Valley Girl Views: The Murder At Hickory Ridge by W.A. Conway

The Murder at Hickory Ridge

By NATHAN BENSON (W. A. Conway)
Revised and Edited by Joseph Agor

Written & Published Before 1906

Published in Serial Form in the Shamokin News Dispatch 1936

=======================

While looking at the history of the National Ticket Company in Shamokin Pa, I read:

“Murder at Hickory Ridge” was a fictionalized account of an unsolved murder in the Shamokin area, written by William A. Conway and printed by his two brothers, Alphonsus E. and John J., in the garage that served as the Conway Print Shop."

I've heard of the Shamokin Head before, the story has been a topic for some local researchers recently, but I had never really looked into the story myself - and I had not been aware there was a fictional book published about the event.

Unfortunately, I can find no copies of the actual book anywhere. No mention of it in online archives, or book repositories. An editor at the Shamokin News wrote, in 1936:

"A year ago in this column I pleased long and earnestly for someone to come forward with a copy of the paper-bound fictionalized story of one of the most gruesome and baffling mysteries of the coal fields, but in vain. Even the author, Nathan Benson (W.A. Conway) was unable to help me. Now Mr. Benson has located a copy of the book, and has very kindly passed it on to me."

The Shamokin News-Dispatch then reprinted the book in serial form, in a daily column running in June of 1936. Below is the entire story, as it was printed in that paper:

===============

CHAPTER ONE

The Murder

================

Darkness lay over the rugged mountainside like a soft black mantle. Only the pale starlight, struggling through the murk of the November night, lit the narrow, winding mountain road between the mining villages of Hickory Ridge and Patterson.

Except for the far-off and almost indistinct puffing of a colliery hoisting engine the night was quiet -and as fearsome.

Up the steep mountain road a lone wayfarer trudged, pausing now and again to peer into the deep, impenetrable shadows which lined his rocky, uneven path. Occasionally he listened as though expecting to detect with his ears some movement in the shadows his keen eyes could not perceive. His actions, while cautious, were not those of one afraid, but rather those of a brave but careful man unwilling to be caught unawares by an enemy.

It required a man of courage to walk unaccompanied through the hills of the anthracite region in those days of 1905, for life was held cheaply. Murder and robbery were almost daily occurrences, and few braved the terrors of the mountain roads at night.

The lone traveler was a man of splendid physique and faultlessly dressed. A diamond of unusual size and brilliance caught and reflected myriads of flashing color as he raised his right hand to push his dark felt hat back from his forehead.

Onward up the road he climbed, pausing at last to rest where the road widened. A low stone wall, remnant of a mine building foundation, loomed ghostly-white at the side of the road, and toward this he moved at last to sit down for a moment. Suddenly the stillness of the night was shattered by a shot that sent its echo vibrating hollowly through the darkness.

He saw the flash, felt a stinging sensation in his left arm. Almost before the echo of the report had died away against a far hill he had his own pistol out and threw a quick shot into the bush beyond the wall. An outcry told him that his bullet had found a mark. As he stood, leaning forward slightly, his pistol ready for action, two more shots crashed out from opposite side of the road. One of the shots struck him in the right leg, and unable to maintain his balance he pitched forward on his face. His pistol flew from his hand as he thudded heavily to the ground. His senses reeled maddeningly as his head struck a jagged stone.

He raised himself slowly, his hands pushing hard into the dirt of the road to steady his body. He shook his head to clear it of the fog of unconsciousness. His hair hung down over his forehead, matted with blood from the cut he had received when he fell.

His brain cleared, but still he seemed unable to marshal sufficient strength to get on his feet. His leg hurt with a fierce intensity.

With a final supreme effort he came shakily to his feet in the middle of the road. He knew he had walked into an ambush, but he resolved to sell his life dearly. Vainly his eyes swept the road in search of his pistol. Now he had only his bare hands to defend himself against the cowardly assassins who lurked somewhere in the shadows on both sides of the road.

He heard a scuffling sound at the wall, and turned in time to see two dark figures climb out of the bushes and over the top of the wall. Another sound on the other side of the road warned him he had at least three attackers to deal with.

"We've winged him, Bill," cried a hoarse voice. "The rest'll be dead easy. Come on!"

The wounded man braced himself for an attack, and in a moment they were upon him. A defiant shout rose to his lips.

"Come on, you cowards; you have not done for me yet!"

Like a gladiator of old he stood, feet widespread, his head up now. He parried a blow and his right fist shot out. One of the attackers, a heavy-set rascal, toppled backward.

The back of his knees struck the low wall and he plunged down into the bushes. But the other two were upon him. One of them managed to seize him from behind just as he a grasped the third by the throat, and down they went in a wild tangle of flying arms and legs.

Fiercely he three men struggled, the darkness giving the wounded man the slight advantage of knowing that he was striking at an enemy every time he struck. With a super effort he rolled clear for a moment.

One of his attackers started to rise, but, a well-directed kick sent him hurtling over the wall.

He knew the pack would be on him again in a moment, so he had to act quickly. With a leap that caused pain to shoot through his wounded leg like a whitehot iron " he was third searing.' man, a slightly built fellow who came only to his shoulder. The man shrieked as he felt himself lifted and thrown over the wall after his companions in crime.

But the gallant fighter had used up all his strength in that final tussle. He staggered and almost fell. Slowly he started for the high side of the road, hoping to the comparative security of reach, shadows. Perhaps if he could find a club. A pistol cracked loudly, and he reeled madly as he sought to remain erect. Again and again the gun roared.

Slowly, as though his body was reluctant to collapse, he slumped to the ground and lay still. A dark form leaped over the wall and ran toward the silent, huddled form in the road. A second and a third followed. The tallest of the three men bent over the prostrate form. His voice was unsteady as he asked: "Is he done for, Bill?"

"He's done for, all right," Bill answered as he reloaded his pistol.

"He was a tough one, but he'll never fight again." Bill applied the toe of his boot to the motionless form and rolled 1t over. In the dim light the three assassins saw a pale, strong face. Two glittering eyes stared at them lips with his dying with loathing, and contempt. The breath the man who had fought to the last grated: "May you burn in hell for this night's work."

A shudder shook the body that had been alive and warm and powerful only a short time before. In a moment more it was over.

"Come, Jack, we're wasting time; let's have the job over with," Bill snarled.

"I'm feeling weak, Bill. He winged me when he shot into the bush."

"Huh, you can't be very badly hit. Where's Ezra?"

"I'm here," replied the smallest of the three assassins, who had gone to sit on the edge of the stone wall.

"I feel as though every bone in my body is about to break."

"Talk your troubles over later," Bill snarled. "Someone might have heard those shots. We've got to move fast."

