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. Andy Grant's Pluck by Jr. Horatio Alger (books to read to get smarter txt) 📖
- Author: Jr. Horatio Alger
Book online «Andy Grant's Pluck by Jr. Horatio Alger (books to read to get smarter txt) 📖». Author Jr. Horatio Alger
He produced a pair of handcuffs, which he deftly slipped over the wrists of Percival Robinson, and led him out of the hotel.
Andy was satisfactorily vindicated, and, it must be admitted, enjoyed the discomfiture of the old gentleman, who slunk away in confusion.
When Andy set out on his journey he intended to go to Tacoma by way of San Francisco, but found, as he proceeded, that he could go by the Northern Pacific as far as it was built, and proceed the rest of the way by stage and over Puget Sound. This seemed to him to afford greater variety, and he adopted the plan.
Some hundreds of miles east of his destination he took the stage. It was rather a toilsome mode of traveling, but he obtained a good idea of the country through which he was passing.
At that time stage robberies were frequent, nor have they wholly ceased now. Among the stage robbers who were most dreaded was a certain Dick Hawley, who had acquired a great reputation for daring, and was known to have been engaged in nearly twenty stage robberies.
As they approached that part of the route in which he operated, there was a great anxiety manifested by the passengers, and especially by a thin, cadaverous-looking man from Ohio.
"Do you think we shall meet Dick Hawley to-day, driver?" he asked.
"I can't say, sir. I hope not."
"How often have you met him?"
"Three times."
"Did he rob the stage every time?"
"Yes."
"Were there many passengers on board?" asked Andy.
"Nearly ten every time."
"And they allowed one man to rob them?"
"Wait till you meet him," said the driver, shrugging his shoulders.
"If he stops the stage I shall die of fright," said the cadaverous-looking man. "I know I shall."
"Have you a good deal of money with you?" asked a fellow passenger.
"I have ninety-seven dollars and a half," answered the other, soberly.
"Better lose that than die! If you give it up, there won't be any danger of bodily injury."
The cadaverous-looking man groaned, but did not reply.
Gradually they ascended, for they were among the mountains, till they reached a narrow ledge or shelf scarcely wider than the stage. On one side there was a sheer descent of hundreds of feet, and great caution was requisite.
Just at the highest point a horseman appeared around a curve and stationed himself directly in front of the stage, with a revolver pointed at the driver.
"Stop and give up your money, or I fire!" he exclaimed.
It was the dreaded highwayman, Dick Hawley.
CHAPTER XXXIII. — A SUDDEN TRAGEDY.
The driver pulled up short. The passengers realized that something had happened, and the nervous man put his head out of the window.
Instantly a change came over his face.
"We are all dead men!" he groaned. "It is the highwayman!"
Andy felt startled in spite of his pluck, and so did the other passengers.
"I would jump out and confront the scoundrel," said a determined-looking man, "but there is no room. We are on the verge of a precipice."
"What will happen?" exclaimed the cadaverous-looking man in an agony of terror.
"I suppose we shall be robbed. That will be better than tumbling over the precipice."
"Oh, why did I ever leave home?"
"I don't know. Ask me something easier," said the resolute man, in disgust. "Such a man as you ought never to stir from his own fireside."
"Stop the coach and pass over your watches and pocketbooks!" cried Dick Hawley, in a commanding tone.
By way of exciting alarm and enforcing his order he fired one charge of his revolver. The consequences he did not anticipate.
The terrified stage horses, alarmed by the report, got beyond control of the driver and dashed forward impetuously. The highwayman had hardly time to realize his danger when his horse was overthrown and pushed over the precipice along with its rider, while the stage dashed on. The last that the passengers saw of Dick Hawley was a panic-stricken face looking upward as he fell rapidly down toward the rocks at the bottom.
"He's gone! We are saved!" exclaimed the cadaverous-looking man, joyfully.
"That is, if the coach doesn't tumble after him."
But the coach was saved. Had the horses swerved in their course all would have been killed. As it was, the dangerous place was safely crossed and the stage emerged upon a broad plateau.
The driver stopped the horses, and, dismounting from the box, came around to the coach door.
"I congratulate you, gentlemen," he said. "We had a close shave, but we are out of danger. Dick Hawley will rob no more stages."
"Driver, you are a brave man—you have saved us," said one of the passengers.
"It was not I; it was the horses."
"Then you did not start them up?"
"No; I should not have dared to do it. They were frightened by the revolver and took the matter into their own hands."
"Dick Hawley was foolhardy. Had he ever stopped a stage at this point before?"
"Yes, he did so last year."
"And succeeded?"
"Yes; he made a big haul. This time he has met his deserts."
There were no further incidents that deserve recording in Andy's journey. It is needless to say that he enjoyed it. The scenes through which he passed were new and strange to him. It was a country he had never expected to see, and for this reason, perhaps, he enjoyed it the more.
At last he reached Tacoma. It was irregularly built on a hillside. There were no buildings of any pretensions. All its importance was to come.
He put up at the Tacoma House, a hotel of moderate size, and after dinner he went out to see the town. He sought out the plot of lots owned jointly by Mr. Crawford and himself, and found that they were located not far from the center of the business portion of the town.
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