The rival bicyclists

After the failure of his plot at the Sand Cliffs the bully of Lockport was more sour than ever toward Joe.

“I’ll get square, see if I don’t,” he said to Jake Foley.

Foley did not know how Lemuel had tried to harm Joe at the Sand Cliffs, but he was willing to do anything his chum desired.

More especially was he willing to help Lemuel when one day our hero pitched into him for beating a little boy on the way to school. The little boy was lame, and Joe became so angry he gave Jake a most severe chastising.

“You big brute,” he said when he was done. “Next time tackle a lad of your size.”

Jake sneaked off, with his heart full of bitterness.

“I would like to fix Joe Johnson,” he said.

“So would I,” said Lemuel.

“Can’t we lead him into some sort of a trap?”

“Maybe, if we watch our chance,” returned the bully.

So they both watched Joe closely. But day after day went and still no chance came to light.

But in the meantime Lemuel fell in with Phil Henderson, the tramp who had received such a knock-down on the road from Joe, when he and his cronies had wanted to rob the boy.

Phil Henderson was also waiting for a chance to “fix” Joe, and he readily agreed to help Lemuel and Jake in any plan they projected.

One day Jake came to the others with a wicked smile on his face.

“Now we can fix him,” he said.

“How?” demanded Lemuel.

“Joe has made a bet that he is not afraid to walk through the old coal mine at midnight. Sam Anderson dared him to do it, and he is going to walk through the mine to-morrow night.”

“And will he be alone?” asked Phil Henderson eagerly.

“Of course. He is to take a pack of marked cards, and drop them here and there as he walks along, so the boys can see the next morning if he really went into all the dark holes and corners.”

“Good!” muttered Lemuel.

“We’ll fix things,” said Henderson.

Then he talked on for several minutes in a whisper.

“Is it a go?” he asked.

“Yes,” replied both boys.

“Then that is settled. If Joe Johnson visits the old mine to-morrow night he will never come out as he went in.”

What Jake Foley had said about our hero was true.

In a joke Sam Anderson had proposed the midnight visit.

The deserted coal mine was a very lonely place. Some of the simple country folks thought it was haunted by the ghost of a man who had been killed there once by a premature blast, and few in the district cared to go near the place at night.

But Joe knew no such thing as fear.

“I’ll bet you a first-class pocket-knife you don’t dare go,” said Sam.

And then several other boys offered to bet.

“All right, I take you all up,” declared Joe.

The boys would not at first believe him.

It was our hero who suggested the marked cards for distribution, and the boys adopted the suggestion.

The next day passed quickly.

Our hero told his folks about what he was going to do. They merely laughed, but in secret they were proud to think he was not one to be easily frightened.

After supper Joe went over to Sam’s house.

Soon Larry came along, and at eleven o’clock quite a crowd of boys were assembled.

The start was to be made from the blacksmith shop, and promptly at half-past eleven Joe took the cards Sam had prepared.

“I’m off now, boys,” he said. “I don’t expect to get back before one or half-past. Good night to you.”

At a swinging gait he set off for the old mine, half a mile distant.

Never once did he dream of the peril which there awaited him.

There would be no moon that night, and our hero had only the stars to guide him on his lonely way to the deserted quarries.

“It won’t be a very pleasant walk,” he thought. “But the boys dared me, and I won’t take a dare from anybody.”

Joe walked on briskly, and to keep his spirits up began to whistle a merry tune.

A quarter of an hour brought him to the entrance of the largest of the mine openings.

There was more than one pitfall here, but Joe knew the way and went on without hesitation.

He was not in the least afraid of ghosts, and had one appeared it is more than likely it would have received an unusually warm reception.

Presently he passed a deserted cabin, which had once been occupied by the coal-mine watchman.

He had been cautioned to leave a card at the cabin, and so threw one through a broken window.

Was it imagination, or did he hear a low chuckle from the inside?

Instead of going on our hero halted.

The average boy would have taken to his heels, but Joe was made of different stuff.

No, there was no mistake. The chuckle sounded a second time, and going up to the door Joe kicked it open.

“You fellows in there, come out,” he cried. “I heard you, and you can’t play any trick on me.”

A deathlike silence followed.

“If I had a match I would light up and hunt you out,” went on Joe, “but I can do nothing in the dark. So, either come out or stay there. I am not a bit scared.”

Still the silence continued. Then our hero threw another card inside and went on.

He thought some of his friends must be in the cabin, but he was woefully mistaken.

Hardly had he left the tumble-down building when three figures stole forth as silently as so many shadows.

It is needless to say the trio were Akers, Jake Foley and Henderson.

They followed Joe several hundred feet.

Presently our hero reached the edge of a deep hole, from which tons and tons of coal had been taken.

It was part of his wager to go down to the bottom of the hole. To prove he had been there he must place a card on a flat rock and put another rock on top of it. The rock on top would show the card had not merely been thrown into the hole.

A series of huge steps led downward. Joe had just reached the first of the steps when the three behind him rushed up.

“Now, all together!” cried Henderson, in a thick disguised voice.

The three leaped on Joe and gave him a violent shove.

Our hero tried in vain to save himself. He dropped down and clutched at the rocks.

Then he rolled over and went down the stony steps, bump, bump, bump, to the bottom.

He lay unconscious, the blood pouring from a dozen wounds.

Evidently his assailants had done their work well.

Henderson lit a lantern and cast the rays downward.

“He’s done for,” he whispered. “Come and get him out of sight.”

“Le—let us run!” stammered Jake Foley, who was as pale as death itself.

“No, do as Henderson says,” put in Lemuel Akers.

He was almost as cool as the older villain.

Thus addressed, Foley followed the pair down the steps, keeping well in the rear.

“There is a sort of cave but a short distance away,” said Henderson. “I have bunked in it more than once. Let us put him in that.”

But Jake Foley could not be induced to touch the body.

So Akers and Henderson took up the heavy burden and stumbled with it to the cave which the older rascal had mentioned.

Then the body was placed on the rocks, and by the light of the lantern Henderson went through our hero’s pockets.

He found but little, and was greatly displeased over his ill luck.

“Do hurry!” cried Foley, at least a dozen times. He would have given all he was worth to be safe at home.

“You’re a softy!” cried Henderson.

“Yes, Jake, do have a little nerve!” put in Lemuel.

Scarcely had he spoken when an unearthly sound echoed through the air.

The bully’s hair stood on ends, and Jake Foley ran a dozen steps before Henderson could stop him.

“A ghost!”

“Let us get out!”

“A ghost nothing,” growled Henderson. “It’s only a tramp cat. There are several of them around the old coal mine. It’s their meowing makes folks believe there are ghosts here.”

“I won’t stay any longer,” insisted Jake Foley. He was ready to drop from fear.

The trio took up their lantern and walked to the entrance of the cave.

A number of large rocks were handy, and soon the opening to the cave was tightly closed.

They did their work well, and removed all traces as far as lay in their power.

Lemuel had secured the cards Joe had left, and now he quitted the mine by a back way, dropping them as he went.

This would put any who came to hunt for poor Joe off the track.

An hour later the trio separated, Foley and Akers going home and Henderson making his way to a crossroads tavern a couple of miles away.

“We are rid of Joe Johnson,” said the bully to himself. “I said I would get square with him, and I kept my word.”

Yet it must be confessed that Lemuel did not feel as happy as he thought he would be.

All night long he tossed on his bed, and in imagination saw Joe’s cold white face turned up to his own.