow. Ain‘t there been two men
here ahead of us?” .

“Not a soul,” replied the opera wast re-
covering from his nervous start. “ hat has
hap nod? What brings you here?”

“ he Express, that passed you an hour or
two ago, is gone up; that’s all. The bridge
over the Juniata cavad in. and down went the
whole shebang. The killed and wounded is
enormous. That’s all I’ve got to say about it.
Telegraph for help and for wrecking trains in-
stanter. We’ve waded back five miles to give
the alarm.” And Billy kept up his rubbing and

rolling of Hans, who was quite wide~awake

enough to try to escape from the hands of his
excited friend.

 

“ This is no trick @’asked the operator, spring-
ing to his instrument. “ Who are you? I don’t
know you.”

“ Don’t know me?” exclaimed Billy, rising to
his knees in surprise. “Don’t know Billy the
detective, the premium trunk-smasher, the ins
jine pile—driver, the boss buy of the road?
Where’ve you been brung up, I’d like to know?
S’pose you’ll be sayin’ next that you don’t know
George Washington, or Gineral Jackson, or
Kurnel Tom Scott, or nobody that’s worth
knowin’l"

The operator laughed as his fingers played deft-
ly upon the instrument, sending news of the dis-
aster east and west, to startle attentive ears

miles away from that little cabin in the wilder- 1

ness.

“ I have heard of you,” he briefly said. “ Your
name is a warrant for your news.”

“ I s’mse so,” replied Billy. “Didn’t I git
flung. li e a base-ball. off the baggage—car, and
dig a ten-foot well in a snow-bank? And didn’t
I pelt out the fire in the sleeper with snow balls?
And ain’t I trudged five miles with old zero
clean out of sight above me? Come here, Hans,
you crezv rascal; you’re half-froze yit, and you
know it.”

Hans had sucroeded in escaping from the tor»-
ture which Billy was administering to him in
allopathic doses, and now stood erect in a cor-
ner of the station, waving his rough doctor off
wildly pith his hands. ,

“ You yu.~*t go ’way, Pillyl” he cried, implor—
ingly. “ ’Tnin‘t butting ails me, and you yust
keep your hunts away. I’m all full of pins and
neetles Init your rupping."

“ You‘re a dead boy, Hans." exclaimed Billy,
“ if you don’t let me rub the life back to you.
Come here, you lively little corpse.”

He made a clash at his victim, and for a min—
ute there was a sharp wrestle in the corner of
the but, while the operator’s instrument still
clicked and clicked away.

“ What under heaven has broke loose there,”
he cried at length, disturbed by the noise of the
struggle.

“ It's all this ungrateful young rat,” cried
Billy, who had now got Hans down, and was
dili ently kneading him. “He ought tube on
the road of his bark. half-dead with the cold
this minute; and he knows it. I s’pose he’ll be
sayin’ next that I didn’t save his nose and his
fingers from dropping off.”

“ Anyhow, I think on have welded them on
tightly enough now, illy,” replied the amused
operator. “ Let up on the boy. You never saw
a cricket livelier than he is now,”

“ If he ain’t playin’ ’possum,” said Billy. look-
ing askance at his squirming friend. “There
ain’t no knowin' these Dutch boys, what tricks
they’re up to.”

He slowly got up. releasing his patient. who
squeezed himself back into his corner again, as
if in mortal fear. .

“ It’s lucky fur him anyhow that he had Billy
Baggage alon ,” said our hero, with a shrug.
“ The little many thought a snow-bank was a
feather-bed, and he’d laid down fur a snooze if
I hadn’t vetoed his little game, and boot-toad
him into your shanty. Come here, Hans.
What are you shivering over there fur? I ain’t

17...: - as... . . .,.

“-A-LJMw-J-m , ,

 

28

Billy, the Baggage Boy.

 

a-goin’ to eat you. Come‘ here and hug the
stove, and thank the stars that your more is on
your face this minute."

Hans advunced gingerly from his corner, fee!
ing his organ of smell critically, as if to assure
himself of its safety.

“ What for you rub my face mit snow, ynst
tell me dat now?” be queried, as he got within
the circle of warmth of the stove.

“ To keep you from kickin’ the bucket,
Dutchy; if you know what that is. Any news,
Mr. Telegrapher? Anything on the road?”

“ Yes,” replied the operator. “There is an
engine and couple of working cars near ready
tostart from Lewistown. They are only wait-

ing to get some of \tho road hands on board. I

have telegraphed to Altoona for doctors and
hospital cars."

“ Horspitals on wheels, hey? I didn’t know
you had any sich riggings.” "

“‘I think we can furnish something that will
answer,” smiled the operator, as he turned again
to his clicking instrument. “ All right. Lewis-
town has started," he continued.

“ And the sooner Altoona gits on the track
the better,” returned Billy. “ I s’pose there's a
grist of hurt folks waiting. And, do you know,
it’s outrageous cold out?"

“ Hug the stove, Billy. I should judge you
would need a thawing."

“ Oh, no! It warmed me up tussling with
this lopsided Dutchman. Shouldern’t wonder
much if I rattled all the freeze out of his bones,
too. A hard tussle is jist about as good as a hot

I stove to limoer a teller up."

“Dat‘s so, Pilly,” retorted Hans. “ I’m yust
so limher as it‘ I’d been walked ofer py six mules,
you pet.”

Laughing at Hans’s expense the operator drew
up nearer the stove and questioned the boys
more closely in reference to the accndent.

After their conversation had continued for

'some time it was interrupted by the shrill whistle

of a locomotive close at hand. The headlight
of the engine glared full into their faces as they
opened the door and looked out. In a minute
more it had come to a halt.

“ Hillo, there i” cried the engineer, loudly.
“ Was it this station the alarm came from?"

“ Yes." ,

“ Where‘s the wreck?” ,

“ Five miles ahead. The bridge has caved
in. Half the train is in the river. Push ahead
lively.” ‘

“ old hard there! Here’s a passenger!” ex-
claimed Billy, as he sprung upon the engine.
“ You stick there and thaw out, Hans. Good—
hy.” He waved an adieu to the operator.

“‘ And who are you that wants to steal a free
ride?” asked the engineer.

“ Pile on your steam fu’st, and ax your ques-
tions arter ” said Billy, in a tone of authority.
“ Let her rive.”

“ Well, now she’s driving,” retorted the en-
gineer, as the train began to gather headway.

‘ Now who are on?”

“ One of the c aps that runs the Pennsy. I’m
Billy. the Baggage Boy. If you hain’t heerd of
me atomit’s cause your eddication ain’t all it
ought to be. And I’m not much on the brag,
neither,”

 

“ Hilloi my young gamecock!” exclaimed
the engineer, looking into the handsome and
energetic face of his passenger. “ Well, if you
couldn’t crow the steeple olfa meeting-house,
I’ll give in. That's the loudest whistle out of
the smallest boiler I ever hear 1. I bet you’re a
piece of stray baggage, without an owner.”

“I ain’t fur sale, anyhow,” retorted Billy,
somewhat miffed. “ What do you call that
streak of red on the sky there behind us?"

“ That’s daylight,” replied the engineer.

“I dunno when it was wuss wanted,” said
the boy. “ And the snow’s done, and the wind
ain’t so sharp-edged. And all that’s a blessing
fur the poor souls ahead.”

"‘ We are close there now," responded the en-
gmeer.

“ Yes. Not a half—mile. Look out you don’t
hu’st 1n the back end of the train, and make
bad enough jist ten times wuss.”

“ All right. Any more orders?” asked the en—
gineer, grimly, his keen eyes looking ahead into
the thinning darkness.

“Guess that’s enough to try you with,"re-
plied Billy, determined to have the last word.
“I want my conscience clear if there’s to be
damage done.”

“ Your conscience!” retorted the engineer.
“ It’s tougher than a cast-iron stow-plate.
Shut up, now, we're getting near danger.”

In fact they were on the very verge of tho
snowed—up cut. With a shrill whistle of alarm
the engine plunged desperately into the drifted
snow, the out being half~fllled up again by the
action of the winds.

The thick mass whizzed right and left as th y
tore onward, the speed of the engine rapidly
decreasing as she sunk deeper into the snowy

d.

“Played!” cried Billy, with set teeth, as he
looked forward.

“Not obit]: returned the engineer. “The
Lively Polly ain’t easy played. There she
sails!”

He was right. The cut was passed. But the
engine came almost to a dead halt as she emerg-
ed on the level reach beyond.

At the same instant the first gleam of the sun-
light shot westward from the horizon. That
terrible night was passed. Day had again
dawned upon a snowed-in world.

The ears of the new-comers were greeted with
aloud shout of welcome. Before them stood a
throng of passengers from the wrecked train,
who had sprung hastily from the cars on hear-
inor their whistle of warning.

. be new train consisted of two tool-cars, and
a score of stron ~nrmed road-hands, who leaped
eagerly out, an hurried forward to the scene
of the wreck.

“Many killed and wounded. Mr. Perkins?”
asked the leader of the working—gang of the
conductor.

“ Ver few, thank Heaven," was the response.
“ Poor om Brown and his fireman have gone
under. But there’s nobody killed on the train.
We‘ve got some broken arms and legs, but -
nothing fatal.” -

“And the engine smashed into scrap~iron, I
s’pose," said a youthful voice

“ Hey, Billy, is that you!” asked the conduc-

Billy, the Baggage Boy.

‘ 29

 

tor. “ We have been looking for you. Where
in the sun have you been?”
Bfl‘lBeen back to the signal-station," replied

I y.

 You!” exclaimed the conductor in sur—
prise. .

“ Yes. Me and Dutchy Hans.”

“ What put that insane fancy into your heads!
' There were two man went back.”

“ I didn’t trust them men f_ur nothing,” said
Billy, sturdilv. “ Sure’s better than sorry, any
day. if you’d waited on them we’d had help
here by next Christmas, for they never went
near the station. They’re a pair of murdering
villains, and I’d bet my head ag’in a pumpkin
that the bridge didn’t go down without hands.”

” You are ri ht,” replied the conductor, im—
pressively. “ he timbers Wcl‘t‘. sawed nearly
through. The Whole business is a murderous
Scheme to destroy the train and all its passen—
gers, which only the aid of Heaven has frus-
truted.”

Billy hurried forward to the wreck. The bag-
gage and Express cars formed an inclined plane
from the verge downward to the engine, which
lmd broken through the thick ice, and was
nearly buried. The only other car seriously in—
jured was the sleeper, which was little more
than a ruin. ’

Our hero, almost for the first time, now
thought of his friend, Mr. Hamilton. He had
been in the sleeping-car. He was not visible
among the passengers. Where was be?

With quick alarm Billy sought the car to
which the wounded passengers had been re—
moved, and went through it with eyes half-
ufrnid to gaze into the faces of the poor unfor—
tunates, lest he should find his friend among the
most horribly mangled.

He came upon the face at last. But it was
white and still, with closed eyes, and a fright-
ful pullor of countenance.

“How is it?” asked Billy, in a frightened
whis r. “Dead?”

“ o,” replied the person in attendance.
“Concussion of the brain. we think. He is
one of the worst cases."

CHAPTER XIX.
GEORGE HOWARD EXPLAINS.

BRIGHTLY shone the sun that next day, the
cold north winds 'fell. and the soft south whis-
pered of flowers to come when the snows of
winter should melt away. '

But for the fortunate slackening of the train,
the destruction of life must have been terrible.
As it was, only the. engineer was killed, though
the fireman wns so badly hurt that his life was
despaired of. Besides these, three or four of the
sleeping—car passengers were dan crnusly hurt.

'l‘ 9 train from Altoona~ arrive shortly after
daybreak, and the wounded pnmcngers were at
once carefullv remmwxd to comfortable cars,
and under skillful medical care were taken on to
the mountain city.

At the same time tho gang of road-hands set
at work to clear the track, and to make prepa-
rntions for removing the engine from where it
lay. halt-supported by the ice of the frozen

 

- l‘l ver.

In doing this, another discovery of importance

 

was made. On the end of the bridge, near the
sawn timbers, a placard was found, similar to
those already received by the oflicers of the
road, and signed by the mysterious band of
“ The Chosen.”

It was the second day after the disaster that
our young friend, Billy, on his next trip out
from Philadelphia, went through the train, mut-
terin to himself:

“ here’s somethin’ a-workin‘ itself through
my brain that I’ll git bolt of the handle of yit.
And it’s all ’bout that Mr. John Jordan. I ain’t
goin’ to let Miss Claire guv herself away rm)
cheap. There was the tall chap that went out
ahead of me and Hans to the signal; and that
slipped out ’cross lots. If he hadn’t hrick-dmt
hair and a turn-up nose, and a black patch «An
one of his blinkers, and had been the least [.1 inc
shorter, I’d swmrn it was the same fellow. All
I've got to say is that Miss Claire’s mighty un-
lucky in her ovyers.”

As this thought ran through his mind he lift—
ed his eyeswto see the first of those lovers; for
the stalwart form and handsome face of George
Howard appeared in the car just before him.

Billy pressed past him with lowered eyes. un-
noticed by Mr. Howard, who‘had the look of one
seriously preoccupied.

“ There’s somethin' abreu’in’ there." thought
the boy, looking back at the strong frame of the
man, who was moving toward the door of the
car.

It was in the smoking-car that this encounter
had taken lace. Our hero’s next recognition
was of Mr. ohn Jordan, who was leaning over
the edge of a seat, talking to a friend, and smok-
ing with a rapidity that seemed nervous. His
e es were bent down the car, in the direction of

r. Howard. .

“ Guess it’s pull Dick, pull devil, between them
two; and if they’d both pull themselves away
from Miss Claire I'd be better satisfied,” solilo-
quized Billy. “ If there ain’t ructions in the
camp afore any of us is six months older then I
don‘t know beans. I kin smell fun ahead ’bout
as fur as the next be; goin’.”

George Howard had by this time left the car,
and proceeded on through the train. Entering
the ladies’ car, he suddenly stopped, with a slight
flush of the face, on finding himself, as Billy had
done, face to face with Claire Hamilton.

She had seen and recognized him at the same
moment, and turned away to conceal her ex-
treme agitation. In her nervous state this sud-
den renconter filled her with an» unimaginable

eelin .

He hesitated. the flush deepening on his face,
his manner irresolute. For one minute he seemed
inclined to pass on without other sign of r1 cog-
nition. In fact she thought he had gone, and
lifted her eyes only tofind the inlcnse regards of
his searching orbs fixed upon her. "

His resolution to address her seemed to be
taken instantly.

“ Miss Hamilton,” he'said, in a law tona‘stoop-
ing toward her. “ I am glad of this meetmg. I
have wished to see you." . _ .

Claire looked up at him With aquestlonmg sur-
prise, that was half dread. She could not trust
herself to speak, for fear that nervous agitation
would overcome her.

 

 

80 Billy, the Baggage Boy.

 

“ You have wronged me," he continued.
“ Who has belied me I know not, nor from whom
~» came that utterly ridiculous letter you gave me

in evidence of some mysterious crime .on my
part.’ But you should not have been ready to
believe such calumnies.”

“ It was not the letter,” she answered, in a low,
constrained tone. “ I had other evidences. And
from a person in whom I had every confidence.
I was forced to heliovo.”

