The rattle of a wagon caused him almost to leap from his feet.
“That’s lucky!” he exclaimed; “I will get the man to let me ride, and then no one will dare disturb me.”
But it proved that the wagon was coming from the direction of his home, so it could not be turned to account. He watched it as it came nearer. An old gentleman sat on the front seat of the open vehicle which was jolting along at an easy rate. It was too dark to see the driver’s features plainly, but Tom believed he knew him and called out a greeting. The response showed he was right as to the identity of the individual.
Two-thirds of the way home came the most trying ordeal. The lad was obliged to follow quite a stretch of road where there was woods on both sides. This deepened the gloom, for the highway was so narrow that it was completely shadowed.
“If any robbers are waiting for me,” he mused, “it will be in them woods.”
He hesitated on the border of the shadows, meditating whether he could not reach home by some other course; but the forest, originally one that covered several hundred acres, was bisected by the highway, and the detour would be long. Still he decided to try it, for, somehow or other, the conviction was strong with him that danger lurked among the shadows. He turned about to retrace his steps for a short way, before leaving the road, when he stopped short, hardly repressing a gasp of affright.
He saw the unmistakable outlines of a man in the gloom, only a short distance behind him. Afraid to meet him face to face, Tom turned back and resumed his walk along the highway.
“When I get along a little farther,” was his thought, “I’ll slip over the fence among the trees and dodge him.”
He began walking fast, continually glancing over his shoulder. His alarm increased upon discovering that the man had also quickened his footsteps, so that instead of holding his place, the pursuer, as he may be considered, was gaining.
The fact that not the slightest sound disturbed the stillness added to the oppression of the situation. The lad was on the point of breaking into a run, when the man, who was one of the tramps before referred to, called out,—
“Hold on there, sonny! don’t be in such a hurry.”
This salutation was not calculated to soothe Tom’s agitation, and without any reply he started on a loping trot, still keeping his attention to the rear, and prepared to break into a dead run the moment it became necessary. He was fleet of foot, and believed he could make the fellow hustle.
“Didn’t you hear me, sonny? If you don’t want to get shot, stop!”
Tom had no wish to be shot, nor did he mean to have the company of the rascal who was bent on intruding upon him.
“Catch me if you can,” he muttered, breaking into a swifter pace; “I’m glad it’s night so I’ll have a chance to hide from you—”
“Hold on there! what’s your hurry, younker?”
The boy almost sank to the ground, for this startling hail came not from the rear, but from the front. Stopping short, he saw a burly fellow, standing within ten feet of him in the middle of the road, so nigh indeed, that, despite the darkness, Tom had no earthly chance of eluding him, as he might have done had he detected his presence a moment sooner.
Rallying with a supreme effort, he addressed the one nearest him.
“What do you want, that you stop me this way?”
“What do I want?” repeated the tramp with a chuckle, “that’s good; why I want to make the acquaintance of a purty young man like you. What’s your name?”
“Tom Gordon,” promptly replied the boy, seeing nothing to be gained by hiding his identity.
“I’m Count De Buffer, travelling incog. just now, ’cause you see I don’t want the Americans to make so much fuss over me; I have enough of that at home, where they’re not such tuft hunters as here. Glad to know you, Tom,” added the tramp, extending his hand.
The boy with some hesitation accepted the grimy palm which almost crushed his own.
“This is my friend Duke De Sassy,” said the “count,” as the other came up; “him and me have got tired of the frivolities of court life, and are making a tower through America studying its institutions, and doing the country.”
“This ere young man didn’t seem to care for my company,” remarked the last arrival; “for I called to him two or three times, but then, he couldn’t have knowed that it was a real live dook he was treating that way, so I forgive him.”
“The truth is,” added the count, “we’re down on our luck just now, and would like you to accommodate us with a trifle of a loan.”
The tramps placed themselves while talking so as to forestall any attempt on the part of the lad to break away.
“I haven’t any money to lend you,” sturdily answered Tom.
“Do you mean to say you have no funds in your exchequer?” continued the count; “’cause if you haven’t, of course we don’t want anything to do with you.”
It flashed upon Tom that he had only to speak an untruth to free himself of the presence of these miscreants. Would it be a sin for him to say he had no money with him?
Only for an instant did the temptation linger. His mother had taught him that a lie was never justifiable under any circumstances.
“I did not say I had no money,” he said, “but that I had none to lend you.”
“Ah, that’s a different matter. I’m afeard, Duke,” he continued, addressing his companion, “that we shall be under the necessity of making a forced loan; how does the proposition strike you?”
“I’m convinced we shall be reduced to that painful necessity. If I’m not mistook, this young gentleman was paid a hundred dollars this afternoon for his bravery in throwing a royal Bengal tiger over his shoulder and bringing him back to the circus, from which erstwhile the animal strayed.”
Poor Tom saw it was all up with him. These wretches must have known about the reward from the moment he received it. They had planned the robbery, and he had walked straight into the trap set for him.
