Lord Stranleigh Abroad by Robert Barr (romantic love story reading txt) 📕

in Bleachers ever since?"

"Oh no; I received a pressing invitation from some friends of mine to be their guest, with a prospect of a little shooting, so I've been staying with them ever since."

"Did you have a pleasant time?"

"Oh, excellent, and I heard more entertaining stories than ever I listened to in a similar period."

"Good shooting?"

"First rate. Limited in quantity, but of finest quality. Indeed, I may boast of a record; I hit everything I aimed at. Camp fare, however, left a good deal to be desired, so you may imagine how glad I am to return."

"I'm very pleased to have an opportunity of giving you something better. How would you like some nice broiled trout, freshly caught this morning?"

"Oh, heavenly!" cried Stranleigh, enthusiastically. "I haven't had anything but bread and salt pork since I saw you. Who caught the trout?"

"I did. I went down the river early this morning. I must have had a premonition that you would return, famished for trout, and I had quite an adventure, or rather, plunged into a mystery which I have not yet solved. I heard the sound of firing; first a single shot, then a fusilade. I could not tell from whence the sound came. I hurried home with my basket, but there was no one in sight. After a while Jim came in, very much crestfallen, it seemed to me, with his ear tied up clumsily in a handkerchief. He had been shot through the ear, and of course I came to his aid at once. With a woman's curiosity, I asked him how the accident happened. Now, one of Jim's infirmities is that he can only tell the truth when it suits his convenience."

"Many of us are like that," said Stranleigh.

"Well, this time it didn't suit his convenience."

"What did he say?"

"That the boys were having a sort of shooting match. I told him I had heard the firing, and feared that there had been a battle of some sort. He said it was the first shot that did for him. They had some bet on as to who could fire the quickest at a flying mark. In his hurry to get ready he had mishandled his gun, and sent a bullet through his ear. The other men had then fired almost simultaneously."

"Miss Armstrong, I fear you are too sceptical. Why shouldn't that be a true story?"

"Mr. Stranleigh, you quite underrate my intelligence. The wound in Jim's ear was not caused by the gun he held. In the first place, his ear would have been blackened with gunpowder, and likely would have been partly torn off. Secondly, a mishandled gun would have fired upwards. The bullet that wounded him was fired from a distance by someone higher up than the spot where Jim stood. The wound was clean cut, slightly inclining downwards. Besides all that, Jim's bullet, coming from an old-fashioned rifle, would make a bigger hole. I know that, for you remember I tended your shoulder, through which his bullet had gone."

"By Jove, Miss Armstrong, if Sherlock Holmes had a daughter, she would be just about your age. Was there anything else?"

"Yes; I looked at the handkerchief in which he had bound his ear. It was of a finer cambric than we have ever seen in this district, or indeed, than I have seen anywhere else. The corner was embroidered with a very delicately-worked crest."

"A crest?" said Stranleigh, rather breathlessly.

"I asked Jim where he had got this handkerchief. He seemed confused, but said he had always had it. Bought it once at a five-cent store in Denver."

Stranleigh could not refrain from laughing.

"You think it cost more than five cents?"

"Yes; I am sure it cost more than twenty-five."

"Perhaps he stole it?"

"Jim might shoot a man, but he'd never steal."

"I think that when you discover the owner of that handkerchief, you will have solved the mystery," remarked Stranleigh calmly.

"I think so, too," said the girl quietly. "Now I am going to cook your trout."

The three days following were among the most enjoyable Stranleigh had ever spent. He asked Miss Armstrong to show him the portion of the river in which she had caught those delicious trout. Heretofore, she had used a baited hook when fishing, landing her spoil with a trout pole, but now she was to be initiated in the delicate mysteries of fly fishing. Stranleigh remembered the story told of an English official sent to view the debateable land adjoining the far western boundary of Canada who reported the territory useless, because the fish wouldn't rise to the fly. He wondered what lure the official used, for here they rose readily enough, and fought like demons until Miss Armstrong deftly lifted them from the water in the new-fangled landing net, the like of which she had never seen before.

But in spite of the excellent sport he was enjoying, Stranleigh became more and more anxious as time went on. Nothing had been heard from Stanley Armstrong. The fisher began to fear that the detective had failed in his search. On the morning of the fourth day he dressed in his ordinary tweed suit. The riding costume attracted more attention than was altogether convenient. He put in his pocket an automatic revolver of the latest construction; light, accurate and deadly. The day of the auction was drawing uncomfortably near, and he was determined that his journey should not be interrupted, as his former ride had been. Aside from this, he expected to carry with him a large amount of money, and if any word of that got abroad, he knew a holdup was quite within the range of possibility. The coterie confined in the bunk house would doubtless learn that they were their own gaolers, and with that gang once free upon the landscape, he anticipated interruption which, if successful, would completely nullify his plans.

