My readers will admit that to awaken from sleep, and see a man looking in at the window, is sufficient to startle a brave man. When it is added that the face bore the unmistakable mark of bad passions and a lawless life, it will be understood that Andy might well have been excused for momentary terror.
He was, however, partly prepared for the visit by the knowledge that there was money in the house, which he was especially commissioned to guard. Still, he had not really supposed there was any danger of a burglar coming to so quiet a village as Hamilton in pursuit of money.
Besides, no one but himself, so he supposed, knew that the maiden ladies had a large sum of money in their dwelling.
I will not deny that Andy was startled—I will not admit that he was frightened, for this is inconsistent with his conduct.
He certainly had not awakened any too soon. There was not a minute to lose. The burglar was trying to raise the window, preparatory to entering the room.
In this, however, he met with a difficulty. The window was fastened at the middle, and he could not raise it.
“Curse the bolt!” exclaimed the disappointed burglar. “I shall have to smash it in!”
Just then, however, Andy sprang from the bed, and, under the circumstances, Hogan felt glad. He could frighten the boy into turning the fastening, and admitting him.
As Andy rose, he grasped the old musket, and, not without a thrill of excitement, faced the scoundrel.
If the gun had been loaded, he would have felt safe, but he knew very well that he could do no harm with it.
Mike Hogan saw the gun, but he was not a coward, and he felt convinced that Andy would not dare to use it, though he supposed it to be loaded.
“What do you want?” called out Andy, in a firm voice.
“Open this window!” cried Hogan, in a tone of command.
He was not afraid of being heard by other parties, on account of the isolated position of the house.
As he spoke, he tugged at the frame of the window; but, of course, without success.
“Why should I?” returned Andy, who wanted time to think.
“Never mind, you young jackanapes. Do as I tell you!” said Hogan, fiercely.
As he spoke, overcome by his irritation at being foiled when close upon the treasure he coveted, he smashed a pane with his fist, but not without cutting his hand and drawing blood.
Through the fractured pane Andy could hear him more distinctly.
“What do you want?” repeated Andy.
“I want that five hundred dollars you are guarding, and I mean to have it!” returned Hogan.
“What five hundred dollars?” asked Andy, but he could not help being startled by the accurate information of the burglar.
“Oh, you needn’t play ignorant!” said Hogan, impatiently. “The lady who lives here sent for you to take care of it. She might as well have engaged a baby,” he added, contemptuously.
“You will find I am something more than a baby!” said Andy, stoutly.
“Open this window, I tell you once again.”
“I won’t!” said Andy, shortly.
“You won’t, hey? Do you know what I will do with you when I get in?” demanded Hogan, furiously.
“I’ll beat you black and blue.”
“You’ll have to get in first,” said our hero, undaunted.
“Do you think I can’t?”
Hogan spoke with assumed confidence, but he realized that it would not be easy if Andy held out. He had already had a severe experience in breaking one pane of glass, and shrank from trying another.
“I know you can’t,” said Andy, and he raised the gun significantly to his shoulder and held it pointed toward the burglar.
“Put down that gun!” shouted Hogan.
“Then leave the window.”
“Just wait till I get at you,” said Hogan, grinding his teeth.
He realized that Andy was not as easily scared as he anticipated. To be balked by a mere boy was galling to him. If he only had a pistol himself; but he had none. He had had one when he left New York, but he had sold it for two dollars, fifty miles away. He was positively helpless, while Andy had him at a disadvantage. Should he give up his intended robbery? That would be a bitter disappointment, for he was penniless, and five hundred dollars would be a great windfall for him. An idea came to him.
“Put down your gun,” he said, in a milder tone. “I have something to propose to you.”
In some surprise, Andy complied with his request.
“There are five hundred dollars in this house.”
“You say so,” said Andy, non-committally.
“Pooh! I know there are. That is a large sum of money.”
“I suppose it is,” said Andy, who did not understand his drift.
“So is half of it. Two hundred and fifty dollars would be a big sum for a boy like you.”
“What have I to do with it?” asked Andy, puzzled.
“Open this window and let me in, and I’ll share the money with you.”
“Oh, that’s what you mean, is it?”
“Yes. No one need know that you have part of the money. It will be thought that I have made off with all of it.”
“Then you think I am a thief, like yourself?” exclaimed Andy, indignantly. “You are very much mistaken. Even if this money were in the house, I wouldn’t take a cent of it.”
“Oh, you’re mighty honest! And I’m a thief, am I?” sneered Hogan, surveying our hero with an ugly look.
“You’ll repent your impudence,” said Hogan, with a vindictive scowl.
As he spoke, he enlarged the hole in the pane, and, putting in his hand, attempted, by thrusting it upward, to unlock the fastening.
Had he succeeded in doing this, he could have raised the window easily, and, once in the chamber, our young hero would have been no match for him.
Andy realized this, and saw that he must act instantly.
He brought down the butt end of the musket on the intruding hand with all his strength, the result being a howl of pain from the burglar.
“You’d better give that up,” said Andy, his eyes flashing with excitement.
Somehow all his timidity had vanished, and he was firmly resolved to defend the property, intrusted to his charge as long as his strength or shrewdness enabled him to do so.
“Your life shall pay for this,” exclaimed the injured burglar, with a terrible oath.
Andy realized that he would fare badly if he should fall into the clutches of the villain, whose face was actually distorted by rage and pain. The extremity of his danger, however, only nerved him for continued resistance.
