“Well!” demanded the man laconically.
“Is this James MacHenry?”
“That’s me, boy.”
“I would like to see you on business,” Jerry went on, as he brushed past and entered one of the barest living apartments he had ever seen.
“On business?”
“Yes, a few days ago you picked up a packet downtown belonging to me—a packet containing some documents and letters.”
“Who said they belonged to you?”
“I say so. My name is Jerry Upton, and I dropped the packet in the alleyway where you found it.”
The man stared at our hero.
“Say, is this a game?” he demanded, harshly.
“What do you mean?”
“Are you trying to get me into trouble?”
“No, I am trying to keep you out of trouble,” replied the young oarsman, warmly.
“You say that packet belonged to you?”
“It didn’t have your name on it.”
“No, it—” Our hero stopped short. “It had Alexander Slocum’s name on it!” he burst out.
“Exactly.”
“You don’t mean to say you delivered that packet to him?” gasped the youth.
“I did—not an hour ago.”
Jerry fell back into a chair and breathed heavily. The packet was gone—into the hands of the enemy!
“The man said it was his package,” said Crazy Jim. “He gave me a reward of five dollars for returning it to him.”
“It was mine. He wanted to steal it—and now he’s done it,” cried Jerry. “You let him have it but an hour ago?”
“Yes.”
“Where did he go?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you open the packet?”
“Yes, but I couldn’t make nothing out of it—’cos I ain’t eddicated. I read his name on it and got another fellow to write a postal card yesterday afternoon. He came here, examined the papers, and seemed much pleased.”
“No doubt he was pleased,” groaned the young oarsman.
“Was the thing worth much?”
“It was worth a good deal. I would have given five dollars to get it back.”
“What does he want with it?”
“Wants to do my father out of some property,” answered our hero. “By the way, who is that little girl who lives with you?”
At this question Crazy Jim’s face darkened.
“That ain’t none of your business,” he growled.
“You shouldn’t send her out on the street to beg.”
“Wot! has she been blabbin’ again? I’ll break every bone in her body!” and off the man started out of the room and down the narrow stairs.
Jerry had noticed that his breath smelt strongly of liquor. He was not only a drinking man, but also one who was not quite right in his head.
“Don’t hurt her, you brute!” called out the boy, and followed him out of the alleyway into the street. At the nearest corner stood the little girl, and Crazy Jim rushed up to her fiercely.
“You good-fer-nothin’!” he bawled. “I’ll teach ye a lesson! Didn’t I tell ye ter keep yer clapper still about me? Take that! and that!”
He raised his heavy hand and struck her a cruel blow on the side of the head. She staggered back, and he was about to repeat his unjust action, when Jerry thought it about time to interfere. Catching him by the arm, our hero hurled him backward with such force that he fell flat in the gutter.
At once a shout went up from those who saw Jerry’s action.
“What are yer doin’?”
“Who is that boy?”
With a fearful exclamation, Crazy Jim arose to his feet.
“I’ll fix ye fer that!” he hissed, and sprang forward. “You ain’t got no right ter interfere between me an’ the gal.”
“You are a brute!” burst out our hero. “This little girl has done nothing to deserve such punishment.”
“Who set you over me?” howled the infuriated man. “I’ll fix ye!”
He tried his best to hit Jerry with his fist, but the young oarsman dodged him and took a stand in front of the little girl.
“You had better run away,” Jerry whispered to her. “He is in a terrible mood just now.”
“Where shall I go?” whimpered the girl.
“Anywhere. Up two blocks. I will join you soon.”
Without delay the little girl ran off. Crazy Jim tried to follow her, but Jerry headed him off.
Seeing he could do nothing with his hands, the savage man looked around for some weapon. A heavy stone was lying handy, and he picked it up. The next moment it was launched at our hero’s head.
Luckily, Jerry was quick at dodging, or he might have been seriously wounded. The missile went sailing over the lad’s head and flew with a crash through the front window of a neighboring store.
The smashing of the pane of glass was followed by a shout of alarm from the storekeeper, who sat in a chair on the pavement.
“Here, vot’s dot?” he yelled. “Vot you means py preaking mine vinder, hey, you Crazy Gim? I vos got you locked up. Ain’t it? Bolice! bolice!”
