CHAPTER IX.
TIM DEMANDS HIS DUES.
Rodney Darringford was never so frightened in his life. He was puzzled, too.
Was it possible the Spray had not been burned after what Tim had said?
The man in the bank had certainly spoken honestly, and he said he had been on board that morning.
If further proof was needed, the fact that Dean Mercer was alive furnished it.
Rodney hastened in the direction of the hotel, not daring to look to the right or left. His hand in his pocket, he held fast to his ill-gotten gains, wishing he had never seen it, and yet determined to hold on to it.
Tim was waiting for him expectantly at the room at the hotel.
“Got it?” he demanded breathlessly.
“Yes,” gasped Rodney, pale and unnerved.
“All of it?”
“Every dollar.”
“Glory! We’re, we’re millionaires! You and I will divide even. What’s the trouble with ye?”
In a few words Rodney told what he had heard and seen.
Tim was scarcely less excited than Rodney, as soon as he had become familiar with the situation.
“It can’t be that Daley and Spofford hev played me a trick.”
“What if Dean Mercer goes to the bank? They will be after me!”
“Reckon it won’t be any easy matter for ’em to prove anything,” muttered Tim. “Fust thing I’m going to know is if that boat is burned or not. It must hev burnt and somehow Dean Mercer slipped through those crazy Rube’s fingers.”
“Yes,” assented Rodney. “It will be best to find out if the Spray has been burned or not.”
“I’ll find out in a jiffy. Ye jess stay right here till I come back.”
“You will have to hurry, Tim, if we go back on the Warrior.”
“Don’t b’lieve I shall go back,” replied Tim.
The speech pleased Rodney, who felt that he would gladly get rid of his associate.
“Will you stay here?”
“Not if I know myself. Too tame. I’ll go somewhere else, and with my money I’ll start in business.”
“Well, come back and tell me what you learn of the Spray.”
“Reckon I shall come back as long as you hev my money. Let’s divide now.”
“Wait till you get back. Come! hurry and find out all you can. Also when the Warrior will start back to Millville.”
Tim did not offer any reply to this, but immediately left the hotel.
It seemed like a long time to Rodney, as he waited impatiently and anxiously to learn the truth, before Tim Downey returned.
The latter’s countenance told before he had spoken a word the result of his trip.
“The Spray hain’t burnt!” he muttered, as he sank into the nearest chair. “Daley and Spofford that I paid to do the job got blooming drunk on the money and are now in the lockup. That blaze we saw was only an old shed.”
“Pretty mess you have made of it,” declared Rodney.
“Give me my share of the money—quick!”
“Are the officers coming?” asked Rodney in alarm.
“Dunno ’bout enny officers. I hain’t ennything to do with ’em. I’m jess going to get out’n Springfield without enny longer stay. Don’t like the blamed ol’ town.”
Rodney began to count out the money that he had received from the bank.
“There’s your half of the check. I ought to have more than half seeing I did the work, and mighty risky——”
“Now, the half of the other,” broke in Tim, almost savagely. “Ye move awful slow, and the Warrior, I forgot to tell ye, starts in ten minutes.”
“Seems to me you are all-fired uppish, seeing I’m the one who has done all that has been done. Here’s your divvy on the Ellison haul.”
Tim Downey did not have much education, but his natural wit was sharp, and he saw that the other had not given him an equal division of the money obtained from Marcus Ellison.
“Ye hevn’t gin me a square deal, Rod,” he declared.
Rodney Darringford turned pale, exclaiming:
“I have, Tim. That is,” he added, “there’s all that belongs to you. As long as you didn’t burn the Spray, I have just kept back the two hundred dad paid you. I will hand that to him.”
Tim Downey’s face was black with rage.
“Ye will, will ye?” he gritted fiercely. “Ye hev nothing to do with the business ’tween yer dad and me. Hand over that two hundred!”
Rodney Darringford hesitated, though trembling with fear. With a single bound Tim Downey was beside him and his big, dirty hand was about his neck.
“Hand it over, Rod Darringford, or I’ll choke the life out’n ye!”
“Yes, yes!” stammered Rodney.
“I want my half of thet divvy, and I’ll hev it, too.”
He got it.
But Tim noticed that his companion still held upon the papers the lawyer had sent. They might not have any value to him, but the very fact that Rodney was not disposed to let them go made him suspicious.
A little later, when their preparations were about completed for each to go his way, Tim improved an opportunity when Rodney’s back was turned to slip the parcel of papers into his own pocket.
Tim next produced a bottle and offered it to Rodney, who did not hesitate to accept, and no sooner had he drunk the liquor than his attitude towards his associate mellowed. He realized that he had money enough in his pocket to pay off his most pressing obligations.
A vision of magnificent extravagance overcame him. He forgot the low estate of his companion in crime.
“Tim!” he said exuberantly, “what are you going to do with your money?”
“Spend it.”
“Where?”
“In Columbus. Do you suppose I’d stay in this dead town?”
“No.”
“No; too risky for me.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“Bully!”
“I’m sick of work on the steamer. Besides, I’m afraid we might be suspected if we were seen with all this money.”
“Right you are!”
“So I’ll go with you.”
“When?”
“When you say.”
“To-night?”
“Can’t you wait until to-morrow?”
“What for?”
“I want to see my folks and make some kind of an excuse for leaving Millville.”
“All right. I’ll meet you here to-morrow noon, and we’ll go to Columbus together. I’ll show you what life is, my boy.”
So they separated, Rodney to go on board the Warrior, and Tim to visit one of the saloons of the city.