“ From whom?" he asked.

“ I prefer to give no names,” she replied. “ My
informant is honest, and has no reason to be an
enemy of yours."

“ But, good heavens, Claire, what is my crime?
I am in the dark, utterly in the dark, as to what
I have done.”

She looked at him with a doubtful, wavering
look, into which an element of hope slowly
grew.

“You know,”sh‘e said, with downcast eyes.
“I made it clear to you in our last conversa-
tion.” ”"

“ I know nothing, Claire, except that you

, Wounded me with bitter Words; and that I love
you through it all.” \ .

There was no one within several seats of them.
He was leaning over her seat and looking into
her face with burning eyes as he spoke these
words. *

“ I may have been hasty,” she slowly replied.
“You were so fierce and quick. You denied
nothing. You left me to believe all."

“ All what, Claire? I am indeed ignorant of
what I am aecused.”

“ I dare not tell you. If you are indeed inno—
cent, the crime is mine. The crime of suspicion,
distrust, disbelief in my own intuitions.” ‘

“ You must tell me ail,” he said. “I must
know from what I have to clear myself. I do
not blame you, Claire. I know you would not
lightly have credited calumny against me.”

b She turned her eyes away, confused and trem-
linz.

“ It has been too lightly, George,” she softly
replied. “ I should not have doubted where I
loved. But I had heard such tales so direct and
reiterated. And you were 50—”

“ So hot and angry,” he interrupted. “ I know
now to what you refer. I did not knowthen.
There have been doubts cast upon my
honesty.” _

“ You were accused of being an accomplice of
these train robbers,” she hastily broke in. “ Of
these wreckers. The stories were so direct and
detailed. There were so many whisperings
about you. Your business was so mysterious.
I have never dared ask you.”

“You would not have learned,” he replied.
“There are other interests than my own involved.
The time may soon come in which I can cease

, this secrecy. At present I must rest under the
lmpu‘mtions of my enemies.”

‘ No, no, Georgei” she ‘cried, with a sudden
revulsion of feeling. “ Tell me nothing. I
have been criminally, unpardonably distrustful.
But it was my love that made me exacting.
would have had you above the shadow of
doubt." _

“ Which no man is, dear Claire,” he replied,
taking her hand in his close grasp. “ I cannot

 

pretend to saintliness. But I love you, dear;
and class myself indifferent honest.”

“I have leen wild, foolish, in my distrust,”
she said, cla'rpin; his hand firmly in her two
own, and looking up with a look of trust into his
eves. “ I do not know what I have done. Burr-—
What do those men want, George?"

Two men had just entered the car, and were
walking forward, their e§2s fixed with a peculiar
ex ression upon George oward.

ne of them, a tall, strongly-built man,
dressed in plain black, new step ed forward,
and laid his hand, With no lig t touch, on
Howard’s shoulder.

“ You will come with us," he said.

George straightened up, instantly, shakin oil?
the man’s hand by the movement, and 100 ing
at him with eyes that flamed lightnings.

“ How dare on, sir? What does this mean?”
he exclaimed, in tones that vibrated with indig-
nation.

“I thought. maybe, you mightn’t want the
lady to know,” returned the man, sarcastically.
“ But, as long you’re so ignorant, I‘ll tell you.
You are arres for train-smashing. You’re
knonm, my) friend for one of the devils that
sawed the ridge. the other night. Drop your
hand! Instantly l" he cried, sharply, as George's
hand went to his breast. “If it is to be a game
of bullets, I want the first hand."

But there seemed no purpose of resistance in
George Howard. A marvelous chan 6 came
upon his face. He seemed to shrink an tremble
under this terrible accusation.

Claire looked at him, with eyes wild with
agonized questioning.

“ There, where my r father was injured!"
she moaned, as if this terrible thought alone
filled 'her mind.

“ But this is a mistake! A hideous error!”
cried George With a despairing accent. “ What
villainous blunder has brought you men here—-
n0w-—”

“‘Not much of a blunder, I guess,” said the
man, laughing. “ We’re not generally that
kind of horses that race on the wrong track.
Will you come quietly, my man, or shall we
have to take you?

Claire's eyes were fixed on George with a lurid
intentnesa No change in a feature of his face
escaped her. She read ashrinking dread and
terror there, of which she had believed him in-
capable. It was agonizing. the sudden change
in her soul from trust to doubt, from respect to
contempt.

For one moment he strai htened himself up,
as if inclined to resist. en, while a quick
chance passed over his face, he said, quietly:

“Very well. I am your prisoner. This hor-
rible mistake shall he explained. Miss Hamil-
ton,” he continued, turning to Claire. “But
not new, nor here. There are reasons, which I
dare not even name—7’

“ I think not," replied the man, coarsely.
“Watch the newspapers, miss, and you will
see the reasons brought out on the witness-
stand. Are you coming. sir?”

George replied by walking forward with a
stately tread and in an erect attitude, not look-
ing again at Claire as he left her side.

“ And is this the end of it all?” she muttered,

mm” 5;.

“my... 5,.

Billy, the Baggage Boy.

81

 

with trembling lips, as her burning eyes fol-
lowed his form. “ Cowardice a ided to crimel
And he had convinced me that l was wickedly
false to him. If he had not cringed so, and let
such base terror creep into his face. Thank
Heaven that I have been saved from him 1”

And yet a great surge of love for the man be-
fore her, and of despair for her own fate in life,
passed through her soul as these cynical utter-
ances left her lips. She sat like one stricken
with a. sudden paralysis of the brain.

Meanwhile the oifiuers and their captive passed
on through the train.

As they entered the smoking—car, John J or-
dan, who still stood there smoking, looked at
them with eyes in which a certain triumph
lurked. His gaze was fixed on the face of
George Howard, as he crowded into the seat to
let him pass, with a cool stare that was full of
insult. But the prisoner never even saw him,
looking forward with eyes that beheld nothing
tangible.

As the officer who followed came up, Jordan
whis ered quickl in his ear:

“ hat is he. 11 your lives do not let him cs-
cape. He is a precious 

hrowing away his cigar, he sauntered cure-
lessly back through the cars. Claire Hamilton
hardly lifted her eyes to notice him, as he quiet-
ly took the vacant seat beside her.

But at one quick glance he had seen that she
was deathly pale, trembling and crouched as it'
all energy, all muscular force, had been stricken
from her.

“ You look ill,” be said, in a tone of commis-
eration. “ What has happened?”

“ Do not speak to me now l” she cried, with

nick, choking utterance, while her hand was up-

lifted as it to repel some unseen foe. “I cannot
bear one word now!”
With a slight curl of the li Jordan lapsed

into silence. Yet he could feel ythe trembling
of the slight form by his side, the agony that
was quivering in her soul.

CHAPTER XX.
CLEARING UP. >

THE organization of the mysterious band of
“ The Chosen," was wonderfully calculated to
defeat the ends of justice. The efforts of the
detective force. arrests of suspected parties, of—
fering of liberal rewards. all seemed ineifectual
in gaining any positive clew to the secret of this
strange and terrible gang of murderers.

A number of other parties were seized and
placed in the same prison with George Howard,
the city jail of Harrisburg.

The country was searched for and wide for the
two men who had Volunteered for the same duty
which Billy and Hans had sosuccessfully accom-
plished. ..

Their turning oi! from the line of the road,
and failure to report at the signal-station. natu—
rally directed suspicion against them, and every
effort was made for the discovery.

The deep bed of snow with which the country
was covered aided essentially in the search, and
their track was readily followed for several
miles aside from the road, ending in a small
hamlet called Princeville.

Here the few inhabitants were closely ques-

 

 

I

tioned, and it was soon learned that the two
suspected men had appeared there early in the
morning after the accident, and had engaged
the blacksmith of the place, who added to his
legitimate business the hiring out of a sleigh, to
drive them over to the nearest station on a
branch road running to Chamberslyurg.

The Claw was followed up to this latter town
and there utterly lost. The men had evidently
left by some early train, and it would he no easy
matter to tell just where, or in what direction
the had gone.

either ticket-takers nor ticket—sellers remem-
bered seeing any red-haired man answering to
the description giwn, and it becai: e. shrewdly
suspected that this auburn bl ail-cerering was a
disguise, and that the fugitives had changed
their appearance at Chanibersburg, before ven-
turing to leave the town.

Billy was made liberal use of during these
contingencies. He had been exceptionally fav-
ored in seeing various parties of the conspira-
tors, and his poweis of recognition were freely
called on to identify suspected parties.

And in the midst of this investigation a
strange document was handed in to the eflicers
of the Pennsylvania Road, which gave them, at
least, some food for thought.

It. appeared that the workingmen’s clubs of
the (‘lty had grown tired of being publicly classed
with an organization whose whole purpose
seemed murder and destruction.

It became evident that the villainous gang
who made murder and destructit n their modes
of intimidation, were in no way afilliated with
the Ameiican n orlzingmen. 'lhey seemed r di-
or to be a band which had manifested itsel in
such terrible ways as in the hanging of Joe
Blizzard and the shooting of his confederate in
crime. '

Whoever they were, and however organizdd,
it was plain that their [JUTPOSP was determined
hostility to the Pennsylvania Railroad, and to
all who gave it their so] y-mt, and a deadly de-
termination not to let their purposes be used as
a cloak for robbery or pecula tion.

Meanwhile such parties as had already been -
arrested on suspicion had all been released, with
the exception of George Howard and one or two
others, against whom there seemed some shreds
of evidence that would hold.

Two or three months had thus passed since the
date of the wrecked train, and the officers of the
law seemed no nearer a solution of the mystery
than at first. '

‘ George Howard had not yet been put on trail.
though it was expecth his case would be called
at the approaching term of court. ,,

Mr. John Jordan, who had been active in his
arrest, appeared to be acquainted with some
por-itivc evidence against him, and was like] to
be called by the CommonWealth as one of t eir
main witnesses.

Meanwhile he had become more and more at-
tentive to Claire Hamilton, and the rumor
was everywhere abroad that they were engaged
lovers. ,-

Mr. Hamilton’s injury proved to be severe
concussion of the brain. It was found in: '
his» to remove him from Altoona, whither he had
b‘e‘eu taken, and Claire remained therein care

 

 

 

 

 

32 V Billy, the Baggage Boy.

 

of him. In. this filial duty she received useful
aid from the assiduons attentions of Mr. Jordan,
and could not but feel deeply grateful for the
earnest kindness of this true friend, whose de-
voted attention she could not help comparing
with the deep professions, and false actions, of
him who had. come to her with a lie in his mouth
and a soul stained with the deepest crime.

Evidently the world had reason to make a
match of their own devising between Claire
Hamilton and Mr. John Jordan.

CHAPTER XXI.
BILLY’s BUDGET or NEWS.

“ THERE ain’t no use talkin’, pop. You’re
maybe a good band at shovelin’ in coal; but
when it comes to puttin’ on the valves, and slid-
in’ in the steam, and lcttin’ her git, it takesa
chap that’s been there—like me. ’Taiu’t every-
body as was born to be an engineer.”

Billy was seated on a large piece of coal,.in
the tender of the engine, facing his father, who,
withu countenance well begrimed with coal-
duat, leaned easily on his shovel, and looked
rather proudly at his braggart son.

“I‘IB’H‘ him, Jack,” he said, turning with a
laugh the engineer. “ It takes a con cock
to crow oud. To hear the boy you‘ thin he’d
been brung up on a diet of throttle-valves, and
Weaned on crank-pins."

Jacob Baggage had ,much im roved in ap-
pearance since We last saw him. 9 was Cleanly
shaved, and had an earnest, solid look about his
face, in strong contrast to his former expres
sion. His tones, too, were firm and decided.

 

v Oulynsiigh; tremble in the hand that rested

on the shovel told the story of the reformed in-
ebriate.

“For that,” responded the engineer, “ boys
learn to crow, nowadays, as soon as they learn
to walk. They’re like a chicken in that, they
cac le before they fairly know how to scratch.”
, “ hat’s all gay enough," said Billy, amusing
himself by throwing slivers of coal at the fire-
door of the engine. “But I haven’t been five
years on the road fur nothin’. And you know
it, Jack Blunt, for wasn’t it you that teached
me how to use them iron hanzlles? I dunno now
‘what you call them, but I bet I know what
they’re for."

“ You are sharp enough. Billy, I’ll admit
that,” re lied Jack, with asmile on his broad

r face. “, don’t know anybody, Jacob, that I'd
,sooner trust with my injine than this same boy;

’cept that he’s too thunderin’ venturesome. He’s
just the one, if he found a bridge down, that ’d
try to take a river at a fly. And you’d find him
coming into the stations an hour ahead of the

' time-table.”

“ And ain’t it allers better a mile too soon than
an inch too late?” responded Billy, from his
black diamond stool. “ That’s the Baggage mot~
to. Allers be ahead of time and you’ll never be

. left.”

“ S’pose you pass a station More the schedule

' time, and leave half the passengers cooling their

heels and blessing the road. How would that
look in reports to headquarters? askel Jack

Blunt, as he blewalong, shrill peel from the

steam whistle. His experienced eye had detect‘
ed proximity to a town yet unseen.

/“ What do you know about it, hey?"

“ I’d like to know myself how our smart
young colt would do then,” remarked Jacob,
with a laugh.

“ I’d advise them to Peru the motto,” respond-
ed the boy, coolly, “ to be allers ahead of time
and they’d allers be in time. I’d put out my
sign; time and the injinc don’t stopfor nobody.”

“ How many train-robbers have you spotted
lately?” asked Jack, sarcastically. “Gone sail-
ing round in ary trunk? Or wadin’ after red—
hearled reprobates, hey?"

“ That’s played out ” retorted Billy, with an
air of great disgust. ‘ l‘d guv a cow if they’d
let me slide when they want their robbers ’den-
tified. I ain‘t nobody’s fortygraph gallery.
Nor no rogues' directory neither.”

“ That’s all cause you ain’t spotted any," said
Jack. “ If you hit the mark once you’d be
proud as a turkey-cock.”

“ Not much,” returned Billy, decidedly. “I
ain't a bit overanxious that-a—way.”

“ Now don’t you be a—blowing, Billy boy,” re-
marked his father, fondly passin his grimy
hand over the lad‘s short hair. “ ou’ll he say-
ing next that me and Jack don’t know the
nutur’ of boys. Why, you rascally little chap,
there’s men a—living 'd be glad to be in your
boots, if you’d nail one of them cubs.”

“ You bet on that!” exclaimed Jack positive—
ly. “ Blame me if I wouldn’t like to he the fel-
ler myself l”

“ They’d be locked up.” returned Billy.
“ That’s what I’m a-lookin’ at. I s’pose there’s
folks that‘s got to come to it; but I don’t think
I’d eujOy turnin’ the key. And Billy got up and
stretched his limbs, as the train slowed up for
the nearing station. '

“How about your friend, George Howard,
then, that you got into the stone jug?’ asked
Jack, with his hand on the lever and his eye
bent keenly ahead.

“ He ain’t no friend of mine; and I didn‘t git
him into trouble neither,” replied Billy, as he
sprung from the slowing engine and run ahead
to the depot.

They stopped here to water, and it was full
five minutes before they got again under way.

