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"Say, Tim—"
"I ain't done yet—"
"But I tell you—"
"Awarst thar! As I wuz asayin' along we went like fury, ther simoon chasing arter us. It wuz a terrible race an' I yelled and poked at them ere crocodiles like mad.
"In a few moments we wuz makin' eighty knots an hour, an' I noticed as we wuz pullin' away from that ere storm werry stiddy, ontil at last we lef it astarn, an' ther ship wuz saved. You'd oughter seed how glad my poor messmates wuz when I finally cut ther crocodiles loose an' we sailed in clear water—"
"It must have been great," dryly said Timberlake.
"Ay now," proudly replied Tim. "That it wuz, sir."
"Say, Tim, that would be a splendid yarn only for one thing."
"An' wot might that be, Mr. Timberlake?"
"Crocodiles can't live in salt water, and as the Red Sea is exceedingly briny, I don't understand how the ones you captured could have been there and submitted to being harnessed as you did it, without offering to make a meal of you."
A rather startled look crossed Tim's face.
He thoughtfully rubbed his big red nose and gasped:
"Gee whiz!"
The fact was Tim was an awful liar.
He seldom spun a yarn without being tripped up.
That is the trouble with most liars; they generally make an error in their stories which won't stand analysis.
"Will you be kind enough to explain how those saurians happened to be in that sea in such a docile frame of mind, Tim?" asked Timberlake, with a provoking smile of derision.
"No, sir," flatly answered the old sailor, who was utterly at a loss how to clear himself. "The fact are, sir, as I never gives explanations e' my yarns, an'—"
But here he was interrupted.
By the wild shriek of an accordeon.
In the hands of Fritz.
The Dutchmen hated Tim's yarns.
And Tim hated Fritz's music with equal fervor.
Consequently, while the yarn caused the fat fellow to strike up his frantic melody, the music grated on Tim's ears so that a wild desire entered his soul to pulverize the Dutchman.
"Hey!" he howled, shaking his fist at Fritz. "Belay thar!"
"Shiminey Christmas, vos yer tink I vould listen ter some more ohf dem lies mitoud dot I trownd it oud alretty?" fiercely bellowed Fritz, working away at the wheezy box.
"Ye kin dash my toplights if I don't wipe up ther floor wi' yer then!" yelled Tim, and he made a rush for Fritz.
"Shtood beck!" roared the Dutchman. "Stob a leedle, or py yiminey I soak yer in der chaw mit dot moosic!"
He brandished his accordeon in the air by the strap as he spoke, and as it opened out and his fingers were pressing on several of the keys, it let out a shrieking groan horrible to hear.
Tim did not pause.
His spunk was up.
As soon as he reached Fritz be gave a whoop and jumped on him.
The next moment they were tangled up in a heap on the floor, and a terrific struggle began between them, the sailor trying to put his wooden leg through the accordeon, and the Dutchmen industriously striving to gouge Tim's glass eye out.
In the midst of the scuffle, a monkey and parrot came flying in from the next room, howling like fiends.
The parrot was named Bismarck.
Whiskers was the name of the monkey.
Fritz owned the bird, and Tim claimed the animal.
They had once been captured in Africa by their masters.
Since then the sailor and Dutchman invariably took their pets off on the expeditions they made in Jack's inventions.
Between Bismarck and Whiskers there existed a deep rooted enemity, which always culminated in pitched battles.
The monkey had been chasing the parrot when Tim and Fritz got fighting, and as these two creatures possessed more than ordinary intelligence, they at once determined to take sides with their respective owners.
"Whee!" bowled Whiskers, and he hopped on top of Fritz's head, grabbed him by the hair, and tried to pull it out by the roots.
"Mild up, Boilvar!" yelled the slangy bird, as he fastened his beak in Tim's ear. "Waow! Whoop her up, boys! Cracker! Crack—"
Biff! went Tim's hand against Bismarck's head, interrupting him.
Bang! went Fritz fist against the monkey's neck sending him spinning.
"Wow!" screamed Whiskers.
"Root, you sucker, root!" yelled Bismarck.
Then he made a dive at the monkey, and as Whiskers scampered away, the parrot flew after him, plunged his beak in Whiskers' tail, and away they flew into the next room.
Just then Jack interrupted the fracas.
"Stop, boys, and attend to business!" he sung out.
Tim and Fritz were accustomed to obeying him, and ceasing hostilities at once, they rose, and the old sailor asked solemnly:
"Goin' ter stop playin' if I stops yarnin'?"
"For sure, Mikes," replied Fritz. "Put it dere."
They shook hands and that settled the matter.
Work on the electric stage was resumed, and by noon they had her in perfect condition for her long journey.
When they entered the house they met Jack's beautiful wife and bright little son.
Answers had arrived from Missouri.
The governor wrote Jack the following lines:
"Mr. Jack Wright,–In reply to your letter I beg to assure you of my heartfelt gratitude for your kind offer to try to apprehend the James Boys and break up their villainous gang. These outlaws have too long been a terror to the community, and there is not a decent man, woman or child in the state who would not be glad to hear of the extermination of the gang. The list of crimes for which the James Boys are amenable is too long and too horrible to enumerate here in detail. Let it suffice that there are charges of every description in the category against them, including many atrocious murders.
