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[146] <h2>CHAPTER XII. THE JOURNEY TO HANK LOW’S.</h2> Kerr and Folsom stared at each other and at Nick. They were no fools. It was clear enough what Patsy’s errand meant. “Then,” said Folsom, in a low voice, “you suspected Claymore?” “Oh, no, not exactly,” Nick replied, “but I thought it would be just as well to make it impossible to suspect him. That was all.” This remark did not convince either of the men. “You wouldn’t have gone to this trouble,” said Folsom, “if you hadn’t believed that he had a motive for the crime.” “As to motive,” replied Nick, “I can only guess, but if Claymore is crooked and Judson was straight, isn’t it possible that Judson threatened an exposure, and that Claymore would try to prevent it?” Kerr nodded. “That’s all right,” he said, “but in the face of this evidence,” and he tapped the messenger’s book. [147] “It looks very bad for Hank Low,” admitted Nick. “You think that Claymore set Low up to it?” remarked Folsom. “Do I?” inquired Nick, mildly. “Well,” responded Folsom, “what are we to think?” “Anything you please. I am willing to take hold of this case, but, as I start under unusual difficulties, I want you to let me go at it in my own way.” “Certainly, Mr. Carter,” said Kerr; “but I don’t see the difficulties with all this evidence——” Nick raised his hand. “You’ve done first-rate work, Mr. Kerr,” he said. “The evidence is sound as far as it goes. But it don’t go quite far enough. The difficulties I refer to are the fact that so many men know that I am here, and that the only man who can say that Judson was murdered is dead.” “I see.” It was Kerr who spoke. Folsom turned pale. “You think, then,” he said, hoarsely, “that it was not a case of murder at all?” “I didn’t say so,” responded Nick; “but this I will say, for, as I am in it now pretty deep, there’s no use in concealing[148] my thoughts from you two—but you mustn’t let it go any further.” “Certainly not, Mr. Carter.” “Well, then, I don’t believe that Hank Low did it.” Both Kerr and Folsom stared open-mouthed. “By thunder!” said Kerr, slowly, “if any man but Nick Carter said that——” He hesitated. “You’d say he was a fool,” remarked Nick. Kerr laughed uneasily. “I am afraid I should,” he admitted. “That’s all right,” said Nick; “you can think that of me just as well as not, if you want to. Meantime, I’ll go out and get acquainted with Hank Low.” “To-night?” “Now.” “Won’t you want help?” “Oh, no. If I don’t come back with him as a voluntary prisoner, Mr. Kerr, I’ll help you arrest him in the morning and give you all the credit.” “Credit be hanged, Mr. Carter! I’m not a jealous idiot.” [149] “Glad to hear you say so. You will lie low, then, till you hear from me again?” “Yes, but if it was any other man——” “You’d lock him up as a dangerous lunatic. I know. If I’m mistaken, I’ll own up frankly. Now, tell me the way to Mason Creek.” Kerr told him and advised him where to get a horse. “It seems to me,” said Nick, “you’ve described a roundabout way.” “Yes, the road runs along a crooked valley, and around the base of a big hill. If it was daylight, I might tell you of a short cut over the hill, but you wouldn’t be able to keep to the trail in the dark, to say nothing of the fact that the woods on the hill are not safe just now.” “Not safe?” “No. There’s a scare about panthers out that way.” “Ah! I shall have to keep my revolver handy.” “It will be as well, but, of course, you’ll stick to the road?” “Yes, though you might tell me where the trail strikes off.” “It’s about four miles from here. You pass a perfectly bare ledge a hundred yards long at your right, and then[150] come to a stream. Instead of crossing the bridge, you can follow up the stream. In the daytime, it’s plain enough, and not a bad ride for a good horse.” “All right.” Nick then gave some private instructions to Patsy, and left them. He went to the stable that Kerr had spoken of and hired a horse. It was about eight in the evening when he galloped away, and at that hour it was quite dark. The road took him quickly out of the city, and he was soon in a wild country, where it would have been easy to imagine that there wasn’t a town within a hundred miles. The sky was clear, but the moon had not yet risen. Nick did not ride hard, for he felt in no hurry. It was somewhat less than half an hour after he started when he noticed a long, high ledge at his right. “Probably the place Kerr spoke of,” he thought. He was glancing up at it, when his horse suddenly leaped violently. At the same instant there was a flash and a report from the bushes at the other side of the road. Nick’s hat flew from his head. [151] It had been singed by a rifle bullet. His hand caught his revolver, but before it was drawn, another shot came, and the horse staggered. Nick