"Do you intend to carry out the agreement?" asked Jack.

"To the letter," Bill replied. "All traces of identification must be removed, so that when the body is found the reports in the newspapers will prove we carried out our bargain."

"Bill's right," Ezra put in.

The three men carried the body to the stone wall and placed it in a position which permitted the head to hang down over the edge toward the woods. "Get off the road," commanded Bill, as he drew a gleaming knife from a sheath which hung down inside the right leg of his trousers. The knife swung upward and then came down swiftly. Again and again it rose and fell. Blood gushed over the white wall as the wayfarer's head dropped and rolled against a bush.

"Ezra, you take the head; Jack and me'll drag the body," Bill ordered as he wiped crimsoned blade of his knife on the grass and put it back in its sheath.

Down through the tangled bush went the assassins and their gruesome burdens, halting at last in a smell clearing. Eager to have their nefarious task over, they went to work rapidly. Soon the headless corpse was stripped of all clothing, and the clothing rolled into three small bundles. The head was wrapped in a large piece of plain white muslin which one of the assassins had been carrying in his pocket. Each of the men took a bundle, and Bill picked up the head. "I know a place where this will never be found," he declared.

Their bloody work completed, the three men returned to the road. Down the hill they went for a quarter of a mile, then turned off into a narrow path and disappeared.

===============

CHAPTER TWO

A Ghastly Discovery

===============

WHAT HAS HAPPENED

On a lonely mountain road between the mining villages of Hickory Ridge and Patterson, in the Pennsylvania hard coal fields, three assassins waylay and murder a wayfarer in the dead of night. The killers decapitate their victim, and, taking the head with them, disappear in the darkness.

CHAPTER 2 A Ghastly Discovery

"Hello! What's this?"

"Looks like blood."

Two hunters had just emerged from the thick woods which lined the steep mountain road. Dark stains on the old stone wall at the side of the road caused them to halt and stare curiously.

One of the hunters stooped over the wall for a closer examination. "Some hunter must have killed a rabbit here," he suggested. "Seems to be too much blood for a rabbit," replied the other.

"Oh," I don't know; I've seen some of 'em bleed like stuck pigs. You can't . . . Phew! Good gosh; look here!"

"What is it?"

"More blood. Look down at the foot of the wall. You're dead right; no rabbit ever bled like that. And there's a trail of blood leading off Into the brush."

"Let's follow it. Maybe some hunter shot himself."

Without further words the two men struck off into the woods, following the gory trail. In a few minutes they came out into a small clearing and stopped dead in their tracks.

Struck dumb by the awful sight that met their eyes, the two hunters stared, pale and shaken. A headless corpse lay sprawled at the loot of a large tree.

"Merciful heavens, Harry, what do you suppose happened?" the younger of the two men burst out at last.

Harry Jones, veteran miner who had seen men crushed and mangled underground, turned horror-stricken eyes toward his companion, Jimmy Brennan.

"Jimmy, there's been murder done here!"

The elder man's voice was almost a whisper. He drew a large blue handkerchief from the pocket of his hunting coat and, although the November day was cool, he wiped beads of perspiration from his forehead.

"Black Handers, do you think?" Jimmy asked in a low voice.

"Maybe," Jones answered uneasily. "I wonder what became of the bead?"

The two men were regaining their composure now. Both had been schooled in that hard, bitter school where death lurks constantly . . . the mines. Both had seen death many, many times, and it had seldom been pleasant. But their gruesome find made an impression that neither would forget for many a day.

A search for the missing head proved fruitless, and after a half hour Jones led the way back to the corpse under the tree.

The grizzled miner lit his pipe aid the hand which held the match no longer shook. "Suppose you run over to the Ridge colliery office, Jimmy, and tell the clerks to 'phone to Shamokin for the coroner and the county detective. I'll wait here and watch so nothing is disturbed."

News of the ghastly discovery of the headless man spread through the region like wildfire, and an hour after Jimmy Brennan burst breathlessly into the Hickory Ridge mine office, several hundred morbidly curious persons had gathered in and near the clearing where the corpse lay awaiting the arrival of Northumberland county officials.

In the excited, chattering crowd was a tall, distinguished-looking man who had left a Shamokin-Mount Carmel street car with the other passengers at Brady. A woman boarding the car at Kulpmont had told of the hunters discovery, and all the other passengers had hurriedly left the car and started up the mountain road to see the headless man with their own eyes.

The tall, athletic-looking stranger followed the crowd, but he exhibited an outward indifference. He glanced briefly at the corpse, then walked slowly here and there through the crowd, the brim of his expensive-looking fedora hat pulled well down over his eyes. He paused now and then, listening to the excited comment that was going on. He himself, said never a word. He was standing by the blood-spattered wall when a horse-drawn carriage came up the hill at a rapid rate and stopped abruptly.

"It's the county detective and the coroner," someone in the crowd shouted, as a fussy little man with a bristling mustache jumped from the buggy.

He was followed by a professional-looking man who carried a physician's case in one hand.

"Back out of the way, you folks," blustered Silas Foster, the county detective. "Dr. Morgan and I are in full charge here, and we'll clear the matter up in short order."

Someone laughed derisively, and Foster paused to glare into the I crowd. Then he strode through the woods to the clearing, the coroner at his heels.

The tall, silent stranger smiled slightly at the actions of the fat little county officer, and as the crowd followed Foster and the coroner he stood, one hand on the stone wall, his eyes sweeping the ground. A glint of something bright caught and held his gaze after a time, and with a slight exclamation he stooped over quickly land examined the shining object. It was a ring, half buried in the 'soft earth at the base of the wall.

A quick glance around assured the stooping man that he was unobserved, and with a swift movement he snatched up the ring and thrust it into his pocket. He paused to light a cigar, then strolled out onto the road. He followed the road for a short distance until a curve hid him from view of the morbid thrill-seekers in the woods, then he took the ring from his pocket and wiped it clean with a handkerchief.

The ring was of yellow gold and in it was mounted a large diamond that must have cost a large sum of money. Thoughtfully the man stared at the expensive bauble, then his stern face blanched as he saw the two letters, "H. A.," which were engraved on the inside of the ring. He stood for a long time, staring at the ring, finally thrust it back into his pocket. He swung about and started down the road with long-legged stride. His air was that of a man who has come to an important decision, and had anyone observed his set countenance little doubt would have been entertained that whatever action he was about to take would be executed with determination and courage.

Meantime County Detective Foster and Coroner Morgan were making their official Investigation of the headless corpse and what was obviously the scene of one of the most terrifying crimes in the history of the coal region. The coroner was a quiet, unassuming medical man, who had little to say. Foster, however, talked long and loud. He was heard to say that he'd solve the crime and lay the assassins by the heels in no time at all But those who heard him doubted he could keep his boastful promise. They knew that countless murders had been committed in the dead of night on the lonely roads of the region, and that few of them had been solved.