“Once more, will you open the window?” demanded Hogan, who would not have parleyed so long if he had known any way to get in without Andy’s help.
“No, I won’t!” answered Andy with resolution.
Mike Hogan surveyed the window, and considered whether it would be feasible to throw his burly frame against it, and so crush it in. Undoubtedly he could have done it had he been on the same level, but it was about three feet higher than he, and so the feat would be more difficult. Besides, it would be a work of time, and Andy, in whom he found much more boldness than he anticipated, might shoot him.
A thought came to him, and he began to descend the sloping roof.
“What is he going to do now?” thought Andy. “Has he given it up as a bad job?”
This was a point which he could not determine.
Hogan had not given it up as a bad job. Andy’s unexpected resistance only made him the more determined to effect his object. Besides the natural desire to obtain so large a booty, he thirsted for revenge upon Andy.
“The boy’s plucky!” he muttered, as he descended from the roof; “but I’ll be even with him yet.”
He had to descend cautiously, for the shingles were slippery, but he finally reached the lowest point and jumped down.
“If I could only find an ax or a hatchet,” he said to himself, “I would make short work of the window. I don’t believe the boy will dare to shoot.”
He searched for the articles he had named, but in vain.
“What can I take?” he thought, perplexed.
His eyes fell upon a thick club, not unlike a baseball bat, and this seemed to him suitable for his purpose. He took it and commenced reascending to the roof again. There was a fence, which helped him as a stepping-stone, otherwise he would have found it difficult to get a footing upon it. Meanwhile Andy had not been idle.
First of all, he saw that it was unsafe to have the money any longer in his custody. His assailant might be successful in the new attempt he would probably make, and he must not find the bank bills.
Andy did not like to frighten the ladies, but he thought it necessary, under the circumstances. He went to the door of the parlor chamber, which the two sisters occupied, and rapped loudly on the door.
The knock was heard, and it excited dismay. The timid ladies thought it might be the burglar of whom they were so much in fear.
“Who’s there?” asked Miss Susan, in trembling accents, through the keyhole.
“It’s me—Andy. Please open the door—quick!”
“What has happened?” demanded Miss Susan, in agitation.
“I want to hand you the trunk,” answered Andy.
“What for? Is there any burglar in the house?”
“No; but there’s one trying to get into my room.”
“Oh, heavens! what shall we do?” ejaculated both ladies, in chorus.
“Take the tin trunk, and I’ll manage him,” said Andy.
The door was opened a crack and the trunk taken into the trembling hands of the agitated spinster.
“Where is the burglar?” answered Susan.
“Gone to find something to break through the window.”
“Oh, dear, he will murder us all!”
“No, he won’t,” said Andy. “I won’t let him!”
“You’d better hide,” said Susan. “Is he a big man?”
“Pretty large. He looks as if he was just out of jail.”
“He mustn’t hurt you. I’d rather he had the money. Take it and give it to him and ask him to go.”
“Not much!” answered Andy, stoutly. “But I must go. He’ll soon be at the window again. Is there any hot water in the house?”
“Yes; we keep a fire all night in the kitchen, and the teakettle is full.”
“All right!” said Andy, and he dashed downstairs.
“What’s he going to do?” ejaculated Susan, in surprise.
“Heaven only knows! How can he talk of hot water when there’s a burglar in the house? Lock the door, Sister Susan.”
“I don’t like to shut out poor Andy,” said Susan, in a distressed voice. “It’s my belief we shall find him a mangled corpse to-morrow morning, when we go downstairs.”
“I shan’t dare to go down at all. Oh, Susan, this is awful!”
Leaving the agitated spinsters in their trouble and terror, we must look after Andy.
He ran downstairs, seized the teakettle from the stove, grabbed a tin dipper, and then ran up to his chamber again.
He was just in time.
There, before the window, stood Mike Hogan, with the club in his hand and a look of triumph on his face. In the dim light, he did not see the teakettle.
“Well, my little bantam,” said he, “here I am again!”
“So I see,” said Andy, coolly.
“Once more, and for the last time, I ask you to open that window.”
“I would rather not.”
“You will, if you know what is best for yourself. Do you see this club?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Do you know what it is for?”
“Suppose you tell me.”
“It is to break open the window.”
“That is what I thought.”
“Comfound the boy! He’s a cool customer,” thought Hogan. “Bah! he must be a fool. Open that window, and I’ll give you ten dollars of the money,” he said, preferring, if possible, to avoid all trouble.
Of course, when he was fairly in possession of the money, he could break his promise and give Andy a beating, and he proposed to do both.
“A little while ago you offered me half the money,” said Andy.
“Things were different then. I didn’t have this club. What do you say?”
“That I am not a thief, and don’t mean to make a bargain with a thief!” answered Andy, resolutely.
“Then you may take the consequences, you young rascal!” exploded the burglar, garnishing his speech with an oath.
“In two minutes, I shall have you in my clutches!”
He swung back the club and brought it down with full force upon the window frame. Of course, the panes were shivered and the frail wooden sticks which constituted the frame were demolished. Another blow and the window lay in ruins on the carpet of Andy’s chamber.
“He’s killing Andy!” ejaculated the terrified spinsters, as the loud noise came to their ears. “What shall we do?”
They debated whether they should leave their chamber, and, seeking the scene of the tragedy, fall down on their knees before the terrible burglar and implore him to spare the life of their young defender. The spirit was willing, but the flesh was weak, and in terrible agitation they remained in their sanctuary.
“The crisis has come,” thought Andy, his nerves quivering with excitement.
