The crowd began instantly to close in upon the wagon. Mosey, in the excitement, tried his best to gain the ground, but Farmer Farrell had taken the precaution to tie the Irishman's feet fast to the iron foot rest, and he was unable to stir.

"We must get out of this!" exclaimed Jack to the farmer. "Start up the horses. Quick!"

Farmer Farrell needed no further urging. Reaching over Mr. Gray's body, he pulled up the reins, and struck first one and then the other of the horses with his whip.

With a bound the animals leaped forward. The man who had held a grip upon the tool manufacturer's foot lost it, and slipped under the vehicle--the hind wheel pa.s.sing over his leg.

The crowd uttered a loud cry, but were too late to stop the sudden movement. One of the men caught hold of the tailboard of the wagon, but a threatening shake from the young machinist's gun made him drop to the ground.

On they went, Farmer Farrell making the horses do their very best.

Suddenly a pistol shot rang out, and Mosey gave a cry of pain.

"Oi'm shot!" he cried, falling backward upon Jack. "They've murdered me, so they have!"

"Where are you hit?" asked the young machinist anxiously.

"In the soide. Oi'm dy--in'----"

Another pistol shot interrupted his speech.

"Gitting kinder hot," cried the farmer. "Let me have the gun. Here, hold the reins," and he gave them to Jack and took the weapon. "We'll see what a dose of buckshot will do."

Bang!

The report was followed by several cries from behind.

"That'll teach the pesky critters a lesson," observed the farmer, as he resumed the reins.

Even as he spoke, they saw a flash in the darkness to one side of the road, followed instantly by the crack of a revolver.

"I'm struck!" exclaimed Mr. Gray. "The villain has. .h.i.t me in the shoulder!"

"Is it bad?" asked Jack in horror.

"No, only a flesh wound, I guess," and the tool manufacturer drew a sharp breath. "Drive on, don't stop!"

The command was not needed. The team was now in full gallop, and three minutes brought them into the heart of the town.

"Straight home," replied Mr. Gray, in return to a question from Jack as to where he should be taken. "And bring Mosey along, the doctor can attend us both."

This was done, and the family physician p.r.o.nounced the Irishman's wound quite serious.

"Yours will heal rapidly," he said to the tool manufacturer. "But your right arm will never be as good as it was. That workman may recover, but it will take months."

The sun was just rising when Jack, after a breakfast that Farmer Farrell's wife had compelled him to eat, took the boat and rowed over to Blackbird Island.

Deb saw him coming and rushed out of the cottage to meet him.

"Oh, Jack, such a time as we've had!" she sobbed. "The doctor is here, and that Pooler just died."

"Pooler dead?" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the young machinist, in amazement.

He entered the back room. The doctor and Meg were there, the girl's eyes swollen from crying.

"Where is Mont?" he asked.

Meg pointed to the other door.

"He's in there too," she said, in a quivering voice.

Jack entered the front chamber. Max Pooler's body lay on the cot, covered with a white sheet. Beside it, on a low stool, with his face buried in his hands, sat Mont.

The young man's countenance was full of emotion. He took the young machinist's hand in his own, and pulled the covering from the dead face before them.

"Listen, Jack," he said in a low voice, "I want to tell you an awful secret. Before this man died, he confessed that he murdered my father.

He was very penitent, and he--he asked me to forgive him."

"And you----" began Jack.

"I did forgive him. It was hard, but how could I refuse a dying man?"

"You did right," returned the young machinist. "But, oh, Mont, I'm so sorry for you! Did he tell you how it came about?"

"Yes. He used to be my father's clerk, and avarice led him to steal.

By some means he imagined my father knew of his doings, and was about to have him arrested. Half crazed by this fear, he went on board my father's yacht one night and cast her adrift while my father was sleeping in the stateroom. The yacht went over the falls, and turned up where we found her."

"And your father?"

"Was found dead in the cabin. He said my uncle suspected him, but as Mr. Felix Gray was trying to rob me of my share of the tool works property, he turned the tables, and threatened not only to expose him, but to implicate him in the murder as well. My uncle has been paying him money for years to keep him quiet, but part of this went to Mosey and Corrigan as 'hush money,' so Pooler said.

"It's a strange story," mused Jack.

"But that isn't all," continued Mont. "Before he died Pooler proved to me that about one-half of his treasure belonged really to you."

"To me!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the young machinist, in utter astonishment.

Mont nodded.

"Yes, to you," he said. "Pooler said my father held it in trust for your father, who was not a good hand at investing money. The amounts were the proceeds of several valuable inventions."

"Then we are both rich," returned Jack, with a broad smile. "I am glad of it, for Deb's sake!" he added, brightly.

A little later the young machinist related what had happened on the river road the night before.

"And now we'll have the whole affair straightened out," he concluded.

"I believe your uncle has had all the ups and downs he cares for, and will let you have your own without much opposition."

"I trust so," replied Mont. "I do not care, as I said before, to make the thing public, but it has gone far enough, and both of us must have our rights."