Nor had the doubtful ones reason to change their minds in the days which followed. Deeper grew the mystery of "The Murder at Hickory Ridge," as it came to be called.

Then the head was found!

Under a pile of stones, a mile distant from the blood-stained wall by the road, it was found wrapped in muslin that had been stained crimson by the life-blood of the assassin's victim. A hunter's dog led him to the head's burial place.

But the finding of the head failed to dissolve the black shadow of mystery which enveloped the horrible crime. It was placed on display in a window of the M. C. Farrow undertaking parlors at Shamokin, and thousands viewed it in hope of making identification. None, however, could say they had ever seen the face before.

Was "The Murder at Hickory Ridge" to go down in the bloody criminal annals of Northumberland county as another unsolved crime?

===============

CHAPTER THREE

Detective Dick Barry

================

WHAT MAS GONE BEFORE

Three assassins waylay and murder a lone wayfarer on the mountain road near Hickory Ridge, in the anthracite region. The murderers decapitate their victim and disappear. The body is found the next day and the head several days later, but the identity of the slain man remains a mystery. A tall, dark stranger visits the scene of the crime and finds a ring bearing the initials "H. A." He does not report his find to County Detective Silas Foster.

A cold, drizzling rain was falling. The street lights, few and far between, struggled valiantly against the thick, murky gloom. From a saloon came a snatch of 'song as a tipsy sailor celebrated his shore leave. Two drunken men staggered down the street, arm in arm.

In a dark doorway, a short distance from the notorious "Tony's Place," Dick Barry stood waiting.

An hour before, Fowler, the throughout the East carried front prison guard, had entered the,

--------------------

Chapter 3

Detective Dick Barry

It was a day in November, just a few days before newspapers throughout the East carried front page stories of the murder at Hickory Ridge, one of the most shocking crimes of the coal regions since the days of the Mollie Maguires.

"Someone to see you, Warden."

Gray-haired Stephen Lawler, warden of Sing Sing prison, looked up from the papers spread out on his desk.

"Who is it, Sam?"

"A funny old codger, Warden. Looks a little balmy in the head, if you ask me."

"Bring him in, Sam; then telephone again and inquire about Detective Barry. I'm worried about him. He should have been here an hour ago."

A few moments later an old, old man shuffled into the warden's office. He was stooped and the ragged ends of his dirty-gray hair stuck out under the brim of an old slouch hat. His clothes were old and worn. He trembled as if with palsy.

"Are you the warden?" the old man asked in a quavery voice.

"I am Warden Lawler, my good man; what can I do for you? And how did you get into the prison office waiting room?"

The old man leaned closer to the desk as he replied.

"I am Dick Barry of the United States Secret Service. I am here to take up the trail of Bill Dalton and Jack Nabor, the two criminals , who escaped from this prison last night."

The warden gasped. The expression on his face was comical. "You certainly fooled me with that disguise, Mr. Barry. Why are; you using it here?"

"Dalton and Nabor have many friends inside the prison as well as outside. I do not want them to know I have taken up the search for them, hence my character of an old man. I am firmly convinced Dalton and Nabor are counterfeiters, and I have orders to assist the city and state authorities in landing them behind prison bars again. That is why I am here, hoping you may be able to give me some information concerning two of the most desperate characters in the country.

"The Washington authorities telegraphed me early this morning you would be here, and I am at your service," the warden replied.

"First I want to know how the escape was made"

"They attached a guard, secured his keys, and then reached an outer door. There they stabbed a guard to death and disappeared. Just how they got outside the wall has not yet been learned. I thought perhaps you might solve the riddle for us."

"They tied him up; we found him in Daltons cell early this morning"

"Is he a trustworthy man?"

"So far as we knew, yes. His name is Fowler."

Dick Barry spent an hour at the prison carefully checking over the details of the desperate break for liberty made by Dalton and Nabor. Before he left, the warden pointed out the guard, Fowler.

The detective was leaving the prison when he noticed Fowler striding along ahead of him. Outside the prison gates an expensively dressed woman met the guard, and as Dick shuffled past the pair he heard the woman say: "I'll see you at 8:00 tonight at Tony's Place It's dangerous for me to be seen talking to you. Someone might recognize me in spite of this heavy veil."

That was all the detective could hear without disclosing his interest, but he had heard enough. He knew Tony's Place. It was a rendezvous for crooks and blackguards right along the New York waterfront A cold, drizzling rain was falling. The street lights, few and far between, struggled valiantly against the thick, murky gloom. From a saloon came a snatch of 'song as a tipsy sailor celebrated his shore leave. Two drunken men staggered down the street, arm in arm.

In a dark doorway, a short distance from the notorious "Tony's Place," Dick Barry stood waiting. It was long past 8:00, and he had 'begun to fear the woman in the veil would not put in an appearance. An hour before, Fowler, the prison guard, had entered the hotel.

Barry was disguised as a tough character. His suit was shabby, he appeared to need a shave badly, and his dark hat was pulled far down over one eye.

The detective had Just about made up his mind to enter the hotel and take a chance on picking up some information, when he saw the woman approaching. He waited until she started to enter the side door leading to the back room of the hotel, then he staggered in after her, pretending to be very drunk.

Although Barry appeared not to notice anyone in the back room, he saw Fowler sitting at a table, motioning for the woman to join him. The detective, stumbling and staggering, crossed the room and sat down at another table nearby. He called loudly for beer in a hoarse voice, but before he was served his head dropped to his outstretched arms on the table, and he appeared to fall fast asleep.

But the detective was far from asleep. He had never been more wide awake in his life. Neither Fowler nor the woman paid any attention to him, no doubt believing him to be as drunk as he appeared. Fowler was speaking,

"Have Dalton and Nabor carefully covered up their tracks?"

"I think so," the woman replied. "'But they'll have to be careful for some time. After the police have slowed up in their hunt for them somewhat they can leave for Pennsylvania."

"Belle, it is my opinion we all should be very careful for a time. There was a chap at the prison with the warden today, and I caught them both looking at me. It is possible the stranger was a detective in disguise."

"Well, Ezra returned from Pennsylvania today with a batch of goods, and if there is anyone actually on our trail Ezra is the man to find out about it. I'll let you know when we're ready to float the goods"

The prison guard and woman conversed for a short time longer, then both left. Hardly were they outside until Barry was after them. They parted on the pavement and , started in opposite directions, and the detective determined to follow the woman. Skillfully he shadowed her for several blocks until she hailed a passing cab, and he slouched in a dark doorway as she gave the cabby directions to drive her to No.-- West Sixty-ninth street.

