Nick Carter and The Kidnapped Heiress, Pt 2

In this thrilling episode, Nick Carter's intrepid junior detective Patsy Garvin encounters dangerous situations as he follows a mysterious man named Snell on a journey that leads them to Helena, Montana. The narrative unfolds with tense moments as Patsy must act swiftly to thwart potential harm. A sequence of events transpires involving revolver standoffs, unexpected twists, and strategic maneuvers that keep the audience on the edge of their seats.

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Transcript

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Hello again, friends and welcome to another fine episode of Forward Into The Past. I'm J.C. Rede, your host and narrator. And today we're picking up where we left off last time with another two chapters from the early days of our master detective Nick Carter in a story written way back in 1902: Nick Carter and the Kidnapped Heiress or The Recovery of a Great Ransom. The dawn of the 20th century marked a thriving era for story papers and dime novels in the United States. While Street Smith, the publishers of the Nick Carter mysteries, stood as a dominant force in this industry several other publishers competed fiercely for readership and market share collectively shaping the landscape of popular fiction. Street Smith's journey to prominence began with their first major publication, The New York Weekly launched in 1846. This story paper laid the foundation for their success and remained a cornerstone of their business well into the 20th century. However, despite their strong position, Street Smith faced significant competition from various quarters. One of Street Smith's primary rivals was Frank A. Munsey who revolutionized the industry with the introduction of Munsey's Magazine in 1889. Munsey's innovative approach of cutting prices and increasing circulation through advertising revenue challenged the traditional story paper model, forcing established publishers like Street Smith to adapt. Another significant competitor was the Frank Tousey publishing house. Tousey's publications, including Boys of New York and Young Men of America, targeted a similar audience to Street Smith's offerings. Tousey's stories often featured daring young heroes and thrilling adventures appealing to the youth market that was crucial to the story paper industry's success. The House of Beadle and Adams founded by Erasmus Beadle was a pioneer in the dime novel format and remained a formidable competitor well into the 20th century. Although the company's influence had waned somewhat by this time. It's longstanding reputation and extensive back catalog of popular titles continued to pose a challenge to new publishers. Norman L Munro, brother of the famous George Munro was another publisher who competed with Street Smith. Munro's Golden Hours and Golden Days for Boys and Girls were popular story papers that featured a mix of fiction, articles, and puzzles, catering to a diverse readership. The J S Ogilvy publishing company also presented competition. Particularly in the realm of sensational fiction and romance stories. While they didn't publish major story papers like New York Weekly, Ogilvy's various dime novel series and standalone publications provided alternatives to Street Smith's offerings in popular genres. As the industry evolved, Street Smith and its competitors had to contend with emerging pulp magazine publishers. While not direct competitors to traditional story papers pulp magazines began to capture a significant portion of the reading public's attention. Publishers like Frank A Munsey with the Argosy Magazine and Street Smith themselves with The Popular Magazine began to blur the lines between story papers and pulps adapting to changing tastes and production methods. Throughout this period of intense competition, Street Smith managed to maintain its position as an industry leader through a combination of savvy business practices, popular authors and the ability to adapt to changing market conditions. Their early success with the New York Weekly provided a strong foundation allowing them to navigate the competitive landscape effectively. However, the presence of robust competitors insured a diverse and dynamic publishing environment that ultimately benefited readers with a wide array of choices in popular fiction. And now let's head back to 1902 to sample one of Street Smith's earliest successes. The incomparable detective Nick Carter in the thrilling mystery called Nick Carter and the Kidnapped Heiress or The Recovery of a Great Ransom. Chapter three. A game of watching. Patsy thought that this was the same man who had come so near killing Snell. He had not been sure of that at the time for he had not been able to see the would be murderer's face. Now it took only a sharp glance to satisfy him for the man's motions