"So bitter is the feeling against them that a reward of five thousand dollars has been offered for the James Boys, dead or alive. I enclose warrants and all necessary authority for you to act in league with the officers of this State in the capture or killing of the bandits in question, and sincerely trust that you will meet with entire success. By this mail have also written to Sheriff Timberlake whom I am delighted to hear intends to go with you on your perilous expedition. He is a brave and true man, in whom I have the most implicit confidence.
Yours truly, John Doe."
The papers in Jack's envelope were entirely satisfactory.
Timberlake's letter was of a personal nature, and when he finished reading it, and heard what was communicated to Jack, he said:
"Well, now that all details are settled, when do you intend to go in pursuit of the outlaws?"
"To-night," replied Jack. "We have everything ready but the stowage of our clothing aboard."
"Good! The sooner the better."
"I tink so neider," agreed Fritz.
"That settles it, then," Tim added.
It did not take them long to put their clothing and the parrot and monkey aboard the Terror.
When night fell, Jack took leave of his wife and child.
They all then boarded the electric stage. Jack taking his seat at the wheel, and she started.
Many people in the village streets saw them as they went flying by, and heartily cheered them on their way, as the news of Jack's intention had got abroad.
The Terror soon left Wrightstown behind.
Following the hard country road he sped along swiftly, and soon was lost to the view of the villagers.
THE JAMES BOYS' MOTHER.
The trip to Missouri was made without adventure by the Terror, but her peculiar appearance aroused the wonder of everybody who saw her during her journey through several States.
Late in the afternoon of a pleasant day she passed Kearney, in Clay County, and followed an old country road.
A few miles from the town she arrived near a neat old log house standing back in a wooded pasture near the road.
This house contained three rooms; in the front yard were several lilac bushes, and all the way from its fences to the town many farm houses lined the road.
Sheriff Timberlake sat on the steerer's seat of the electric stage beside Jack, and the moment the old fashioned Western home referred to came in view he pointed at it and said:
"There is the home of the James Boys."
"Indeed!" exclaimed Jack, eying the house intently.
"Yes; it is the residence of Dr. Reuben Samuels, their step-father, and the mother of the two villains. She's a Tartar about her boys–a regular she-fiend in temper, although a woman of fifty-five. Ah–see! There she is now!"
He pointed at the house.
The woman, in a gingham dress, stood at the door.
She was shading her eyes with her hand.
A look of surprise crossed Jack's face as he glanced at her.
"Why," said he, "she has only got one arm."
"Yes; the other was blown off by the explosion of a hand grenade which a Pinkerton detective threw into the house some years ago in an attack upon her sons. There was a younger son of hers killed by the same bomb."
Mrs. Samuels was suspiciously and curiously eying the Terror as it rolled toward her.
Then she suddenly disappeared in the house.
Her action struck Jack as being very significant.
"Did you see that!" he asked the sheriff.
"Yes. She's a queer, violent tempered woman,"
"Perhaps she has gone in to warn her sons of our coming."
"By thunder, you may be right."
"We'd better search that house, Timberlake."
"I intend to do so."
"The woman is acquainted with you, ain't she?"
"Well, I should say so," laughed the officer. "I've been here often enough to be pretty well known. My posse has shot bullets into nearly every square inch of that house and the fence, in our past efforts to get at the two bandits."
"The woman can't have much affection for you."
"She would gladly kill me, I believe, if she had the chance."
By this time the Terror reached the house.
Jack cut out the current and alighted with his companion.
They knocked at the door, and a moment later it was opened by Mrs. Samuels, who glared at her callers and demanded:
"Well–what do you want, Timberlake?"
"Your sons, madam," blandly replied the officer.
"They ain't here."
"I am not sure of that."
"Search the house if you like."
"Thank you. I shall."
He swiftly passed inside and went through the rooms, but saw nothing of the James Boys.
Jack remained at the door with the woman.
He saw by her nervous manner that she was smothering a feeling of intense agitation.
Whether it came from her aversion of the officer, or because her sons were around, Jack could not judge.
"That's a mighty queer wagon you've got there," she remarked presently, as she pointed at the Terror.
"Yes," replied Jack. "It is designed to run down your sons."
She started, and a tigerish look flashed from her eyes.
"So you are leagued against them, too, eh!" she hissed.
"Yes. I am here to capture them if I can."
"But you will never succeed."
"That remains to be seen."
At this moment Timberlake rushed out.
He was terribly excited.
A smothered cry of alarm escaped Mrs. Samuels.
"I've seen them!" gasped the officer.
"Where?" demanded Jack, quickly.
"Both were here. She warned them. They got down in the cellar. I found a tunnel there, leading over to that timber. They had gone through. Jesse's horse, Siroc, and Frank's horse, Jim Malone, must have been tethered there, for they mounted and dashed away."
"Get aboard, and we'll chase them."
"You shall not go!" hissed the woman.
She slammed the door shut, and put her back against it, a look of fierce determination upon her face.
It was clear that she designed to delay them so as to give her fugitive sons as
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