0% found this document useful (0 votes)

19 views234 pages

Pg75034 Images

real good

Uploaded by

socife4664

We take content rights seriously. If you suspect this is your content, claim it here.

Available Formats

Download as TXT, PDF, TXT or read online on Scribd

0% found this document useful (0 votes)

19 views234 pages

Pg75034 Images

real good

Uploaded by

socife4664

We take content rights seriously. If you suspect this is your content, claim it here.

Available Formats

Download as TXT, PDF, TXT or read online on Scribd

You are on page 1/ 234

<!

DOCTYPE html>
<html lang="en"><head>
<meta charset="utf-8"><style>
#pg-header div, #pg-footer div {
all: initial;
display: block;
margin-top: 1em;
margin-bottom: 1em;
margin-left: 2em;
}
#pg-footer div.agate {
font-size: 90%;
margin-top: 0;
margin-bottom: 0;
text-align: center;
}
#pg-footer li {
all: initial;
display: block;
margin-top: 1em;
margin-bottom: 1em;
text-indent: -0.6em;
}
#pg-footer div.secthead {
font-size: 110%;
font-weight: bold;
}
#pg-footer #project-gutenberg-license {
font-size: 110%;
margin-top: 0;
margin-bottom: 0;
text-align: center;
}
#pg-header-heading {
all: inherit;
text-align: center;
font-size: 120%;
font-weight:bold;
}
#pg-footer-heading {
all: inherit;
text-align: center;
font-size: 120%;
font-weight: normal;
margin-top: 0;
margin-bottom: 0;
}
#pg-header #pg-machine-header p {
text-indent: -4em;
margin-left: 4em;
margin-top: 1em;
margin-bottom: 0;
font-size: medium
}
#pg-header #pg-header-authlist {
all: initial;
margin-top: 0;
margin-bottom: 0;
}
#pg-header #pg-machine-header strong {
font-weight: normal;
}
#pg-header #pg-start-separator, #pg-footer #pg-end-separator {
margin-bottom: 3em;
margin-left: 0;
margin-right: auto;
margin-top: 2em;
text-align: center
}

.xhtml_center {text-align: center; display: block;}

.xhtml_center table {
display: table;
text-align: left;
margin-left: auto;
margin-right: auto;
}</style><title>
Bob the photographer | Project Gutenberg
</title>
<link href="images/cover.jpg" rel="icon" type="image/x-cover" id="id-
1665567630826465137">
<style>body {
margin-left: 10%;
margin-right: 10%
}
h1, h2 {
text-align: center;
clear: both
}
p {
margin-top: 0.51em;
text-align: justify;
margin-bottom: 0.49em
}
hr {
width: 33%;
margin-top: 2em;
margin-bottom: 2em;
margin-left: 33.5%;
margin-right: 33.5%;
clear: both
}
hr.tiny {
width: 10%;
margin-left: 45%;
margin-right: 45%
}
hr.chap {
width: 65%;
margin-left: 17.5%;
margin-right: 17.5%
}
@media print {
hr.chap {
display: none;
visibility: hidden
}
}
hr.full {
width: 110%;
margin-left: -1em;
margin-right: 0%
}
div.chapter {
page-break-before: always
}
h2.nobreak {
page-break-before: avoid
}
table {
margin-left: auto;
margin-right: auto
}
td {
padding-left: 0.5em
}
.tdr {
text-align: right
}
.pagenum {
position: absolute;
left: 92%;
font-size: small;
text-align: right;
font-style: normal;
font-weight: normal;
font-variant: normal;
text-indent: 0
}
.blockquot {
margin-left: 17.5%;
margin-right: 17.5%
}
.x-ebookmaker .blockquot {
margin-left: 7.5%;
margin-right: 7.5%
}
.bbox {
border: 2px solid;
padding: 1em
}
.center {
text-align: center
}
.right {
text-align: right
}
.smcap {
font-variant: small-caps
}
.ph1 {
text-align: center;
font-size: large;
font-weight: bold
}
.ph2 {
text-align: center;
font-size: xx-large;
font-weight: bold
}
div.titlepage {
text-align: center;
page-break-before: always;
page-break-after: always
}
div.titlepage p {
text-align: center;
font-weight: bold;
line-height: 1.5;
margin-top: 2em
}
.xlarge {
font-size: 150%
}
.large {
font-size: 125%
}
.small {
font-size: 65%
}
.caption {
font-weight: bold;
text-align: center
}
.x-ebookmaker .hide {
display: none;
visibility: hidden
}
img {
max-width: 100%;
height: auto
}
img.w100 {
width: 100%
}
.figcenter {
margin: auto;
text-align: center;
page-break-inside: avoid;
max-width: 100%
}
.poetry-container {
display: flex;
justify-content: center
}
.poetry-container {
text-align: center
}
.poetry {
text-align: left;
margin-left: 5%;
margin-right: 5%
}
.transnote {
background-color: #E6E6FA;
color: black;
font-size: smaller;
margin-left: 17.5%;
margin-right: 17.5%;
padding: 1em;
margin-bottom: 1em;
font-family: sans-serif, serif
}
.illowe28_125 {
width: 28.125em
}</style>
<link rel="schema.dc" href="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/">
<link rel="schema.dcterms" href="http://purl.org/dc/terms/">
<meta name="dc.title" content="Bob, the photographer">
<meta name="dc.language" content="en">
<meta name="dcterms.source" content="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/75034/75034-
h/75034-h.htm">
<meta name="dcterms.modified" content="2025-01-04T07:00:11.704054+00:00">
<meta name="dc.rights" content="Public domain in the USA.">
<link rel="dcterms.isFormatOf" href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/75034">
<meta name="dc.creator" content="Stratemeyer, Edward, 1862-1930">
<meta name="dcterms.created" content="2025-01-04">
<meta name="generator" content="Ebookmaker 0.12.48 by Project Gutenberg">
<meta property="og:title" content="Bob, the photographer">
<meta property="og:type" content="Text">
<meta property="og:url"
content="https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/75034/pg75034-images.html">
<meta property="og:image"
content="https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/75034/pg75034.cover.medium.jpg">
</head>
<body><section class="pg-boilerplate pgheader" id="pg-header" lang="en"><h2 id="pg-
header-heading" title="">The Project Gutenberg eBook of Bob, the photographer</h2>