The German storekeeper continued to yell so loudly that it was not long before an officer appeared. Seeing this, Jerry backed out of the crowd and hurried off. He saw the policeman catch Crazy Jim by the arm, and a wordy war followed. A minute later the fellow was being marched off to the station-house. No doubt the policeman would have liked it had he found Jerry, but our hero kept at a safe distance.
It was now quite dark, and it was with some difficulty that Jerry again found the little girl. She stood by a hitching post, sobbing bitterly.
“Where is he?” she asked, choking back her sobs.
“The policeman took him off. Don’t cry any more,” Jerry added, soothingly.
“But where shall I go?” she asked. “I can’t go back.”
“Have you no friends?”
“No. Crazy Jim and I came to New York alone when papa died.”
“Where did you come from?”
The little girl shook her head at this. She had been too young to remember.
“What is your name?”
“Dottie.”
“Dottie what?”
“Nothing, only Dottie.”
Jerry was in a quandary. To a certain degree he felt responsible for her present forlorn condition. Suddenly an idea struck him.
“If you will come with me, I’ll see to it that you have a good bed to-night, and breakfast in the morning,” he said. “And after that I’ll see what I can do for you, Dottie.”
“Who are you?”
“My name is Jerry Upton.”
“You look like a nice boy and I’ll go with you,” and she placed her hand confidently in that of the young oarsman.
Jerry took the little one to Nellie Ardell’s apartments. Of course she was much surprised, and, sitting down, our hero had to explain everything as far as he was able. Nellie Ardell agreed instantly to take the little girl in.
“You can stay here until we can do something for you,” she said. “I know how it would feel to have little Tommy on the streets homeless.”
And soon after that Dottie was put to bed, very well content. Her hard life with Crazy Jim had made her used to ups and downs that no ordinary little girl could have endured.
The reader can well imagine that Jerry did not sleep much that night. He could not forget that Alexander Slocum had the precious packet of papers. Bitterly he regretted not having taken better care of the documents.
“I will call on Slocum, and come to some sort of an understanding,” Jerry said to himself. “Perhaps when I tell him that both Nellie Ardell and myself are ready to proceed against him he will be willing to come to terms.”
The next day was a busy one at the book-bindery, and our hero got no chance to call on Slocum. During that time he learned that Crazy Jim had been locked up for resisting the officer and had been sentenced to thirty days on Blackwell’s Island.
The young oarsman did not know what to do about little Dottie, but Nellie Ardell solved this question.
“I have received a whole lot of new work,” she said. “So for the present we can keep her to mind Tommy while I am dressmaking.”
So the little girl stayed on. Jerry never dreamed of how much she had to do with his future life.
On Thursday Mr. Islin’s brother died and the bindery was closed for several days. Jerry took the opportunity to walk down to Alexander Slocum’s offices.
The real estate man was alone, and greeted our hero with a sinister smile.
“So you have seen fit to call again, young man,” were his first words.
“Mr. Slocum, let us come to business,” Jerry replied firmly. “What are you going to do about my father’s claim?”
Alexander Slocum laughed harshly.
“Your father’s claim?” he repeated. “I don’t recognize the fact that your father has any claim against me.”
Alexander Slocum’s statement was no more than Jerry had expected, so he was not taken back by the words. He looked the man steadily in the eyes.
“So that is the position you are going to take now—since you received my packet from James MacHenry,” said Jerry, deliberately.
Slocum started and winced, and the young oarsman saw that Crazy Jim had spoken the truth.
“I haven’t anything belonging to you, Upton.”
“It is useless for you to deny it, Mr. Slocum. He found the packet and delivered it to you for a reward of five dollars.”
“The packet he delivered to me was my own. It contained some legal documents belonging to this office.”
“You may make others believe that, Mr. Slocum, but—”
“But what, boy? Remember, I want none of your insolence here. I will listen to you, but you mustn’t grow impertinent.”
“I’m only speaking the truth. You virtually robbed me, just as you robbed my father and Mr. Bryant Ardell.”
“Ha!” Slocum leaped to his feet. “Who—where did you hear of Bryant Ardell?” he asked, excitedly.
“I have met Nellie Ardell several times—in fact, I am boarding with her.”
“Did she set you to hounding me?”
“No; we met by accident after I had come to New York almost on purpose to see you.”
“She is an impudent young woman.”
“She told me that you had her land papers, just as you now have mine.”