And, unobserved by the triumphant burglar, he poured out the scalding hot water from the teakettle into the tin dipper.
Mike Hogan was in the act of scaling the window-sill, over the debris of the broken glass and wood, when Andy dashed the contents of the tin dipper into his face.
There was a fearful yell as the hot water deluged his face and neck, and the scalded burglar, losing his hold on the sill, blinded and maddened by pain, lost his footing and slipped down the sloping roof with ever-increasing rapidity. He rolled over at the eaves, and fell upon his back with a violence which lamed, though it did not disable him—a thoroughly demoralized burglar.
There was a pump and a trough in the yard. Hogan jumped up and ran hastily to it. He dipped his scalded face in the stream of water, and gained temporary relief. But the pain was altogether too great to allow him to think of anything else except that. To a man in his condition, money had no charms. A relief from pain was all he could think of. Again and again he dipped his face in the cool water, and his pain was somewhat abated.
“Oh, the young villain!” he groaned. “I wish I had him here. I’d tear him limb from limb.”
“Poor fellow!” thought Andy, pitying the poor wretch, though the imminent danger had forced him to inflict suffering upon him. “I am sorry for his pain, but I couldn’t defend myself in any other way. He won’t try to get in again, I’m thinking.”
He locked the door of the room from the outside, and decided to spend the rest of the night upon the sofa in the sitting-room. First, however, he went to the room of the old ladies, to tell them that the danger was past.
For the remainder of the night, Andy, as the saying is, slept with one eye open. The burglar had enough to think of, and it seemed very unlikely that he would make another attempt to enter the house. Still, Andy thought it best to watch him.
Through the window he could see Hogan dipping his face again and again in the trough. This continued for perhaps half an hour. Then he slowly left the yard, but not without shaking his fist at the house which contained the young hero who had balked him in his unlawful designs. To be brief, for the remainder of the night the house had rest.
Early in the morning the two sisters came downstairs. Andy, who had dressed himself, to be prepared for an emergency, was lying on the sofa, sleeping peacefully.
“Poor boy!” murmured Susan. “What a terrible night he must have passed!”
“And all in our defense, too. I never dreamed that he was so brave.”
“It’s a mercy the burglar didn’t carry him off.”
“It was the money he wanted, sister.”
“But he might have killed Andy.”
“That is true. It seems to me, sister, we ought to pay him handsomely for what he has done.”
“I am quite of your opinion, Sister Sally. How much do you think we ought to give him?”
“I wouldn’t do what he did for fifty dollars.”
“Shall it be fifty dollars, then?”
“If you are willing.”
“I am quite willing. Do you dare to go up with me into the chamber overhead?”
“I don’t know. It makes me tremble to think of it.”
Finally the two sisters mustered the necessary courage and cautiously crept upstairs, and paused before the door, which was locked upon the outside.
“Suppose the wicked man is inside?” suggested Susan, trembling.
“Oh, there is no fear! He wouldn’t care to stay after he found the money gone.”
With some apprehension, they opened the door. When they saw the wreck of glass and wood upon the carpet, they raised their hands in dismay.
“What a terrible fight poor Andy must have had!” said Susan.
“He has done better than a man,” exclaimed Sally, enthusiastically.
I am inclined to think that Miss Sally was right, and that many men would have displayed less boldness and shrewdness than our young hero.
“Why, here is the teakettle!” said Sally. “How in the world did it come here?”
“And here is the tin dipper. Well, Andy will tell us when he wakes up. We must give him a good breakfast. He deserves it, after all he has done.”
At eight o’clock, Andy sat down to a nice breakfast. It seemed that neither of the two ladies could express sufficient gratitude, or induce him to eat enough.
“But for you, Andy, we might have been murdered in our beds.”
“I don’t think so,” answered Andy, modestly; “but I think you would have lost your money.”
“That we should! Now tell us all about it.”
So Andy told the story, amid exclamations of wonder and admiration from the two sisters.
“How in the world could the man know we had so much money in the house?” said Susan, in wonder.
“He seemed to know just how much there was,” said Andy. “He mentioned the amount. I think he must have overheard one of you speaking of it.”
“I didn’t really suppose there was any burglar about,” said Sally. “How lucky it was that we engaged you to come and stay here!”
Andy was modest, but he could not, with truth, disclaim this praise. He knew very well that he had been instrumental, under Providence, in saving the old ladies from being robbed.
“I don’t know whether you would be willing to stay here to-night, Andy, after the experience you had last night,” said Sally.
“And you are not afraid?”
“I don’t think the man will come again,” said Andy, laughing. “I don’t believe he liked the reception I gave him. He knows how it feels to get into hot water.”
It is needless to say that the news of the midnight attack upon the house of the Peabody sisters spread like wildfire through the village.
Probably not less than a hundred persons called to see the demolished window, and Andy had to tell the story over and over till he was weary of it.
Among those who were interested was Herbert Ross. He suspected, and rightly, that it was the same man who had stopped at his father’s gate, and nearly strangled his dog Prince.
He felt that if this was so, a part of the public interest would center upon him, and accordingly, forgetting his recent difficulty with Andy, he cross-questioned our hero as to the appearance of the burglar.
“Did he have black hair?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“And a face that had not been shaved for a week?”
“Yes; as well as I could see in the dim light.”
“And wasn’t very tall?”
“No; he was rather short and thickset, with a ragged suit of clothes.”
“It’s the very man that called at our house!” exclaimed Herbert, in excitement.
