Chapter XXXVIII: The Fight in the Woods

Nick and the inspector were taken aback by this turn of affairs.

As the beggar hobbled down the road his hoarse laugh came back mockingly.

At the same moment that the four men appeared, two others came from the direction of Weeden’s house; they were Meloy and the chauffeur of the taxi.

The question that flitted through Nick Carter’s mind was: “Where was Weeden?”

None of the men who confronted the detectives bore any resemblance to Weeden or Billy Young.

Was it possible that the old tramp was none other than Weeden in disguise. He was evidently a fraud.

Nick made up his mind that he would look after the beggar when they had finished with the rascals who now confronted them. That they would be able to overcome the men, who now threatened them, Nick was almost certain. He had been in tighter places before, and his calmness and courage had gotten him out of many a hole. After Meloy and his companion had arrived the detectives were ordered to throw up their hands. As they were covered by the guns of the men they were compelled to submit.

At this moment the rain commenced to come down in torrents.

The flashes of lightning and the awful peals of thunder made the scene a weird one.

“Meloy, see what these fly cops have on them,” commanded the leader of the gang.

He was about to obey the order when a terrific peal of thunder, accompanied by a blinding flash of lightning, struck a tree at the side of the road.

The tree fell with a tremendous crash across the road, burying two of the men under it as it fell.

The rest fell back, awed for the moment; it seemed as if the heavens had opened and sent a messenger to the aid of the detectives.

The instant’s delay had given Nick Carter and the inspector time to draw their revolvers, and when the villains had recovered from their surprise they were looking down the shining barrels of the weapons that were in the hands of the two detectives.

“The tables are turned,” rang out in Nick’s clear tones; “throw down your guns or we will shoot you full of holes!”

The only answer that the men made was the report from two of their guns. They did not propose to be taken without a fight.

The first shot that was fired struck the inspector in the shoulder, the second one just grazed Nick’s head, inflicting a slight scalp wound.

The inspector, wounded as he was, pluckily returned the fire of the villains. One of them gave an unearthly yell and dropped to the ground with a bullet through his heart.

Nick’s revolver spoke quickly, and the man at whom he fired dropped to the ground without a cry; Nick had shot him through the head.

The inspector had fainted from loss of blood. This left Nick alone with Meloy and the chauffeur of the taxi.

Both of these men were great, husky fellows, and, besides, they knew that it was to be a fight to the death.

Meloy sprang at Nick with a horrible oath. He was followed by the chauffeur.

The latter struck a terrific blow at Nick with his fist, knocking Nick’s revolver from his grasp.

A yell of triumph came from Meloy as he saw that the detective was unarmed.

It looked as if Nick Carter was about to meet his doom.

Nick waited patiently the onslaught of his assailants as they dashed toward him with yells of savage delight.

As the chauffeur of the taxi reached him, Nick struck out with his left, and the fellow staggered back under the force of the blow, landing on his back on the ground.

In an instant he was on his feet and made a savage rush at Nick. Meloy aimed a terrific blow at Nick’s head.

The detective adroitly dodged the blow meant for him, and gave his assailant a couple of heavy blows in rapid succession.

Meloy went down like a log, and lay on the ground motionless. He evidently had had enough to last him for a while, at least.

The driver, who was a boxer of no little skill, tried to bewilder the detective by cunningly feinting, hoping that he would be able to get Nick to leave an opening through which he could deliver a blow that would settle the detective for a moment until he could draw a knife, and then he would quiet Nick Carter for all time.

The rascal did not know that Nick was a past master at the art of boxing.

Try as hard as he could, he was not able to break through Nick’s guard, and in a few moments he was panting for breath, while Nick was laughing at the fellow’s desperation.

As a last resort, he tried to kick the detective, but again he was unsuccessful.

Finally he made one last desperate effort to strike Nick in the stomach. Nick stepped quickly to one side and dealt him a terrific blow on the side of the jaw.

The fellow spun around for a moment, and then fell to the ground as if he had been struck on the head with a club.

Nick turned around to see what had become of the other two men that had been standing by the tree when it had been struck by lightning.

They were nowhere to be seen.

The rain was falling in torrents, and there did not seem to be any chance of it ceasing.

What had become of the inspector was Nick’s thought as he turned to where he had seen him fall.

He must be taken care of at all hazards.

The inspector lay as he had fallen, while the blood oozed from the wound.

He was unconscious.

“I must get him to the city at once,” said Nick, to himself.

As Nick turned to look where the taxi had been left, he had just time to dodge a murderous blow that the driver of the taxi was about to deal him; the fellow had recovered consciousness and was bent on murdering Nick.

“You coward, you!” said Nick, as he dealt the fellow a blow on the side of the head that sent him to the ground. As the fellow arose Nick gave him another one, and the rascal went down and out.

Having disposed of the fellow, Nick turned his attention to the inspector.

He lifted him in his arms and bore him gently to the taxi. After cranking the machine, Nick jumped to the chauffeur’s seat and drove rapidly in the direction of Brooklyn.

Stopping at the house of a doctor, whose sign he had noticed coming over, Nick went in and told the physician that he had a friend outside who was in need of medical attention, and that he would bring him in at once.

When the wounded man was brought into the house the doctor looked at him and shook his head gravely.

“This appears to be a very serious wound,” he said. “It may not be fatal, however. May I ask you how your friend came by such a wound?”

Nick did not tell him how the inspector had been wounded, nor did he tell him that the patient was a police official.

“Do your best by my friend. I will be back to-morrow and see how he is getting along,” said Nick, as he took his leave.