Billyhad regained his seat on the lump of
coal, and Hans Breitman was doubled up on
the upturned blade of a shovel beside him.

But there was a new expreaion in our hero's
eyes, a look of conscious self-importance, or at
superior knowledge which had come to him
since he left the train. If he was bright enough

 

for a. couple more, so between them they struck
a. fair average in the matter of intelligence.

“ By the way,” asked Jack, after he had got
the engine once more under full headway,
“ don’t Howard’s case come up this week I"

“ I think so,” replied Jacob, dropping the
shovel, with which he had been vigorously
driving coal into the blazing fire under the
boilers. “ I heard yesterday that it would
start to-morrow."

“ Then you‘ll he wanted again, Billy."

“ Nein. I dinks' not,” responded Hans, lifting
up his fish~like eyes.

“ How’s that, Dutchy?” cried Jack, sharply.

 

for two howaver, Hans looked stupid enough.

 
     
 

 

    
  
  
   
  
  
     
   
  
   
  
     
 
  
   
 
   
    
 
  
   
 
   
   
   
 
   
   
   
    
 
  
   
   
  
   
    
  
  
    
  
 

_V e 4:01.. new”. .-. 1.

  

 

on; .A '

~ w t—fiuuisvaalm‘h. ..x.,,

 

 
   

Billy, the Baggage Boy.‘ 83

 

.; ..; Pilly,” returned Hans. “I knows nix,
:iuttin’, ’cept vot I beam from Pilly."

“ So it’s you, boy,” said Jacob, turning proud-
ly to his son. “ l thought I seen it in the shine
of your'eyes. You’ve got another pig by the
tail, eh!"

“ It’s more of a rabbit than a pig,”_replied
Billy, mo lestly. “ Hans don’t miss it much,
thuuvh. There won‘t be no trial.”

“. ow’s that? Is the case give up? Ain’t
there nothingr against the man?” asked Jack.

“Nein. ’Tain’t dat. Ask Pilly; he knows,”
returned Hons, scratching his head knowingly.

“ And what the thunder is it you know,
Billy?” asked Jack, testily. “ It’s as much
work getting a story out of you two boys as to

eta dead rat out of a well—and worth as much,
s’pose, when it’s got.”

“ Afore you cook your rabbit you’ve got to
catch it,” was Billy’s enigmatic re 1y.

“ Catch it!” cried Jacob. “ fiaven’t they
nabbed this one lon ago?”

“ Nabbin’s one 1: ing, and keepin’s another,"
retorted Billy. “ He’s cut stick; broke jail and
slid fur it. here’s not as much left of him as
an old boot for them to freeze onto. It’ll be a
high old trial, with nothin' in court but the two
lawyers to scratch themselves to pieces like Kil-
kenny cats.”

“ Where did you hear all this?” asked Jack,
in surprise.

“Back there, where we jist stopped. When
they fetched him in his grub this morning they
found”nothin’ but an empty cell ’cept one little
item.

“What was that?” ueried Jack.

“A door open, a adder ag’iu’ the jail wall,
and a rope made of a bed-blanket." ,

“ And der Howard gone,” broke in Hans.
“ Yust like mine gum-drops. Dey don’t stay in
der mouth mooch time.”

“ And don’t want a ladder to climb down a
feller’s throat with, hey, Hans?” cried Billy,
cheerily.

“ Not mooch. Pilly; you pet,” responded Jack,
with a broad grin.

“ Did you hear any more, Billy?‘7 asked Jack,
with t interest. “ Was he caught again!"

“ e ain’t the kind .that gits caught easy,”
replied Billy. “That kind of game they’d best
freeze onto while the ’ve got it.» I'll bet a bile.r
up la they don't-nail rge Howard in a ditch.”

here was a look of satisfaction upon Jack
Blunt’s face, as if he was greatly pleased with
this escape. ,

“There’s a high old time a—brewiu’, and if
there ain’t an earthquake ‘long the road afore a
week of Sundays. then I’m a blower.”

“ What is it? Let it out, and don’t be piping
forever to such an old tune."

“Folks ain’t been meetin’ and resolutin’ so
long fur just fun.” continued Billy, with the
gavity of an oracle. “ I don't believe there’ll

a quiet time if there’s another cut made in
wages. ’

“ I think there will be some kicking against
it," remarked Jack, with a snap of the e es.

“ It’s been gone and did then.” sat Billy.
-“ There’s a ten per center on the B. and 0., and
folks say that there’s everlastin’ thunder in the
air,

“ But we’ve got nothing to do with the Balti—
more line," returned Jack, a trifle relieved.

“ Don’t you swaller the half of that now. The
lightnin‘s goin’ to strike nearer home. "l‘ain’t a
cut in wages, though.”

“ What is it, then?”

“ A cut in men,” returned. the boy oracle.
“There’s orders out to double up on all the
Freights. To build up one train out of two, and
lay oil? half the men."

“ It’ll never be stood,”cricd Jack, with a pon-
derous oath, as he brought his fist down with
heav emphasis.

“ ow can we help star ding it?” asked Jacob.
“ Anyhow, it don’t touch us passenger hands.”

“ What touches one touches all!” exclaimed
Jack, excitedly. “ We’ve got to stand together
or tumble together: tha ’5 me.”

“And if a fellcr ma so [001 of hisself I’ve
got to make a fool of i: ,\ self :r- keep him com-
gany? That ain’t jist t. v Bagthai.‘ motto,” said

illy, oontemptuously.

CHAPTER XXII.
THE OLD AND rm: NEW.

IT wasarather sad sick-room, that of Mr.
Hamilton. For several months, now, he had
lain in his none too cheerful hotel apartment,
with its outlook upon a plexus of railroad
tracks, and within hearing of the muffled thun-
der of the Altoona work-shops. Half-way be-
tween death and life was this long vigil, and the
doctor, with all his hopeful visage in the pres—
ence of the patient, left the sick-room with a
dubious look in his clear eyes. v

Into this stage of feeling, Claire Hamilton was
falling. She dearly loved her father, and her
first painful excitement at his injury had now
become a settled, depression, which it took a
strong effortto hide from his inquiring em

During these months Mr. Jordan had a I
frequent and attentive visitor, relieving her
greatly from the hard strainfif nursing, and
earning her gratitude by the kind sympathy of
his attentions. .

She could not but contrast his behavior with
that of the man who had won her young heart’s
love, and had given her in iequital the great
grief which now oppressed her.

“ Let me see, daughter,” spoke the invalid
feebly, as he moved restless] in his bed. “ How
warm the sun is growing. s that a rose in the
vase onder?"

“ es, father,” replied Claire. quickly, bring-
ing the. vase to him. “ I cut it fresh this mom-
ing in the hotel garden.”

He lay silent fur a few minutes, following her
with his eyes as she hustled nervously about the
room. ‘

“ Claire!” he at length called.»

“ Yes, father,” turning half to him.

“ I am very sick, child. How sick perhaps
you do not realize. I do not wish to alarm you;
but you are all I have, and 1 cannot help reeling
some anxiety about your future.”

“ Do not think of that, dear papa,” she softly
answered, her eyes turned away.

“ When I am gone, Claire, on will have no
body but distant, relatives. I is not a question

 

of money, but you will need a protector: so , o

 

  

    

Billy. the Baggage Boy.

 

one to Whom you can cling, and who will save
you from the ard rubs of this cruel world.”

“ You are not going! 1 shall not let you go!”
she cried, suddenly turning and falling on her
knees by the hedSIde, while she clasped his head
in her loving arms. “ And as for a protector—”

“ Now hush, Claire," he interrupted. “Young
girls expect to get married in any case, whether
they have their fathers or not; and I certainly
do not wish my chili to be an old maid. But in
my present condition, dear, it becomes my duty
to speak plainly. Is there no one whom—”

She turned away with an impulsive move-
ment. There was a hard look in her eyes as if
the thought of what might have been was pres-
ent, like a ghost of the past, in her mind.

At this moment the door of the sick-room
opened, and Mr. Jordan entered. His nick
eves took in the scene t a glance, and dive tfor
an instant With a quos oning look on the face of
Claire. '

He then a lvanced with a soft step to the bed-
si-le and took Mr. Hamilton’s offered hand.

“ I have been away longer than I intended!"
he said. “ Are you better today, sir?"

“Worse, I fear,” said the invalid, with a. faint
smile. “ I don’t know what I should do with—
out two such attentive nurses as you and Claire.
You have been very kind, Mr. Jordan."

“ You would not have me let my fellow-nurse
weir herself out,” he replied, gayly. " You see
I can’t help myself. I am obliged to be atten-
tive, for both your sakes."

The invalid looked for a moment into the
speaker’s smiling face.

“ Come hers, Claire,” he said, feebly.

S'io advancel slowly, a conscious look upon
her expressiva features.

“ Is it entirely for t'ie old man's sake that you
are so attentive, Mr. J ordnni” asked the invalid,
with a meaning look. “Or is not your fellow-
nurse one main source of attraction?"

Mr. Jordan stole a quick look at Claire, who
stool beside him, but made no answer to this
significant queflon. Keen as were his eyes, he
failed to see all that was passing in her mind,
the struggle between the old anl the new. ba-
tween dead love and living gratitude, which
gave the strange expression to her face.

“I fear my child may need a protector soon,”
continued Mr. Hamilton. “If I but knew that
she would be happy and loved as I have loved
her, I could die content.”

A quick light shot from Mr. J ordan's eyes.

“ If 1—” he cried. “ But that is more than I
dare hope."

“ He who dare not wins not,” said the happy
invalid, turning to Claire. who stood quietly be-
side the bed, but with her face turned toward
the window adjoining. He took her hand in his.

“ You can make two happy at once, Claire,”
he said. in an appealing tone, “and leave my
heart at rest.”

It was a full minute before she responded to
his appeal. a lo )k of involuntary hardness corn-
inz into Mr. Jordan’s eyes as he stood waiting
her response. This was no hasty nor warm
lover. He preferred to let the father plead his

cause.

“ Whatever you wish. father.” she replied, at
length, her eyes turning with love to his face.

 

He quietly placed her passive hand in that of
the silent lover by her side.

“ Let this be your betrothed,” he said.

Mr. Jordan clasped his arm softly round her
waist, and drew the unresisting form to her.

“ ll? you but confirm the hope which your
father has given, dear Claire,” he whispered.
“If you will indeed be mine.”

He lifted her hand gallantly to his lips.

“ Nay, nay I” cried Mr. Hamilton, in a more
cheerful tone. “Don’t be kissing hands. That
is not the way we made love when I was oung.”

Blushing deeply Claire broke from t e arm
that encircled her and ran hastily from the
room.

“ After her,” exclaimed the father. “ A bird
that flies that way flies to be followed.”

Mr. Jordan was quick to take this hint, and
left the invalid with a very happy expression on
his face. This, however, was soon replaced by
a pale, exhausted look. He had much over-
tasked his strength.

Meanwhile the f0wler had followed his bird in
vain. She was newhere to be found.

1V0, more successful than the accepted suitor,
will follow Claire Hamilton too, in her flight
from the close air of the sick-room out into the
soft summer atmosphere.

Leaving the hotel, With no change of dress
save a hat and a light shawl, she walked rapidly
up the main avenue of the mountain town, a
flush upon her cheeks, and her mental excitement
shoviing itself in her rapid, nervous walk.

Leaving the main street she turned into a side
avenue, and passed for some distance through a.
lane of cottalges, fragrant with the scent of
flowers that b oomed in their front yards.

She had soon passed the built-up portion of the
town,.and found herself besides small stream
that flowed toward her through a quiet meadow.

Here she paused from her excited walk, resting
her hand on the limb of a low willow, and looking
down with troubled eyes into the plamd stream.

For five minutes she stood thus, rousing quick-
lv at length, as she heard a step behind her.
Half-turning, Claire drew slightly asule to let
this person pass. As she did so, she glanced
back over her shoulder.

It was with a violent start that she found her-
self gazing into the face of George Howard,
who had paused, With a quiet, but downcast
look, before her. v

“ Youl And here 1” she cried, im ulsively,
clinging to the branch for support “ thought
-—I heard you were—"

“ In prison,” be supplied her hesitating utter-
ance. “ I was to he tried for a crime which I
never committed; doomed, perhaps in advance.”

There was a look of Settled gloom on his fear
tures as he spoke.

“ But—you are here!” she exclaimed. “You
have not been tried ?"

“ I did not wait for the force,” be uietl re-
plied. “ I found a quicker mod! of re case rom
prison.”

“ You have escaped—yon have broken jail?"

“ That is what they call it,” he rcsmnde l.
“ innocence is not so sure of redress that it is
safe to await the action of legal justice.”

She looked at him incredulonclv. Evidently

- she did not credit his claim of innocence.

 
    

 

’9

  

...»  .<.

 

‘ me.

Billy, the Baggage Boy.

  

95

 

 

“ But what brings you here?” she. exclaimed.
with quick alarm, lonking hastily around. “ And
by way of the town, too! Fly, sir! You will
be captured! I would not have you undergo the
pain and disgrace of a trial and conviction.”

This last sentence was spoken half in apology
for her impulsive tone.

“I wished to see you,” he said, pleased at her
manner. “ I could not longer rest without see
ing you, whatever the danger. I cared not
v. hat the world might think, but could not live
u itbont a vindication in your eyes.”

He spoke rapidly, and m a tone of deep earn—
estness. Her clear eyes fixed themselves inquin
inal on his.

“ hope—I trust you are not guilty,” she re-
plied. ‘ [should he too glad to have you vindi-
cate yourself, and to’ learn how this sad error,
if error it is, arose.”

Mr. Howard wore a troubled look as she spoke.
There was a shade of incredulity in her tone, of
which she was not herself aware.

“ I have been belied,” he said. “ How, I can-
not explain. There are reasons—you shall know
them some day—soon perhaps. But now I am
not at liberty to speak.”

“ And did you risk coming here to tell me
this!” was her severe answer, though her eyes
looked wenrily around, in dread of possible dan-

er.

3 “ No, no!” he exclaimed. “ I came here to
threw myself on gour trust and generosity. To
appeal to your ol knowledge of and belief in
Deeper interests than my own are involved
in my Silence. Not even to you do I dare tell
all. But, Claire, you have trusted me before.
You will believe me now when I declare myself
the victim of circumstances.”

“ Yet innocence has no need to fly from jus-
tice," was her softened rejoinder.

“From justice, no. From law, yes. I have
loved you, Claire Hamilton. I love you yet
with the deepest feeling of my soul. I would not
dare stand before you and te 1 you this were my
soul tainted with crime.”

“ I doubted you," she replied, in an agitated
tone. “ I had cause. I hope, and cannot but
believe that you are truthful now."

‘f If I swearit on my love I should be perjured
ingegéi to take that falsely,” he fervently re-
JO n .

“ Speak not again of that Georg. e Howard ”
she replied, drawing her straight form erect be-
fore him. “ It is too late to recall the past.”

“Too late?"

“ Yes. I am betrothed to another. The past
is dead between us.” .

Her tone was low but resolute. H_lS startled
eyes seemed to read but slight comfort in her face.

“ Betrothedl Oh, Claire!”

“ To John Jordan.”

A strange look came into his face. He turned
awa with a slow but firm step.