<div>This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online
at <a class="reference external"
href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you are not located in
the United States,
you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located
before using this eBook.</div>

<div class="container" id="pg-machine-header">Title: Bob, the

photographer
 Or, a hero
in spite of himself
<div id="pg-header-authlist">
Author: Edward Stratemeyer
</div>
Release date: January 4, 2025 [eBook #75034]

Language: English

Original publication: New York: Stitt Publishing Company,

1902

Credits: Aaron Adrignola, David E. Brown, and the Online

Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from
images made available by the HathiTrust Digital Library.)

</div><div id="pg-start-separator">
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BOB, THE PHOTOGRAPHER ***
</div></section><div style="text-align:center"></div>

<div class="figcenter hide"><img alt="" src="images/coversmall.jpg" width="450"

id="img_images_coversmall.jpg"></div>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<figure class="figcenter illowe28_125" id="i_002">

<img alt="" class="w100" src="images/i_002.jpg" id="img_images_i_002.jpg">
<figcaption class="caption">JOEL CARROW DARTED FROM THE BARN,
AND AFTER THE
SCAMPERING PIGS.</figcaption>
</figure>
</div>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<h1>Bob 
The Photographer</h1>

Or, A Hero in Spite of Himself

BY

ARTHUR M. WINFIELD

AUTHOR OF “THE ROVER BOYS SERIES,” “THE PUTNAM

HALL SERIES,” ETC.

<div class="figcenter"><img alt="" src="images/titlepagelogo.jpg"

id="img_images_titlepagelogo.jpg"></div>

NEW YORK 
STITT PUBLISHING COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS
</div>

<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="bbox">
BOOKS BY ARTHUR M. WINFIELD
<hr class="full">

ROVER BOYS SERIES for young Americans

Price, per volume, 60 cents

Rover Boys at School

Rover Boys on the Ocean 
Rover Boys in the Jungle 
Rover Boys Out West 
Rover Boys on the Great Lakes 
Rover Boys in the Mountains 
Rover Boys on Land and Sea 
Rover Boys in Camp 
Rover Boys on the River

PUTNAM HALL SERIES

Price, per volume, 60 cents

The Putnam Hall Cadets

(Other volumes in preparation)

</div></div></div>

Copyright, 1902

By A. Wessels Company
</div>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
[5]

<h2 class="nobreak">CONTENTS</h2>
</div>

<table>

<tbody><tr><td class="tdr">CHAPTER</td><td class="tdr"

colspan="2"> PAGE</td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdr">I.</td><td> Bob and His

Troubles,</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_9" class="pginternal">
9</a></td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdr">II.</td><td> Bob at the

Cliff,</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_22" class="pginternal">
22</a></td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdr">III.</td><td> Bob at the Half-Way

House,</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_33" class="pginternal">
33</a></td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdr">IV.</td><td> Bob is Left to His

Fate,</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_45" class="pginternal">
45</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdr">V.</td><td> Bob Makes His
Escape,</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_55" class="pginternal">
55</a></td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdr">VI.</td><td> Bob Learns

Something,</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_72" class="pginternal">
72</a></td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdr">VII.</td><td> Bob and the

Elephant,</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_87" class="pginternal">
87</a></td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdr">VIII.</td><td> Bob Obtains a

Situation,</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_101" class="pginternal">
101</a></td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdr">IX.</td><td> Bob Has a Lively

Fight,</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_116" class="pginternal">
116</a></td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdr">X.</td><td> Bob’s First

Customer,</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_125" class="pginternal">
125</a></td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdr">XI.</td><td> Bob Assists a

Stranger,</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_138" class="pginternal">
138</a></td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdr">XII.</td><td> Bob’s Queer

Experience,</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_148" class="pginternal">
148</a></td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdr">XIII.</td><td> Bob Makes a True

Friend,</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_159" class="pginternal">
159</a></td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdr">XIV.</td><td> Bob Makes a New