slipped off quickly. He ran a few paces and fell. Then he lay still and watched. The horse fell in earnest. He was some two rods from the detective, and, as he did not struggle after he went down, Nick knew that he had been instantly killed. Not another sound came from the bushes across the road. “Confound them!” thought Nick, who was not scratched, except for the slight mark on his forehead. “Why don’t they come out to make sure of their business?” It was clearly a case of murder intended, for, if the unseen villains had been robbers they would have crept forward to go through the supposed dead man. And, of course, it was plain that they knew whom they were firing at. Nobody would have shot at a stranger like that. [152] “This,” muttered Nick, “is what comes of starting on a case with a brass band at the head of the procession.” He meant by this that he believed the attempt to kill him was connected with the death of Judson. “It’s only too easy to see how it happened,” he thought. “Everybody knew I was sent for, and there isn’t a doubt that my arrival was spotted. “Then it was easy to guess that I would go out to look up Hank Low, and, as this is the only way to his place, they were sure of having a shot at me.” Nick listened as he lay there, but could hear no sound of steps on the other side of the road. The rushing of the stream a little beyond would have drowned ordinary noises, so that the would-be murderers could have got away without being noticed. Apparently, that was what they did, for the detective neither heard nor saw them. He could only guess whether they believed that their shots had done their work. While he was waiting the moon rose. As the sky was perfectly clear the land became almost as light as day. Nick at last got up cautiously and went to his horse. [153] The animal had fallen at the side of the road, and so was out of the way of anyone passing. Nick took off the saddle and bridle and hid them in the bushes near. “I’ll pay for the horse,” he thought, “but there’s no sense in giving the saddle to the first thief who comes along.” He went back to the spot from which the shots had been fired, and lit up the place with his pocket lantern. If the scoundrels had accidentally dropped anything that could serve as a clew, the detective would have found it. Nothing was there that could be of any use to him. He saw traces of footprints on the grass and leaves, but they were too faint to be measured. Having satisfied himself on this matter, Nick started on foot to finish his journey. When he came to the stream, he did not cross the bridge, but turned into the trail that Kerr had told him about. The moon made the path perfectly plain at the start, and Nick took it, not only to save the long walk around the base of the hill, but to save time. [154] For some reasons, he would have liked to go straight back to Denver. There was no doubt in his mind that his would-be murderers had gone to the city. If he was there, he might run across them. But he believed it to be his first business to have a talk with Hank Low, and so he went on. The trail followed along the bank of the stream for some distance, and then crossed it on a bridge of fallen trees. After that, it was very steep until it reached the summit of the hill. Although the trees were rather thick, the moonlight came in on the eastern slope sufficiently to make the way clear. It was different when Nick began to descend upon the other side. That slope was in shadow, for the moon was not high enough to light it, and more than once he found it difficult to keep on the path. Once he thought he had lost it, and he was thinking that it would make him feel rather foolish to get lost at night in these woods. [155] “Better have kept to the road,” he muttered, standing still. There was a very steep descent just before him. He could see hardly anything, but he felt that the ground was dipping sharply. At the left there was a ridge of bare rock, and it seemed that the trail led along the underside of it. “This must be right,” he argued to himself. “By daylight a horse would get down here easily enough. It’s the right general direction, anyway, and I’ll chance it.” Putting his hands on the bare rock at his left to steady himself, he went slowly down. It was not a high ledge, and he had come, as he thought, about to the bottom, when there was a slight noise behind and almost overhead that startled him. His revolver was in his hand instantly. There was a blinding flash not ten feet in front of him and a deafening report. Swish! went a bullet past his face. Then there was a blood-curdling scream in the air above, and the detective fell flat under a heavy body. <hr class="chap" /></div> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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