Of course, he was questioned, and gave an account of the call of Hogan, in which he appeared to considerably greater advantage than he had actually done.
“He was very impudent,” said Herbert, boastfully; “but I gave him to understand that I would have him arrested if he didn’t leave pretty quick.”
“Did that frighten him?” asked a neighbor, with a queer smile.
“Oh, yes,” said Herbert. “He saw that he had hold of the wrong customer, and tramped off in a different direction.”
“What would you have done if you had been in Andy’s place last night?”
“I wouldn’t have let him in.”
“But do you think you could have driven him off?”
“Certainly,” answered Herbert, confidently. “Andy did very well,” he added, condescendingly; “but I should have succeeded as well in keeping the rascal out of the house.”
“Why don’t you offer to stay at the house to-night? No doubt, Andy will be glad to rest?”
“I don’t let myself out for any such purpose,” said Herbert, hastily. “He is a poor boy, and needs the money. You wouldn’t expect a gentleman’s son to engage in any such business?”
“Andy is a gentleman’s son. If ever there was a gentleman, Mr. Gordon was one.”
“No doubt he was a very worthy man,” said Herbert, patronizingly; “but that isn’t what I mean.”
Herbert succeeded in his wish to draw attention to himself, and told the story of his encounter with the tramp and burglar many times—adding a little every time—till, by dint of repetitions, he persuaded himself that he had acted a very heroic part, and was entitled to share the honors of the day with Andy.
Unlike our hero, he was perfectly willing to tell the story over and over as many times as he could obtain a fresh auditor.
On Monday morning, Andy’s guard was over; but there was still a service which the old ladies desired of him.
The money was to be deposited in the Cranston Bank, located six miles away. There was no railroad connecting the two places, and the road was a lonely one, extending part of the way through the woods.
On previous occasions, the ladies had themselves gone to the bank, when they had occasion to deposit money, but the recent attempt at burglary had so terrified them that they felt afraid to venture.
In their emergency, they thought of Andy, and asked him if he would be willing to drive over and carry the money with him.
“Oh, yes!” answered Andy, who was fond of driving. “I couldn’t go till I had attended to my duties at the academy, but I should be through by nine o’clock.”
“That would be early enough. But you would lose school.”
“Only for half a day, and Dr. Euclid would excuse me.”
So it was arranged that Andy was to carry the five hundred dollars to the Cranston Bank.
Cranston was six miles away—too far to walk. The Misses Peabody did not keep a horse. Indeed, one would have been of very little use to them, for both were timid, and neither would have been willing to drive.
“You are not afraid to drive to Cranston, Andy?” said Miss Sally.
“No; what should I be afraid of?” asked our hero.
“You are not timid about horses, then?”
Andy laughed.
“I should think not,” he replied. “I only wish mother could afford to keep a horse.”
“I think they are terrible creatures. They are so strong, and sometimes they are so contrary,” said Miss Susan, with a shudder.
“Then you should use the whip on them, Miss Susan.”
“I wouldn’t dare to.”
“Well, I’m not afraid. I only wish I were in Add Bean’s place. He is driving around every day with his father’s horse.”
The boy referred to—Addison Bean, called Add, for short—was one of Andy’s schoolmates at the academy, and was quite as fond of driving as Andy himself.
“I wonder if we couldn’t engage Mr. Bean’s horse and carriage? Will you see?”
“Yes; it is a good one, and I should like to drive it.”
Andy called at Mr. Bean’s and succeeded in his errand. The horse was to be ready for him at nine o’clock.
“What are you going to Cranston for, Andy?” asked Mr. Bean.
“To the bank, for the Peabody girls.”
That’s what all the villagers call them, in spite of their age.
“Then I suppose you will carry money with you?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t let anybody know your errand, then.”
“Do you think there is any danger?”
“There is always danger when a man is supposed to be carrying money. A boy is still more in danger.”
“I won’t tell anybody my errand.”
“You haven’t seen anything of that burglar you scalded the other night?”
“No.”
“I should like to have been near at the time.”
“I wish you had,” said Andy.
Mr. Bean was a deputy sheriff, and a strong, powerful man, who had more than once been called upon to arrest noted criminals.
Mr. Bean gave Andy another suggestion, which proved of value to him. What it was, the reader will ascertain in due time.
Andy got into the carriage—a buggy—and drove round to the house of the maiden ladies. He fastened the horse at the fence, and, opening the gate, went in.
“Have you got the money ready, Miss Peabody?” he asked, addressing Miss Susan.
“Here it is, Andy—four hundred and fifty dollars.”
“But I thought,” said Andy, in surprise, “that there were five hundred dollars?”
The two sisters looked at each other significantly.
“We have another use for fifty dollars,” said Miss Sally.
“All right!” said Andy, who did not suppose that this was a matter with which he had anything to do.
“In fact,” she continued, “we are going to give it to you.”
“Going to give me fifty dollars?” Andy exclaimed, in amazement.
“Yes.”
And here Miss Susan spoke.
“We feel that it is due to you on account of the bravery you showed the other night.”
“I thank you very much!” said Andy, quite overwhelmed at this munificence; “but it is altogether too much for me to receive.”
“We are the judges of that. You can make good use of the money, or your mother can, and we shan’t miss it.”
Andy knew that both these statements were quite true, and he thankfully accepted the generous gift. It was arranged that he should call and get it on his return from the bank.
Andy set out on his trip in high spirits. It was a fine morning. The air was pleasant and bracing, and the sun shed a flood of glory over the landscape.