“Yes, I have a hundred dollars given to me for helping to catch the tiger; I was taking it home to my mother.”
“That’s a good boy,” commented the count; “always think of your mother, for the market isn’t overstocked with first-class mothers. But bear in mind, sonny, that we’re only borering this for sixty days, and we’ll give you ten percent interest—that’s our style of doing bus’ness, eh, Duke?”
“Well, if I must, I must,” said Tom hopelessly, making a move of his hand as if to draw the money from his trousers pocket.
“That’s right, allers take things philosophically, and be ready to extend a helping hand to them as—”
The count had got thus far in his observations, when the boy darted to one side, and made a desperate attempt to pass them and reach the fence on his right.
He came very nigh succeeding too. In fact, he did get to the fence, and was in the act of clambering over, when he was seized in the iron grip of Count De Buffer, who was angered at the narrow escape of the youth making off with the funds.
“If you try anything like that agin, I’ll kill you!” he said, choking and shaking the boy; “we mean bus’ness, young man, and don’t you forget it!”
Tom still struggled furiously, and pulled so hard that all three moved several paces along the highway. Nor did he cease his resistance until he had been struck several cruel blows.
“Now fork over them funds!” commanded the count, when the panting lad was exhausted.
“I sha’n’t do it!” was the sturdy reply.
“Very well; then we’ll do it for you.”
The lad made no resistance, and the tramps searched him thoroughly from head to foot. Not a penny was found on him.
“We ought to break your head for that trick,” said the duke, “and if it had done you any good we’d do so; but we understand it. You flung the money away when you made a rush for the fence.”
“If I did,” was the defiant response of the boy, “all you’ve got to do is to find it again.”
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“We’ll soon do that; hold him fast till I get it, and then we’ll settle with him.”
The tousled scamp shuffled off to the side of the highway to search for the package, which he was convinced had been thrown there at the time their prisoner made his dash for freedom.
“That’ll prove bad bus’ness for you,” growled the duke, who was the custodian of Tom.
“Not any worse than if you had got it,” replied the youth, who was thoroughly roused by his brutal treatment. He had been struck several times, but could not believe the ruffians would dare put him to death in revenge for the loss of the money, that is, provided they did recover it.
“Haven’t you found it, Dick?” called the duke, forgetting the title of his comrade.
“No, confound it! I don’t know where to look for it.”
“Where did you fling it?” demanded the duke of his captive.
“I shall not tell you; you may kill me first.”
“Very well; take that!”
But Tom managed to dodge the blow, and, by a quick leap, freed himself of the grip of his captor. The next minute he was off like a deer.
Possibly the tramp might have overtaken him, had he made the effort; but he chose to let him go while he joined his friend in hunting for the money.
They kept up the search for hours, and were then, obliged to give it up. Afraid that the boy, who must have reached home long before, would bring friends back, the tramps took their departure while the opportunity was theirs, and were seen no more.
Tom Gordon did a brave thing. The moment he discovered he was not pursued, he hid himself at the side of the road, and waited till the scamps departed. Then, when the moon had risen, he stole back again, and, remembering quite well where he had thrown the package of money, found it with little difficulty, and reaching home without further incident, told his stirring experience to his mother and aunt.
CHAPTER VII.
It will be admitted that Tom Gordon and Jim Travers had met with a pretty stirring experience, as a result of the visit of the circus and menagerie to Briggsville. Tom had not been able to attend the performance; but it may be said he was favored with a little “circus” of his own, in which he played the part of star performer. But all’s well that ends well, and he had the pleasure of walking into his humble home and turning over to his mother the handsome reward paid for the restoration of Tippo Sahib, comparatively unharmed, to the owner. He was so well liked by teacher and playmates that all congratulated him. There was no jealousy of his good fortune, for there was none more deserving, and, it may be added, no more in need of the material help given by that one hundred dollars.
But what has been told was but an incident in the life of the two boys, whose fortunes I have set out to tell. A remarkable train of circumstances in due course involved the lads in a series of incidents which had an important bearing on their future lives, and taught a lesson which young lads cannot learn too often in this world.
Tom and Jim devoted themselves more closely than ever to their school studies, and, as a result, became two of the best-informed pupils at that crude institution of learning. They grew to be strong, sturdy youths, as fond of athletic sports as they were of study, and with a promise of the right sort of success in life. Neither dreamed of what the immediate future had in store for them.
A year after the incident of the tiger, Tom’s Aunt Cynthia peacefully died, and a few month later, to his almost inconsolable grief, his beloved mother passed away. Thus he was left an orphan, without brother or sister. The blow was a crushing one, and for weeks he wished to die and join the dear ones that had gone before. He grieved until his friends feared he was falling into a decline, and became seriously concerned for him.
It has been truly said, however, that no person in the enjoyment of health and vigor of body can long be crushed by affliction. He will rally sooner or later. Thus it proved in the case of Tom Gordon. His former strength and spirits gradually came back to him. There were moments and hours when he was weighed down by his great loss; but it was gradually softened by the passage of time, until the day came when his friends believed he had fully recovered from the sorrow that had nearly driven the life from his body and soul.