were a little peculiar. He had a way of bending his head to one side, which Patsy had noticed in the man who had shadowed Snell. As he remembered it, the same sideways hang of the head had been the case with the would-be murderer in that instant, when he saw him darting after his victim. So, thought Patsy. He's at his game again. Been watching Snell probably ever since the attack. There'll be trouble if he finds his man on board. Nothing could have been plainer than that the man was looking for somebody. He went part way through the cabin giving stealthy side glances at the men on the seats. When he came to the doorway that led to the upper deck, he went up. He won't find Snell up there I think, said Patsy to himself as he got up and went forward. The detective went as far as the door that opened upon the forward deck. Looking through it he saw Snell leaning against the rail. Nobody else was out there. At that moment, the boat had hardly got beyond the end of the ferry slip. Patsy sat down where he could look the length of the men's cabin and also glance through the glass in the door at the forward deck. In less than a minute, he saw the stranger coming down the stairs from the upper cabin. He was still walking slowly and peering sharply at the passengers. When he had come as far as the door, he halted and looked through the glass. The detective could see his face. He saw the man's brow wrinkle first, when he perceived that somebody was standing alone by the rail. Then his lips were pressed hard together and he nodded as if satisfied. Evidently he had recognized Snell. For a moment longer he stood there, hesitating perhaps. Then he gave a side glance at Patsy who sat so close that they almost touched each other. The detective, however, seemed to be deeply engaged in reading a placard hung on the opposite wall. The man softly opened the door and went out. Patsy was on his feet instantly. Looking through the glass, he saw the stranger slink into the darkness by the sidewall of the boat, there being a space thus shut in between the cabin door and the open deck where Snell stood, looking at the water. What a chance, thought Patsy to sneak up and pitch his man overboard. The stranger stood motionless a moment. Then he edged forward. At that Patsy quietly opened the door and stepped out. The man did not hear him. His attention was too much taken with what he was going to do. Snell was motionless. The boat was about in midstream. Patsy's muscles quivered as the stranger glided swiftly up and placed his hand on Snell's shoulder. Snell whirled around with a gasp of surprise and alarm. He put up his hands to push the man away and tried to back from the rail. The stranger kept his hand firmly on Snell's shoulder. For a second or two, the men jostled each other, but it could not be said that they were struggling. The stranger seemed merely trying to hold Snell still. Patsy heard him say, keep quiet. I am not going to hurt you. Evidently Snell was somewhat relieved at this, but he was still frightened. I have a good mind to have you arrested. He said. The other laughed. You'll think better of that as soon as you see a policeman, he retorted. You've tried to kill me once tonight, said Snell. Well, let that pass. I didn't succeed. And now that you're starting west, I shan't try again. What do you want of me now? I want to talk with you. On the same subject. The same. Snell gave a hasty glance at the river. Think of jumping in? Sneered the stranger. No replied Snell with a shudder. Then he looked back toward the cabin and saw Patsy. Seeing that he was perceived, the detective walked easily forward and stood looking at the lights of Jersey city. This is no place. Said Snell in a low tone. Of course not. I'll go on the train with you. Snell started uncomfortably. I presume, the other went on with a harsh chuckle. That you engaged the state room on the sleeper and thought that you would lock yourself in and so be safe for the night. Fortunately, there's room for two in a state room. At this Snell said nothing, but went back to the cabin. The other followed and both went inside. Well thought, Patsy, this is a puzzler and no mistake. Are they both crooks? And have they had a falling out? One is certainly a would be murder and Snell is plainly in great fear of him. I should think that he would be. I wonder if they will actually occupy the same room on the train. They did. Snell as the stranger had said, had engaged a state room and both went into it immediately on going aboard the train. Patsy secured a booth in the same car. And as he turned in, he wondered whether one man or two would come out of that state room in the morning. It seemed to him most likely that the stranger would make an attempt to murder Snell during the night. If it were my business to take care of Snell, thought the detective. I'd invent some way to do it. But