Barry had some difficulty securing a cab, and by the time he arrived at the Sixty-ninth street ; address the other cab was Just about to leave.

"Did you bring a woman to this house?" the detective asked the cabby.

"I thought I was bringing a lady here," the cabby replied, "but when I arrived the cab was empty. She must have gotten out at a cross street somewhere along the line while I was stopped."

"Did she pay you?"

"Yes, she paid me with three one dollar bills shortly after she got in."

Barry threw back the lapel of his coat to exhibit a detectives Shield.

"Let me see the dollar bills"

The cabby took three crisp new notes from his pocket and passed them over to the detective. Barry knew in a moment they were counterfeit.

"I'll keep these," he told the astonished driver. "Here, I'll give you three others for them."

He placed three one dollar bills in the cabby's outstretched hand and hurried away.

===============

CHAPTER FOUR

In the Jaws Of Death

================

WHAT HAS GONE BEFORE

Three assassins waylay no a lone foot traveler on the mountain road near Hickory Ridge, In the anthracite region. The murderer decapitate their victim and conceal the head some distance from the body, but it is found. The identity of the murder victim is shrouded in mystery. Several days before the murder at Hickory Ridge two desperate crooks, Bill Dalton and Jack Nabor, make their escape from Sing Sing prison killing a guard. Dick Barry the famous Secret Service man is put on the case, and he trails one Fowler, a prison guard, and a mysterious veiled woman called Belle. Belled enters the detective club by a clever trick and pays a cab driver with counterfeit money.

----------------

CHAPTER 4

In The Jaws Of Death

Dick Barry cursed himself for his clumsiness in permitting the veiled woman to elude him, and realized that he was dealing with a clever female crook. He must pick up her trail again at all costs. Unfortunately he had not had a good look at her face, but he believed he would recognize her again should they meet.

He spent two weary days checking the various dirves in New York and on the second night his persistence was rewarded.

The detective entered the Eagle Cafe, just off the Bowery. He was disguised in a somewhat flashy manner, his loud checked vest and heavy gold chain with a horseshoe emblem proclaiming him to be a gambler. The place was crowded with all types of men and women and he attracted little special attention.

Two women and a man were seated at a table drinking beer when the detective entered, and at once he recognized one of the women as “Belle”, who had so cleverly thrown them off her track there was a vacant chair at the table and with the most engaging manner Barry swept off his hat and addressed the group:

“Would you people object to my sitting here for a little while?”

“Help yourself, Bo,” the man replied. The two women nodded agreement.

“I'm a stranger here,” Barry declared as he sat down. “Perhaps she would permit me to buy a round of drinks. I detest drinking alone.”

In a short time the detective was conversing with the two women and the man as though they we're all old friends. When he paid for the rounds of drinks he exhibited a large roll of crisp new bills, and he saw the man's eyes open wide in wonder.

Barry leaned over towards his newfound companion and whispered " Surprised you, eh? There's a lot more where that came from.” The man looked interested.

“My name's Ross,” he told the detective. “ Ezra Ross. I've seen roles like that myself.”

“My friends call me Duke Briscoe” Barry declared. “Chicago is my regular stamping ground, but I came here to look up two fellows who were recommended to me. Maybe you've heard of them. Bill Dalton and Jack Nabor?”

The man stared visibly, when then his eyes narrowed. Barry heard the veiled woman gasp at the two names.

“What do you want Dalton and labor for?” Ross asked suspiciously.

“Well it's sort of confidential but you look like a good pal, so I'll tell you. I'm interested in shoving some of the goods they produce.”

For a moment Ross said nothing. The two women were watching Barry curiously. Finally Ross spoke:

“You’ve come to the right gent. I’ll see that you meet Dalton and Nabor, because we need more men. I'm on my way to meet them now. You be ready to leave here In half an hour and you'll find a cab in front of the place waiting for you. The driver will have orders to take you to the place where Dalton and Nabor are hiding from the police."

A half hour after Ross had left the Eagle cafe, Dick bade the two women good-night and went out side. A cab was standing at the curb, and the driver motioned for the detective to get In. Just as he opened the door of the cab and started to enter he was struck a terrific blow on the head. He pitched forward into the cab, unconscious.

When Barry returned to consciousness he was lying on a carpeted floor. He heard voices, so he kept his eyes tightly closed.

"What made you suspect him of being Dick Barry the Secret Service man? a voice asked.

Another voice which Barry recognized as Ezra Ross answered: "The lapel of his coat fell forward when he leaned across the table and I saw his badge. I never let on I was wise, but got away as soon as I could to prepare the trap."

"You always was a smart one, Ezra"

"What are we going to do with him now? " a third voice asked.

"The river is the safest way." replied the man with whom Ezra had conversing. "We'll never be secure from arrest while he's alive. Wouldn't he like to arrest Bill Dalton and Jack Nabor, though?"

"I've got the cab outside yet," Ezra put in. "Let's get the Job over with right away.

Barry was picked up and carried out to the cab, still pretending to be unconscious. He was weak from the blow on the head, and he had been relieved of his pistol. Therefore he decided to bide his time.

After a short drive the cab drew up a dark spot along the East River, and the detective was lifted from the cab. For a moment the three men held him suspended over the edge of the dock, then let him drop. Then they reentered the cab and drove furiously away.

The detective struck the water with a loud splash and sank immediately. He struggled up to the surface, however, and in a few moments more had climbed out on the dock. His teeth were chattering with cold, but he was elated, 'He had opened his eyes briefly when carried, out of the crooks hiding place to the cab, and he knew he could locate the house again. There were few streets in the great city the detective was not familiar with. The crooks' hide-out was on Eighteenth street, near Lexington avenue.

At his apartment some time later Dick Barry changed his wet clothing and assumed the disguise of an elderly gentleman. Then he took a cab to Eighteenth street to check up on the building from where he had been taken to the river. He was confident that in a very short time those two dastardly crooks, Bill Dalton and Jack Nabor would be back in prison and on their way to the gallows. First, however, he must learn more about the place in Pennsylvania where the counterfeit money was being made. Little did he dream of the danger that lay ahead of him. Had he known It would have made little difference, since his nerves of steel had carried him through many an amazing adventure.

===============

CHAPTER FIVE

Queen of the Counterfeit

================

WHAT HAS GONE BEFORE

Three assassins waylay and kill a lone foot traveler on the mountain road near Hickory Ridge, in the anthracite region. The murderers decapitate their victim and conceal the head some distance from the body, but it is found. The identity of the murder victim is shrouded in mystery. Several days before the murder at Hickory Ridge two desperate crooks. Bill Dalton and Jack Nabor. make their escape from Sing Sing prison, killing a guard. Dick Barry, the famous Secret Service man, is put on the case, and he trails one Fowler, a prison guard, and a mysterious veiled woman called Belle. Belle eludes the detective by a clever trick and pays a cab driver with counterfeit money.

