Nick Carter Stories No. 11, November 23, 1912: Nick Carter Strikes Oil; or, Uncovering More Than a Murder — John Shaqi
Nick Carter Stories No. 11, November 23, 1912: Nick Carter Strikes Oil; or, Uncovering More Than a MurderCarter, Nicholas (House name)
General
Nick Carter Stories No. 11, November 23, 1912: Nick Carter Strikes Oil; or, Uncovering More Than a Murder
Carter, Nicholas (House name)
Detective and mystery stories, American -- Periodicals; Popular literature -- Periodicals
“It’s only too easy to see how it happened,” he thought. “Everybody knew
I was sent for, and there isn’t a doubt that my arrival was spotted.
“Then it was easy to guess that I would go out to look up Hank Low, and,
as this is the only way to his place, they were sure of having a shot at
me.”
Nick listened as he lay there, but could hear no sound of steps on the
other side of the road.
The rushing of the stream a little beyond would have drowned ordinary
noises so that the would-be murderers could have got away without being
noticed.
Apparently that was what they had done, for the detective neither heard
nor saw them.
He could only guess whether they believed that their shots had done
their work.
While he was waiting, the moon rose, and, as the sky was perfectly
clear, the landscape became almost as light as day.
Nick at last got up cautiously and went to his horse.
The animal had fallen at the side of the road, and so was out of the way
of any one passing.
Nick took off the saddle and bridle and hid them in the bushes near by.
“I’ll pay for the horse,” he thought, “but there’s no sense in giving
the saddle to the first thief who comes along.”
He went back to the spot from which the shots had been fired, and lit up
the place with his pocket lantern.
If the scoundrels had accidentally dropped anything that could serve as
a clew, the detective would have found it, but he could find nothing.
He saw traces of footprints on the grass and leaves, but they were too
faint to be measured.
Having satisfied himself on this matter, Nick started on foot to finish
his journey.
When he came to the stream, he did not cross the bridge, but turned into
the trail that Kerr had told him about.
The moon made the path perfectly plain at the start, and Nick took it
not only to save the long walk around the base of the hill, but to save
time.
For some reasons, he would have liked to go straight back to Denver, for
there was no doubt in his mind that his would-be murderers had gone to
the city, and if he was there, he might run across them.
But he believed it to be his first business to have a talk with Hank
Low, and so he went on.
The trail followed along the bank of the stream for some distance, and
then crossed it on a bridge of fallen trees. After that, it was very
steep until it reached the summit of the hill.
Although the trees were rather thick, the moonlight came in on the
eastern slope sufficiently to make the way clear.
It was different when Nick began to descend upon the other side. That
slope was in shadow, for the moon was not high enough to light it, and
more than once he found it difficult to keep on the path.
Once he thought he had lost it, and he was thinking that it would make
him feel rather foolish to get lost at night in these woods.
“Better have kept to the road,” he muttered, standing still.
There was a very steep descent just before him, and he could see hardly
anything, but he felt that the ground was dipping sharply.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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