“ t is too late indeed. Farewell, Claire. I
had hoped. but even huge is dead."

She stood clasping t e limb convulsiver as

her eyes followed hisretreatin form. Her lips

opened as if they would recall im, but no sound
came from them. , She watched him as hedisap—
peered in the direction of the town, her heart
torn by a dozen conflicting emotions.

At length, with a doe

sigh, she broke from
her constrained attitu e, and with downoast
eyes and thoughtful brow, slowly retraced lu‘r
footsteps into the town.

 

CHAPTER XXIII.
ALTOONA THREATENS.
“ THERE’S everlastin’ thunder broke loose
now, and no mistake,” said Billy. “ The news is
iiist’i'idick’lus. I never heered nothin’ so ridick’-
us. ,

The train was passing round the Horseshoe
bend on the m’ountains west of Altoona, having
just emerged from the tunnel which leads to the
startling but magnificent scenery of this won-
derful curve.

Our hero had left his usual station in the bag—
gage—car, and had made his way forward to the
engine, where be greeted his father, and Jack
Blunt, the engineer, with the show observa-
tion.

“Hello, midget,” cried Jack, jocularly.
“ What is it has give way? I don‘t see as the
safet waive says anything."

“ hat’s jist what’s the matter,” replied Billy.
“ There ain’t no safety—valve to let off the pub
lic steam, and so there weren’t nothin’ left but
an explosion. The b‘iler’s bu’sted into smither—
eens, that’s all.”

“ What’s all this about, Billy ?” asked his
father, severely. “ I‘d give something nice if
you wasn‘t so fond of making a monkey show of
yourself."

“ Think I’m blowin’ then, pop, do you?” was
Bill ’5 unmoved rejoinder.

“ dunno as you’re blowin’,” said his father,
satirically. “ But it’s never quiet weather long
after your nose shows itself.”

“ There’s thunder loose this time, anyhow
aBnfi reg’lar brimstony thunder, at that,” replied

I y.

“ What is it. Billy, boy? Let it out or get
out,” queried Jack. '

Billy seated himself on the side of the tender,
his feet hanging. as it seemed, over the awful
gorge on whose extreme edge the engine appear-
ed to hang.

“ In course ou’ve heered of the B. and O.
strike?” asked illy.

“ Sart’in. We haven’t been living up at the
North Pole, or nowheres where people knows
nothing,” said Jack.

“ Well, it’s got wuss, and migh . wuss. The
trains is stopped, right and left. 'I‘ 9 men won’t
work their-selves, and won‘t let n( body else
work. The canal boatmen are in the ring, and
there’s been a scorchin’ old riot in Baltimore.
There’s hot times now, you bet.”

“Is it so, sure shet, Billy? Or is this one of
your yarns?” asked his father, incredulously.

“ Sure! I raylher think so. Why, they call-
ed the home guards out, and there was some
shootin’. And there was jist the smartestchase
art/er the milingtary you ever heerd on.”

“ Thunder!” ejaculated Jack. “ Things is
Coming to a p’int, But that’s out of our dig-
gin’s. Pen nsy’s quiet all along the line "

“ Not much,” was Billy’s laconic rejoinder.

" Aha!” cried his father. “ lads news-
hag ain’t empty yit, Jack; When you see that

 

flash in Billy’s eye you can know there's some-

  

  

  

 

  
   
   
 

 

 

“a... my n, ; «2'11;inWaxy:We-twmnnrr>nzwmammmmWP1-m.

36 Billy, the Baggage 30y.

 

thing coming. Out with it, boy. What’s lose
on our road l”

“ Turpentine. and coal ile, and nitroglycer-
ine,” returned Billy. “ Everything that’ll blow
up and bu’st up. There’s fun out, high old fun,
undfit’s jist beginnin'. Keep yourveyes skinned
if yo don’t want to be ’stonished, wuss than
ever a bulky mule was with a pack of fire-
crackers tied to its tail.”

Billy had got up from his perilous position.
mri was dancing over the coal heup in a state of
great excitement. He seemed to enjoy the fun
in prospect. Ere the boy expected it the equal-
ly excited engineer had him by the collar and
was shaking him as if he would shake him out
of his coat.

“Blame your young skin, you’re enough to
give a. chap the brain-fever with your excruci-
ating long ways getting ’round Robin Hood’s
barn. Just promise to tell a straight story or
I’ll shake every tooth 10039 in dyour head."

“ That’s right. Jack,” sai Jacob Biggage
approvingly. “ That’s about the only way i
can straighten the quirks in his brain. Out with
it now, Billy, ’csuse Jack Blunt’s a hard one to
fool with.”

“ Yayes. I’m a~tr—tr-tryin’ to do it,” stam—
mered Billy, between the shakes. “ But g-good
gr-gracious, a teller can’t t—talk in an earth
quake.”

“Then out with it,” cried Jack, setting the
boy down. “And none of your roundabout
twistiflcations.”

Billy took advantage of his liberty to make a
flight to the rear end of the tender, where he
fierched himself, looking triumphantly back at

is toss.

“ None of that, Billy,” exclaimed his father,
angrily. “ If you run on that way, I’ll cut
Cyl'ou‘ofl! in my will with a shilling; blamed if I

on t. -'

“ And whereabouts will you git the shilling,
pop?” asked the uuterritled son." “'You’d best
begin to ave up.”

“ Coma come, Billy,” coaxed Jack. “ Let’s
hear it out, boy.” .

” Ain‘t I been tellin’ you fur a good fifteen

Lminutes?” replied Billy. “The Penney boys

has struck ag’in’ the doubling up; that’s the
news.” '

“ Hurrah!" exclaimed Jack,,in great excite-
ment. “I’m glad the boys has got so much
fight in them. 1’11: a striker, too, right from the
shoulder. Where did you get all this he ws?"

“ Picked it up from the conductor. It was
just telegraphed to the last station we passed.
‘l‘hey swaar they won’t let a freight train leave
i’ittshurg fur love or money.”

“ Who won’t?” asked the father.

“ The strikers. And that’s everybody and
the cook.”

“ I’m just glad to hear there’s so much back-
bone left in them,” replied Jack, slapping one
hand vi orously into the other.

“Well, I ain’t. then,” returned Billy, in a
very sharp and decided tone. “ I’m not the
chap to go back on the bridge that’s carried me.

_ over the creek. The Pennsy’s paid me- all it’s

promised, and ain’t axed more from me than it’s
aid fur. And Estes sure as m name’s Billy
‘rn goin’ to stic by the road. don’t kcer a

first if the very brakes and smoke-stacks strike;
Il’m irgniu’ to hang on while there’s a finger-nail
eft. ‘

With this very decided expression of opinion
Billy made his way back through the train,
which soon after drew up at Altoona. ,

Our young detective, with his usual uneasi-
ness, was off the train and taking a breather
up and down the long, flagged platform of the
station ere the train had quite come to a halt.

He was quickly attracted by what appeared
to be an unusual excitement in this center of
the Pennsylvania Railroad workshops. Crowds
of men were collected, gathered in knots here
and there, and excitedly discussing some ab~
sorbing topic of conversation.

As the train stopped these men gathered close-
ly round it. Particularly about the engine they
swarmed, eagerly talking. Billy pressed closely
to the skirts of this crowd, which seemed com-
posed of hundreds of excited individuals, their
arms wildly gesticulating, their voice loud and
even threatening, to all appearance a mob of un-
employel workmen.

“Where’s that sassy boy? If I don’t punch
his head, shoot mel" cried one fellow, angrily,
forcing his way out of the throng.

But Billy Baggage had no n tion of waiting
to have his head punched. Diving under at our
he came up quietly on the other side, and ran
down the track toward the rear end of the
train.

There he again crossed to the depot side. Just
here there were very few people, the crowd pre-
ferringsto pay its attentions to the engine.

But illy soon found something to attract his
attention. Four men were carrying a sort of
couch across the platform, on which lay a white—
haired old man, with very pale and thin face.

The boyiu an instant recognized his old friend,
Mr. Hamilton. Indeed, just behind him ap-
peared the graceful form of his daughter. Mr.

Jordan was carefully directing the motions of

the men.

Claire Hamilton’s eyes lighted up on seeing
the well-known face of the lad. She beckoned
him to her.

“ I‘m mighty glad to see,” he ejaculated, "that
Mr. Hamilton is goin’ to git home. I thought he
was ast movin’.”

“ e is a little better,” she replied. “The
doctor thinks it is safe to make the attempt.
He will be so much more comfortable and
easier in mind at home.” V

“ That’s sure enough,” responded Billy.
“There ain’t no place like home—’cept a door-
step in hot weather, or a snooze in a locomotive-
tender. And I s’pose there”: people that’d think
a feather-bed more comfo’table than a coal-

ile.”

Claire laughed at his idea of comfort. But a
serious expression came again into her face as
she looked at the crowd surrounding the em
glue.

“Do you think there is any danger?” she
asked. “There are such wild reports afloat.
Will those men stop the train from going? I am
half afraid.”

“Stop the trainl” responded Billy, with a
laugh of great amusement. “You mought as

 

n ell try to stop a runaway boss with a plece of

  

   
 
 
 

 

 

  
     
 
      

thread and a chalk buckle. We’re a-goin‘
' through, Miss Claire, and don’t you he a bit
 afeerd. They’ll try that on arter awhile, I
»_s’pose. But they ain’t got to that p’int yet.”

' Yet there was trouble in the boy’s eye as he

watched the difficult process of getting the sick
> man into the train, Where he was made comfort—
_, alnle as possible in a sleeping-car; his daughter
 and Mr. Jordan in careful attendance upon him.

And the lad‘s doubt appeared not without

cause when the conductors rape was pulled
without response in the moving of the train.
, This irate individual at once sprung from the
train and ran forward to the engine, using lan-
guage not very complimentary to the crowd
as he pushed his way roughly through them.

Billy followed very closely in his wake, com~
ing up to the engine immediately behind him.
The undecided mob had drawn back from this
vigorous movement of the conductor.

To the surprise of the letter he found the en-
gine deserted.

“ Where is Jack Blunt?” he cried, fiercely.

“Here!” responded the engineer. “I'm not
a—taking this engne through. I’m not a—goiu’
lack on the boys if it rots here on the
track. If you can pick anybody that wants to
run her out of this crowd I don’t care; but it
won’t be me.”

The conductor, nonplused by this defection,
tried persuasion on the sturdy striker, but quite
in vain.

“ Where is the fireman? Where is J aeob Bag-
gage?” he next asked.

. “ 0 hand! Allers on hand I.” replied that in-

: dividual, rolling up with a very unsteady gait.

“ I’m the last repersentertive of the Baggages,

that’s an old Mayflower fam’ly. If you want

, mevto pile in coal l’ll pile in coal till the old
machine bu’sts to kingdom come.”

With a lurch and a hioconah he brought up

standing against an unfortunate bystander,

 who was sent reeling headlong through the

,1hron .

,. “Vigil, mayn't I beshot if pop ain’t gone and
 got slewedl“ exclaimed Billy, in a tone of in-
‘ finite disgust. “They've been pouring whisky
_ into him, Mr. Perkins, and I wouldn’t trust him

, to fling a chunk of coal at a goose.”

“Hold up there, Billy, boy," ejaculated his
father; “'8 that your respeck? ’S that your
love’fur your poor old dad? Exposhing of him
afore all these gen'lemen i" r

“ What under Heaven is to be done?” queried
the despairing conductor. “ I will fire mysalf
if there's a man in the crowd will act as engi»
Deer.”

,, He waited, but there was no response, except
in the form of jeers from the more distant part
Of the mob.

/, j‘See here, boys,” cried Billy, indignantly,
“ this here injine’s got to go through. f there
ain‘t a man’ll do it, there’s a «boy’ll do it. I’m
your chap, Mr. Perkins. I’ll put her through,
~ , or send her kiting.” '

Billy sprung on the engine as he spoke and
gi‘asned the lever. .

A “ You I” ejaculated the conductor, looking at
_ him doubtfully. ’ « ,

« “He will blow you up, sure as shooting,”

, cried Jack Blunt, from the crowd.

 

" 1‘4": misc

 

 

 

 

 

 

Billy, the Baggage Boy.

 

3.7

“ You know ten times better than that, Jack
Blunt," retorted Billy. “’Cause I’m one of
your own 'prentices. There’s a sick man on this
train, and a gal that’s a friend of mine. I’m a-
goin’ to take them home if I’ve got to run her
through blood.”

The train began slowly to move under his
hand. Some of the throng seemed inclined to
spring: on the engine.

“ Take the shovel, Mr. Perkins,” cried Billy,
fiercely. “ Split the head of the first man that
gets on. These ain’t 110 times to stand ’bout
trifles.”

The mob apparently thought discretion the
better part of valor, and hung back at these
threatening words, and the fierce wielding of
the shovel by the conductor.

Their speed increased. In a minute or two
more they were gliding rapidly away, leaving
the threatening mob far in the rear. «

“ We’re all right now, Mr. Perkins,” exclaim-
ed Billy. “I’ll take her through if there’s a
mo‘o’at ever station.”

And take er through he did, desnite a loud—
talking gathering at Harrisburg, caving Mr.
Hamilton off at the station nearest his home,

«I and reaching Philadelphia on time.

CHAPTER XXIV.
ON THE EDGE on THE VODCANO.

THE first mutterings of the strike, which we
have just heard, soon spread and deepened into
a war which filled the whole country.

It was on the 19th of July, 1877, that the r
events described in our last chapter occurred,
On the evening of the same day, General Latte,
then in Philadelphia, was telegraphed coucem—
ing the stoppage of the freight trains, and of
the determination of the strikers to prevent their
running. i

He immediately went west, making some inef—
fectual efforts to disperse the mob, and finally,
on the evening of the 20th, telegraphed to Gen-
eral Brinton, at Philadelphia, for additional
troops, being satisfied that there was no depen»
deuce to be placed on the Pittsburg militia.

Billy went west again on the 20th, after suc-

Nssfully bringing in his train on the previous

da .
it was an exciting scene in which our friend
found himself, after leaving the train in Pitts-
burg and making his way through the streets,
ad 'oining the railroad.
ans Breitman accomranied him in this
rather difficult walk, for these narrow streets

' were almost choked up with groups and memes

of men, who seemed to have worked themselves
into a state of intense excitement. '
Threats against the railroad were freely in-
dulged in; and hrawny-armed, rough-faced,
loud-voiced demagogues did their best to stir up
the passions of the mob by the most inflamma-
tory speeches. ’
Billy, an ea ger adherent of the road, had hard
work to keep his temper at them haianguee, and

to imitate the phlegmati‘c docillty of his com—

amen.
p “ See here, Hans!” he ejaculated, “ I ain’t a-
goin’ to stand by, and let the road he kicked to '
death by these Jackasses.” ' _

“Yust you keeps mum," Hans stohdly an. -

 

     

  

  
   
   
   
  
    
  
   
  
 
 
    
  
   
    
 
  
  
    
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
   
  
  
  
   
  
   
  
   
   
  
  
  
  

88 Billy, the Baggage Boy.

 

swered. “ Afore much, somebody’ll pe plugging
your head for a vool. An’ that won’t pe so
nice, not much."

