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Page 23
Bart was dismayed--that threat touched him to the quick. He had felt
very glad that Mr. Leslie had not met the irate colonel. The
mean-spirited magnate noted instantly the effect of his threat.
"You'll insult and defy me, will you?" he cried, with a gloating
chuckle. "Very well--you take your medicine, that's all."
Bart could hardly control his voice, but he said simply:
"Colonel Harrington, my father has been blinded at his post of duty. I
am the sole support of the family. I hope you will pause and consider
before you plunge us into new trouble and distress that we do not
deserve. I have never had the remotest thought of injuring you or your
property in any way. I am willing to make all the amends I am able for
the accidental damage to your property, but I can't and won't cringe to
your injustice, nor grovel at your feet."
"Eighty-five dollars--one, the name of the person who loaded that
cannon--two, C.O.D. before ten o'clock to-morrow morning, or I'll sweep
you off the map!" shouted the colonel.
He marched off, puffing up as his vain senses were tickled with the
fancy that he was a born orator, and had just given utterance to some
profoundly apt and clever sentiments. Bart stared after him in sheer
dismay.
"It's a bad outlook," he murmured, "but--I have tried to do my duty. I
would like to have money and influence, but would rather be plain Bart
Stirling than that man. He is coming back."
Bart thought this, for, just about to round the end of a dead freight
and cross to the public street, his late visitor turned abruptly.
He did not, however, retrace his steps. Instead, he came to the
strangest rigid pose Bart had ever seen a human being assume.
He stood staring, spellbound, at the partly open door of the nearest
freight car. His cane had fallen from his hand, his head was thrown up
as if he had been struck a stunning blow under the chin, and even at the
distance he was, Bart could see that his usually red-puffed face was the
color of chalk. Almost immediately, through the open doorway space of
the freight car an arm was protruded.
Its index finger was pointed, inflexible as an iron rod, directly at the
colonel. It fascinated and transfixed the military man, and Bart
Stirling, staring also at the strange tableau, was overcome with
perplexity and mystification.
CHAPTER X
QUEER COMRADES
So many sensational occurrences had marked the last twenty-four hours of
Bart Stirling's career, that it seemed as though the accumulating series
would never end.
It was a particularly ragged and miserable-looking arm, and why it could
so summarily check, halt and hold the great magnate of Pleasantville,
was the problem that now tried Bart's reasoning faculties.
Bart closed the door of the express office and stepped out to where he
could get a clearer view of the colonel and his environment.
Suddenly the strain was removed. The colonel threw up his arms with a
gasp. He started to turn around, clutched at his neck in a strangling
kind of a way, tottered, reeled, and plunged forward on his face against
a heap of cinders.
"This is serious," murmured Bart.
He rapidly covered the two hundred foot space between the express shed
and the freight car.
"Colonel--Colonel Harrington!" he called in some alarm, kneeling by the
prostrate body of his enemy.
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