Andy enjoyed school and school studies, but nevertheless it did seem to him that there was more pleasure in riding over the hills to Cranston than in poring over the pages of Virgil in Dr. Euclid’s classroom.
Then again, it was a rare pleasure for him to have the guidance of a horse. His mother had never been able to keep one, and though now and then he got a chance to ride with a neighbor, it occurred but seldom. Sometimes his friend and schoolmate, Add Bean, took him in, but was generally reluctant to yield the reins, being fond of driving himself.
There was another cause for his high spirits. The handsome present which he had just received he looked upon as a veritable windfall. Fifty dollars in his mother’s economical establishment would go a good way. It would enable them to buy some necessary articles which otherwise must be dispensed with. For instance, Andy himself needed a new suit very much, but he had not troubled his mother with asking for one, because he didn’t know where the money was to come from to buy it.
When the money contained in his father’s wallet arrived, he was somewhat encouraged, but now with this fresh supply there was no doubt that he would feel justified in spending a part for the needed suit.
“I wonder what has become of the burglar?” thought Andy, as he rode smoothly along the road. “Wouldn’t he like to know where I am going, and on what errand? He would find it easier to master me here than he did the other night.”
Scarcely had this thought passed through his mind when he was hailed by a stranger whom he had just passed on the road.
It was a young man, slender and well dressed, with a ready smile and a set of dazzling white teeth. He would be considered good looking, but his face was not one to inspire confidence in a thoughtful observer.
“My young friend, are you going to Cranston?”
“Yes,” answered Andy.
“So am I. Is it far?”
“About five miles from here.”
Andy had already gone a mile on his way.
“Five miles! Whew! that is a distance. I say, haven’t you got room for one more?”
Ordinarily Andy would have been entirely willing to take in a passenger, being naturally sociable and obliging, but now he was made cautious by the nature of his errand and the knowledge of the large sum of money which he was carrying. He halted his horse and looked perplexed.
“Come, be obliging,” said the stranger, with affected frankness.
“You are a stranger,” said Andy, hesitatingly.
“Well, suppose I am. I haven’t got the smallpox or any other contagious disorder,” laughed the young man.
“I wasn’t thinking of that.”
“Come, you don’t mind making a little money. I’ll give you a dollar if you’ll give me a ride.”
“It isn’t worth a dollar,” said Andy, honestly.
“Oh, I don’t insist upon paying so much! If you’ll take me for fifty cents, all the better.”
“I might as well,” thought Andy. “Of course, he can know nothing of my errand, and it’s an easy way to earn fifty cents. I don’t want to be too cowardly.” “Well,” he said, after a pause, “I’ll take you. Jump in!”
“Enough said,” returned the other.
And he lost no time in availing himself of the invitation.
They talked together on indifferent topics till Andy reached the lonely part of the road already referred to, when a sudden change came over his companion.
“Now to business!” he said, in a quick, stern voice. “Give me that money you have in your pocket, and be quick about it!”
Turning hastily, Andy confronted a pistol in the hands of his companion. It was held within six inches of his head, and might well have startled an older person than Andy.
Of course Andy was startled when he saw the pistol in close proximity to his head. I feel no hesitation in admitting that he felt far from comfortable. Some heroes are represented as startled by nothing, and afraid of nothing; but though Andy was unusually self-possessed for his years, he was not above the ordinary emotions of humanity.
Still, he did not lose his presence of mind utterly, nor was he willing to surrender at discretion, though it did occur to him that he was in an uncommonly tight place.
More for the sake of gaining time to think than because he really needed the information, he asked, with a calmness which he did not feel:
“What do you mean, sir?”
“What do I mean?” repeated his companion, with a sneer. “If you are not a fool, you ought to know what I mean.”
“I suppose you are playing a joke on me,” said Andy, innocently.
“Does this look like a joke?” asked the young man, with a significant nod at the pistol which he held in his hand.
“Is it loaded?” asked Andy.
“Loaded?” retorted the other. “I could blow off the roof of your head with it.”
“I hope you won’t, then,” said our hero, looking anxiously in advance, hoping to see some approaching vehicle.
If so, he would be safe, for his companion, desperate though he might be, would not venture in that case to risk capture and the long term of imprisonment to which such a daring attempt at highway robbery would expose him to.
“I have no time for fooling!” said the young man, sharply. “Give me that money you have in your possession, or it will be the worse for you.”
“What money?” asked Andy.
“The money you are carrying to Cranston to deposit in the bank for the old women in Hamilton.”
“Where could he have found out about it?” thought Andy. “I wish somebody would come along.”
Anything to gain time!
“Pray don’t take it from me, Mr. Robber!” said Andy, pretending to be overcome with terror. “They will think I took it.”
“I can’t help that.”
“And they will have me put in jail. Oh, don’t take it from me!”
“The boy is pretty well scared,” said the robber to himself. “I didn’t think he would wilt down so easily. He seems a little soft.”
“I’ll attend to that,” he said aloud. “I’ll write them an anonymous letter, saying that I took it from you.”
“That will be better,” said Andy, seeming relieved.
“Then hand it over.”
“I won’t exactly give it to you,” said Andy; “but you can take it.”
So saying, he drew a large wallet from his inside pocket, and, before his companion could grasp it, threw it some rods away by the roadside.
“There,” he said; “you see I didn’t give it to you, though I can’t help your taking it.”
His companion’s eyes glistened as he saw the plethoric wallet lying by the roadside.
“Stop the horse!” he exclaimed, jerking at the reins. “I’ll get out here.”