“It’s a falsehood!”
“If both of us go to court with our story, we may prove that it is not a falsehood.”
“Ha! are you going to combine to ruin my reputation?” cried the real estate dealer, growing pale.
“We are going to try to obtain our rights.”
“You’ll gain nothing. I’ll—I’ll have you locked up on a charge of black-mail!” Alexander Slocum began to pace his office nervously. “See here, Upton how much do you want to go off and leave me alone?” he questioned, suddenly.
“I want what is due my father.”
“You’ll not get it!” he whispered, hoarsely, throwing his mask aside. “Do you think I have plotted and worked all these years for nothing? Not much! All that property is mine, do you hear? Nobody else shall ever own a foot of it. Now, I’ll tell you what I am willing to do. I’ll give you a hundred dollars in cash and we’ll call it square. Mind you, I don’t admit your claim. I only want to avoid trouble.”
Jerry looked at the man and drew a long breath. He could see through Slocum’s words as clearly as he could see through the window. His father’s claim was worth a fortune!
“Come, what do you say?” demanded Slocum as Jerry did not answer him.
“I say this, Mr. Slocum,” rejoined our hero. “I won’t accept your proposition, and before I am done with you I’ll have our rights and you’ll be in state’s prison.”
With a snarl very much like that made by a fretful tiger, the man leaped toward the boy as if to grab him by the throat.
“You fool! I’ll make you come to terms!”
His hand touched Jerry’s collar, but the young oarsman evaded him and placed the flat-top desk between them. When the man ran around the desk, Jerry picked up a heavy brass-bound ruler.
“Stop, or I’ll crack you with this!” cried our hero, and, seeing the weapon, Slocum halted.
“Don’t be a fool, boy!”
“I don’t intend to be.”
“You can do nothing against me.”
“That remains to be seen.”
“Who will take your word against mine? Nobody. You are a mere country lad, while I am a well-known New York citizen.”
“Mr. Ardell was also well known in his day.”
Again Alexander Slocum’s face grew pale.
“Nellie Ardell has no doubt urged you to attack me,” he growled. “I must see her. Why didn’t she come with you?”
“She is busy.”
“I will explain matters to her in detail. Really, the claim is not worth anything, but I wish to avoid trouble, and—”
“You might as well stop, Mr. Slocum, for it’s too late to say that now. I am positive our claims are of great value. Since you won’t do the right thing, I shall advise my father to bring action in court to compel you to come to terms.”
While speaking, Jerry had walked to the door, and now placed his hand on the knob.
“Stop! stop!”
“No, I have had enough for the present.”
“You villain!”
Slocum ran toward Jerry, who opened the door to step out, but found the way blockaded by Casey, his book-keeper.
“Here, what’s up?” cried the man, in wonder.
“Don’t let him get away, Casey!” cried Alexander Slocum. “He is going to make trouble, sure!”
“Let me go!” burst out our hero as the book-keeper caught hold of him. “Let go, or I’ll——”
Jerry never finished that sentence. Alexander Slocum had picked up the ruler the youth had dropped, and leaped to the front. Down came the weapon on the young oarsman’s head; he felt a sharp stinging pain—and then he knew no more.
When Jerry came to his senses all was dark around him. He was lying on a damp, cement floor, evidently that of a cellar.
His head ached greatly, and for several minutes he could not remember what had happened.
Then came back that scene in Slocum’s office. He staggered to his feet.
Where was he and how long had he been there?
The first question was readily answered. Stepping forward, Jerry stumbled over some loose coal. He was in a coal-cellar. Around and above were brick walls. The door was of sheet-iron, and it was tightly closed and barred. How had he come to that place? Probably his enemies had carried him hither, although how they could do it without being seen was a question.
As soon as our hero felt strong enough he looked about for some means of escaping from his prison. With great care he examined the walls and tried the door.
Finding no outlet on any side, he turned his attention to the pavements above. From one spot there came a faint glimmer of light, in a circle, and he rightfully guessed that the coal-hole was located there.
How to reach the hole was a problem. It was several feet above our hero’s head, and there was nothing in the coal-vault to stand upon.
Jerry considered the situation for a minute, and then, standing directly under the cover of the hole, leaped upward, sending his hand over his head as he did so.
The cover was loose, and the force of the blow caused it to fly upward. Another blow and it fell away entirely, and in a second more the young oarsman was clambering out of the opening.
