CHAPTER II.

THE NEW STEAM MAN.

Then the young inventor paused before his father, and in a deeply impressed manner said:

“Then an innocent man stands convicted of murder?”

“Yes.”

“In that case it is the duty of every philanthropic man to try and save the innocent.”

“It is.”

“We must do it.”

“I am glad to hear you say that.”

“But the question now arises as to how we shall be able to do it. Is there no clew to the real assassins?”

“No definite clew.”

“That is very strange. Of course there must have been a motive. That motive would seem to be to get Travers out of the way.”

“Yes.”

“And he has no enemies?”

“None that he knew of.”

“Ah, but what would any one gain by putting him out of the way——”

Frank Reade, Jr., paused. He gazed steadily at his father. Much passed between them in that glance.

“His fortune is a large one,” put in the senior Reade, “the right to inherit would furnish the best motive. There is but one heir, and he is a nephew, Artemas Cliff, who is a stockman, somewhere in the Far West. It could not be him.”

“Could not?” Frank Reade, Jr., sat down and dropped into a brown study. After a time he aroused.

“I am interested in this case,” he declared. “And my Steam Man is at the disposal of justice at any time. But you spoke of the prairies. Is there a clew in the West?”

“The only clew possible to obtain at present,” declared Mr. Reade, Sr. “You see detectives tracked two suspicious men to Kansas. There they lost track of them. Everybody believes that they were the assassins.”

“Well, I believe it,” cried Frank Reade, Jr., with impulse. “I can see but one logical explanation of this matter. Either Artemas Cliff has employed two ruffians to do this awful deed for the sake of Travers’ money, or—the case is one not possible to solve with ease.”

Frank Reade, Sr., did not display surprise at this statement of his son.

“Now you have the whole thing in a nutshell, my boy,” he said. “Of course, you can do as you please, but if you wish to take any kind of a journey with your new invention, here is a chance, and a noble object in view. That object should be to track down the murderers, and clear Jim Travers. It may be that the nephew, Artemas Cliff, is the really guilty one, but in any case, I believe that it is in the West you will find the solution of the mystery.”

“That is my belief,” agreed Frank Reade, Jr., “but now that this matter is settled let me show you the plans of my steam man.”

Frank Reade, Jr., drew a roll of papers from his pocket and spread them upon the table.

Upon them were the blue print plans and drawings of the mechanism of the Steam Man.

Frank Reade, Senior, examined them carefully and critically. From one piece to another he went and after some time drew a deep breath saying:

“Well, young blood is the best after all. I must say, Frank, that I am beat. There is no doubt but that you have improved upon my Steam Man. I congratulate you.”

“Thank you,” said Frank Reade, Jr. with gratification.

“But I am anxious to see this marvel at work.”

“You shall,” replied the young inventor. “To-morrow the Steam Man will go out of the shop upon his trial trip.”

A few minutes later Frank Reade, Jr., was on the way to his own house.

He was in a particularly happy frame of mind. He had achieved great results in his new invention, and here, as by design, was a chance afforded him to use the Steam Man to a philanthropic and heroic purpose.

The idea of traveling through the wilds of the West was a thrilling one.

Frank could already picture the effect of the Steam Man upon the wild savages of the plains and the outlaws of Western Kansas and Colorado.

Also the level floor-like prairie of that region would afford excellent traveling for the new invention.

Frank Reade, Jr., was a lover of adventure.

It was an inborn love. The prospect before him fired his very soul. It was just what he desired.

That evening he unfolded all his plans to his wife.

Of course Mrs. Reade was averse to her husband undertaking such a dangerous trip. But after a time she overcame her scruples and reconciled herself to it.

The next morning at an early hour, Frank was at the engine house of the steel works. The wide doors were thrown open and a wonderful sight revealed.

There stood the Steam Man.

Frank Reade, Sr., and a great number of friends were present. Pomp, the negro, was also there, as well as a queer-looking little Irishman with a genuine Hibernian mug and twinkling eyes, which bespoke a nature brimming over with fun. This was Barney O’Shea.

Barney and Pomp had long been faithful servants of the Reades. In all of their travels with their inventions they had accompanied them. Of these two characters we will say no more, but permit the reader to become acquainted with them in the course of the story.

The senior Reade examined the mechanism of the new Steam Man with deepest interest.

“Upon my word, Frank,” he cried, “you have beaten me out and out. I can hardly believe my eyes.”

Frank Reade, Jr., laughed good humoredly.