One sad feature of his affliction was that he was left almost penniless. With all the thrift, frugality, and self-denial of mother and aunt, they had been able to leave the youth hardly anything at all when they died. The humble home, with all its belongings, was sold for less than the mortgage, and Tom found himself with little besides the clothes he wore and a few precious mementoes of those that had passed away.
In a community where he was so favorably known, it was impossible that he should suffer actual want. More than one home was offered him, not only until he could find some situation or engage in some trade, but as long as he chose to avail himself of it.
Tom was forced to accept some one of these offers, and he went home with Jim Travers until he could decide what to do. He knew he was welcome there, and could stay as long as he wished, though he had no thought of becoming a burden upon the kind friends that had opened their doors to him.
Now, it was this change in the surroundings in the daily life of Tom Gordon that led to the singular incidents I have set out to tell.
Jim Travers lived alone with his father, who was in fair circumstances. His mother had died in his infancy; and his only sister, Maggie, was his playmate for a few years longer, when she departed to join the loved one that had preceded her. The husband and father became a lonely and bowed man, whose years were far less than they seemed. Although a farmer in a small way, he committed the sad error of engaging in stock speculations, more with a view of diverting his mind from his gnawing grief than with the hope of bettering his fortune. It is hardly necessary to relate what followed. He was successful for a time, and improved his financial standing. He gladly welcomed Tom Gordon beneath his roof, for he knew his own boy could not have a playmate whose company would be more improving to him. Then Mr. Travers dipped more deeply into speculation. With brighter prospects than ever, there came the fateful hour in Wall Street, when every penny was swept from him.
“I am a beggar!” he gasped, when the whole dreadful truth broke upon him; “and I am too old to begin life again. It is better that I should die.”
And die he did in the great city of New York. The shock was fatal; and his body was brought back to Briggsville, and laid to rest beside the forms of his wife and little Maggie, that had died long before. Jim was dazed by the unexpected blow. It became the privilege of Tom Gordon to act as his comforter, but it was a long time before the little fellow came out from the valley of shadow into the life-giving sunlight again.
But here was the solemn situation: Tom Gordon and Jim Travers were orphans, with no near relatives, and with only their own hands to earn their daily bread. What was the best thing for them to do?
This was the grave question which the two boys sat down to answer in the gloom of a wintry evening, when they were about fourteen years of age. They had received plenty of counsel, and much of it was excellent. The teacher, the minister, and numerous good neighbors had been as kind as they could possibly be, and the youths knew no real hardship could come to them as long as they stayed in or near the place where they were born.
But they were not satisfied to do so. They felt they ought to strike out for themselves, and Briggsville was not the place to do it. The opportunities were too few.
They talked for a long time in an aimless way, discussing numerous schemes, but without agreeing upon any.
“Jim, let’s go to New York.”
Tom made the proposition as though it had come to him that moment, when in truth it had been in his mind from the first, as it was with Jim, who was on the point of uttering it, but was waiting for his friend, because he was a few months older and took the lead in all matters.
“I wonder if that wouldn’t be the best thing to do,” remarked Jim, like one to whom the idea was new.
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��Neither of us has ever been in New York. It is a great place, full of dangers of all kinds, but there are chances for every one to get along, if he will do what’s right and isn’t afraid to work.”
“If we should tell the people what we have in mind, they would advise us to stay here or to try Philadelphia.”
“We must pass Philadelphia to get to New York, but I don’t feel like staying there, do you, Jim?”
“No; I don’t fancy the place. Father took me there once when I was a wee younker, and it struck me as being slow.”
Tom laughed at the thought of a little fellow being impressed that way by one of the leading cities in the Union. He, too, had been in the large and handsome town, but for some reason, which he could not explain, had formed a prejudice against it. He shook his head at the proposition of trying their fortunes there.
“Philadelphia isn’t big enough for us,” he remarked quizzically; “New York is the only place where we can spread and grow.”
“Then I propose we go to New York to seek our fortune. What do you say?”
“We’ll stick together.”
And the young friends reached their hands toward each other and clasped them in the dim light of Jim Travers’s room.
It was an important decision they had reached, and they talked over the matter for a long time. Each had quite a little sum of money, which they had saved with scrupulous care. They had good serviceable clothing, with something extra in the way of change. The executors of Mr. Travers had completed their duty and made their report to court. As in the case of the Widow Gordon, not a penny was left for the boy, and the house and everything it contained was to pass into the hands of strangers.
Jim Travers and Tom Gordon were occupying their single room on sufferance. The new-comers were to take possession on the first of the following month, and a hint had been given the boys which it was impossible for them to misunderstand. Their room was preferable to their company.
“Next Tuesday is the first,” remarked Jim; “I suppose we can stay here the few days until then.”
The Edward S. Ellis Megapack Page 153