It was drawing towards evening, and the street was full of people, some of which eyed the boy curiously. Restoring the cover to its place, he left the spot.
The question now was, should he return to Slocum’s office or seek outside assistance? He decided upon the latter course. To attempt to bring the rascally real estate agent to terms alone would be foolhardy.
Jerry’s head ached so much he could think only with difficulty, and he decided to return to Nellie Ardell’s apartments. It was a hard walk, and he was glad when the place was reached and he could sit down.
“What’s the matter—are you hurt?” cried the young woman.
“I was knocked out,” replied the youth, with a sorry little laugh. “I’ve got a pretty big lump on the top of my head.”
Sitting down, he told his story, to which Nellie Ardell listened with breathless attention.
“The wicked man! He should be locked up!” she burst out, when Jerry had finished. “It’s a wonder he didn’t kill you.”
“That’s true. As it was, the blow was awfully hard.”
“What will you do now?”
“I really don’t know.”
“Won’t that Mr. Islen whom you work for, help you?”
“Perhaps he will,” returned the youth, struck with the idea. “The trouble is his brother is dead, and that has upset him.”
“One thing is certain, Jerry, the property is valuable.”
“Yes, and another thing is certain,” added our hero. “We want our shares of it.”
“It would be a great help to me to get some money out of it,” said Nellie Ardell, with a sigh. “This sewing constantly day in and day out is wearing on me.”
The two talked for over an hour, and then Jerry felt compelled to lie down. It was nearly morning before his head stopped aching and he got some rest.
On the next day the bindery was opened as usual, but Mr. Islen did not appear, having gone to Philadelphia. Jerry worked throughout the day, wondering what Alexander Slocum had thought and done after he had discovered the escape. Little did the young oarsman dream of what the real estate dealer was then doing.
Our hero was proving himself to be skillful at the work assigned to him and the foreman often praised him.
“You’ll be worth a raise in wages,” he said. “I never saw a boy take hold as you do.”
Jerry never delayed after the day’s work was over. He washed up, put on his coat, and hurried forth to his boarding place.
When Jerry reached the house he found little Dottie on the stoop, with Tommy in her arms. Tommy was crying for something to eat, and the little girl was having her hands full with him.
“Where is Miss Nellie?” asked our hero in surprise.
“I don’t know,” returned the girl. “She sent me out with Tommy after dinner, and when I tried to get in after a while the door was locked and she was gone.”
“And you have been sitting here ever since?”
“Yes.”
“Come up. I’ll open the door.”
Jerry led the way, and with a night key opened the door to the kitchen.
A cry of surprise burst from his lips. Everywhere were the signs of a desperate struggle. Two of the chairs were overturned, the table-cloth hung half off the table, and Nellie Ardell’s sewing was strewn in all directions.
“This is Slocum’s work!”
Those were the words which arose to the youth’s lips as he surveyed the situation in the kitchen.
Alexander Slocum had tried to get him out of the way, and now he had tried the same plan upon Nellie Ardell.
There had been a fierce struggle, of that there was not the slightest doubt.
But the girl had been overpowered in the end and taken off.
To where?
That was the all important question.
While our hero was gazing around the room, little Tommy was crying at the top of his lungs.
To quiet him, Jerry gave him his bowl of bread and milk, and also gave Dottie her supper.
Then Jerry began a minute examination of the rooms.
There was mud on the oil-cloth—the tracks of four boots.
“Slocum and Casey, his book-keeper,” he said to himself.
Going below he interviewed Mrs. Flannigan, a good-natured Irish woman who lived on the nest floor.
“Did you see Miss Ardell this afternoon?”
“Sure, an’ Oi did not Oi was out,” she replied.
He next tried the janitress, who lived in the basement. She was a peppery old woman who seldom had a pleasant word for anybody.
“Did I see her? Yes, she went out with two men about two hours ago,” she said.
“What sort of looking men?”
“I can’t say—I’m not taking notice of everybody who comes and goes.”
“But this is important, Mrs. Foley. I am afraid something has happened to Miss Ardell.”
“They were tall men, and I guess both had big black mustaches and beards.”
“Where did she go with them?”
“Into a carriage. All of ’em seemed to be in a big hurry.”
“Which way did the carriage go?”