-----------------

CHAPTER 5

Queen of the Counterfeit

In the center of the block on Eighteenth street, near Lexington avenue, stood a beautiful brown-stone house. None but the rich and fairly well-to-do could afford to live in this section.

Night had fallen over the city, and the faint rays of the street light at the corner fell on a handsome middle-aged, foreign-looking man standing before the imposing brown-stone house. He appeared to be in doubt concerning something, but finally, with the air of having made up his mind, he approached the door and rang the bell.

The door opened after a few minutes, and in the doorway stood a woman of remarkable beauty. As her eyes fell on the man who stood before her she started slightly, but Immediately regained her composure.

"Have I the pleasure of addressing . Miss Belle Wynwood?" the man asked.

"Yes, I am Belle Wynwood." "Well, I have come here to talk to you. about Tony Appleby."

"Tony .. . ?"

"Yes, Tony Appleby. You know him well."

"I assure you, sir, that the man is only a passing acquaintance. I am very budy no and I shall have to ask you to call again."

"No, I must speak to you now."

"Very well; if you must, I suppose I shall. have to grant you a few moment. Please come in."

"Thank you; I will be as brief as possible."

The woman ushered him into a large, luxuriously furnished room and bade him be seated. She excused herself for a moment and left the room.

The man gazed curiously around at the rich tapestries and period furniture of the room. A pair of heavy oriental curtains through which the woman had passed concealed an entrance to the back of the house. The air of refinement in the room indicated the owner must be a person of wealth. After a short absence the woman again reentered the room. She appeared to be highly nervous and anxious to have the interview over as quickly as possible.

"As I said before," the man began when she was seated, "I want to talk to you about Tony Appleby."

"Why should you come to me? I know nothing of him."

"I think you know more about him than any other person in the world."

"Do you mean to insinuate I am lying."

"Not that, exactly, but if you say you know nothing of Tony Appleby I shall come to that conclusion."

"I know little of him, but if there is anything I can tell you I shall be pleased to do so."

"Thank you."

"Tell me first, however. . . what is your Interest in Tony Appleby."

"He is my brother."

"Your brother?" the woman came to her feet, stark amazement written on her face. "I thought you were in 'Frisco."

"Ah, then he has told you about me?"

"Well, er . . . er . . . you see . . . that is, he did mention you."

"I thought so," the man replied grimly.

"What do you wish to learn from me concerning your brother, Tony?"

"I wish to learn his whereabouts."

"I can't tell you that."

"Why not?"

"Because I do not know where he is."

"But I know that you do."

"You are very insulting; I refuse to listen to you."

"Oh, but you will listen; what I have to say will interest you beyond all doubt. First, however, I want to know where Tony Is."

"He is in Chicago. He went there three weeks ago."

"He is not In Chicago now. I have every reason to believe you know where he is at this moment, and shall not leave this house until you make his whereabouts known to me."

The woman's eyes flashed. She came to her feet with an angry exclamation.

"You will leave at once or I shall have you forcibly ejected," she declared.

In a bound the man reached her and seized her by the wrist. "You'll tell me," he hissed, "or take the consequences. I am a desperate man. I have come all the way from 'Frisco to find Tony and break the hold you have on him."

"Really?" with a sarcastic smile.

"Oh, you may smile and think me a fool, but when I tell you that I know you are the Queen of the Counterfeiters and that my brother is madly in love with you perhaps you will realize I have not come here poorly informed."

The woman's face paled, and she shrank away from the stern-faced man. "You are mad," she cried, seeking to break free from the iron grip on her wrist.

"No, I am quite sane . . . sane enough to see through your clever masquerade. My brother, . Tony, Heaven help him, succumbed to your blandishments, and you have made a slave of him. He was an honest man, an expert engraver be fore you came into his life. I know the story of his downfall quite well.

How he lost all his money, and then, despondent and his senses dulled with drink, he fell into your net. Now he is doing your evil bidding, risking his life as a criminal, while you live here in luxury with your paramour."

"Where did you learn all this?" the woman cried out, her face betraying her fear.

"No matter; I do know it, and I propose to break the spell and ex pose your treachery."

"You must find him first," the woman hissed, her temper now fully aroused.

"Well, I know at least one place where he might be found ... in the hills of Northumberland county, Pennsylvania."

The woman recoiled as though she had been struck a violent blow.

"What do you know about the place in Northumberland county?"

"I know that near the mining village of Hickory Ridge there is an old abandoned mine where the counterfeiters have their den. I know that my brother makes plates for the gang."

"What good does that knowledge do you. You will never reach there." With a sudden lurch she broke free from his restraining grasp and ran across the room as quick as a cat. She pulled back one of the curtains which concealed the door and called out: "Here is your man. Come and get him!"

Three men rushed into the room with drawn revolvers. The woman stood against the wall, her bosom heaving with emotion. In her anger she was beautiful, and the man realized why his brother had been easy prey for her wiles.

The first of the three men was Just raising his pistol when Tony Appleby's brother went into action. He was a powerfully built man, and his right fist shot out to strike the first villain squarely In the face The man went down like a felled ox. In falling he struck against the other two. and down they went.

Appleby stepped back swiftly and his hand went to his pocket. It came out like a flash, holding a pistol. A moment before he fired a single shot that shattered the large hanging lamp, he saw the woman's terrified eyes staring at him, then the room was plunged into darkness. Through the darkness the woman's voice rang:

"You may win this time Harry Appleby, but nothing can save you if you try to reach your brother at Hickory Ridge!"

But Harry Appleby was already in the hall and making for the front door. Down the steps he raced and out onto the pavement.

The next day he was on his way to the hard coal fields in his quest for his wayward brother. As the train rolled out of the Grand Central station he swore a silent oath that he would accomplish his errand or die in the attempt.

Little he knew the danger that awaited him in that forbidding country.

===============

CHAPTER SIX

================

WHAT HAS HAPPENED

Three assassins waylay and kill a lone traveler on the mountain road near Hickory Ridge, in the anthracite region. The murder victim's headless body is found the next day, and a week later the head is found. The identity of the murder victim is a mystery. Several days before the murder Bill Dalton and Jack Nabor, desperate criminals, escape from Sing Sing prison, killing a guard. Believing the pair to be counterfeiters, Dick Barry, famous Secret Service man, gets on the trail of the crooks. He has several thrilling escapes from death, but learns that Dalton, Nabor and Ezra Ross are planning to kill Harry Appleby, a brother of Tony Appleby, at the order of Belle Wynwood, the queen of the counterfeiters. Tony is a skilled engraver, working with the gang, and his brother Harry is on his way to persuade him to leave his life of crime. Dalton, Nabor and Ross follow Harry Appleby into the coal region. Barry, left for dead after a fight in the crooks New York headquarters, is hot on their trail.