“ They can hear me, if it‘ll do them any good,”
returned Billy. “ I’m fur the Penney, right or
wrong, and I don’t kcer a brass farthin‘ who
knows it.” ,

“Shut your tinder-box, boy, ’ cried a burly,
leathern-aproned man near by. “ What brings
babies like you, blustering among men?”

“Now don’t you be buying me for a baby,”
was Billy’s vigorous ansvver. “’Cause why, I
don’t think you’d find it easy to rock me in your
cradle.”

“ Hear the young sprig!” cried the man with
a hoarse laugh. “ What shall I do, boys? Wrap
him in my apron and give him a dip in the
Allegheny?”

, “Best toss him on your shoulder, Jake, and
bu no some of the young conceit out of him,”
replied a sharp-eyed comrade.

“ Come pack, Pillyl” warned Hans, pulling at
his' comrade’s coat.

“Not if I know myself,” returned Billy.
“S'pme'lcare fur this old horseshoe cobbler?
I ain’t that kind of a hairpin."

Tnere wasa general laugh at this, and the
blacksmith, with an angry exclamation, at-
tempted to lay hold of his saucy young oppo—
nent. .

Big as he was, he had not fully calculated
the capibilities of a boy like our hero. Instead
of making an elfort to escape, Billy plunged
he idforemost between the legs of the giant.
Unfortunately for the latter, he was bending
forward at the moment. The consequence was
he In den headlong tumble to the ground. his
arms and legs spread out, spread-eagle fashion.

Before he couli regain his scattered wits,
Billy had sprung up and danced an impromptu
jigon his broad shoulders.» As the fallen man
began to heave upward, with many a curse and
groan, Bill shot nimbl y through the mass, call
us; out to ans:

“ Come ahead, Dutchv. ’Tain’t healthy there.
I wouldn’t stay, if I was you, till that rusty old
hammer rattler gits on his pins ag’in.”

The crowd laughed moi—humire'ily, as it
opened to let the boys through. Tnere was
evidently little sympathy for the fallen cham~
pion. .

In a little while more our brace of young
friends came out of the contractel streets unto
the wide space occupied by the numerous rail-
road-tracks.

Here lay hundreds of baggage-cars, stretching
in long' trains over seemineg miles of .track.
Attached to them were numerous engines, with
drawn fires. mounted guard over by groups of
men of a rlillerent caliber from those whom the
boys had encountered in the streets.

Those had been idlers; workingmen whose
day’s labor was done, Storekeeper-s. women, and
a decided sprinkling of boys—the olla podrirla
of the streets of a manufacturing town. These
were men of one profession, and with a common
purpose in the lines of their resolute faces. They
were the railroad men, the strikers, who had de—
clared that no trains should moveuntil their
grievances were righted. and who wére quietly,

at effectually keeping their word.

 

“ 1f this ain‘t fun. I dunno what fun is,” said
Billy, with little thought in his young soul of
what was in the near future. “ Snre’s you live,
there’s Jack Blunt ’mong them strikers. ’Spect-
ed to find him thar, though, arter yisterrlay.”

‘ An’ dere’s old gum-drops, what I calls him,"
remarked Hans, pointing in another direction.

“ Harry Bodkin, by guml" ejaculated Billy.
“ Come away, Hans. I’m afeard I‘ll git sassy it
I go talkin’ with these men.”

“ You not much like him now?" asked Hans,
as they turned in another direction.

“Never did," replied Billy. “ I’ve been du—
berons of him fur a good while now. When I
got carried off in that trunk, I thought Harry
Bodkin helped the robbers.”

Hans said nothing, but appeared to keep up a
wonderful amount of thinking. They had not
got much further ere Billy grasped his compan-
ion nervously by,the shoulder.

“ Hold your horses Dutchyl" he cried, “ and.
guv a teller time to breathe. “ Jist use your

pers to advantage now.”

“ Don’t see nix,” returned Hans, “ but smoke,
and cars. and peebles.”

“ It’s Pop Baggage, or I don‘t know a butter—
fly from a hornet! And I bet he‘s got a load of
whisky aboard that’d freight the biggest of them
cars till the axles squealed.”

Hans looked round to see advancing toward
them, by a path that seemed twice as wide as it
was long, the familiar form of Jacob Baggn e.

“ Now look a—here, pop,” exclaimed Bi ly,
walking resolutely up to his father, “ what I’m
wantin to know is if you‘re a ith them strik-
ere?"

“ Wish I only knowed, dash-“l if I don’t.”
mumbled the inebriated mun. “ S'pose that’s
what I’m here for. But ’d like to" know.”

“ It's only rum then. it ain‘t dishonor to the
Baggage fam‘ly,” said Billy, in a tone of relief.
“ I’d like you to ’splain next what size of a
whisky barrel you’ve be=n bathin’ in?“

“ In the old Moune—Monuegehaley,” muttered

Jacob.

“I thought so. It’s the Monongehaley River
that runs past this town. And that’s what they
call the whisky arter. I knowed it weren't
nothin’ less than a souse that got him so sweatin’
full. File right, pop. Me and Dutchy‘s goin’
to march you off the field, like so many Pitts-
burg millinztary, that allers marches the wrong
way about.”

“ You go ter grass,” hicooughed Jacob. “ I’ve
got this car ter tend, an’ I’m goin’ ter tend it
till I die—or ’splode." -

“ I wouldn't keer to be too class by if you ex-
«ploded jist now,” said his dutint awn. “Come
on. pop. You‘ve got to have this whiskv sweated
out of you, and j’ine the temperance s’ciety
ng’in. It’s the railroaders made you drunk, and
I’m goin‘ to fetch you back to your sober senses
ag’in. or melt a-tryin’.”

It was no light task the two boys had under-
taken, however. Jacob was in a glorious trim
for building worm fence; but marvelously unfit
for describing straight lines; and just as per.
verse as Paddy’s pix, that could only he got in
one direction by making believe to drive it in
the op osite. .

By t etime then that Billy had got his precious

 

 

w“.

. -Mznu «sonata. , .

 

 

 

Billy. the Baggage Boy. 89

 

parenttobed in a small Pittsburg hotel they
had traveled at least three times the requisite
distance, and exhausted an amount of patience
sufficient-to build a Very imposing monument
to this useful virtue.

 

CHAPTER XXV.
A RIOT TO ORDER.

“ WISH this hit of work were only put
through," remarked Billy, as he and Hans
walked leisurely throu h the Pittsburg streets
on the next day. “ here’s a lady friend of
mine ‘hout to be spliced, and I’ve got an inver—
tation to the fun. But there ain’t no slidin’
now.”

“ What’s spliced?" asked Hans. curiously.

“Why, tied up Without ropes; jist tumbled
in love and tryin’ to git cured of it, you know.
gnd‘yl’m 'afeard she’ll git cured mighty sud-

en.

“Date all French, Pilly. I don’t know nix
Iwhat you means,” answered the perplexed Dutch

0 .
gWhy, married, that’s what,” said Billy, tes-
tily, “and you don’t know no more English
than a beetle. The lady I took on from Altoona,
with he? sick dad. Miss Claire, I mean. Well,
she’s goin’ to be spliced next Mondaytothat
queer chap, Jordan. ’

“ So quick as dat, Filly?”

“ Yes. Mr. Hamilton’s duberous he’s goin’
to pe out-—die, you know. He wants the wed-
din’ xed sure afore there’s a funeral.”

“ Ohl yaw. I see now,” remarked Hans, with
an air of intense satisfaction. “Der lady’s to
pe married, and den he’s to go dead. Den dere

,ll pea funeral. Yaw, dat’s goot,” and Hans

laughed as if greatly amused.

“ It‘s a thunderin’ good joke,” replied Billy,
in disgust. “OnlyI don’t jist see where the
funn p’int comes in.”

“ ’ ain’t everypoty can,” returned Hans, still

, laughing.

Billy subsided into contemptuous silence, and
led the way from the quiet streets in which they
had been walking toward the center of exone-
ment. It was not many minutes before they
found themselves in the Vicinity of the raili'0ud
de'Bot, and in the heart of a gathering mob.

. be boys maneuvered for a good ition, and
in doing so found themselves on t eedge of a
crowd in which loud talk was going onM

A tall. broad-shouldered fellow seemed the
principal orator here. He had his back to the
boys, but Billy was strongly attracted by some-
thing familiar in his figure and dress.

“ I don't lieer what man it is,” he was ener-
getically saying; “ I don’t keer if he dings the
hammer or the file. if he’s at home at a switch
or 'in a rolling-mill. It‘s every man of you
workingmen that’s to be trumped down by this
bloody railroad monopoly. and to be shot down
where you won’t be put down. But I’ve a no-
tion that you’re not the men to stand it.”

The burly speaker, at this point in his oration,
turned round, so as to face the other portion of
his audience. Billy caught one quick glimpse
of his features, and griped the Dutch boy’s
arm with a force that made him wince with

pain,

 

“Hush, Hans! Don’t sa 9. word,” Billy
earnestly whispered. “ If ain’t hooked the
biggest sh out, then sell me.”

“ What kind of fish, Filly? I see nix fish, no.
how.” ‘

“ It's a cross ’twixt a whale and a shark,” re-
plied Billy. “Hold still, boy. 1 want to see
that other chap closer.”

Working his way through the crowd, our
hero got within short eyesight of the street
orator, who was just then indulging in some
vehement opinions concerning monopolies in
general, and the Pennsylvania Railroad in par-
ticular.

Wth Billy returned again to his waiting
friend there was a very significant grin upon his
expressive face.

" They’re nailed; sure as shootin’l” he ejacu-
lated. “If we ain’t in clover to-day, then
there weren’t never a bee sucked honey. Keep
your eyes skinned, Hans. We must watch
them two men sharper than ever a hawk watch-
ed a stray chicken.” '

“Dem men! Which? Der speakers?”

“ Just so. Them’s them.”

“ But dem’s who? Dan’s what?”

“ Hallo! old stupid. Don’t take yit, hey?
Why, the Rights~of Men chaps. The murdenn’
crew that hung Joe Blizzard, and flun the
train over at the bridge. That tall ouesbig
Hughey that helped steal the trunk. T’other
was the red-headed chap we follered through
the snow. I know the pair of them; and there's
a pile of money on their heads for the tellers
that nabs them.”

It was not long before the orators left their
hearers. They did not appear to be acting
in concert, yet Billy observed that they kept
within sight of each other, and that they
stopped at each separate group of men toin—
dulge in inflammatory orations.

“ If they split, Hans,” said Billy, “ 1’] take
big Hughey for my game. You kin spot t’other
chap. And mind your eye, boy; fur if you let
him fling you I’m a-goin’ to comb your hair,
lively.” -

The two men thus followed seemed to have a
very definite object in view. This was to arouse
the passions of ti o mob, and to prepare the way
for uvioleut demonstration against the road
and the expected military force.

This quiet pursuit of the boys had continued
for about half a mile when our quickwitted

oung friend made another startling discovery.

e continued for some distance further without
saying anything, then remarked in a cautious
tone to Hans:

“Fling your eye over your left shoulder,
Dntchey. back to the corner of the big ware—
house. See if you don’t spy a tall stoutish
chap? He‘sa gem-looking feller, with a mus-
tache, and striped legsto his pants. Don't let
him see you lookin’.”

“ Yaw,” said Hans. “ He’s dere."

“ The fun’s gettin’ deeper, then,” replied Billy.
“ That’s the 'coon that bu’sted jail. That’s George
Howard. What the thunder he wants trailin’
thesp Commonistikers. gits me.”

“ How you know datl” asked Hans.

“Iseen him. Been watchin’ him these ten
minutes, through the back of my head."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Billy, the Baggage Boy.

 

“ Neinl Neinl” cried the Dutch boy, in vigor-
ous dissent. “ Dat’s all big nonsense. How you
see through your head, hey i”

“ If I told you how to do it, Dutchy, you’d be
as smart as me; and I guess you’re smart enough
now,” replied Billy, gravely. “ He’s arter them,
there’s no rubbin’ that out, And if it ain’t a
queer joke I’ll guv in. Set a rogue to watch a
rogue, they say. Keep your eye on him, Hans.
I‘m afeard he’ll know me.”

“ Ho w’s dot, hey?" queried Hans. “ Keel) my
9 e on dat man in front, an' on dat man behint.

ow dot’s auudder big nonsense. Ain’t got nix
eyes in back of my head.”

“ Look round, now and then,” explained Billy.
I’d guv a cow to know what Howard was arter.
One of Big Hiighey’s partners was hung, and
t’other shot. Maybe Hughey’s goin’ to be ven-
tilated. Wish I had three pair of eyes now.”

As they proceeded down the line of the rai1~
real the crowd rapidly increased. It was very
evident that the railroad men formed the small-
est portion of it. It was composed chiefly of un-
employed workman, and of men who had finish-
ed their Saturday’s work, and joined the mob on
their way home.

They seemed hot and bitter against the rail-
road authorities, and formed very inflammable
material for the lire-brand orations of Hughey
ani his associate, and of other similar demi—
gogues who were actively engaged in other pirts
of the excited mass. ,

It 103de very much as if a concerted effort
1was being made to stir them up to deeds of .vio-

ence.

Much was being saiil about the troops, and
fierce threats uttered against them. Billy hai
seen no troops, and ventured to ask what they
meant.

“ The Philadelphia militia," answered the m In
asked. “ They have been inat the Union Depot
this hour. I hear they are marching down Lib-
erty street.”

He had hardly spoken before the head of the
column appears i, precs'led by the sheriff’s passe
behind whom the gleam of. muskets was visible.

It was a dangerous march for these few hun-
dreis of untried men. The wide space of the
railroad-tracks, the 1113' )inin : streets, the steep
hills th it overlooked the mm, were alike filled
with a dense mass of man, wh )se belligerent
disposition was shown in jaers and defiance of
the troops, and an obstinate refusal to move

r when ordered.

Billy had forced himself through the very
heart of this mass, and was now within arm"-
leugth of Hughey, who had in some mysterious
manner become possessed of a musket. which he
brandishad above his head as he called upon the
mob to resist.

The troops now flied out upon the track at
Twenty-eighth street, forcing the mob back un.

.til two tracks Were clearei.

General Brinton, in command of the troops,
finding it impossible to force his way further,
now ordered his men to “ charge bayonets.”

This was the spark that set fire to the inflam-

mable tempers of the people. Big Hughey’s

musket, which he was roughly handling, went
off in the air. As if this were a signal a shower
of stones was instantly rained upon the troops,

 

followed by several pistol-shots. A number of
the militia were seen to fall.

Big Hughey, with reloaded musket, new
stationed himself in the corner of a side alley,
from which he fired point-blank at the troops,
loudly urging the men surrounding to clean
them out.

“ Kill every mother’s son of the bounds," he
yelled. “ We’ll show them the kind of metal
there is in Pittsburg.”

At that instant there was the sharp crack of a
musket in reply. The exposed man clapped his
hand suddenl to his breast, and tottered on the
stone to whic he had leaped.

“ I’ve got it! I’ve got it hard! Revenge me,
boys,” he cried, as he fell heavily backward.

_A dozen arms were outstretched to receive

1m.

“ Right through the breast," exclaimed Billy,
as he saw the blood oozing through the wound-
ed man’s shirt. “ Poor fellow! Where shall
we take you?"