“Down towards the Brooklyn ferry.”
In a thoughtful mood, the young oarsman walked back upstairs. He met Mrs. Flannigan outside of the door.
“What’s wrong, Mr. Upton?”
“That is what I am trying to find out. Miss Ardell is missing. If I go out, will you look after the children?”
“Sure, Oi will, bless the dears,” she said. Her heart was as large as her ruddy, full-blown face.
Without waiting longer, Jerry ran down into the street and endeavored to trace the carriage down to the ferry. In this he was successful, and learned that the turnout containing two men and a young lady, who appeared to be ill, had crossed to Brooklyn.
By this time night had set in, and all efforts to follow the carriage proved unsuccessful. Yet unwilling to give up, Jerry spent over two hours in Brooklyn, hunting in every direction for a clew.
Our hero had never been across the East River before, and in hunting around it was but natural that he should get lost. At the end of the search he found himself a good distance from the river, in a neighborhood that looked anything but respectable.
“It’s time I got back,” thought the youth, and started to make inquiries.
“You’re a dozen blocks out of your way,” said a man. “Go down that way three blocks, and turn to your left.”
As Jerry walked along a somewhat gloomy street, he noticed three men walking ahead of him. One was a tall, finely built man, wearing a large round hat, of the western type.
The other men were short fellows, each with a red mustache. They carried heavy canes and walked on either side of the tall individual.
“Aren’t we almost there?” Jerry heard the tall man ask, as he drew closer to the trio.
“Yes, it ain’t but a step further,” was the reply from one of the short men.
“You are certain this Crazy Jim is the man I am after?”
“Oh, yes.”
The mentioning of Crazy Jim’s name interested Jerry. Crazy Jim was still up on Blackwell’s Island. It was possible, however, that they referred to some other individual.
To hear what further they might have to say the young oarsman kept close to the party.
“It’s been a long hunt for me, gentlemen,” said the tall man, and by his speech Jerry felt sure he was a westerner. “But if I am on the right trail, things will soon come out right.”
“What do you want to find Crazy Jim for?” asked one of the short men.
“I’m not saying any thing about that just now,” was the cool response.
“Oh, excuse me, of course not.” The short fellow looked around, but failed to catch sight of our hero. “Jack, how about a smoke?” he said to the other short fellow.
“Strike a light,” was the answer.
The words were evidently a secret signal, for hardly were they spoken when one of the short men caught the westerner from behind and held his arms.
“Here, what’s the meaning of this?” cried the man, in alarm.
“Keep still, old man, and we won’t hurt you. Raise a row and you’ll get knocked out. Quick, Pete, with his diamond pin and that roll of bills in his left pocket!”
At this command the man in front rushed in and caught hold of the man’s pin. Out it came in his hand, a beautiful affair, worth at least a hundred dollars.
“Stop! stop!” yelled the westerner. “Police! police!”
“Shut up!” hissed the man who held him. “Pete, crack him over the head. We can’t afford to take any chances here.”
Thus ordered, the man who held the diamond pin slipped it into his pocket. Then he raised his heavy cane and started to do as bidden when Jerry rushed at him.
“Stop! Don’t hit that man!”
“Who are you? Oh, it’s only a boy. Clear out of here!”
“I won’t! You let that man alone.”
“Don’t leave me,” pleaded the victim. “They want to rob me. He has my diamond pin!”
“Shut up!” howled the man in the rear. “Crack him, Pete, and crack the boy, too.”
Once more the heavy cane was raised. Our hero caught it in the center, and by a dexterous twist wrenched it from the rascal’s hand.
With a howl of baffled rage the rascal turned and caught Jerry by the throat.
“Give me that stick, boy, or I’ll choke the life out of you!” he hissed into the youth’s ear.
When the footpad, for the fellow was nothing less, attacked Jerry, our hero felt that he had a tough struggle before him.
The rascal’s grasp on the young oarsman’s throat was light, however, and Jerry quickly shook it off.
In the meantime the westerner began to struggle and shout at the top of his voice:
“Help! Police! police!”
In vain the fellow who held him tried to stop his cries. They grew louder, and soon footsteps were heard approaching.
Jerry received a savage blow on the chest and struck out in return, hitting the footpad in the chin. Then the two clinched, and both rolled to the pavement.