it isn't. And I'll just wait and see what happens. With that thought, he went to sleep. In the morning, he touched the button beside his berth before getting up. When the Porter came, he asked. Is there a dining car on the train, Charlie. Yes, sir. Reply, the Porter. Breakfast will be ready in 20 minutes, sir. All right, then I'll get up. Something else you want, sir. Yes. Put your head in here, Charlie. The Porter put in his head between the curtains. Have the gentlemen in the state room turned out yet? Asked Patsy. No, sir. I ain't seen nothing of them yet. Were they quiet all night? Yes sir, least wise. I didn't hear nothing. All right. Are they friends of yours, sir? No, not exactly, but I'm curious about them, that's all. You needn't say I asked any questions. No, sir. Oh, thank you very much, sir. Won't say a word. The Porter had received handsome pay for his silence and Patsy knew he could be trusted. He dressed and went forward to the dining car. As he passed Snell's state room, he listened for the sound of voices, but none came. The detective wondered if there was one man in that room who couldn't speak. Having plenty of time to kill. He spent an hour at the breakfast table. Before he was ready to go, in came Snell and the stranger. They sat at the same table and appeared to be in good spirits. At least the stranger was. Snell looked rather haggard, but he talked with his companion and without any apparent fear of him. Strange thought Patsy. But I'm glad my man is still alive. I want to find out what it all means. He went to the smoking room and after he had been there half an hour or so Snell and the stranger came in also. They did not talk much as they smoked their cigars, but no one would have guessed that one had tried to kill the other less than 12 hours before. And so it was all the way to Chicago. The two men were together all the time and there was hardly a minute that the detective did not have them in view. It was early morning when the train arrived in Chicago. Snell and his companion got into a cab and Patsy heard them tell the driver to go to the Northwestern station. Patsy arrived at the station at the same moment that they did. They breakfasted in the station restaurant and after a time they went to the ticket window. Snell bought a ticket for Helena, Montana. The stranger did not buy one. This also seemed somewhat strange and the detective was a little disappointed. He had hoped to keep them together. But he bought a ticket for Helena and in due time was again on the same train with Snell. The stranger stayed at the station until the train left and Patsy saw him on the platform as it rolled out. Nothing of importance happened on the rest of the way to Helena. Once the detective tried to scrape acquaintance with Snell, but the latter answered him in a surly way and made it plain that he did not care to talk to anybody. So Patsy gave it up for fear of making him suspicious. In the meantime, he had telegraphed Nick as to where he was going. When they arrived in Helena, Snell did not go to a first rate hotel as he had done in New York, but walked about the streets as if looking for someplace that he had been sent to. It was pretty clear that he was a stranger in the city. At last, he turned into a small building on which there was a rough sign with these words. Bronco Bill's House. The place was hardly larger than an ordinary saloon and liquor selling certainly was its principle business. Patsy went in a moment after Snell. He found himself in a cheap bar room where a few men were loafing. Snell was at one end of the bar talking in a low voice with one who seemed to be the proprietor. The detective took his place at the other end of the bar and called for a drink. A moment later, Snell and the proprietor went out by a door at the back and he heard their steps going up a flight of stairs. They were gone but a minute and when they returned Snell was saying. It may be only two or three days, you know, and I can get along all right. I'll pay for the room for a week anyway. With this, he took Bill's from his pocket and gave money to the proprietor who responded. Okay, then the place is yours. Then the landlord invited Snell to have a drink and Snell accepted the invitation. Well thought Patsy. I shall have to find another place to stay. Bronco Bill evidently isn't used to having guests in real hotel fashion. And two at a time would make him and everyone else suspicious. I couldn't put up any sort of a yarn that would satisfy them so I'll get a room somewhere else and then drop in here when I feel like it. That will be safe enough, for it looks sure that Snell is bound to stay for a while. As the detective left the room, he saw a sign in the window of a house opposite. Rooms to let. That will do. He decided, but not just yet. He was fearful that Snell might be watching him, for he could not