Читать книгу The Copperhead Trail Mystery - Percy Keese Fitzhugh - Страница 9

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Mr. Meggle, a wizened little bald-headed man, came hurrying out of the ramshackle station as Hal approached. He pushed his horn-rimmed glasses securely upon his nose and stood with his head to one side.

“Eh?” he called. “Thought I heard somebuddy. Who’s it?”

“My name’s Keen, sir—Hal Keen, and I’m an American. I was on Train Four and it’s been wrecked between Coffin’s Bend and the canyon. Derailed purposely, sir. Six men killed in rear coach and the fireman’s on his back with a bad leg. That’s the casualties and both the conductor and engineer asked me to have you get help to them as soon as possible. Do you understand what I’m talking about?”

Mr. Meggle blinked his eyes. “Yes, yes, yes,” he answered quickly. “I declare, young man, you’ve taken me completely by surprise! Come, step in, step inside! This is all very strange indeed, yes indeed!”

Hal followed the queer little man indoors, somewhat nonplussed. Once inside the dilapidated waiting room, however, this feeling was soon dispelled by the cheerful light. Here was reality, he felt, and for the time being, mystery had fled.

“Sit down, young man, sit down,” cried the agent, indicating one of the worn benches that rested against the primitive wall. He then hurried behind the ticket enclosure, muttering worriedly as he went.

Hal’s bright blue eyes followed him as he went back and forth from his ticket counter to a desk that stood in the center of the enclosure. Once, he caught the agent blinking thoughtfully at him from behind the bars of the ticket window.

Hal smiled that wide, winning smile of his and presently the man came hurrying out with a worried but apologetic smile.

“’Scuse me, young man, ’scuse me,” he said, sitting down beside Hal. “I ain’t never been so upset, that’s a fact. You see I found a note on that there desk o’ mine when I come down for Number Four,” he said, waving a small piece of white paper from his withered looking hand. “At first, I jest natcherally thought ’twas some smart Aleck playin’ a joke on me—one o’ them summer boarders from over at Lake Echo. They like to tease me ’bout this branch line and how Number Four only comes twice a week up here and ’long about eight o’clock I began to think maybe it wasn’t one of their jokes at all. So I got hold of the junction ’bout quarter of nine and read them the note so’s they’ll have help at the bend in an hour or so. Read it for yourself, young man, read it.”

Hal took the proffered slip of paper and saw written in an almost illegible scrawl: “Don’t expect Number Four tonight ... it won’t be hear ... besides it won’t ever be hear ... neither will anybody be that’s rid on it.”

Hal looked up, questioningly.

“That’s what I found on my desk,” explained the agent worriedly. “Things come to a pretty pass up here, eh?”

“Awful!” Hal exclaimed with a shiver. “Sounds like a fiend to me or a maniac. Who could it be, I wonder?”

“Hard tellin’, hard tellin’,” said Mr. Meggle staring across the room at the rusty stove in the corner. “How many of you come out of it, eh?”

“Three other passengers besides myself,” Hal answered with a weary sigh. “And of course there was the conductor and the engineer—the fireman will get along all right, I guess. You see, sir, the engine took such a jump on account of that spike that we went along with it, those of us that were in the forward car. It was the rear car that got the worst of it and fell over into the canyon; it happened to back right over. Phew, I’ll never forget it—never!”

Mr. Meggle scratched his bald head and rose. “Good you ain’t hurt none, yessir.”

“GOOD YOU AIN’T HURT NONE, YESSIR,” SAID MR. MEGGLE.

“But I’m so tired, I hurt,” Hal laughed. “I’ll just rest up my legs before I hike back to the bend and tell them the good news.”

“No need for that at all, none at all,” protested the agent. “They’ll have help from the junction an hour or two before you’d get there.” Then: “S ’pose you come up a-lookin’ for gold too, eh?”

Hal yawned. “Not me, sir,” said he. “I’ve heard about it and I wouldn’t mind trying my luck at it same as everybody else, but you see I came here to visit at the Wainwright camp. Know where it is, sir?”

Mr. Meggle turned slowly around, “Eh? You the guest that Miss Wainwright was expectin’?”

“Sure,” Hal grinned. “Was she here?”

“No. She called me up early this afternoon over at my cabin and she told me that her aunt was quite sick and she didn’t think she could come up to meet you so she sent that Jap cook of hers with a horse for when you arrived tonight. She give me orders to direct you myself when I went home ’cause I live ’bout six mile from here and she said you could come back tomorrer and pick up your baggage, eh?”

“Absolutely,” said Hal good naturedly.

“And so the Jap isn’t here either, huh?”

Mr. Meggle shook his head and sat down again. “He had to go right back to git supper on account o’ Miss Wainwright had to tend her aunt. S’pose you might jest as well sit and rest till we see if them other passengers come along. They’ll be wantin’ to go the same way as you, so’s we might as well all go ’long together. Old Timer’s cabin’s below Wainwright’s so they’ll expec’ to find the lode somewhere’s ’bout there, I guess,” he added with a chuckle. “Beats all how they ’spect to be sittin’ on top o’ the mother lode right off, eh?”

“Yes,” Hal agreed with a confused grin. He knew none of the secrets of finding this yellow treasure. Indeed, at the time his only thought was that the search for gold had resulted in tragedy even before it had begun. There were six men lying in the ravine back there—six men who wouldn’t sit on the mother lode, ever!

“It’s taken Old Timer most all o’ fifty years to sit on his,” said Mr. Meggle as if reading Hal’s thoughts. “Guess them young fellers wouldn’ have such patience as that, eh?”

The gentle breeze blowing in through the opened windows suddenly brought with it a low, moaning sound. Mr. Meggle jumped to his feet and Hal felt chilled just as he had felt back in the cut. Had it come from the same ghostlike figure out of whose throat had issued that horrible, eerie laugh? Or....

Just then the telephone on Mr. Meggle’s desk jingled merrily.