"Are you going fishing to-day?" asked Miss Armstrong, when he came downstairs. He had appeared unexpectedly soon that morning. The young woman was always an early riser.

"Fishing!" echoed Stranleigh. "Yes, in a manner of speaking. Isn't there a text which refers to fishers of men? I'm going fishing for your father. We should have had him here before this, but now the need of him becomes imperative. I imagine that a telegram awaits me in Bleachers. If not, I must communicate with New York, and wait for a reply."

Stranleigh walked up the hill to the bunk house, and rapped at the panel with the butt of his riding whip. Dean himself threw open the door, and he could not conceal his astonishment at seeing the young man standing there, apparently unarmed.

"Good morning, Jim," said Stranleigh cordially.

"I wish to enjoy a few minutes' conversation with the company before leaving for Bleachers."

"None of the company are out of their bunks yet, except myself, but I guess they're wide enough awake to hear what you say. Won't you come inside?"

"Thank you," said Stranleigh, stepping across the threshold; then, to the sleeping beauties--"The top of the morning to you! Early to bed and late to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise. Has wisdom come to you since I left? Do you still intend to shoot up Bleachers on auction day?"

"You bet we do," said Dean.

Stranleigh seated himself upon the chair he had formerly occupied.

"How did you propose to get out?"

"By the same way you escaped," responded Dean with determination.

"What an inconvenient exit! I speak from sooty experience. Why not have gone by the doorway?"

"We didn't want to get shot," said Jim.

"There was no danger of that. I have been spending my days in fishing, and my nights in sound sleep."

"Do you mean to say," cried Jim, "that there's been nobody on guard?"

"No; you've been as free as air to go where you pleased."

Dean laughed heartily, and the others joined him. The joke was on them, but they seemed to enjoy rather than resent it.

"You were right about brain and muscle," observed Jim at last.

Stranleigh ignored the compliment.

"I've got a proposal to make to you men," he went on. "I'm off to Bleachers to do some telegraphing, trying to learn the whereabouts of Mr. Armstrong, who has not yet put in an appearance. The sale takes place day after to-morrow."

Stranleigh paused in his recital. He noticed a stealthy movement among the bunkers. He had observed that the first to sit up cast a longing glance at the rifles stacked in the corner, and it seemed to him that a simultaneous rush towards them was going to take place.

"As you know, gentlemen," he went on, "I have an objection to shooting as a settlement of any legal question, but if shooting has to be done, I am quite prepared for it, and the inhabitants of Bleachers will regret provoking me to a fusilade."

He took from his pocket the neat little automatic pistol.

"I don't suppose," he went on, "that you ever saw anything exactly like this. It will simply rain bullets, and I can re-load before any of those Bleachers men can get his hand to his hip pocket. Next to the Maxim gun, it's the most deadly object in existence." Casually he cast his eye along the bunks. Each man had withdrawn the leg that had been quietly reaching for the floor. Stranleigh still fondled his weapon.

"Just before you captured me, I had sent to New York for a considerable sum of money, which was to reach me by express. I thought it better to have no dealings with the bank, as I didn't wish Ricketts to learn what I was doing. I expect that sum of money is at this moment resting in the express office, and on the day of the sale I shall have more currency on my person than is perhaps quite safe to carry. I therefore wish to engage you as a bodyguard, if you agree to certain conditions. I shall expect you all in Bleachers day after to-morrow, and shall pay each of you fifty dollars for the day, and so that there may be no mistake, I tender you the money now. Do you agree?"

"What are the conditions?" asked Jim, cautiously.

"First, you will keep clear of the tavern, and not drink."

"That's easy. What next?"

"You will not shoot until I give the word of command, and until I have emptied my pistol."

Jim consulted with his fellows, then turned to Stranleigh.

"We agree," he said.

"Right you are." Stranleigh rose, took from his pocket-book six fifty-dollar bills, and laid them on the table.

"Look here," cried Dean, "we don't want any money for this job."

"I'm quite sure of that, but six honest men are as much entitled to their pay as is a dishonest lawyer like Ricketts. So good-bye, until I see you at Bleachers day after to-morrow."

Stranleigh went down to the house, mounted his horse, and rode away.

He had accomplished little more than half the distance when he perceived a horseman coming towards him. They approached one another with some caution. Stranleigh would have passed in silence had not the other accosted him.

"Hello, stranger!" he said. "You from the ranch?"

"Yes."

"Been stopping there?"

"Yes."

"How's everything? Folks all well?"

"Yes; they were when I left. Is there any chance that you are Mr. Armstrong?"