tell how suspicious that strange man might be. So he walked around town a little while, made a complete change in his disguise and finally returned to the lodging house opposite Bronco Bill's. There he hired a room that had a window opening on the street at which he sat for some time with his face hidden behind the curtain. He saw enough to know that Snell was still at the"hotel" and he was satisfied. Late in the afternoon, Snell went out. The detective followed of course. At first Snell did not seem to have any errand. He seemed to be walking for exercise. But at last he stopped and looked in at a store window. Rifles, revolvers, and all sorts of things that hunters need were displayed there. Snell walked in and Patsy, looking in at the window, saw him buy a revolver. With this in his pocket the strange man returned to Bronco Bill's and disappeared within. That evening, the detective loafed away most of the time in Bronco Bill's bar room, but he did not see Snell. There was the ordinary crowd of idle working men and a few roughs who evidently came in from ranches at a distance. But there was no disorder. None of the men seem to be crooks and nothing happened to throw any light on Snell's business in Helena. It was much the same the next day and evening. Snell took a long walk but spoke to no one on the way, and when he returned, he apparently shut himself in the room he had hired. He came to the barroom late during the evening, but it was only to have a drink and then go upstairs again at once. Who this is stranger Bill? Asked one of the loafers. How should I know? Was the surly response. A gent comes to my house and takes a room and pays for it like a gent. Why should I ask him if his father went to church regular or if he intends to start a Faro bank? Do you think he means to start a faro bank, Bill? Oh, come off, returned Bill scornfully. Can't you take a hint? I don't know the gent's business. And if I did, I shouldn't shoot off my mouth about it. Next day Snell took several walks, but they were short ones. He always returned quickly to Bill's. And once Patsy heard him ask the landlord if anybody had inquired for him. Nobody had, but it was clear that Snell's business, whatever it was, was coming to a head. In the evening, quite a number of men galloped through the streets on horseback. They shouted and sang songs and made a good deal of racket at every place they visited. By the time they arrived at Bronco Bill's, they were well loaded and noisier than ever. Paint the place red! Yelled half a dozen of them as they came stamping in. Patsy was standing at the farther end of the bar, talking with Bill with whom he had picked up acquaintance. Snell was seated at a table in the corner, nearest the door. Everybody have a drink, shouted the leader of the party, looking around the room. All except Snell got up and went to the bar. C'mon stranger yelled the leader. Snell seeing that he was spoken to got up slowly and started toward the bar. His face was pale and it was evident to Patsy that he wished he were not there. When he was halfway to the bar, he turned suddenly and made for the stairway door. He passed through quickly, closed the door behind him and all in the room, heard the click of the lock as he turned the key. Well, I'll be darned. Exclaimed the leader. As he spoke, he drew a revolver from his belt and with the quick motions of a westerner, pointed it toward the door. But he was not so quick as Patsy who darted forward and knocked his arm up. The revolver went off, but the bullet instead of crashing through the door and thus endangering Snell's life, flew into the ceiling. Now then gents', began Bronco Bill who did not want a disturbance in his place. The leader was too mad to be stopped by talk. Turning fiercely upon Patsy, he demanded what in thunder do you mean tenderfoot? I was afraid you might hurt somebody, responded the detective quietly. Then you'd be sorry. Sorry? Me, sorry? Roared the ruffian. Reckon you don't know who you're talking to. I'm Serpent Sam of the Dead Hills, I am. And no man tells me what I shall or shan't do. I'll make you dance for your impudence, you measly Tenderfoot. Chapter four. Patsy's dancing lesson. Serpent Sam, as he called himself, backed into the middle of the room as he spoke. The other men in the crowd, yelled with joy and got together at the other end of the bar from Patsy. Most of them. A few stood almost behind their leader. They were grinning at the fun they thought they were going to have with the Tenderfoot. Patsy thrust his hands in the side pockets of his coat and watched as if with curiosity. He knew exactly what would happen for he had met wild men from the Western Hills before. So when Serpent Sam blazed at his feet, he did not stir. The first bullet tore a hole in the floor, just in front of his right toe. Dance, you ornery cuss, dance! yelled