Then he went about showing a party of friends the mechanism of the new Steam Man.

The man himself was a structure of iron plates joined in sections with rivets, hinges or bars as the needs required.

In face and form the machine was a good imitation of a man done in steel.

In no wise did he look ponderous or unwieldy, though his stature was fully nine feet.

The man stood erect holding the shafts of a wagon at his hips.

The wagon itself was light but roomy with four wheels and a top covering of fine steel net work. This was impervious to a bullet while anyone inside could see quite well all about them.

There were loop-holes in this netting to put the rifle barrels through in case of a fight.

A part of the wagon was used as a coal bunker. Other small compartments held a limited amount of stores, ammunitions and weapons.

Upon the fender in front was a brake to regulate the wagon on a steep grade, and a slit in the net work here allowed of the passage of the reins, two long lines connecting with the throttle and whistle valves. A word as to the mechanism of the man.

Here was really the fine work of the invention.

Steam was the motive power.

The hollow legs and arms of the man made the reservoir or boilers. In the broad chest was the furnace. Fully two hundred pounds of coal could here be placed, keeping up a fire sufficient to generate steam for a long time.

The steam chest was upon the man’s back, and here were a number of valves. The tall hat worn by the man formed the smoke stack.

The driving rods, in sections, extended down the man’s legs, and could be set in motion so skillfully that a tremendous stride was attained, and a speed far beyond belief.

This was the new steam man. The improvements were many and manifest.

All the mechanism was more nicely balanced, the parts more strongly joined, and the steel of finer quality. Greater speed was the certainty.

Fire was burning in the furnace, steam was hissing from the retort, and smoke was pouring from the funnel hat of the man.

Frank Reade, Jr., suddenly sprung in the wagon.

He closed the screen door behind him. Pomp was engaged in some work in the coal bunker.

Frank took up the reins and pulled them. The throttle was opened and also the whistle valve.

Three sharp shrieks the new Steam Man gave and then he was away on the trial trip.

Out of the yard he went and out upon the highway.

Everybody rushed to the gates and a great cheer went up. Down the highway went the Steam Man at a terrific gait.

His strides were long and powerful. So rapidly were they made that a tremendous amount of surface was covered.

It was a good smooth road.

Just ahead was a man riding a horse. Near him was a bicycler who was noted as a fast rider.

Both had heard that the Steam Man would make his trial run that morning.

Bets had been made by both that they could beat the Man.

Frank guessed the truth at once.

“Ki dar, Marse Frank,” cried Pomp, with a chuckle and a shake of his woolly head. “Dem two chaps ain got a pile ob gall. Jes’ yo’ show dem dat dey ain’t in it. Won’t yo’?”

Pomp had more than one reason for beating the horse and bicycle. He had made a small bet of his own on the result.

It was evident that the parties ahead were ready for the fun.

Frank Reade, Jr., smiled grimly, and opened the throttle a little wider.

The next moment the Steam Man, the bicycle rider and the trotter were all flying neck and neck down the road.

Heavens! what a race that was!

Down the road they flew like a whirlwind. The dust flew up behind them in a cloud.

But the Steam Man just trotted by his competitors with seemingly no exertion at all. Frank turned with a laugh to see how easily they were distanced.

After a good trial, the new Steam Man returned to the foundry yard. As Frank stepped down out of the wagon, his father came up and grasped his hand in an ecstasy of delight.

“Bravo, my son!” he cried. “You have eclipsed my Invention. I wish you luck, and I know that you will succeed in clearing Jim Travers.”

“I shall take only Barney and Pomp with me,” said Frank Reade, Jr. “There will not be room in the wagon for more.”

“Well, they will be useful companions,” said the Senior Reade. “My son; may God be with you in your enterprise.”

Frank Reade, Jr., at once proceeded to make preparations for his western trip.

He visited Travers in prison and talked with him.

“To tell the truth, I am distrustful of my nephew, Artemas Cliff. He is an avaricious villain, and a number of times has tried to swindle me out of money. I know that he has led the life of an outlaw out there on the border.”

“But if he aspired to gain your wealth, why did he not attempt your life in some direct manner?” asked Frank.

“I presume he may have feared detection,” replied Travers. “If I am hung for the murder of this unknown man, the mystery will be sealed forever. The real murderer will never be known.”

“I believe you are right,” agreed Frank Reade, Jr. “Well, I will find this Artemas Cliff, and do the best I can toward clearing up the mystery and setting you right.”

“Thank you!” said Travers with emotion. “I feel that you will succeed.”