“ Take me where I can be doctored," re-
plied Hughey, lying limp in the hands of his
sup orters.

T e firing had ceased. The troops held their
ground. The scattered shreds of the mob were
slowly returning.

The man who held Hughe bore him slowly
down the alley, and to a rug-store near by,
where his wound was examined and dressed.

“ Poor devil! I am afraid he has got his last
sickness,” said the doctor, on leaving the room.
“ The ball seems to have touched the lungs.
Get him quickly to his home, men. Make him
comfortable as you can.”

They obeyed, receiving low-spoken directions
from the wounded man. It was a small inn,
not far away, to which they carried him. One
of the most assiduous of his followers was our
f riend Billy, who was bent on tracing his quarry
homo.

Hans had long since disappeared, as_ Billy sup-
Eosed, on the track of the second agitator who

ad been delegated to his watchful care.

“ And as two boys can’t well go three ways at
once, I s’pose George Howard’s clean guv us the
sli ,” thought Billy, as he turned away.

hat was his surprise, on looking round, to
see near him the person just then in his thoughts,
closely surveying the house to which big Hughey
had been taken.

“ Aha! ‘ The Chosen’ is in the field again,”
surmised Billy. “Anyhow, Hughey is past be-
ing ventilated by him, that‘s some comfort.”

 

CHAPTER XXVI.
THE ASSAULT ON THE ROUND-HOUSE.

THE night that followed these stirring scenes
was one of sleeplessness to all parties concerned,
andol‘ incessant alarm and excitement.

The Philadelphia tr00ps had retired from their
exposed 'position to the railroad round-house,
placing sentries to guard the adJomIng offices.

So the night went through, the harassed so].
diers scarcely getting ‘a Wink of sleep, and al~
most destitute of provxsions.

The first hours of that eventful Sunday found
both parties on the alert, the infuriated mob
closely besieging the round-house, and quite

 

and...“

..

 

 

 

 

 

 

Billy. the Baggage Boy.

41

 

preventing the entry of provisions or aid from
without. _

As for Billy With whose share in the business
we are more particularly concerned, he was on
the field of battle long before daylight, refreshed
by a sound night’s sleep and a hearty breakfast.

He met Hans near the Union depot, and his
first demand was:

“Got your man holed, Dutchy? You know
the rations I tpromised you if you let him slide.”
“ Which o der mans?” asked Hans, backin

from his energetic friend. “Dere was two
had ter see. One backwart and one forewart."

“ And I bet a cow’s horn you didn’t see
neither." ‘

“Nein,” returned Hans, with vigorous ges—
ticulation. “ While I was looking for der one,
der t’other went. An’ while I was looking for
der t’other, der one went. An’ den I looked fer
der both, and dere weren’t none. An’ den der
crowd corned in, and der shooting]; you knows.”

“ Oh, yes! I know,” responded i ly, with su-
preme contempt. “ I know the kind of a ‘coon
you are. You’d like me to have three pair of
eyes, and two pair of legs. I promised to comb
your hair, Hans Breitman."

“ Yust you keeps away, dat’s all,” cried Hans,
backing belligerently.

“ Look‘ at the little fightinfircockl” laughed
Billy, in great amusement. “ shouldn’t won~
der if he would be game fur around or two.
But ’tain‘t wu‘th while scratching a feller’s nose
’cause nature ain’t put no brains into his head.
’Tain’t his fault, I s’pose. Come on, Hans, I
won’t hurt you."

Hans obeyed this invitation verfi gingerly,
keeping a good arm’s-length from illy. This
peace-offering seemed too sudden to betrust-
worthy.

“Got two of them holed myself,” continued
Billy. “George Howardand big Hughey. Like-
ly we‘ll find the other speechifymg to the mob.”

They were soon in the heart of the mob, work-
ing their way forward as only two boys can,
darting under arms and legs in a way that dis~
turbed the equilibrium of more than one indi-
vidual, until their pathway was paved thick
with the curses and threats of the jostled citi-
zens.

Little cared our youngstective for all this,
as he made his way, with us close at his heels,
to the Vicinity of the scene of the sie e, the
threatened round—house rising dark and smart-
ed-looking in front, the dense masses of the
swaying mob filling all the surrounding space.

At this moment the crowd around the boys
was disturbed and forced back by the onward
surging of another portion of the mass, There
seemed to be something heavy in their midst,
which they were dragging onward to the front.

In a few minutes more they opened and re-
vealed the ob'ect to be a twelve-pound cannon
Which they ad placed less than a hundre
yards from the round-house. and trained it di-
rectly upon that devoted building. At this
juncture the quiet-seeming edifice awakened, in
a demand upon the crowd surrounding the gun
to disperse.

On their defiant refusal to do so a VOlJPV~
belched forth from the clerk wells of the fort-like.

’ building. Its effect was terrible. A chorus of

 

screams and cries arose and when the smoke
had blown aside It was found that no less than
eleven of the besiegers had fallen, dead or
wounded.

At this dreadful punishment the Others hastily
fled back, not venturing to remove the victims
of the fire until they had gained permission of
the military to do so.

“This is hot, Hans,” said Billy, cautiously.
“ S’pose we drop back a bit. ’Taiu’t our fight,
you know, and there‘s not a bit of use in us stop-
piifiig stray bullets:”

ans appeared to think the advice as choice a

. bit of common sense as he had ever heard from

Billy’s lips, and they quickly retired from the
almost deserted, exposed spot which they had
occupied.

They were now in the midst of the men behind
the gun. A daring fellow was just advancing,
with the hope of being able to discharge it before
being seen.

He reckoned ill on the vigilance of the sol-
diers, however. he night was light enough to
render him plainly visible, and there came a
sharp rifle report from the round—house, just as
he was about. to lay his hand on the gun.

With a deep groan of pain the baffled volun-
teer fell prostrate.

A consnlcrable time elapsed before any one
ventured to repeat this perilous experiment.
The body of the fallen man lay there, quite in-
ert, and, to all appearance, lifeless, in dread
warning to any further such daring attempt.

Finally, from out of the fuming mass. on—
other started forward, creeping so that his form
was barely visible on the shadowy surface of
the groun .

He reached the gun apparently unobserved,
and with foolhardy daring raised himself ere ct,
swinging his cap defiantly in the air. This
proved a dangerous defiance. Arifleshot crack-
ed again from the gloom-enveloped round-house,
and with a cry of pain the fellow turned and ran
hastily hack, the arm which had waved the cap
haugin helplessly by his side. He had got a
rifle-bu let through the exposed arm.

“Well, I wouldn’t buy that gun for the price
of old bones, if I had to take it away rom
there," remarked Billy, in a soliloquy.

The crowd seemed largely of the same opinion,
forahalf—hour passed without another volun-

r.

The da seemed now not far from its dawn-
ing. A im line of light marked the far eastern
sky, and the shadows of the night began to grow
less dense. _

At this juncture the babble of talk, orations,
and threats,wh1ch had swelled to a hubbuh in the
crowd, was broken into by the tones of a
keen_,loud-speaking voice, that seemed at once
familiar to our young friend, Billy.

“‘Is there not a man among you,” it said,
“ that dare fire that gun? Half of you are old
soldiers, and not the men to let ahandful of
boys overawe you. If you can’t do it, then let
ahundred of you rally to the gun. You can
give them iron balls for their leaden bullets.”

“ By gum, Hans," whispered Billy, “ there‘s
your man ag’in. There’s the Commcnistikor.”

He was right. It was that passionate dema»
vogue, again blowing up the embers of the fire

 

 

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he had kindled. But the assailants were not so
easily to be put into the traces.

“ That’s good preaching,” cried one, con-
temptuously. “ Now let’s see your practice.
You’ve been blowin’ these two days now. his
all very well for us to pull your chestnuts from
the fire. Let’s see you fire the gun.”

“I never yet asked a man to do what I was
afraid to do myself,” exclaimed the orator, in u
passmn. “ I will fire the gun, or die trying.”

He was as good as his word. Not attempting
to creep, as the last man bud done. he sprung
boldly forward, and in a minute-stood beside the
gun. a small, but erect and defiant figure.

His hand was on the lanyard of the gun. The
lockers-on held their breath in the deepest sus-
pense. For that one moment their very hearts
were stilled in the intensity of nervous excite-
ment. . '

Then again came the sharp report of the rifle.
But this time the aim had been less true. The
man stood unhurt.

There was a new excitement for the crowd.
Simultaneously with the shot a second figure
broke from the front of the dense mass of people
and ran hastily forward.

To his utter surprise Billy recognized the well—
known figure of George Howard.

“ Well, if this don’t heat gambling!" he mutr
tcred, between his teeth. “Is he goin‘ to help
the other fire the gun? Is all "The Chosen’ in
the ring ag’in' the soldiers?”

But Howard’s object appeared to he (lier ent.

“ Don’t fire!” he exclaimed. waving his hand
toward the round-house. “ This man is my
prisoner. I arrest him on the charge of murder!
The law must deal with him!” _

"Traitor!" was hissed from between the set
lips of the Communist. as he seemed to be fum-
bling in his breast for a weapon.

But the warning to the soldiers came too
late. Again from the round-house darted a
gleam of flame, again came the sharp report of
a rifle. He turned half-round, and then fell
prostrate on his face, with both arms extended
above his head.

“ Deadl” came earnestly from Howard’s lips.
“ Hehas cheated the gallows!"

CHAPTER XXVII.
ran msrnar or Tan “0110an.”

AT this startlanr and tragic termination of
the attempt to arrest the would-be gunner, a
huzh of wonder fell upon the crowd. All was
still in the direction of the round‘house. The
soldiers had evidently caught Howard‘s words,
or the meaning of his daring action, and for‘
bare to fire.

Howard had leaned for a moment over the
form of the fallen man, as if to satisfy himself
th it he was indeed dead. But Billy, who was in
a good position for observation. noticed that

when he removed his hand from the breast of'

the slain man it contained some small object.

George Howard walked deliberately hack to
the crowd, as if equally heedless of possible bul-
lets fro n the soldiery, and of the angry lo! ks
and threitsning words which were beginning to
prevail in tie throng.

Howard seemed to appreciate the danger in
which he stood, and the wolf-like bloodthirsti-

l

 

Billy, the Baggage Boy.

 

I
mess of an infuriated mob. He stopped stock-
still, and coolly surveyed the threatening faces
for a moment.

“ Do you know who that man was that lies
(lead back yonder?” he asked.

I “ No. (3 is one of us,” came from various
ips.

“ You are honest men, I hope?"

“We would like to see the man who dares
say we are not," responded a brown-faced old
man. -

“ If you are. then why do you claim friend-
ship for murderers? That man is a fu itive from
justice and the law. He is responsibe for the
deaths of at least two men, and the injury of
many others. It was he who cut the bridge
near Lewismwn last winter, and wrecked an
Express train. I don’t know how many more
murders he has done. Is this the man you claim
for a friend?"

“No, no!" cried the men, with a sudden re-
vulsion of sentiment. “ We have nothing to do
with murderers."

“Then I am an orl'lcerof the law, and that
man has only escaped the penalty of his crimes.
Of course you do not own such nSSociatcs.”

Howard walked resolutely forward, and the
crowd respectfully made way for him, their dis-
trust removed by his hold bearing and his shrewd
workin on their feelings as honest working-
men. hey remembered that the dead man had
been a stranger to them all, and a sinister-look-
ing stranger at that.

“ If that ain’t a cute dodge, then I don‘t know
beans,” said Billy, in an aside to Hans. “ But I
don’t h‘licve it’s all gospel as George Howard
preaches; I’m a‘goin’ to foller him and see
where he fetches up. 'Twixt me and you, Hails,
I dunno quite what to make of him."

With some effort the two boys extricated
themselves from the thick of the throng, and
entered the less densely-packed mass through
Which Howard was now slowly threading hts

way.

At this moment the attention of then all was
attracted by a loud, excited outcry from the
people. A quick surge forward carried our
friends with it desgite themselves Looking
eagerly forward in t edirection of this move-
ment they saw a lurid glare tinging the mists of
the early morn with a blood-red gleam. The
surge of the throng carried them to the end of
the street which they had just entered. Gazing
forward an alarming spectacle met their eyes.

The fierce riotch had set fire to the long lines
of freitzlitcars which filled the tracks of this
part of the read, and the flames were already
ascending in long wreaths into the air.

“It‘s gittin’ hot there. Hans. It’s gittin’
blazin’ hot,” ejaculated Billy. “ I’m afeard our
friends is goin‘ to git their whiskers scorched if
they don’t make tracks mighty sudden— But
where’s George, Howard?”

There was no George Howard in sight. He
had become separated from them in the move-
ment of the crowd.

“No matter. I know where to lay my finger
on him when I want him," said Billy, phil-
osophically. “And I'm kinder anxious to see

this out.”
“ Yaw. I dinks so, too,” remarked Hans.

 

 

 

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Billy, the Baggage Boy. 43

There was evidently some movement in pro-
paration among the soldiers. Billy maneuvered
for a better position, and was almost in front of
the burning building, when the gates suddenly
opened, and the head of theline of troops march-
ed out.

Leaving the scene of destruction on the rail-
road. where train after train of ours was burst-
ing into flames, and the spirit of plunder was
succeeding to the thirst for indiscriminate de-
struction, Billy led the way rapidly back into
the town.

“ Big Hughey’s our game now, Hans.” he
said. “And I wouldn’t be afeard to bet a brass
dollar that we’ll find George Howard somewhere
’bout the same shanty.”

The Dutch boy had no reply to make to this
shrewd observation, but trotted ContentedIy
along beside his readier companion, satisfied to
flat Billy think for him as well as to talk for

im.

They soon reached the small inn to which the
wounded man had been taken on the previous
( ay.

“ How’s the chap that got ventilated isterday
gittin’ along today?” asked Billy, bold y, of the
be rkeeper.

“ One hundred and twenty—seven,” replied that
individual. ,,

“One hunder and twenty-seven what?”

“ Folks that’s asked that same question to-
day,” returned the barkceper.

“ Kecpin’ count, hey?” retorted Billy. “ Chalk
us down for two then. Is he alive, or has he
kicked the bucket?”

“ Just kicking at it,” said the grinning bur—
keeper.

” We’ve got some bizness with him," continued
Billy. “ Friends of bis’n, you know.”

“ So has theimnn that’s in there now,”

“ Tull, good-lookin’, black mustache?" asked

Bill .

“That’s his photograph.”

“ We was to ax for him,” Billy coolly replied.
“ Where’s the room?”

“ Second story. Just at head of stairs.”

Wasting no more words on this short-spoken
fellow Billy led the way into the hall, and up
the narr0w flight of stairs.

As he approached the door at the landing the
sound of voices was heard within, through the
crack of the partly-opened portal.

“ Stand where you are, Hans," whispered
Billy. “1 want to git closer and hear what’s
goin' on inside.”

He was soon with his ear to the door. without
a single conscientious scruple against the sin of
eavesdropping. The voices within were now
perfectly audible to him. I

“ I s’pose you’re one of us,” spoke in a. feeble
tone the rasping voice of big Hughey. “ But
you ain‘t in the circle of ‘The Chosen.’ I have
nothing more to say.”