“All right!” said Andy. “You’ll be sure to write to Miss Peabody that I couldn’t help giving you the money?”
“Oh, yes! What a simpleton he is!” thought the highwayman, as he sprang from the buggy, and hurried in the direction of the wallet, now some little distance back.
As soon as he had gotten rid of his companion, Andy brought down his whip with emphasis on the back of his spirited horse, and dashed over the road at great speed.
The young man smiled as he heard the flying wheels.
“He’s pretty well scared,” he thought. “Well, he can go to Cranston as fast as he pleases, now that I have what I was after.”
He stooped and picked up the wallet, and opened it to feast his eyes on the thick roll of bank bills, but was overcome with rage, fury and disappointment when he found that the supposed treasure consisted only of rolls of brown paper, so folded as to swell out the wallet and give the impression of value.
“The artful young scoundrel!” he exclaimed, between his closed teeth. “He has made a fool of me, and I all the time looked upon him as a simpleton. What shall I say to Hogan, who put me up to this job?”
He had a momentary idea of pursuing Andy, but by this time the buggy was a long distance ahead, and every minute was increasing the distance.
To pursue it with any expectation of overtaking it would have been the merest folly. It was hard to give up so rich a prize, but there seemed no help for it.
“I wish I could wring the young rascal’s neck,” thought the baffled highwayman. “He was fooling me all the time, and now he is chuckling over the trick he has played upon me. How shall I meet Hogan?”
The young man hesitated a moment, and then plunged into the woods that skirted the road.
Continuing his walk for five minutes, he came to a secluded spot, where, under a tree, reclined an old acquaintance of ours—in brief, Mr. Michael Hogan.
Hogan’s face was red and inflamed, and his eyes were sore. He was suffering from the severe scalding which had rewarded his attempt to enter the house of the Misses Peabody.
He looked up quickly as he heard the approach of his confederate, and demanded, eagerly:
“Well, Bill, did you see the boy?”
“Yes, I saw him.”
“And you have got the money?” asked Hogan, with like eagerness.
“I have got that,” answered the younger man, as he displayed the deceptive wallet.
“Give it to me.”
“You are welcome to all you can find in it.”
Hogan opened the wallet quickly. When he saw the contents, he turned upon his confederate with lowering brow.
“What does this mean?” he demanded, in a harsh voice.
“It means that I have been fooled,” said Bill, bitterly.
“Who has fooled you?” asked Hogan, with an angry look.
“The boy! I tell you, Hogan, he’s a smart one.”
“I don’t understand this. I believe you are deceiving me,” said the older man, suspiciously.
“Think what you please,” said Bill, sullenly. “It is as I say.”
“Didn’t you take out the bills and replace them with worthless paper?”
“No, I didn’t. I wouldn’t dare play such a trick on you. I know you are a desperate and reckless man, and I wouldn’t try it.”
“Then will you explain this foolery?” said Hogan, sharply. “Why did you let the boy palm off this worthless paper on you?”
“I’ll tell you all about it,” said Bill, convinced that his personal safety required him to allay the evident suspicion of the old man.
Thereupon he told the story, which is already familiar to the reader.
“You’re a fool!” said Hogan, with bitter harshness. “Bah! are you not a match for a boy of sixteen?”
“He may be only sixteen,” said Bill, doggedly; “but he’s no baby, I can tell you that! As to not being a match for him, you know something about that.”
Mike Hogan sprang to his feet, livid with fury at this allusion to what was, with him, a very sore subject.
“If you dare to mention that affair again,” he said, “I’ll brain you!” and he looked quite capable of carrying out his threat.
“We ought to be revenged upon him,” declared Bill, hurriedly, anxious to divert the wrath of the elder man into a channel less menacing to himself. “I have a plan——”
“Out with it!”
“The boy will have to come back along the same road.”
“Well?”
“Let’s lie in wait for him.”
“But he will have deposited the money in the bank. It will do no good——”
“Not in the way of money, but you can be revenged upon him for the way he treated you the other night.”
This allusion evoked another oath from the desperate and angry ruffian, but on the whole the plan pleased him. He thirsted for revenge upon the boy to whom he was indebted, not alone for foiling him in his attempted robbery, but who had entailed upon him so much physical suffering.
“There’s something in that,” he said. “If I get hold of him, I will give him something to remember me by!”
The lawless pair posted themselves near the road, yet in concealment, and waited impatiently for the return of Andy from the Cranston Bank.
After parting with his troublesome traveling companion, Andy lost no time in continuing on his way to the Cranston Bank, where he had the satisfaction of depositing the four hundred and fifty dollars which had been intrusted to him.
“I am glad to get rid of the money,” said Andy, breathing a deep sigh of relief as he received back the bank-book.
“People are not usually glad to get rid of money,” said the receiving teller.
“There is too much responsibility about it,” said Andy. “Twice I have had a narrow escape from robbery.”
“Were you the boy that proved more than a match for a burglar, Saturday night?” asked the teller, with interest.
“Have you heard of it, then?” asked Andy, in surprise.
“Oh, yes! Such news travels fast. We have every reason for informing ourselves of the movements of lawbreakers and burglars. You are a plucky boy.”
“Thank you!” said Andy, modestly. “I don’t know about that.”
“Not many boys would have stood a midnight siege as well as you did.”
“I was in more danger this morning,” said Andy, quietly.
“How?” asked the teller and the other employees of the bank, who had heard Andy’s statement, and came up to hear what he had to say.
“I was stopped by a highwayman this morning, on my way from Hamilton.”