Jerry’s assailant was a strong man and he was slowly but surely getting the best of the youth when three men put in an appearance. They were heavy-set individuals and were followed by a policeman.
“What’s up here?”
“Don’t kill that boy!”
“He is a thief!” cried Jerry. “He has that man’s diamond pin.”
“That’s right,” put in the westerner, who had managed to turn and catch hold of his assailant. “This fellow is his mate. They just tackled me when the boy came to my help.”
“It is a falsehood,” roared the footpad who had attacked our hero.
Saying this, he arose and tried to sneak away. But Jerry tripped him up, sending him headlong, and before he could rise the policeman had him handcuffed.
While this was going on the westerner and two of the new arrivals managed to make a prisoner of the other footpad. He used some terrible language, but this did not avail him.
“I know them,” said the policeman, after the capture was effected. “They are Hungry Pete and Jack the Slick. They are wanted for a burglary at Sheepshead Bay. How did you happen to fall in with them?”
“I met them up at Rumford’s Hotel. They said they knew a man I was looking for.”
“Will you come along and make a charge against them?”
“Certainly. He has my diamond pin.”
The pin was brought to light and handed over to its owner, and then our hero was asked to go along.
Anxious to know what the westerner might want of Crazy Jim, Jerry agreed, and a minute later found the whole crowd bound for the nearest station-house.
Here the westerner gave his name as Colonel Albert Dartwell. He said he was from Denver and had come east on private business.
“I have been sick for two months,” he said. “I am still weak. That is the reason I did not put up a better fight when those two men tackled me.”
Jerry told his story, and the upshot of the matter was that the two footpads were held for another hearing before the judge in the morning.
“My boy, I owe you something for your services to me,” said the westerner, as he and our hero came out on the street. “You did well for a boy.”
“I did the best I could,” replied the young oarsman “But I want to ask you a question. I heard you mention Crazy Jim. What do you want to see him for?”
A look of pain crossed Colonel Dartwell’s face at my words.
“It’s a long story, Upton. I am from the West and came many miles to see him. Do you know the man?”
“I know one fellow called Crazy Jim, sir.”
“His right name is James MacHenry.”
“That’s the man.”
“Ah! And where can he be found?”
“Most likely on Blackwell’s Island.”
“He is in prison?”
“Yes.”
“What for?”
“For breaking the glass in a store window and creating a row.”
Colonel Dartwell drew a long breath.
“Those footpads told me he was in a hotel in the neighborhood. You are sure you are right?”
“Yes, sir. To be truthful, I was mixed up in the scrape that took Crazy Jim to prison.”
“Indeed. Would you mind telling me about it? You don’t look like a boy that would do wrong.”
“It wasn’t my fault. Crazy Jim had a packet belonging to me—a packet containing some valuable documents. I called for them and found he had given them up to an enemy of mine.”
“And that led to the row.”
“Not exactly. He is a bad man, and there was a little girl living with him, and he—”
As Jerry spoke Colonel Dartwell grasped him by the arm.
“Stop! What did you say about a little girl?” he demanded, eagerly.
“I said there was a little girl living with him. He used to send her out to beg. He got it into his head that she had set me against him, and he started to beat her. I told her to run away, and then he attacked me and got arrested.”
“And what became of the little girl? Tell me, quickly!” And Colonel Dartwell’s voice was husky as he spoke.
“I met her afterward and took her to where I was boarding, and she is still stopping there.”
“Describe her to me.”
Seeing there was something behind the inquiry, Jerry gave him the best description he could. The colonel listened with fixed attention.
“It must be her!” he murmured. “My poor, lost Dottie.”
“Dottie! That’s her name!” cried our hero. “And she is—”
“She is my daughter,” was his answer.
“Your daughter!” ejaculated Jerry, in amazement.
“Yes, my daughter. Take me to her at once.”
“I will, sir; but this is the strangest thing I ever heard.”
“I have no doubt of it.”
“Was she stolen from you?”
“Yes. It’s a long story. I will tell it to you while we are on the way. She is well?”
“Yes, sir. But she has been misused, so you mustn’t expect to see her looking real good. She is very thin.”
“I have not seen her for four years, not since she was a mite of a toddler.”
The pair started for the ferry without delay, and as they proceeded, the colonel related his story.
He was a mine-owner and had lived in the West for fifteen years. His wife had died when Dottie was born, and the child had been turned over to the care of a colored nurse.