Serpent Sam. I don't know how replied Patsy. Jump then, you idiot. Jump into the air, durn ya. I'll teach you. As he spoke, Serpent Sam fired again. This time, the bullets struck so close to the detectives foot that it jarred it. But no harm was done and Patsy never stirred. He knew that the first shots would be aimed so as to scare him, not to hit. After that Serpent Sam might be angered into firing to kill. For heaven's sake, stranger, called Bronco Bill. Don't be a fool! Dance for the gentlemen. It won't last long and nobody will be hurt. Jump and let him have his fun. Patsy himself saw by the savage glare in Serpent Sam's eyes, that it would be jump or get hit at the next shot. Quick as a flash, therefore, without moving from his place, and before Serpent Sam could cock his revolver again. Patsy drew one of his own barkers and fired. Nobody in the room knew what he was about until they heard the bang and saw the puff of smoke that rolled away from in front of the detective. I don't dance for anybody, said Patsy quietly. Wow. Ouch. Damn! howled Serpent Sam, as his revolver flew from his hand. Patsy's bullet had struck it on the butt. It not only caused Serpent Sam to drop the weapon, but it numbed his fingers. And the bullet did another thing. Glancing from the place where it struck Sam's revolver, it flew across the room and hit another man on the cartridge belt doing no harm, but startling that man fearfully. For that matter, all the men were startled. Some of them ran behind the bar and crouched down. Half a dozen of those who had been in the place when the horseman came, ran for the outside door. Serpent Sam cursing with rage and pain reached for his other revolver. He could bend his numbed fingers just enough to draw it from his belt but he could not cock it. While he was trying to do so it dropped to the floor. The fingers of his right hand would not hold it. Patsy, knowing that he was disabled, was paying no attention to him. He was sweeping his revolver carelessly around the room. It might go off. He remarked. It's got a hair-trigger. Look out. At that his weapon did go off. One of the men was just getting the drop on him. Patsy's shot did for him just what had been done for Serpent Sam. It knocked the gun out of his hand and caused him to leap back cursing with rage. If you gents enjoy dancing, said Patsy coolly, just recollect that I'm floor manager here. I'll tell you when it's your turn, yours for instance. With this, he let drive at the feet of a man near the edge of the crowd. The bullets splintered the floor at the man's toe. He jumped for fear and the detective laughed. This is more fun than I thought he cried. Let's try that again. He made as if he would empty all his cartridges at the men's feet, but he had done enough. All except Serpent Sam were making a wild scramble to get behind the bar out of doors, underneath tables, any place so as to be out of range. Sam had cooled down very suddenly. Hold on stranger. He called. We'uns know when we're licked. You've done us brown, and if there's anything in the house you want you call for it. Patsy understood the man. His tone and manner showed that he meant what he said. He was rubbing his sore hand and kicking his revolvers so that they would lie where he could pick them up. Of all the men there, Sam was the only one who had not shown fear. The detective, immediately pocketed his weapon. All right, pard. He said, good naturedly. There is one thing in the house I want. Oh, you name it. I want every man Jack of you to wet up. The drinks are on me gents step lively. For an instant, nobody stirred. They looked at him as if they could not believe their ears. Those who had crouched behind the bar gradually began to poke their heads above it. Naturally, Serpent Sam was the first to move. Leaving his revolvers where they were on the floor, he strode to Patsy with his hand outstretched. Put'er there, pard. He cried. You're a man and no mistake. I see I don't need to apologize for trying to have some fun with ya. No, not at all, replied Patsy shaking the man's hand. Sam winced for the detectives grip hurt his sore fingers. Oh, excuse me, said Patsy, letting go. I didn't think. Then both laughed. And at that sound, the other men came crowding up. Where did you learn to shoot? Asked one. Say, are you a walking Gatling gun? Inquired another. Patsy smiled at them. I never learned to shoot, he said. I was born with a gun in my hand, and I used to practice at the flies on the wall before I could walk. Everybody laughed at this. Bronco Bill drew a long breath. The shooting scrap had turned out pleasantly with nobody for the worst of it and everybody thirsty. Glasses rattled on the bar and bottles passed. Here's how, pard. Said Sam. He drained his glass at one gulp and set it down. But say, he added. You'd ought'er have let us make the other cuss dance. Friend