“ There are none of them left alive,” replied
the voice of George Howard. “ The fight to-
day has wiped them all out, except myself and
the ‘ Chosen Master.’ I demand from you the
name of the ‘ Master.’ "

“ On what authority?" demanded Hughey.
“ Prove that you are an accepted member of the
‘ Chosen.’ ”

a-.‘
.

 

A

“By this token,” replied Howard, handing
something lathe dying man, which seemed to
Billy to resemble the object he had taken from
the dead man.

For Billy hnd advanced his head so far that
he was able to see the occupant of the room.
He Sn w, to his surprise, the wounded man lake
the object with an air of the greatest reverence,
and press it to hislipS.

“ It is enough,” he murmured.
the token.” ,

“ The ‘ Mn ster’s ’ name?” asked Howard, bend-
ing his head down to catch the rapidly-enfeeb-
ling voice.

The answer came low, but clear and dis-
tinct.

“ John Jordan.”

“ Ha!” cried Howard, with an involuntary
m0: ement of surprise.

The eyes of the dying man fixed themselves
with a look of sudden distrust on his face as he
fell backward with a feeble groan and expired.

“ Dead!” said Howard, placing his hand
on the lips of the rostrum man. “Dead, and
all his secrets wit him, unless I can find the
full proofs on his person. 1 have played «if one
of the villains against the other well. But John
Jordan! (‘an it be that he is inde the mys-
terious leader of this gang of murderers. 'n I" m
I have been pursuing so long? John Jordan!
A man whom I had every reason to suspect, yet
never dreamed of suspecting of such crimes as
t! ese men have committed.”

“If he’s that kind of a tent~pin, then you’d
best be up and gittin’ quick as lightnin’,”ex—
claimed Bally, bursting into the room.

“ Ha! hat do you mean?" cried Howard,
turning in deep surprise.

“ I mean that John Jordan is to be spliced to
Claire Hamilton inside of twenty—four l-ours.
If you want to save her yru’ve got to make the
biggest headway home. for every telegraph
Wire’s down, and every ingine within ten
miles’of Pittsburg is turning into ashes and old
iron,

“ I recognize

CHAPTER XXVIII.
ON THE HOME TRACK.

GEORGE HOWARD and the two boys hurried
rapidly through the streets after leaving the
bedside of the dead man. v

It was now approaching midday. The streets
everywhere were full of excited pe( ple. most of
them hurrying toward that point where dense
clouds of smoke, shot through with the red ti nge
of flame, told of the work of destruction siiil
going on.

Never had the Iron City bcen so alive with
excitement, so full of u ild deeds to be repented
and atoned for in its calmer moments.

“ It is a bad business,” said Howard, shaking
his head.

“Better fur you,” broke in Billy. “There
won’t nobody try tonal) you, while all this is
goin’ on.” \

“It is an ill wind blows nobody good, you
see,” returned Howard, laughing. ‘ C¢ me this
way. boys. We must try the telegraph office at .
once.“

“No use,” replied Billy. “The wires run
along the track. They are all down by this

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Billy, the Baggage Boy.

 

What’s more this thing’s too far gone fur
They mought

time.
the telegraph to fetch it up.
think it a dod e."

“ What’s to done then?" asked Howard, in
momentary perplexity.

“ Nothin’ short of an ingine and a good head
of steam will do the work,” remarked Billy.

"But how?” returned Howard. “ Where is
the enginel And if we had it who is to take it
through?”

“I s’pose you want to save the gal from gettin’
spliced to a murderiu’ Vagabond likebwe‘re told
this John Jordan is?" queried Billy.

“ Yes i” was the answer, in tones of unexpect-
ed flerceness.

“Then we’ve got to git the ingine, that’s all,”
continued Billy. HThey’re burn‘iu’ them up, by
wnolesale, here in Pittslmrg. But Pittsburg
ain’t all creation, and there’s ingines somewhere,
that our le s or horses‘ legs has got to take us to."

“ Dat’s er talk, Filly,” exclaimed Hans, with
enthusiasm.

“ You don’t see half the (lifliculties, my boy,”
said Howard, in a tone of despnndency. “ Sup-
pose we should find an engine, do you imagine,
fora moment, that we would be allowed to take
it? And where, in this strike, could the engineer
and fire be found to run it?"

“ Here's der engineer!" exclaimed Hans, pat-
ting Billy proudly on the shoulder. “ Pi ly’s
der boy to run der engine."

“It wouldn’t be the first one I've sent spin-

“nin’,” said Billy, modestly. “ Anvl fur fireman,
there‘s Pop Baggage. He‘s as sober asa two-
ye'ir—older b this time. If the two Baggages,
Pop and Bi ly, don’t fetch her through, tl‘en
don’t talk.”
. “But we haven’t found the engine, nor the
order for its use,” remarked Mr. Howard, doubt-
ful in mind as to the possibility of the’ boy’s
Utopian scheme. “ The best we can do, I fear,
is to seek the nearest telegraph office outside the
city, and send a message on. If the wires are
not down further on i"

“ De say der wires is cut at Harrisburg," re.
plied ans.

” We’re goin’ through by steam," said Billy
positively. “ Mr. Cassatt. the vice-president of
the road, is at the Union Depot. He knows me
and I can git an order from him. On blzness
of the road, you know,” and, Billy gave a very
knowing wink. “ Hans, vou take Mr. Howard
I to our hotel; the Pine Alley Cuntinental. See

that Pop Baggage is as straight as a die. Tell
him there’s work cut out forthe fam’ly. I’ll be
there soon."

In a minute he was off, like a shot, darting
through the thronged streets. Howard looked
after him dubiously.

“ Is the boy trying a lark with me?” he asked,
half to himself.

“ Nein! nein!” returned Hans, energetically,
“ Pilly’s no lark. You comes to der hotel.
Yust as Pilly says.”

‘ Howard, affected by the earnestness of man-
ner of the bovs, followed Hans, though half-
angry with himself for what might possibly

rove a fetal loss of time. They found Jar-ah

a gage there, sober as a judge, having uivon
a] films word of honor not to touch, tnste. or

n s.

"

 

Yet they were all impatient enough before
the young «ambassador arrived, for more than
an hour had elapsed since he set out.

“ All serenel” he cried. “ Let’s have our din»
her now, pay our bill, and slide."

“ You got the order?” asked Howard, with in-
tense eagerness.

“ Yes. Had a big job to find Mr. Cassatt.
The Union Depot is all in a blaze. Goin’ into
smoke and ashes faster than sin. It’s a chance
if all that part of the town don’t go. There’s
everlasting lightnin’ loose, now I tell you.”

“ This seems correct,” remarked Mr. Howard,
examining the written slip of paper which Billy
had handed him. “ But how in the world you
ever got it out of Cassatt l”

“ Piled up lies bigger than three meetin’-
houses, and made him swaller them all,” began

Billy. Then, with sudden compunction, he con-
tinued: “ No, I didn’t, neither. I told him just

what was up, and got on the right side of his
soft heart. Guv him your name, too. I‘ll swow,
if he didn’t know you like a book. But let’s go
for that dinner. We mought need the eatables
afore we git another chance at them."

Howard, despite his impatience, recognized
the truth of this caution, and the four made
short work of a hearty dinner.

“ VVe’ve got to it out of this town by way of
the hills,” said illy, when they once more
found themsslves in the street. “ It’s a river of
fire down the railroad way."

“ It is fascinating in all its terror,” exclaimed
Howard, with an involuntary shudder. “ The
destruction there must be terrible.”

They hurried on as rapidly as possible. It
was not long.' before they left the scene of ruin
behind them. When they had proceeded some
four or five miles in this direction they descend-
ed from the ridge into the valley. Behind them
the flame-lit volume of smoke hung like a vast
wall, shutting them out from the apparently
doomed city behind it. They found themselves
near a small hamlet, but it was deserted save by
a. woman or two, and some children.

“No possible chance of getting a vehicle
here," remarked Howard, after some question-
ing. “ We must truige on.”

The afternoon was rapidly waning when they
at length walked into a somewhat larger village,
sufficiently removed from the Iron City to have
some of its inhabitants left at home.

Here Howard succeeded in procuringaoar—
riage, with a driver to take them to a railroad
station where there was some hopes of procuring
an engine.

This hope proved fallacious; there was none
there. They learned, however, that there was
a passenger engine at a station some ten miles
further down tho road.

“There is nothin’ for it,” said Billy. with a
grimnce. “ We’ve got to drive on. I s’pose we
kin git another hoss here?"

“ Horses are more plentiful than engines, I
fear,“ remarked Howard, in a tone of nervous
impatience. “ If we should fail—”

They werevaway again inside of ten minutes,
Howard importing a share of his energy to
the horse, and getting more speed out of a sorry
animal than Nature seemed to have implanted
in it.

 

 

 

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Billy, the Baggage Boy.

45

 

Yet, the afternoon was waning rapidly. It; “What is der ret light?" exclaimed Hans,

was quite six o’clock when they at length drew
rein at the depot in a small town, their eyes
gladtlened by the sight of an engine standing
trunquilly on a side track near the station.

“ Good luck at last!” screamed Billy, dancing
in his exultation. “ Good luck allers comes to
them as hunt hard fur it. Her fires are out, but
it won’t take much to set. them blazin' ag’in.
You take the order in, Mr. Howard.”

Howard had not Waited for this command.
He was already in the depot, investigating the
station-agent.

“ All right!" he cried, joyfully, when he again
appeared. “ She will bc fired up and ready for
us inside of an hour.”

“ And it’s Slipper time now, and our journey
has made me as hungry as a bear," remarked
Jacob.

“ Ynst so.
turned Hans. _
_ As there was no more agreeable way of pass-
ing the necessary time. Jacob and the two
boys proceeded to hunt up the wherewithal of a

,Suhstantial supper. Theimpatient lover how-
ever, was in no mood for eating, but stood with
dissatisfied eyes, devouring every step of the
slow process of firing up the cold engine. Gradu-
ally the steam began to show its presence in a
slight hiss about the safety-valve.

Howard hastened back to where the others
were yet lingering over the pleasures of the table.

“Hurry!” he cried. “Steam is up. We
must be off without a moment’s delay.”

“ Sandwiches is goot, Mr. Howard," remarked
Hans, invitingly.

“ Then bring some in your hat,” exclaimed
Billy, springing up from the table. “ Mr. how—
urd is right. That weddin’ comes off early in
the mornin’. and we don't know what stoppages
we may have to run through." ,

There was little time lost in getting under
way. In ten minutes more they were flying
down the deserted track at a rapid pace. Billy,
with his hand on the lever, and his keen eye on
the track; Jacob hurling the coal on the new-
kindled fires: Howard devouring the distance
before them with his eager vision, and Hans
lying soberly backward, masticatiug one of his
sandwiches.

And down the roa'l, with clatter mid clank,
rolled on the fire-breathing ir'on horse.

CHAPTER, XXIX.
A PERILOUS FLIGHT.

FEW words passed between the four travel-
ers, thus thrown together iii‘that long journey.
George Howard was too wrapped up in his own
thoughts :and anxieties to have any time for
words. Billy Baggage felt the responsibility of
his perilous position ten deeply, and Hans was
ton sleepy for any indulgence in talk.

As for Jacob Baggage, be buried fuel from
time to time into the craving mouth of the fire-
cating engine, nnd in the intervals lemwd upon
his shovel in grimy silence.

Up and up the mountains they climbed.
Through the tunnel at the summit they passed.
Round the Horseshoe Bend they curved, and be-
gan to descend the downward slope leading to
Altoona.

I feel dat way myself, too,” re—

 

 

 

w ho had risen from his hard bed fora look ahead.

“ The danger-signal set!” cried Billy. “ Then
there’s trouble brewin’, sure shot!”

“ We had Lest stop at the station and inquire,”
suggested BOWard.

Acting upon this suggestion Billy slackened
up the speed of the engine as they drew near the
rail light that threw its alarm signal far along
the track.

Coming to a dead hall: at the signalstation,
Howard sprung from the engine and entered the
small building, where the sleepless operator was
keeping watch.

Reappearing after a minute’s absence, be ex-
claimed:

“lVe can run ahead, with care. There has
been talk of obstructing the road at Altoona;
But the operator does not know if it has been

one.

“ All correckl” exclaimed Billy. “ We’re
u-goin’ to save Miss Claire from that bound, or
hu’st somethin‘, that’s sure.”

He had started the engine as he spoke. George
Howard sat back in gloomy silence, with com-
pressed lips and a. dangerous look upon his face:
J thn Jordan’s villainous scheme was in danger
from this resolute and indignant lover.

And soon, in the distance. the lights of a city
smote through the dark Vail of night.

“ Altoona.” said Billy, briefly.

With set lips and throbbing hearts they ran
into the perilous city, every eye being Not for—
ward in close scrutiny of the track, while the
speed of the engine was gradually slowed until
she moved at little more than a walking pace.

The (ls-pot lights shone upon a. crowd of men.
gnllu‘l': (1 upon the platform and the track, their
tones and motions full of excitement as they
gazed upon the coming engine.

“ Is the coast clear?" asked Billy, his hand up-
on the lever.

“ I can’t tell yet,” replied Reward. “ There
seems, to be something on the track beyond the
men.’ .

in a minute more they steamed into the sta-
tion, €011]ng to almosta halt. They were in-
stantl y surrounded by hundreds of excited men.

“ Who is aboard?" “ Stop that engine!"
“ Board her!" and a dozen other exclanmtions
arose, as a half-score of stalwart men flung them-
selves on the slowing locomotive. .

Billy, with compressed lips, still kept his hold
of the lever, saying, in a low voice, to Howard:

“ Can you make out that thing on the track,
now?”

“ By heavens! I was mistaken i” came the ex.
cited reply. “ It is only the heavy shadow of
the water tank. The light behind it has thrown ,
it black and solid looking across the road. Put
on full steam, Billy. We must run through,
new. if it is through bullets.” ,

Billy looked warily around atthe men who
were hanging on the engine, striving to clamber
in, but preventing themselves by their very
numbers.

“ Stop her 2” cried an authoritative voice.
“ Some of you men take her out of that young
hound’s hands.” ~ I .

“ Open the fire doors, pop,” exclaimed Billy,
as it inclined to yield.

 



{ 521,, ...

 

 

 

 



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“Stand up there, my man with thee

 

43 Billy, the Baggage Boy.

 

Jacob Baggage obeyed without a word of dis-
sent, the hot gleam from the fire luririiy lighting
up the whole scene, and stroneg illuminating
tje set, resolute faces of those on board the eu-
glue.

The crowd hung b’lL‘k an instant, expecting an
im nedinte compliance with their ilenmnds.

The next instant Billv had put on full steam,
no i snatching the shovel from the yielding hands
or' his father, stood brandishing a shovelful of
hit coals from the fire.

“ Hands ofl’, every risky mother’s son of you i”
he shouted. “Let go, or i will scorch you from
head to heel!”

He enforced his order by a lilierul sprinkling
of the burning coals right and left of the engine.

