Burt Standish - Frank Merriwell's Triumph - or, The Disappearance of Felicia

They arose and walked away from the others, so that their talk might not be heard.

“Did you ever hear of Benson Clark?” asked Shawmut.

“Clark? Clark? Why, I dunno. Seems ter me I hears o’ him.”

“I knows him well once. He was a grubstaker. But his is hard luck and a-plenty of it. All the same, he keeps right on thinking sure that luck changes for him. Something like two years ago I loses track of him. I never sees him any since. But old Bense he hits it rich at last. Somewhere in the Mazatzals he located a claim what opens rich as mud. Some Indians off their reservation finds him there, and he has to run for it. He gits out of the mountains, but they cuts him off and shoots him up. His luck don’t do him no good, for he croaks. But right here is where another lucky gent comes in. This other gent he happens along and finds old Bense, and Bense he tells him about the mine and gives him a map. Now, this other lucky gent he proposes to go and locate that mine. He proposes to do this, though right now he owns two of the best mines in the whole country. Mebbe you guesses who I’m talking about.”

“Why,” exclaimed Henry, “you don’t mean Mr. Merriwell, do yer?”

“Mebbe I does,” answered Shawmut, glancing at his companion slantwise. “Now, what do yer think of that?”

“What do I think of it?” muttered the Roper. “Well, I will tell yer. I think it’s rotten that all the luck is to come to one gent. I think Mr. Merriwell has a-plenty and he can do without another mine.”

“Just what I thinks,” agreed Shawmut. “I figgers it out that way myself. But he has a map, and that shows him where to find old Bense’s claim.”

“See here,” said Kip, stopping short, “how do you happen to know so much about this?”

“Well, mebbe I listens around some; mebbe I harks a little; mebbe I finds it out that way.”

“I see,” said Henry, in surprise; “but I never thinks it o’ you. You seem so satisfied-like I reckons you don’t bother any.”

“Mebbe I plays my cards slick and proper,” chuckled Shawmut. “You sees I don’t care to be suspected now.”

“What do you propose to do?”

“Well, partner, if I tells you, does you opine you’re ready to stick by me?”

“Share even and I am ready for anything,” was the assurance.

“Mr. Merriwell he proposes hiking out soon to locate that thar claim o’ Benson Clark’s. I am none in a hurry about getting away from here, so I lingers. When he hikes I follers. When he locates the claim mebbe he has to leave it; mebbe I jump it; mebbe I gits it recorded first. If he don’t suspect me any, if he don’t know I’m arter it, he don’t hurry any about having it recorded. That gives me time to get ahead of him. If you’re with me in this, we goes even on the claim. It’s a heap resky, for this yere Merriwell is dangerous to deal with. Is it settled?”

“Yere’s my hand,” said Kip Henry.

Shawmut clasped the proffered hand, and the compact was made.

When Merry had dismissed the men, he turned back into the cabin and sat down near the table.

“Well, that’s the end of that business, Bart,” he said.

“Yes,” nodded Hodge, sitting opposite. “I congratulate you on the way you handled those men, Merry. No one else could have done it as well. If ever I saw a collection of land pirates, it was that bunch.”

Frank smiled.

“They were a pretty tough set,” he confessed; “but they were just the men I needed to match the ruffians Sukes set against me.”

Milton Sukes was the chief conspirator against Frank in the schemes to deprive him of the Queen Mystery Mine.

“Sukes will hire no more ruffians,” said Hodge.

“I should say not. He has perpetrated his last piece of villainy. He has gone before the judgment bar on high.”

“And the last poor wretch he deluded is an imbecile.”

“Poor Worthington!” said Merry. “I fear he will never be right again. It was his bullet that destroyed Sukes, yet no man can prove it. What he suffered after that during his flight into the desert, where he nearly perished for water, completely turned his brain.”

“You want to look out for him, Frank. I think he is dangerous.”

Merry laughed.

“Ridiculous, Hodge! He is as harmless as a child. When I let him, he follows me about like a dog.”

Even as Frank said this, a crouching figure came creeping to the door and peered in. It was a man with unshaven, haggard face and eyes from which the light of reason had fled.

“There he is!” exclaimed this man. “There is my ghost! Do you want me, ghost?”

“Come in, Worthington!” called Frank.

The man entered hesitatingly and stood near the table, never taking his eyes from Merry’s face for a moment.

“What you command, ghost, I must obey,” he said. “You own me, body and soul. Ha! ha! body and soul! But I have no soul! I bartered it with a wretch who deceived me! I was an honest man before that! Perhaps you don’t believe me, but I swear I was. You must believe me! It’s a terrible thing to be owned by a ghost who has no confidence in you. But why should my ghost have confidence! Didn’t I deceive him? Didn’t I kill him? I see it now. I see the fire! It is burning – it is burning there! He has found me as I am setting it. He springs upon me! He is strong – so strong! Ha! his feet slip! Down he goes! His head strikes! He is unconscious!”

The wretch seemed living over the terrible experiences through which he had passed on a certain night in Denver, when he set fire to Merriwell’s office and tried to burn Frank to death. He thought he had accomplished his purpose, and the appearance of his intended victim alive had turned his brain.

As he listened Hodge shivered a little.

“Never mind, Worthington,” said Frank. “He is all right. He will escape from the fire.”

“No, no, no!” gasped the man, wringing his hands. “See him lying there! See the fire flashing on his face! See the smoke! It is coming thick. I must go! I must leave him. It is a fearful thing to do! But if he escapes he will destroy me. He will send me to prison, and I must leave him to die!”

He covered his eyes with his hands, as if to shut out a terrible spectacle.

“No one sees me!” he whispered. “Here are the stairs! It is all dark – all dark! I must get out quick, before the fire is discovered. I have done it! I am on the street! I mustn’t run! If I run they will suspect me. I will walk fast – walk fast!”

Merry glanced at Hodge and sadly shook his head.

“Now the engines are coming!” exclaimed the deranged man. “Hear them as they clang and roar along the streets! See the people run! See the horses galloping! They are coming to try to put out the fire. What if they do it in time to save him! Then he will tell them of my treachery! Then he will send me to prison! I must see – I must know! I must go back there!”

“He shall not send you to prison, Worthington,” asserted Merry soothingly. “He shall be merciful to you.”

“Why should he? Here is the burning building. Here are the engines, panting and throbbing. See! they pour streams of water on the building. No use! It is too late; you cannot save him. He is dead long before this. Who shall say I was to blame? What if they do find his charred body? No man can prove I had a hand in it. I defy you to prove it!”

Shaking his trembling hands in the air, the wretch almost shrieked these words.

“This,” muttered Bart Hodge, “is retribution.”

“I must go away,” whispered Worthington. “I must hide where they can’t see me. Look how every one stares at me! They seem to know I have done it! These infernal lights betray me! I must hide in the darkness. Some one is following me everywhere. I am afraid of the darkness! I will always be afraid of the darkness! In the darkness or in the light, there is no rest for me – no rest! Did you hear that voice? Do you hear? It accuses me of murder! I am haunted! My God! Haunted, haunted!”