At that time James MacHenry had been a prospector in the region and he had opened a mine close to that located by the colonel.
All went well until the MacHenry mine petered out as it is called, and then the man’s mind became deranged. He accused the colonel of having cheated him out of a slice of the richest land and a bitter quarrel resulted.
Two weeks later MacHenry disappeared, and shortly after that baby Dottie was missing. A long search was made for the child, but without avail.
Curiously enough, the colonel did not connect the disappearance of his child with that of Crazy Jim. He started to hunt for the little one among the Indians and the outlaws in the mountains.
Two years passed, and then one night a good-for-nothing miner named Duffy was shot in a quarrel over a game of cards. On his dying bed Duffy confessed that he had once been intimate with Crazy Jim and that the latter had acknowledged stealing Dottie.
A hunt was at once made for the abductor. It was said he had gone to San Francisco, and later on he was traced to Chicago, but there the trail was lost until long after, when a tramp turned up who spoke of having seen Crazy Jim around New York.
Without delay Colonel Dartwell had come East and scoured the metropolis. While here he had fallen in with footpads who had sought to rob him.
By the time Colonel Dartwell’s story was told he and Jerry had landed in the metropolis, and a hurried walk of a few minutes brought them to Nellie Ardell’s apartment. Mrs. Flannigan was waiting for our hero, having put both of the children to bed.
“An’ did ye find Miss Ardell?” she asked, quickly.
“No, Mrs. Flannigan. But I have found somebody else—the father of little Dottie.”
“Indade, now! An’ ain’t that noice’” she exclaimed, glancing at Colonel Dartwell’s well-dressed figure. “Well, the poor dear needs somebody, not but what she got good care here,” she added, hastily.
Tears stood in the colonel’s eyes as he stepped up beside the bed upon which Dottie lay. He took the white-robed figure up in his arms and kissed her face.
“It is she,” he said, in a choking voice. “The living picture of her dead mother!”
Dottie awoke with a start and was inclined to cry out. But Jerry and the colonel quickly soothed her.
“I am your papa, Dottie; don’t you remember papa and big Ruth that used to be with you?”
The little girl looked puzzled. Then she gave a cry.
“Papa! papa! I know you! I knew you would come to me! Oh, papa, don’t go away again! Crazy Jim said you were dead! Oh, papa!”
And she clung to him convulsively. It was such an affecting scene Jerry had to turn away, while Mrs. Flannigan, standing in the partly open doorway, shed copious tears.
An hour later the children had again retired, and the colonel and the young oarsman sat in the little kitchen talking.
“And you say you think Miss Ardell was abducted?” he said.
“I felt sure of it, sir. This Alexander Slocum wants to get her out of the way on account of some property he is holding back from her. I am interested in the same property.”
And Jerry told him the particulars of affairs so far as they concerned Slocum.
“If the land in question is near Sacramento it ought to be of great value,” said the colonel. “Property in that section is booming.”
“I want to find Nellie Ardell, sir. I am afraid he will do her bodily harm. He might even kill her to get her out of the way.”
“I will help you all I can, Upton. You have done me a great service, and I certainly owe the young lady much for taking my child in and caring for her.”
Our hero and the colonel went over the matter carefully for fully an hour and decided to start on a hunt as soon as it grew light. The colonel offered to employ a detective and this offer Jerry readily accepted.
Jerry passed several hours trying to sleep, and at the first sign of dawn was up and dressed. The colonel had rested in an arm-chair, not caring to separate himself from his child by going to a hotel.
Mrs. Flannigan was again called upon and readily agreed to take charge of Tommy and Dottie once more. She took them to her own rooms and was cautioned about letting strangers in.
“Don’t fear, they’ll not take ’em from me,” she said, and in such a determined way that Jerry was compelled to laugh.
The call at a detective’s office was soon over, and it was not as satisfactory as our hero had anticipated.
“You mustn’t expect too much,” laughed the colonel. “In spite of the thrilling detective stories published, detectives are only ordinary men, and cannot do the impossible. Mr. Gray will no doubt go to work in his own way and do the best he can.”
Their next movement was to cross to Brooklyn. Here the pair started on the hunt for the carriage that had carried Nellie Ardell off.
An hour was spent in a fruitless search. They were about to give it up, when they saw a carriage coming down to the ferry that was covered with dust and mud.