“You don’t say so! Was it the same one?”
“No; it was a younger man. I suppose you haven’t heard of that?” he added, smiling.
“No; we shall get our information from the chief actor in the adventure. How was it?”
Andy told his story, and the narration increased the high opinion which the bank officials already had begun to entertain of his courage and shrewdness.
“That was a capital idea—having a decoy wallet with you,” said Mr. Smith, the receiving teller.
“It was not my idea, though,” said Andy, modestly. “It was Mr. Bean who recommended it.”
“The fellow must have been disappointed when he saw what he had captured,” suggested the paying teller.
“I suppose he was,” responded Andy, with a laugh, “but I didn’t wait to find out. I gave the horse the whip, and left the place as fast as he could carry me.”
“Are you not afraid the man may lie in wait for you on your way home?”
“I thought of that, but I have left the money here. It wouldn’t do him any good to take the bank-book.”
“That is true, but he may wish to be revenged upon you.”
“That is so, but there is no help for it. There is no other road to take, and I must chance it.”
Andy took the matter lightly, but it occurred to the bank officials that he stood in danger of being seriously injured.
“You ought not to go back alone,” said the paying teller.
“Where shall I find company.”
Just then a man entered the bank, and presented a check.
“The very man!” said the receiving teller. “He will go with you.”
Andy looked at the newcomer, and was led to doubt whether such a man would be of much service to him. He was a short, slender man, of thirty-five, very quiet in his manner, with hair inclined to be red.
Andy knew many of the citizens of Cranston, but never remembered meeting with this man.
“Mr. Perkins,” said the paying teller, “you heard of the attempted burglary at Hamilton on Saturday night?”
“Yes; that is partly what I came to this neighborhood about,” answered Mr. Perkins, quietly.
“You see that boy?”
“Yes.”
“It is the boy who defended the house and foiled the burglar.”
Mr. Perkins dropped his air of quiet. His eyes and features betrayed a strong feeling of interest as he turned to Andy.
“My young friend,” he said, “you are the very person I most wished to see. Will you answer me a few questions?”
“Yes, sir, with pleasure.”
“What was the appearance of the man who attempted to enter the house where the money was kept?”
Andy gave, as nearly as he could, a description of Hogan and his peculiarities.
Perkins listened attentively, nodding from time to time with a satisfied expression.
“I know the man,” he said. “I didn’t think he was in this part of the country, but I am glad to hear that he is so near. I think I can put a spoke in his wheel.”
“Who is it?” asked the paying teller.
“A man with more than one name. He is best known as Mike Hogan, though I am not sure whether this is his real name or not.”
“I wonder if the other man is one of his friends?” said Andy, musingly.
“The other man?” repeated Mr. Perkins, inquiringly.
“Yes, the man that tried to rob me this morning.”
“This is something new to me,” returned the detective. “Was an attempt made upon you this morning?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Tell me about it.”
Of course, Andy gave for the second time an account of his morning’s adventure.
The detective listened with the closest attention.
“Unquestionably the two men are in league together,” he said.
“Have you any idea who the younger man is?” asked the teller.
“No; it may be any one of half a dozen. The description will fit quite a number of my acquaintances. My theory is that Hogan was near at hand when the attack was made, and that he instigated it. I presume that it was from him that the younger man learned that you were likely to come this way with the money in your possession.”
“I didn’t think of that,” said Andy.
“Of course not. You know nothing of the ways of these gentry. The less you are compelled to know of them, the better for you. When are you going back?”
“I am ready now.”
“We thought the boy might be stopped again,” said Mr. Smith.
“It is altogether likely,” said Mr. Perkins, quietly.
“And we recommended him not to go alone, as of course he would be no match for a man.”
“He has proved himself a match in two instances,” said Perkins, with a glance of approval at our hero. “Still, he might not always be so lucky. However, he won’t be abliged to go back alone, as I will ask a seat in his carriage.”
“I shall be very glad to have you come, sir,” said Andy, politely.
“Can you wait fifteen minutes?”
“Oh, yes, sir!”
“I am staying at the hotel. I need to go there for a short time.”
“Stay here, and I will join you very shortly.”
The hotel was just across the street. Andy whiled away the time in the house, but he did not have to wait long.
A lady, neatly attired in an alpaca dress, entered from the street, and coming up to our hero, said:
“Are you ready?”
Andy stared at her in surprise.
She raised a green veil, and with some difficulty he recognized the features of Perkins, the detective.
“They won’t be afraid of a woman,” said Perkins, with a meaning smile. “Come along!”
The sudden transformation of Perkins into a woman struck Andy with amazement. He knew nothing about detectives and their ways, and could not understand how the change had been effected so rapidly. Perkins enjoyed the boy’s astonishment.
“I see you are surprised at my appearance,” he remarked, with a smile.
“I assure you that I am a man,” continued the detective, noticing his confusion.
“I was wondering where you got a dress to fit you so well,” Andy ventured to say.
“Oh, I brought it with me!” said Perkins, composedly.
“Do you often dress up as a woman?”
“Not often; but sometimes, as in the present instance, it seems desirable. You see, our friends of the highway wouldn’t be very apt to show themselves, if they should see a man with you.”
“I don’t know,” said Andy, doubtfully. “Both of them together would be more than a match for us.”
“You think so?” returned the detective. “I see you haven’t a very high opinion of my abilities or physical strength.”
“Hogan, as you call him, looks like a very strong man,” said Andy.
“And I don’t, eh?”