-------------

CHAPTER 6

As related in a previous chapter, Dick Barry disguised himself as an elderly gentleman following his escape from death in the East River, and set out to investigate the brownstone house on Eighteenth Street.

As the detective neared the house now he had a foreboding of evil. Some sixth sense warned him that ahead lay one of the most perilous adventures of his exciting career. But this only spurred him on. He knew he was on the trail of the counterfeiters, and he knew the men he had to deal with were crooks of the most ruthless type.

Bill Dalton and Jack Nabor had long criminal records. Of the third man, Ezra Ross, and the traitorous prison guard, Fowler, Barry knew little. The woman, Belle, evidently, was a hardened crook.

The detective surveyed the brownstone house from the shadows on the opposite side of the street. From a window on the second floor a light shone but the rest of the house was shrouded in darkness. He decided at last to seek entrance a the rear since there he would attract the least attention.

An alley ran past the back of the house, and down this dark alley Barry went, keeping close to the high board fences which enclosed the backyards. He came at last to the gate he sought, and quietly entered the yard. A few moments later ne was at a kitchen window, prying it open with a small steel jimmy he always carried.

When the detective stood at last in the warm darkness of the kitchen, he paused for a moment to get his bearings. The house was silent as a tomb. Moving cautiously, he traversed the length of the first floor until he came to a stairway leading from front hall to the second floor. Pistol in hand he mounted the stairs.

Barry knew he was taking his life in his hands as he slowly and silently mounted the steps to the second floor. But here he hoped to learn the location of the counterfeiters den in Pennsylvania. Here he hoped to run down the cowardly assassins who had killed a prison guard while making their desperate break for liberty.

From under a door on the second floor a thin line of light shone, and as Barry paused outside this door he heard voices. His heart leaped as he heard the voice of the woman, Belle, exclaim angrily:

"We must move fast if we hope to prevent Harry Appleby from meeting his brother at Hickory Ridge and persuading him to leave the gang. Tony Appleby would listen to his brother, and since he is the best engraver of counterfeit plates in the country we can't afford to lose him. Besides Harry Appleby knows too much; he must be put out of the way at once."

Barry gasped at this cold-blooded statement from the beautiful Belle, but it only confirmed his belief that she was as ruthless and as desperate as her companions in crime.

"You mean we must kill Harry Appleby?" Barry heard Bill Dalton ask.

"Exactly," the woman replied.

"Belle's right," Nabor broke in.

"She's always right" Ezra said.

"What is your plan, Belle?" asked Dalton. "You tell us what you want done and we'll do it."

And then Dick Barry heard the details of a murder plot, the carrying out of which was to make strong men shudder and women grow faint with fear.

In a calm, deadly cold voice, Belle ordered the three crooks, Dalton, Nabor and Ross, to go to the mining village of Hickory Ridge, in the coal region of Pennsylvania. They were to waylay Harry Appleby on the lonely road not far from the counterfeiters' den and strike him down.

"There must be no slipup in this plot," Belle told the three men, "Harry Appleby even now is probably on his way to the coal region. You must leave here at once and travel with all possible speed. Get off the train at Shamokin or Mount Carmel and take a street car to Brady. Appleby is not familiar with the region and will lose some time finding his way to the den. I don't understand how he learned about it, unless Tony has been writing to him. That seems to be the only solution. I guess Tony never thought his brother would come all the way from California after him."

"What will we do with his body afterward?" Dalton asked. "We don't want it identified. If that happened and Tony found out what had been done he'd to to the police. We We need Tony too badly to kill him too."

"Harry Appleby's head must be cut from his body and hidden where it will never be found," Belle declared. "Remove all his clothing and carry it away with you to be burned later at the den."

"Who is at the den now?" Nabor asked. "Tony Appleby, Nick Terressi and Three-Finger Mike," Belle replied.

"I wish we could have Three-Finger Mike on this job," Nabor said. "He's a good man."

"There's no time for that," Belle declared.

"Let's take the oath now so you can leave at once."

Peering through the keyhole Barry saw the woman and the three men raise their right hands. He heard the blood-curdling oath uttered by the three assassins:

"We swear to kill and behead Harry Appleby or die in the attempt."

The detective had heard all he needed to know. The counterfeiters den was near Hickory Ridge, not far from Shamokin, in the hard coal fields. Dalton, Nabor, and Ross were going to waylay Harry Appleby and murder him in cold blood. Barry knew that not only must he prevent this terrible crime, but he must follow the conspirators to their den and cause the arrest of the entire gang.

In his excitement he was incautious enough to let his pistol strike sharply against the door, and he heard Dalton shout: "There's someone in the hall!"

There was a rush of feet, and Barry backed down the hall toward the top of the stairway, his pistol held ready. Suddenly the door was flung open and Dalton, Nabor and Ross rushed out into the hall with drawn pistols.

"There he is!" Dalton shouted. "Let him have it!"

Pistols roared in the narrow hall, and at the first fire Barry was struck. Something seemed to explode in his head, and he fell backward, his pistol clattering to the floor. Just before he toppled at the top of the steps and plunged downward he heard Dalton shout:

"We got him!"

Barry came back to consciousness with throbbing head. He groaned as he tried to sit up. Blood had dried on his face, and there was a tender spot on his right temple where a bullet had plowed a deep furrow. He wondered how long he had been unconscious.

He got to his feet at last, staggering as he sought to reach the front door. The house was silent, and he had no doubt the crooks had hurriedly left after, what they thought was another killing.

Barry got the front door open at last and stood drinking in the crisp night air. Revived, he went back into the house and made a careful search. As he had expected he found no one, nor did he find anything that might be used as incriminating evidence against the counterfeiters.

Back at his apartment Barry hurriedly prepared for the trip into the coal region. He knew he had lost valuable time, and he feared he might be too late to prevent a dastardly crime. Arriving at the railway station Barry learned upon making inquiries at the ticket office the counterfeiters could be only one train ahead of him. He was on the next train that pulled out of the station, bound for the coal region.

================

CHAPTER SEVEN

In the Coal Fields

================

WHAT HAS HAPPENED Three assassins waylay and kill a, lone traveler on the mountain road near Hickory Ridge, in the anthracite region. The murder victim's headless body is found the next day, and a week later the head is found. The identity of the murder victim is a mystery. Several days before the murder Bill Dalton and Jack Nabor, desperate criminals, escape from Sing Sing prison, killing a guard. Believing the pair to be counterfeiters, Dick Barry, famous Secret Service man, gets on the trail of the crooks. He has several thrilling escapes from death, but learns that Dalton. Nabor and Ezra Ross are planning to kill Harry Appleby, a brother of Tony Appleby, at the order of Belle Wynwood, the queen of the counterfeiters. Tony is a skilled engraver, working with the gang, and his brother Harry is on his way to persuade him to leave his life of crime.

