Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. Joe the Hotel Boy; Or, Winning out by Pluck by Pluck by Jr. Horatio Alger (best book series to read .txt) 📖
- Author: Pluck by Jr. Horatio Alger
Book online «Joe the Hotel Boy; Or, Winning out by Pluck by Pluck by Jr. Horatio Alger (best book series to read .txt) 📖». Author Pluck by Jr. Horatio Alger
“Don't let them get away.”
“If they try it, they'll go to the hospital or the graveyard,” replied the western young man, significantly.
“The satchel ain't in the tree,” growled Caven, but his tone lacked positiveness.
“I'll soon know for certain,” said our hero.
He climbed the tree with ease, having been used to such doings when living with the old hermit. As he went from branch to branch he kept his eyes open, and presently saw a bit of leather sticking out of a crotch. He worked his way over and soon had the satchel in his possession.
“How are you making out?” called up Bill Badger.
“I've got it!” shouted our hero, joyfully.
“Got the papers?”
“Yes,—everything,” said Joe, after a hasty examination.
“Hang the luck!” muttered Gaff Caven, much chagrined.
Our hero was soon on the ground once more. Here he examined the contents of the satchel with care. Everything was there, and, locking the bag, he slung the strap over his shoulder.
“Now, what's the next move?” queried Bill Badger.
“We ought to have these men locked up. How far is it to the nearest town?”
“Ten or twelve miles, I reckon. I don't know much about the roads.”
“Why can't you let us go?” asked Malone. “You've got what you want.”
“If I let you go you'll be trying to make more trouble for Mr. Vane and myself.”
“Don't talk to them,” growled Caven. “If you want to lock us up, do so!”
He was in an ugly humor and ready for a fight.
“We'll march 'em along,” said Bill Badger, and so it was agreed.
CHAPTER XXIX.
THE FATE OF TWO EVILDOERS.
“Are you going to let them arrest us?” whispered Pat Malone, as the whole party moved through the woods towards a wagon road which ran nearly parallel to the railroad tracks.
“Not if I can help it,” Caven whispered back. “We must watch our chances.”
Half a mile was covered and they came out on the road. It was growing dark and there were signs of a storm in the air.
“It's going to rain,” said Joe, and he was right.
“See here, I don't want to get wet to the skin,” growled Caven. “I'll catch my death of cold.”
“There is a barn just ahead,” said Bill Badger. “Let us get inside.”
Joe was willing, and soon all were in the barn. It was now raining at a heavy rate and they were glad to be under shelter.
“With a barn there ought to be a house,” remarked our hero. “But I don't see any.”
It grew still darker, and the rain came down in perfect sheets. The roof of the barn leaked, and they had to move from one spot to another, to keep out of the drippings.
While this was going on Gaff Caven was working at the handkerchief that bound his wrists and soon had it loose. Pat Malone also liberated himself. Caven winked suggestively at his confederate.
“Watch me,” he whispered. “When I give the signal we'll knock 'em both down and run for it.”
“But the pistol—” began Malone.
“I'll take care of that.”
In moving around the old barn Caven spotted a club and moved close to it. Suddenly he snatched the weapon up and hit Bill Badger on the arm with it. The pistol flew into a corner and went off, sending a bullet into a board.
“Run!” yelled Caven, and leaped for the open doorway. Malone came beside him, and both ran off through the rain as fast as their legs could carry them.
Joe was startled and made after the pair. But at a groan from Bill Badger he paused.
“Are you badly hurt?” he asked.
“He gave me a stiff crack on the arm,” growled the young westerner.
Joe ran for the corner and caught up the pistol. Then he leaped for the open doorway.
“Stop, both of you!” he called out. “Stop, or I'll fire!”
“Don't you dare!” shrieked Pat Malone, and ran faster than ever, behind the nearest of the trees. Joe aimed the weapon, but before he could pull the trigger both of the bad men were out of sight.
“Go after them, if you want to,” said Bill Badger. “I'll go too.”
“You are not badly hurt?” queried our hero, sympathetically.
“No, but if I catch that fellow I'll give it to him good,” grumbled the young westerner.
Both now left the barn and made after Caven and Malone. Once they caught sight of the rascals, moving in the direction of the railroad tracks.
“They are going to catch a train if they can!” cried our hero. “I hear one coming.”
“It's a freight most likely,” was Bill Badger's answer.
He was right, and soon the long line of freight cars hove into sight around a bend and on an upgrade. Far in the distance they beheld Caven and Malone scooting for the train with all speed.
“They are going to make it,” sighed Joe. “Too bad!”
They continued to run, but before they could get anywhere near the tracks they saw Caven leap for the train and get between two of the cars. Then Malone got aboard also, and the freight train passed out of sight through the cut.
“That ends the chase,” said Joe, halting. “They were slick to get away.”
“If we only knew where they would get off we could send word ahead,” suggested his companion.
“Well, we don't know, and after this they will probably keep their eyes wide open and keep out of sight as much as possible. Anyway, I don't think they'll bother Mr. Vane any more.”
“It's not likely. I'm a witness to what they were up to,” answered the young westerner.
Both Joe and Bill Badger were soaked from the rain and resolved to strike out for the nearest farmhouse or village. They kept along the railroad tracks, and presently came to a shanty where there was a track-walker.
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