“Well,” said Andy, not willing to give offense, “he is a good deal larger than you.”
“That is true. But a man’s strength isn’t always in proportion to his size. Give me your hand, please.”
Andy did so, though he did not quite understand the detective’s object in making the request.
Perkins’ hands were incased in tight-fitting kid gloves, and were small for a man. What was Andy’s surprise, then, to find his fingers in an ironlike grip that positively pained him. Perkins smiled as he felt Andy wince under the pressure.
“You’ve got the strongest hand of any lady I ever met,” said Andy, with a smile.
“Suppose I get a grip on Mike Hogan?” suggested Perkins.
“I think he would find it hard to get away.”
“He is the man I want. The other is of little consequence, compared with Hogan. If I can take but one, I shall hold on to the older villain.”
As they traveled over the road, Perkins entertained his young companion with scraps of personal adventure, borrowed from his ten years’ experience as a detective. He closed by instructing Andy how to act if they should encounter the men whom they sought.
Meanwhile, Hogan and the young man he called Bill, had stationed themselves near the road, in the shelter of some underbrush. Of the two, Hogan was the more excited and eager. His companion, under the impression that there was no money to be got from Andy, did not feel much interested in the matter. True, Andy had played a trick upon him, but, although provoked, he rather applauded the boy’s smartness.
With Mike Hogan it was different. He had suffered physical pain at Andy’s hands, besides losing, through his brave defense, the large sum which would otherwise unquestionably have fallen into his hands, and it was natural that he should thirst for revenge.
“I should like to wring the boy’s neck,” he muttered, as they lay together in concealment.
“It might not be altogether safe to kill him,” suggested Bill, who shrank from murder, and feared that Hogan’s temper might involve them in serious trouble.
“Oh, I won’t kill him!” growled Hogan. “I wouldn’t mind doing it, but for the law; but I don’t want my neck stretched.”
“That wouldn’t pay, Hogan, as you say.”
“I won’t kill him, but I’ll give him something to remember me by.”
“That’s all right; but don’t go too far.”
“I won’t do any worse by him that he did by me, I tell you. Are you sure there is no other road, Bill, by which he can come back? I should feel like a fool if he went another way, while we were lying in wait for him.”
“No danger, Hogan. I found out about that before I started.”
Presently their waiting was rewarded. The sound of carriage wheels was heard.
“Look out and see who it is, Bill,” said Hogan.
Bill peered through the leaves, looking cautiously up the road.
“It’s the boy,” he reported to his chief; “but he is not alone.”
“Confusion!” muttered Mike Hogan, disappointed. “Who is with him?” he asked.
“Only a woman.”
“Why didn’t you say so before, you fool?” exclaimed Hogan, with an air of relief. “That won’t make any difference.”
“She’ll scream!”
“Let her scream. No harm shall come to her. As for the boy, I’ll attend to his case.”
“What do you want me to do, Hogan?”
“Stop the horse, and I’ll attend to the passengers.”
By direction of Perkins, Andy drove a little slower when he came to the lonely part of the road.
“We’ll give the gentleman a chance to stop us, my boy,” said the detective.
The slow speed satisfied Hogan and his companion that Andy did not apprehend any attack, and that he would be all the more surprised and disconcerted when confronted by them.
According to the plan they had agreed upon, Bill jumped from the covert, and, dashing across the road, seized the horse by the head, while Mike Hogan, big and burly, with a menacing air, approached the wagon.
“Do you know me, young bantam?” he demanded, grimly.
“I think I’ve seen you before,” said Andy, not seeming so much frightened as the thief expected.
“Yes, curse you! and I’ve seen you. You played a scurvy trick upon me Saturday night.”
“I couldn’t help it,” said Andy. “I didn’t want to hurt you, but you drove me to it.”
“So, so! Well, it was unlucky for you, for I’m going to take pay out of your hide.”
“What do you mean?” asked Andy, appearing disturbed.
“I am going to give you the worst thrashing you ever received.”
“Pray don’t!” entreated Andy. “Don’t you see I have a lady here? Let me carry her home first.”
“Do you think I am a fool? Get down, I say!”
“Then help the lady down first. She won’t dare to stay in the carriage alone.”
Mike Hogan had taken very little notice of the lady. At this request, he turned to her.
“Get down, ma’am, if you want to,” he said. “I’ve got a score to settle with this young whelp.”
Perkins took his hand lightly, and leaped to the ground.
The next moment he felt an iron grip at his collar, while the supposed lady held a revolver to his head.
“What does this mean?” he exclaimed, in utter amazement, recoiling from his fair companion.
With his unoccupied hand the detective threw back the veil which concealed his face.
“Mike Hogan,” he said, “I’ve caught you at last.”
“Who are you?” gasped the tramp and burglar.
“I am Perkins, the detective!”
It was a name that Mike Hogan knew well, though Andy had never heard of it. He started to tear himself away, but the iron grip was not disturbed.
“Surrender, or it will be all over with you,” exclaimed Perkins, sternly.
Mike Hogan turned for help to his companion, but at the dreaded name Bill had escaped into the woods.
“I surrender,” said the tramp, doggedly.
With Andy’s help, handcuffs were put on the captive, and he was hoisted into the back part of the buggy. The horse’s head was turned, and Andy drove back to Cranston, where there was a jail.
I may as well add here that Hogan was duly tried, and sentenced to a term of years in the State’s prison.
Thus it happened that Andy was considerably later than he anticipated when he reached Hamilton on his return. During his absence his mother had received a letter which was of considerable importance.