Dalton, Nabor and Ross follow Harry Appleby into the coal region. Barry, left for dead after a fight in the crooks' New York headquarters, is hot on their trail.

-----------------

CHAPTER 7

In the Coal Fields

Dick Barry arrived in Mount Carmel after the long ride from New York, tired and weary. For days he had scarcely slept more than an hour at a time.

Dawn was just breaking over the hills when hie train rolled into the station, and he decided to catch a few hours sleep before taking up the trail of the three counterfeiters, whose train had arrived during the night.

At 8:00 the detective was ready for the trail again, having had several hours rest and breakfast. After making discreet inquiries at several hotels and failing to locate Dalton, Nabor and Ross, he decided to take the street car to Shamokin and see if he could pick up the trail there.

Barry did not think the counterfeiters had yet had time to commit the dastardly crime that brought them into this rough country, and he was astounded when the car reached Brady to hear excited voice announcing the fact that a headless body had been found on the mountain road near Hickory Ridge.

With the other passengers the detective left the car and started up the steep road to the scene of the crime. What happened there after has been told in the opening chapters of this story. It was Barry who stood beside the stone wall and saw the "county detective and the coroner arrive. And it was Barry who found the diamond ring pressed deep into the earth beside the wall.

When Dick Barry swung down the road away from the spot where a brave man had gone down un der the attack of the three cowardly assassins his mind' was in a turmoil. He was sure now that Dalton, Nabor and Ross must have! gone direct from either the Mount Carmel or Shamokin station to waylay Harry Appleby.

The detective had never seen Appleby, and even if the head had been found the same morning the two miners came across the slain man's body it would have made little difference. The initials on the inside of thering, "H. A.," told the detective all he wanted to know.

Filled with bitterness Barry returned to Mount Carmel. He planned to make his headquarters in Shamokin until he had run Dalton and the others to earth. It was several days after he went to Shamokin that the head of the murdered man was found and placed on exhibition in the hope it could be identified.

Rumors and reports there were by the score. Barry stood in the crowds in front of the undertaker's window and listened to the conversations of the curious, but he failed to detect anyone who might be directly connected with the brutal murder. Not a trace could he find of Dalton, Nabor and Ross.

A report gained circulation that the murdered man was an Italian named Anthony Cerelli, a customs officer in a small Italian port, who had been sent to America on business by his government. Enemies of the government, said the report, had killed Cerelli. Italian-Americans of the region denied the story when Barry checked with them, however, asserting Cerelli was alive and back home in Italy.

Another report that Barry ran down was that the slain man was a Syrian rug peddler who had been waylaid and killed for the money all peddlers were supposed to carry on their persons.

Then the detective had a stroke of good luck. He saw Jack Nabor!

Barry had gone to Kulpmont to check up on one of th many rumors concerning the murder case and as he was about to board a Shamokin-bound car Nabor appeared on the rear platform. A moment later the counterfeiter left the car and struck out on foot. Barry gave him a chance to get well started, then followed.

The chase led into the hills, and Barry had some difficulty in keeping Nabor in sight at and at the same time keeping himself under cover. The Chase was a long one. It led past the village of Natalie and into the thick, silent woods. The path now was merely a faint trail.

Suddenly Nabor came to a stop and looked sharply around. Barry dropped hurriedly, hoping he had not been seen. When he looked a few moments later, Nabor had disappeared.

Cautiously Barry moved forward, his pistol cocked and ready for instant use if need me. He hoped, however, to discover the location of the counterfeiters den without giving warning of his presence. He realized there were six desperate men to deal with, and he knew he could not hope to cope with all of them. His plan was to locate the dent and then lead a posse of officers to the place for a roundup of the whole gang.

He found the spot where Nabor had disappeared after a long search. It was at the mouth of an old drift. The opening was cleverly covered with bushes. He marked the spot well, then hurriedly returned to Kulpmont and from there went to Shamokin to secure aid.

Upon returning to Shamokin, Barry went at once to the office of Silas Foster, Northumberland County Detective. He round the officer seated behind his desk.

"So you are Dick Barry, the famous Secret Service man?" Foster said when the detective had made his identity known. "What can I do for you?"

"I have called to talk with you ; about the Hickory Ridge murder case," Barry answered.

"The Hickory Ridge murder case?" Foster ejaculated "Why - what interest can you have in that case?"

"Well, you see, I have reason to believe the perpetrators of the murder were counterfeiters, and counterfeiting is a federal offense. I intended to get in touch with you before, hoping to prevent the murder, but I was too late."

"Counterfeiters . . . bah!" snorted the county detective. "What could counterfeiters have to do with the case. I tell you the man was killed by Blackhanders."

"I did not ask for your advice" Barry snapped. "I want your help in another way. I want you to give me a few good deputies who are willing to risk their lives on a perilous mission."

"You are sure you know who committed the murder."

"Beyond the shadow of a doubt."

Barry then proceeded to tell Foster of the plot to kill Harry Appleby, of his several escapes from death at the hands of Dalton, Nabor and Ross, and of the long chase that had led at last to the old drift in the woods near Hickory Ridge.

For all his pompous manner, Foster was a brave man and he at once agreed to Barry's plan to raid the counterfeiters den. He hastily summoned a half dozen men he could trust and deputized I them. Then all were told of the dangerous mission for which they had been selected. All agreed to accompany the detective. Foster also pledged himself to lend his aid.

After some discussion it was agreed that night would be the best time to make the raid, and that night found the six deputies, Barry and Foster, heavily armed, in the county detective's office.

To allay suspicion in case they were observed, the group of officers split into pairs and went on different cars to Kulpmont. They met later outside the town, and set out on their dangerous mission.

Barry cautioned his men to make as little noise as possible, then took the lead on the narrow path that wound through the dark woods.

What would the outcome of this adventure be, Dick Barry wondered. He knew the dangers that lay ahead. He was certain Dalton, Nabor and Ross would resist arrest to the last, but he did not waver. On into the night he went.

================

CHAPTER EIGHT

Caught At Last

=================

WHAT HAS HAPPENED

Three assassins waylay and kill lone traveler on the mountain road near Hickory Ridge, in the anthracite region. The murder victim's headless body is found the next day, and a week later the head is found. The identity of the murder victim is a mystery. Several days before the murder Bill Dalton and Jack Nabor, desperate criminals, escape from Sing Sing prison, killing a guard. Believing the pair to be counterfeiters, Dick Barry, famous Secret Service man, gets on the trail of the crooks.