The men who had been clinging to the sides,
leaped and tumbled backward in every form of
exreme haste. The engine, at the same moment,

I under the sudden pressure of steam, leaped for-

ward like a. living thing. _

“ Stoop for yourlives!” cried Howard. “ They
will firel”
. His warning was none too soon. A dozen hul-
lets swept harmlesst over their heads. A deri-
sive laugh was the only answer as they swept
onward through the scatteringr throng, and in a
moment more were beyonl all danger of stop

page.
“ How's dat for high?" roared buck Hans, at
the baffled mob. “ Like ter have some gum-
drops, hey? Ten cents 0. box, fresh out goot.”
On into the night again, and the city of peril
faded and died out beyond them. and the long,r
miles of mountain scenery opened before them.
A clock, from some belfry in the State capital,
struck the hour of three as they rollel at length
into the tranquil streets of Harrisburg.
“ We must stop here, no matter what comes
of it,” said Billy. “Our old lady is getting dry.

She must have her drink."

“ I hope, then, that the strikers are all safely
asleep," remarked Howard. with some anxiety.

It seemed to be so, in fact, when they stopped
at length in front of the water-took. Only two
or three in in were visible. Billv recognized one

, of these at a glance, as a faithful servant of the

maxi.

“ On official hizness, Jake!" the boy cheerin
cried. “ Water us up and let us off. ’

Jake looked suspicioust at the solitary engine.

“ All right," he said at length, proceeding to
adjust the water~tube and turn on the water
frmn the tank into the empty reservoir of the
amine. * _

D zrinz’ this colloquy George Howard had re-
mained in the background, sitting back in the

tender, with his face well shaded by his hat.

He did not quite like the light from the depot
lantern.

‘ The n13 mber of men present were gradually re-
enforced as the minutes went on. ’At leasta
dozen persom stood .round the engine, when at
length the water was turned off at the tank.

One of these. a sharp, ferret-eyed personalize,

- gazed keenly int) the faces of our four friends.

“ Who are you all?” he asked curiously.
iouched hat.

I would like in. closer look ar your phiz.”
“Start her!" said Howard, in a low tone, to
Billy, without needing this imperative demand.

\

 

"Hold there!" cried the other, sharply. “I
know you now, my man! It is George Howard!
It is the escaped prisoner: 0.: your life don‘t
start the engine l”

Without a moment’s heed to this command
Billy moved the levers. The life-giving steam
passed into the cylinders. In a moment they
were slowly moving.

I“ In the name of the lawi” yelled the officer,
springing aboard the engine, and essaying to
take her control out of the hands of the deter-
mined boy.

Then for the first time did George Howul‘d
show his true metal. So far he had, with :1
gloomy indifference, left the direction of affairs
in the efficient hands of our youthful here.

Now he sprung vigorously to his feet and
grasped the officer in his stain art arms.

“ 1 am George Howard l” he cried. “ Here is
your Harrisburg thief-taker! Catch him, some
of you, or he may get a broken neck for his
pains."

In an instant the officious officer was flung
headlong into the midst of the bystanders. Only
some extended arms saved him from dangerous
contact With the flagged pavement.

5‘ Put on all steam!” shouted the aroused
man. “ Come on, the next of you that wants
to arrest George Beward l”

But nobody seemed to care to try that per‘l-
ous conclusion. In a. minute more it was too
late for interference. The engine had gathered
too much speed to be safely boarded.

For the next four hours the ran through :i
more settled district, where t e reckless speed
of their previous journey could not be safely
indulged in. '

Day had long since dawned. Howard‘s wnmli
pointed to the hour of seven, hundreds of (-uri-
ous eyes had looked with wonder on this solitary
engine as it shot through the clustering stations
0! a thickly-inhabited district, ere at length
they reached the station nearest the residence of
Mr. Hamilton,

“On time! Hurrah for our side!” shouted
Billy. triumphantl , as he brought the engine
to :1 dead ha is. “ e’ve got a good hour More
the weddin’. Run this machine on the siding,
Hurry,” he cried, to the station-master.

Fifteen minutes after they were in front of a
substantial mansion some distance back from the
road. Bidding them wait. HOWard entered the
gatewuv leading to this house. In about ten
minutes he appeared again, driving a high—step-
pingr black horse. ' ,

The others lost no time in stowing themselves
away in the carriage, and the home was put at
his best paces by the stern-faced and hard—
ha nded driver. I

Not another word came from Edward’s lips.
It was evident by his face that there was a.
surge of growingr passion in his soul. He made
no movement but to look at his watch, as he
drew up in front of Mr. Hamilton’s well-known
house. ‘

“ Eight obhck.” said Billy, drawing his breath
hard. “ We‘re jist on the hour.”

The horse was drawn up with a strong band,
enrinmvard sprung with a quick leap from the
carriage. In a minute more he had reached the
porch of the house, thrown open the door

 

 

 

 

 

Bllly, the Baggage Boy. 47

without pausing to knock, and disappeared
within. .

Billy lost no time in following him, leavmg
the others to more deliberate movements.

It was a striking scene in which they found
themselves. A group of persons were gathered
in the large parlor of the mansion. The central
figures were Hamilton, lying, pale-faced, on a
much; a wan faced minister, book in hand; and
lwfol‘c him Claire Hamilton in bridal robes, be-
rllil? the bridegroom, John Jordan. There was
a strange look of doubt on the beautiful face of
the bride.

“ If any one knows cauSk” came from the
thin lips of the minister. '

“ I know cause!” cried an imperative voice be—
hind them, excitedly interrupting. “Turn to
me, John Jordan! Turn, wretch and murdererl
who has dared to peril that pure soul! I wil,
give cause enough.”

“ Who is this?" cried Jordan, turning with
very pale face.

“ It; is 1, George Howard, that denounces you
asa murderer! Yrs, and as the leader of the
deadly band of ‘ The Chosen?”

With a loud curse, t'ie villain drew a pistol
and leveled it‘with deadly aim at Howard.

Claire Hamilton threw herself . with a scream
before the threatened man, flinging her arms up
protectingly.

At the Ramp instant Billy caught the arm of
the infuriated villain. The pistol exploded but
it was John Jordan himself that fell with a deep
groan to the floor. .

CHAPTER XXX.
Gannon nowann’s STORY.

THE scenc “as a thrilling one. The screams
of the wonwn presvnt, the forward rush and
exclamations of the men the fall of the wound—
odtmun, all made up a. tableau of intense inter—
cs .

Howard hurried the unresisting form of Claire
from the room, her eyes closed as if they would

shut out. the horror possessing her. Billy caught

up his little friend Lucy. who was screaming
with fright. and carried her hastily away. But,
strangvi-st of all, the invalid, Mr. Hamilton. in
anticipation of whose death this wedding had
been hurried forward, sprung inVoluntarily
from his couch. and ran forward with all the
energy of a hale man.

He had fallen prostrate after his excited
movement from his couch, and had been home
insensith to bed. But the intense excitement
of the lTYn'XtPIlt had made a radical change in
that stubborn :‘tfection of the' brain with which
the doctors had proved unable to cope.

But we must take our-readers forward to an
hour in tho nflrrncon of that same day, in
which the purmns in whom we are chiefly in-
torestvrl Wcrc gathvl‘ed in a small room in the
Hamilton mansion.

Billy and his father, of coursia. Were present,
the former with little Lucy snuggled up to him
as if for protection from the terror that still
beset lwr. Hans, too, was present. but he had

- snuggled himself up securely in a window

corner, where there was an opportunity for a
uiet nap, or a surreptitious indulgence in gum-
ops.

 

As for George Howard and Claire, they seem-
ed to have arrived at a private understanding
for her face had lost its look of unrest and
doubt, and rested on him with a. quiet confi-
dence which she had never accorded to ‘Mr.
Jordan. Still, the efi‘ect of her recent nervous
excitement \\ as still upon her, and was shown
in involuntary tremblings of the hands and'
lips, which she strove in vam to repress.

As for Mr. Hamilton, he had insisted on be-‘
ing brought down to the room, and the look of
vital interest in his face showed a very different
condition from the dull, half glazed appearance
of his eyes before the shock which had so
favorably affected him.

“ What. I want to know is,” began Billy, con-
stituting himself the spokesman of the occasion,
“who Mr. George Howard is, and what he is;
far if I ain’t a mightily mistaken little ninny.
he’s been Inlayin’ ’ ssum jist the worst. Shel:
my eye up, bad. know that.”

" Old Nick is never so black as he is painted,
answered Howard. “ I acknowledge that I have
been playing a part. My tongue has been scal-
ed for several months past. I am frce to speak
now. I have been a detective in the em‘
ploy of the Pennsylvania Railroad Company,
engaged in ferreting out a most dangerous hand
of criminals.”

“ A detective!” broke involuntarily from
mm 0 than one month.

“ It r as the ‘v Chosen’ then! The train—
smnsl‘ersl The murderers!" exclaimed Eilly.
springing to his feet in his excitement. .

“ Exactly. It was that hand of desperate and
niysterir us criminals.”

“And you were employed to detect thenil”
asked Mr. Hamilton.

“ The railroad officials have :novn n of the ex-
istence of such a mysterious band for a long
time,” said Howard. “But all their efforts to
trace them proved in vain. Finally I was put
on their track with the understanding that I
was to take the mostcxtreme measures, even to
exposing myself to the utmostmisrcpresentaticn
in the task of unearthing them."

He pressed the hand of the beautiful woman.
by his side, her eyes looking den 11 into his with
an expression of the deepest trust and afi'ctiou.

“ I put myself in communication at once with
all the disaflected,” he continued, “ and seemed
of them all the mast disafl'ected. Gradually I
must have become known to some of the mem-
bers of this band as one of adisposition and
views similar to their own, for distant over-
tures were made to me which I went more than
half-way to meet.”

“ I seen you ”—cried Billy, “ I seen you talk-
in’ to Joe Blizzard. It was that set me to
s’pecting you.” -

“ Yes. He was one of my conquests,” con-
tinued Howard. “ I gradual y extended my ac-
quaintanceship among the hand. But I failed
to overcome a lurking distrust on their pant,
and to learn the nature of their schemes. This
mnrh I did learn, that there was an organizing
lwml who used the others merwly as. tools. I
knew that to breakup the band this leader must
br- discovered. But they kept his scent M ii. I
could not learn it.”

“ I’ve got to say this much, Mr. Howard," re-

A; - ~ z‘: wyneiwtsswaw

ji .
A?! ’
t?

:Jauggw;

48 Billy, the Baggage Boy.

 

marked Billy, incredulously, “and 1 can’t help  Claire, who yielded with utter confidingnessto

sayin’ it, though I have let up on you a hit.
And what I mean’s this: Your story don’t hold
water none too well. How ’bout gittin’ ’rested,
and goin’ to prison, and breakin’ jail, and
knockin’ that Harrisburg loon off the cars?”

Howard laughed at Billy’s distrust. He con-
tinued as follows:

“ My going to prison and escaping were parts
of a scheme, by which I expected to overcome
the distrust and gain the confidence of these vil-
lains.”

“ But to be arrested as you were 1” said Claire.
“ And to hurt me so by your strange demeanorl
You forced me to doubt you.”

“ We have John Jordan to thank for all that,”
continued Howard. “ The officers who were to
arrest me thought it a bona fide business. In
some way Jordan discovered that they had a
warrant against me. He knew that I was in
company with Miss Hamilton in the car, and
took the jealous op ortunity of informing them
of my presence. hat to do, I hardly knew,
Claire. I could not destroy my plans at that
advanced stage. I had to submit to the arrest.”

“ You trailed the chaps into Pittsburgi" ask-
ed Billy. I

*‘ Just so. I was watching them through the
whole of the riots, in hopes that some chance
might reveal their leader to me. I saw that I
was not alone in the task, but that our two
young friends here had an object similar to my
owu.

“ I tracked big Hughoy, as one of them was
called until he was mortally wounded. I then
followed Carlton, the other, until he put him-
self in a position where death was sure to follow,
in his effort to fire the gun at the round-
housn. 1 saw that but one course remained.
By arresting him I might save his life and the
secret, that would otherwise die with him. I
attempted to do so; but too late. He was killed."

“ I seen him go under,” cried Billy, eagerly.
“ You took something from his breast—pocket.”

“ I did not imagine any one detected me at
that,” replied Howard. ‘ It was a secret badge
of the order that enabled me to overcome the
doubts of big Hughe . With his last words, as
the boys here know, 9 revealed to me the well-
concealed name of the leader of the terrible
‘ Chosen.’ "

“ And that name?” asked Mr. Hamilton.

“ Was John Jordan.”

A shudder passed through Claire Hamilton’s
frame. Her face grew, for the moment, deathly
Bale. She clung to Howard’s arm with both her

ands, as if for protection from some dreadful
menace.

“ And didn’t I tell You what was up?” ex-
claimed Billy. “ ’Bout splicing and all that?
And got the order for the ingine? And sich a‘
gay old ride as we had, this way, all last night;
and sich a, light fur it! You never seen the like."

“ I can never thank you too much, my dear
young friend,” said Claire, taking both his hands
in hers, and pressing them warmly. “ I owe to
you my escape from a horrible fate, and—-”

“ And I owe even more,” exclaimed Howard.
“ I owe to you my love and all my future happi—
ness.” His effort to shake Billy’s hand proved

 

quiteasmuch a caress of the slender form of.

his arm.

“ And I owe you my daughter‘s happiness,
and my life,” came in feeble hut earnest accents
from the rateful invalid.

“And own you 1” exclaimed Lucy, spring—
ing leefully into his arms.

“ hen jist run off with me, Lucy," returned
Billy, “ and let us have a high old time ’mong the
dollhabies. I’ll be gettin’ too big fur my boots,
sure, if I stay here much longer.”

Lucy, nothing loth, carried him off to her
play-room, needless of what further explanations
might be needed.

CHAPTER XXXI.
F N

I ALE.

0F course all this was followed by a wedding.
It would not be in the nature of things otherwise.

GeorgEHoward and Claire Hamilton did get
married there is no doubt of that. But the
marriage was not solemnized until Mr. Hamill on
was sufficiently recovered to be able to attend
church, and see his daughter made happy in the
inspiring presence of a multitude of sympathetic
friends.

You may he sure that Billy and Hans lei med
two of that high] interested audience. And
for that matter “ op” Baggage, in all the im-
portance of perfect sobriety and new clothes,
was present. And by his side, young again in
her pride in her reformed husband, stotd me
much-enduring Mrs. Baggage.

Not years, scarcely months have passed since
this occasion, and we do not have to follow cur
characters far down the stream of time to see
on what shore they have stranded, or in what
current of weal or woe they are still drifting.

George Howard and his bride are. just out of
their honeymoon, and have gone to house keep-
ing in the most up roved modern style, in a.
sweet little nest in heater valley.

As for the Baggage family, they have got in-
to beta r circumstances since the father has be-
come a thoroughly sober fireman, and since
Billy’s salary has een raised, and the railroad '
superintendent has promised, some day, to
make a man of him.

They have left their tumble-down, up—town
linygagecar, and have settled in a. neat little
yalace—cnr 1n the West Philadelphia suburb.

As for Hans, he is still Billy’s most ardent
follower, and yet makes gum-drops his ultima-
tum of existence. .

Billy is a frequent visitor to the new home of
the Howards. It is so near a station on the
road, and he can ‘most any time jump 011‘ and
run over just to see if they are all well, and if
Lucy has forgot him yet. 5

THE END.

 

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