to your'n? No. I saw that he was scared half to death and I was afraid he might have a fit. That's rot. He'd have got over it. Join us now, won't you pard, and rout him out? We'll let you do the shooting, said another eagerly. Now gents, began Bronco Bill fearful that the rough crowd would break loose again. He didn't know Patsy. Rout him out? echoed the detective. Why, he's a mile from here by this time. Go on. That's what he's doing. Bet your life on it. We might break the door down and see, somebody suggested. Several of them began to move toward the door. Wait a minute called Patsy. He was smiling and they stopped to hear what he had to say. I'd rather, you wouldn't bother the fellow, he went on. I tell you that straight, but if you're dead anxious to have some fun with him and want me to join, I'll take the chance of a toss-up. What do you say? It's a go, cried Sam, taking a coin from his pocket. Heads or tails pard? Is that a penny? Asked the detective. No. A dime. Well, just as good. Throw it up to the ceiling and if it comes down what you call yourself, I'll join you. Serpent Sam tossed up the coin. Tails, he called. It struck the ceiling with a ting and began to fall. The detectives revolver flashed to the great surprise of all, for they were watching the coin. Crack bang went the trusty Barker twice in rapid order. There was another ting at the further side of the room. Sam went over there and after hunting a bit picked up the dime. He came back to the bar with it, his face fairly blue with wonder. Durned if the stranger ain't won, he said. The dime ain't got either a head nor a tail. He laid the coin on the bar and everyone crowded around to look at it. Patsy's first bullet had struck it on one side and his second on the other, for the coin was spinning in the air and luck was with him to the extent that both bullets did not hit the same side. Well, If that ain't the durndest shootin' I ever seen, said one of the men. All agreed with him. It means said Sam gravely. That we live that white liver'd cuss upstairs alone. But you must come with us to the next joint, partner. All right, said Patsy. Lead on. And you'll have to make some galoot dance. Soon as we find one of the right kind. Go ahead. I'm agreed. The whole mob charged for the door. On the sidewalk, they paused to decide which way to go. The street was not well-lighted and while they were talking, Patsy slipped a beard to his face. We'll go to Danny Deneen's next, said Serpent Sam. Come on, Pard. He looked around. Wha where's the sharp shooter? He asked. Patsy pointed down the street. He's just scooted that way. He said in a disguised tone. Durned if I don't believe he's trying to shake us, cried Serpent Sam. Come on, boys. Let's catch up with him. Off, they went yelling like mad, some jumping to their horses, others on foot. When they had all disappeared around a corner, Patsy took off his beard and went back into Bronco Bill's. Bill and his bartender were alone in the place. Great Scott! exclaimed Bill. Where'd you come from? I thought I'd say good night. Responded Patsy laughing. Didn't you go with that crowd? You see. Well. I don't see how you done it, but you done me and my house a good turn partner. Gee, I thought they'd shoot the whole outfit to pieces. Have something? No thank you. And when they find that I've given them the shake, they may come back here and if they find me, it won't be so easy to get rid of them again. Tell him, you don't know where I went. All right. No more I do. You call again? Tomorrow. The detective then went out and crossed the street to his lodging. He sat at his window for more than an hour. He saw the horsemen return after a time, heard them singing and shouting in Bronco Bill's. But he heard no more shooting and he saw no more of Snell that night. And that wraps up part two of Nick Carter and the Kidnapped Heiress, our thrilling 1902 mystery. I hope you're on the edge of your seat, wondering what twists and turns await in the next installment. Now let's talk about how you can help keep Forward Into The Past going strong. I'm very passionate about bringing these public domain stories to life, but I can't do it without your support. If you're enjoying these time traveling adventures. Consider becoming a monthly supporter. For about the same cost as that fancy frappe you might treat yourself to, you can help us continue to produce and share these forgotten gems. Your contribution goes directly towards research, production and keeping the lights on in my virtual studio. But I know not everyone can contribute financially and that's okay. There are other fantastic ways you can support the show. One of the most helpful things you can do is to leave a review or rating on your preferred podcast platform. 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Keep sharing the stories and be a good human. Bye for now.