He has several thrilling escapes from death, but learns that Dalton, Nabor and Ezra Ross are planning to kill Harry Appleby, a brother of Tony Appleby, at the order of Belie Wynwood, the queen of the counterfeiters. Tony is a skilled engraver, working with the gang, and his brother Harry is on his way to persuade him to leave his life of crime. Dalton, Nabor and Ross follow Harry Appleby into the coal region. Barry, left for dead after a fight in the crooks' New York headquarters, is hot on their trail. The detective locates the counterfeiters' den in the mountains near Hickory Ridge, and secures the aid of Silas Foster, Northumberland county detective, and several deputies to bring the crooks to justice. A night raid on the den is planned.

---------------

CHAPTER 8

Caught at Last

The going through the dark woods was extremely difficult, and it was almost two hours before Dick Barry paused at last at the mouth of the drift in which he was certain the counterfeiters had their headquarters.

In a whisper, the detective gave his men orders for the raid.

"It is doubtful that any other exit from this drift exists," Barry declared. "I made discreet inquiries of an old miner today, and he told me the drift is closed about 300 yards underground by a fall of top rock. I'll go into the drift alone first, since a number of men may make a lot of noise and give us away before we are ready to strike."

The county detective insisted that he be permitted to accompany Barry, the Secret Service man stood firm.

"You will be needed here at the entrance," Barry told Foster. There is no telling what may happen. Keep back from the mouth of the drift where you and your men will not be seen. Let no one pass in after me, and if you hear shooting or if I do not come back out in a half hour you had better come in after me."

The two men shook hands silently and then Barry plunged into the stygian blackness of the drift, guided entirely by his sense of touch.

The detective dared not make a light, since to do so might betray his presence to the counterfeiters. He felt now that he was nearing the end of the long trail. Moving with the noiseless tread of a cat stalking a bird, Barry went deeper and deeper into the darkness. Not a sound reached his straining ears.

Suddenly he stopped abruptly. His outstretched hand had come into contact with rough planking, and an examination disclosed the fact that a door barred the way. Barry placed his ear against the door, and as from a great distance he thought he heard the sound of a machine running. He had heard that same sound before, and he knew that it was a printing press, probably hand-operated. After a search the detective located the handles of the double door that barred the passage.

The door was securely locked!

Barry could hear the ticking of his watch in the eerie silence that pervaded the cavern. He was almost discouraged. Had he come this far to be balked by the clever criminals who carried on their nefarious trade on the other side of that locked door. He realized that the lives of brave men might lost if he and his companions tried to break down the door. Dalton, Nabor and Ross had already done murder. They would not hesitate at the taking of a few more lives to avoid arrest, since their own lives would be forfeited if they were arrested.

As Barry stood thinking he heard slight noise at the door, and he leaped to one side so that when the door opened he would be concealed at least for a moment.

Slowly one of the sides of the door was opening!

The detective moved slowly backward behind the door as it swung open, and when it had opened several feet a man stepped into view. He was a huge, hulking brute, and by the light of the flaring miner's lamp that he carried Barry could see that both his thumbs were missing. Undoubtedly he was Four Finger Mike, the man Nabor had wanted to participate in the murder of Harry Appleby.

Four-Finger Mike turned to close the door, and as it swung shut Barry leaped and swung his heavy pistol like a club. It struck the crook's head with a dull smack, sending him down like a felled ox.

Barry quickly extinguished the light and listened at the door. He could hear the rumble of the printing press plainly as he opened the door a crack and looked down the tunnel. A dull light shone far ahead, seeming to come from around a curve. Cautiously he opened the door wide and slipped through.

Now at last he was in the counterfeiters den, and as he neared the curve the press stopped suddenly and he could hear voices. Peering around the bend in the tunnel he saw Dalton, Nabor, Ross, a strange he supposed was Tony Appleby, and the woman, Belle. They were gathered around the printing press examining something.

"The best goods we've ever turned out," Barry heard Dalton exclaim exultantly. Barry turned to retrace his steps, intending to summon Foster and the deputies, when he dislodged a large piece of rock from the side of the tunnel. Its clatter echoed loudly through the tunnel, and the detective heard Dalton shout:

"Is that you, Mike?"

Barry knew he was in for it now, so he flung caution to the winds and fired a shot to summon his companions. Scarcely had the sound of the shot died away when there was a rush of feet and a hall of bullets flattened against the rocky sides of the tunnel around the detective. He fired rapidly as the rushed him, and he saw Ross go down. Nabor, too, was struck, for he cursed luridly.

Barry was beginning to wonder if his reinforcements would arrive in time, when there was a shout from Foster. The county detective was coming on the run, a pistol in hand a miner's lamp in the other. Behind him came the deputies. Foster and the deputies opened fire, and the tunnel echoed and reechoed with the crashing shots.

"Throw down your arms," Barry shouted. But Dalton, Appleby and Belle were blazing away. The detective saw a deputy go down, and Foster staggering as though badly hit. Barry, himself, seemed to have a charmed life. Not once had he been hit.

Suddenly Tony Appleby dashed back around the curve, and in a moment appeared with a large keg of black powder in his arms. A short lighted fuse hissed a and burned its way toward the small opening in the top of the keg.

Appleby put powder keg down, and as Belle made a move toward it the engraver shouted. "We'll never be taken alive. You got me into this and I'm not going to face disgrace and prison. God knows what crimes all of you nave committed. I'm going to blow up the place, and we'll all die together!"

"Back, men; back to the door!" Barry shouted as the firing ceased. "That fuse is too short to prevent an explosion now."

With a rush Foster and the deputies obeyed Barry's order and he, himself, brought up the rear, gun ready.

Now Dalton, Belle and Appleby were struggling near the powder keg, as with a final spurt of speed the detective followed his friends through the doorway.

Pausing only long enough to slam the door shut he followed his companions to the open air.

A moment later there was a terrific explosion, followed by the sound of and timbers. Then a silence settled falling, rock, down.

The drift was tightly closed when Barry, Foster and the deputies tried reenter. Thousands of tons of rock had been brought down by the blast. The counterfeiters were buried in a tomb from which their crushed bodies would never be recovered.

And so ends the story of "The Murder at Hickory Ridge." Both Tony and Harry Appleby were dead, and Dick Barry knew that identity of the man slain on the lonely mountain road would never be definitely established, except in his report to his superiors in Washington. To this day the murder is regarded by the people of the coal region as an unsolved mystery.

(The End)

=====================

Valley Girl Views

Pages

Monday, February 10, 2025

The Murder At Hickory Ridge by W.A. Conway

No comments:

Post a Comment

Popular Posts

Privacy Policy

Report Abuse