“That looks as if it had been out in the country a good distance,” observed Colonel Dartwell. “I’ll stop the driver and see what he has to say. It can do no harm.”
Walking up in front of the team he motioned for the driver to halt.
“Want a carriage, boss?”
“No, I want to know where you have been?” demanded the westerner.
At this question the driver seemed plainly disconcerted. He looked around, and, seeing a clear space to his left, whipped up his animals and sped off.
“He’s our man!” cried the colonel. “Come on, he must not escape us!”
He set off with all speed and Jerry followed. The driver drove as far as the first corner and then had to halt because of a blockade in the street.
“Come down here!” commanded Colonel Dartwell.
“I ain’t done nothin’,” growled the fellow. “You let me alone.”
“I asked you where you had been.”
“Up to the park.”
“Who did you have for a fare?”
“An old man.”
“That’s not true—you had two men and a girl.”
The carriage driver muttered something under his breath.
“I—I—who said I had the men and a girl?” he asked, surlily.
“I say so. Where did you take the young lady?”
At first the driver beat about the bush. But the colonel threatened him with arrest, and this brought him around.
“Don’t arrest me, boss. I wasn’t in the game. The men hired me to take ’em out—that was all. They said the girl was light-headed and the place was a private asylum.”
“Probably,” rejoined Colonel Dartwell, sarcastically. “Take us to that place without delay. But stop—drive to police headquarters first.”
Very unwillingly the fellow complied. At the headquarters help was procured in the shape of two ward detectives. All four of the party entered the carriage and were driven off to effect Nellie Ardell’s rescue.
It was with deep interest that Jerry accompanied Colonel Dartwell and the officers of the law in the search for the missing young lady.
On through the crowded streets of Brooklyn drove the carriage, the driver now apparently as willing to help the law as he had before wished to evade it.
The carriage was turning into one of the fine thoroughfares when Jerry caught sight of a figure which instantly arrested his attention. The figure was that of Mr. Wakefield Smith.
“Stop!” cried the young oarsman to the driver of the carriage.
“What’s up?” demanded the colonel.
“Do you see that man over there by the paper stand?”
“Yes.”
“That is Wakefield Smith, the pickpocket.”
“Indeed! He ought to be arrested.”
“You know him to be a pickpocket?” questioned one of the detectives.
“I do. He robbed me of over twenty dollars. I got back ten dollars. He’s a very smooth and slick worker.”
“I think I know that chap,” returned the detective. “Don’t he look like Charley the Dude?” he asked of his companion.
“By Jove! that’s our man!” ejaculated the second detective. “I would know him anywhere by that peculiar walk. He has grown a heavy mustache since I saw him last.”
“Will you stop and arrest him?” asked Jerry. “He ought to be locked up.” “We can get the policeman on the beat to attend to him. There is an officer on the next corner. Just call him, Harrity.”
The carriage was brought up to the curb and our hero and the officers alighted, the Colonel remaining behind to keep an eye on the driver.
Mr. Wakefield Smith was strolling down the street in a lordly way when Jerry tapped him on the shoulder.
“So I’ve met you again,” he said.
The pickpocket turned and his face fell. But only for a moment; then he gazed at the youth brazenly.
“I don’t know you, me boy,” he drawled in an assumed voice.
“But I know you, Mr. Smith,” rejoined Jerry. “I want the balance of my money. I got ten dollars the night you were intoxicated, but that is not enough.”
“Boy, you are talking riddles. I never saw you before.”
“I can easily prove it, I fancy.”
“It’s no use, Charley,” broke in the detective, who had followed me. “We know you well enough.”
“And who are you?” asked the pickpocket, much disconcerted.
“I am a detective. You are the rogue known as Charley the Dude. You may consider yourself under arrest.”
“This is an outrage!”
“Hardly.”
By this time the second detective had arrived with a policeman. At sight of the bluecoat the pickpocket became nervous. Turning, he suddenly started to run.
But the others ran for him, and soon he was handcuffed. Explanations to the policeman followed, and the officer took him off, and Jerry and the detectives continued on their way.
It may be well to state here that the pickpocket, whose real name was Charles Heulig, was later on convicted of several crimes and sent to state prison for a term of years. Jerry never received a cent of the balance of the money due, but other events that followed made this loss seem a trivial one.