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The Telegraph Messenger Boy; or The Straight Road to Success, a fiction by Edward Sylvester Ellis |
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Chapter 19. Baffled! |
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_ CHAPTER XIX. BAFFLED! It so happened that the two men stopped directly at the mouth of the alley, within a few feet of Ben Mayberry, who could hear their guarded words, though he could not catch the first glimpse of their figures. A whistled signal or two first made them certain of each other's identity, and then the one who had crossed the bridge gave utterance to an oath, expressive of his anger, as he demanded: "Where has he gone?" "How should I know?" growled the other. "I waited where you told me to wait, and finding he didn't come, I moved down to meet him, but he don't show up." "'Sh! Not so loud. He can't be far off." "I don't know how that is, but he's given us the slip. There's an alley right here, and he has turned into that." "I don't hear him." "Of course not. Because he's standing still and listening to us." "Flash your bull's-eye into the alley." When Ben Mayberry heard this order he trembled, as well he might, for he was so close to the scoundrels that the first rays of the lantern would reveal him to them. Indeed he dare not move, lest the noise, slight as it was, would bring them down on him. He grasped the ragged stone in his hand and braced himself for the explosion that he was sure was at hand. But fortunately, and most unexpectedly, the crisis passed. The other villain growled in return: "What do you mean by talking about a bull's-eye? I doused the glim long ago." "Why did you do that?" "The cops are watching us too close. I had hard work to dodge one of 'em to-night. Do you s'pose I meant to have him find any of the tools on me? Not much." The other emitted another sulphurous expression, and added the sensible remark: "Then there's no use of our hanging around here. He's smelt a mice and dodged off, and we won't get another such a chance to neck him." These words sounded very strange to Ben Mayberry. Well might he ask himself what earthly purpose these scamps could have in wishing to waylay him in such a dark place, where he was not likely to secure help. The latter part of their conversation proved they contemplated violence. "There's one thing certain," Ben said to himself, "if I manage to get out undiscovered, I will see that I am prepared for such gentlemen hereafter." The couple suddenly stopped talking, for the sound of approaching footsteps were heard. The two moved into the alley, and a minute after a heavy man came ponderously along with a rolling tread. He was puffing at a cigar, whose end glowed so brightly that the tip of his nose and his mustache were seen by the three standing so near him. Ben believed the wretches intended to assault and rob the citizen, and doubtless they were none too good to do so. In case the attempt was made, Ben meant to hurl the stone in his hand at the spot where he was sure they were, and then yell for the police. Policy alone prevented the commission of the crime. "We could have managed it easily," whispered one, as the portly citizen stepped on the bridge and came in sight under the lamp-light, "but I guess it was as well we didn't." "No; it wouldn't have paid as matters stand. We might have made a good haul, but the excitement to-morrow would have been such that we wouldn't have had a show to-morrow night." The heart of the listening Bob gave a quick throb, for this was another proof of the intended crime on Thursday evening. "Well," added one, "that telegraph fellow was too smart for us this time, and has given us the slip. We may as well go home, for there's nothing more to do." Thereupon they began walking toward the creek, with the deliberate tread of law-abiding citizens, who, if encountered anywhere on the street at any hour, would not have been suspected of being "crooked." Ben Mayberry had good cause for feeling indignant toward these ruffians, who clearly intended personal violence toward him, and who were, in all probability, desperadoes from the metropolis, brought into Damietta for the most unlawful purposes. When they had gone a short distance, Ben stepped out of the alley upon the main street, and stood looking toward the bridge. This was slightly elevated, so that in approaching from either side, one had to walk up-hill. The illumination from the lamp, of which I have made mention, gave a full view of the structure itself and all who might be upon it. Ben saw his pursuer, in the first place, when he stepped on the planks, but the light was at his back, and he shrouded his face so skillfully that not a glimpse was obtained of his features. In a few minutes the conspirators slowly advanced out of the gloom and began walking up the slight ascent toward the bridge, becoming more distinct each second. When they reached the middle of the structure, they were in plain sight, but their backs were toward Ben, who, however, had them where he wanted them. "I think I can plug one of them," muttered the shortstop of the Damietta club, as he carefully drew back his arm and fixed his eye on the fellows. "At least, here goes." Gathering all his strength and skill, he hurled the stone at the one who, he believed, had been lying in wait for him. The whizzing missile shot through the air like a cannon-ball, and landed precisely where the thrower intended, directly between the shoulders of the unsuspecting villain, who was thrown forward several paces by the force of the shock, and who must have been as much jarred as though an avalanche had fallen on him. _ |
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