Move,</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_170" class="pginternal">
170</a></td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdr">XV.</td><td> Bob Becomes a Travelling

Photographer,</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_178" class="pginternal">
178</a></td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdr">XVI.</td><td> Bob Takes a Dive

Overboard,</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_187" class="pginternal">
187</a></td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdr">XVII.</td><td> Bob Makes a Strange

Capture,</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_195" class="pginternal">
195</a></td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdr">XVIII.</td><td> Bob Shows up a

Swindler,</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_202" class="pginternal">
202</a></td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdr">XIX.</td><td> Bob on the

Road,</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_209" class="pginternal">
209</a></td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdr">XX.</td><td> Bob in the

Woods,</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_217" class="pginternal">
217</a></td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdr">XXI.</td><td> Bob Takes a

Risk,</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_224" class="pginternal">
224</a></td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdr">XXII.</td><td> Bob on the Freight

Train,</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_231" class="pginternal">
231</a>[6]</td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdr">XXIII.</td><td> Bob Forms a

Resolution,</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_238" class="pginternal">
238</a></td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdr">XXIV.</td><td> Bob Sticks up for a

Friend,</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_246" class="pginternal">
246</a></td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdr">XXV.</td><td> Bob and Frank Stand

Together,</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_252" class="pginternal">
252</a></td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdr">XXVI.</td><td> Bob Shows His

Nerve,</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_259" class="pginternal">
259</a></td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdr">XXVII.</td><td> Bob Makes a

Find,</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_267" class="pginternal">
267</a></td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdr">XXVIII.</td><td> Bob Meets Old

Blake,</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_273" class="pginternal">
273</a></td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdr">XXIX.</td><td> Bob Hears Interesting

News,</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_280" class="pginternal">
280</a></td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdr">XXX.</td><td> Bob Learns Something of the

Past,</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_287" class="pginternal">
287</a></td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdr">XXXI.</td><td> Bob Goes it

Alone,</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_295" class="pginternal">
295</a></td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdr">XXXII.</td><td> Bob Becomes a

Prisoner,</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_302" class="pginternal">
302</a></td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdr">XXXIII.</td><td> Bob and His Mother—

Conclusion,</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_313" class="pginternal">
313</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
<div class="chapter">
[7]

<h2 class="nobreak">INTRODUCTION</h2>
</div>

My dear Boys:

“Bob the Photographer” relates the adventures

of a wide-awake lad who suddenly finds
himself thrown out on the world at large to
make his way and earn his own living.

Bob falls in with an amateur photographer,

a “camera fiend,” and becomes so interested in
the art that he resolves to take up photography
for a living. He does so, and his pictures being
good, he obtains a situation with a railroad company,
to make pictures along the line, for use in
the company’s guide books, and for other purposes.
This work leads him into a number of
adventures, in many of which he proves “a hero
in spite of himself.”

My object in writing this tale was twofold.

First, to let boys know how they can get on in
this world, no matter how humble the start, providing
they will do to the best of their ability
whatever their hands find to do. Success is
deserved only when one “pitches in” with a
will, and when one “sticks at it” to the end.

My second object was to let my readers know

something about photography, providing they[8]
have not already mastered the first steps in that
art. During my leisure hours I have taken up
“snap shotting” myself, and have found that,
and the work of developing and printing the
pictures, very interesting. All told, there is no
cleaner or better recreation, nor one better calculated
to make the follower more patient.

Trusting the story will prove to your liking,

I remain,

Affectionately and sincerely yours, 
Arthur M. Winfield.
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
[9]

BOB THE PHOTOGRAPHER

<hr class="tiny">
<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER I 
BOB AND HIS TROUBLES</h2>
</div>

“Bob! I say, Bob! Where is that saw?”

“I left it in the barn, Mr. Carrow.”

“Humph! I don’t believe it. I’ve looked all

over, and I can’t find it.”

“I left it on the peg where it belongs,” returned

the boy, his eyes flashing at the manner
in which he had been addressed.

“I don’t believe a word on it!” growled Joel

Carrow. “You are always leavin’ things layin’
round loose. Go an’ git it, an’ be quick about
it, or you’ll git your hide tanned well, mind
that!”

Bob Alden stood for a moment irresolute, and

then folded his arms and unflinchingly faced
the man before him.

“If the saw isn’t where I put it, I don’t know

where it is,” he said.

“What’s that?” roared the farmer. “Don’t<span class="pagenum"

id="Page_10">[10]
talk back to me! Be off with you, and bring it
quick.”

Still the boy did not budge. Joel Carrow

gazed at him in amazement, then made a rush
and seized the youth by the arm.

“See here, what’s got into you this mornin’?”

he snarled. “Ain’t you a-goin’ to obey me?”

“No, I’m not,” answered Bob, coolly and

firmly.

“You ain’t?” gasped Joel Carrow, scarcely

believing he had heard aright.

It was the first time that Bob had stood up

for himself, and the mean, miserly farmer for
whom he worked could not fully comprehend
the turn of affairs.

“No, I am not,” repeated the youth. “Let

go of my arm.”

“Oh, I’ll let go!” snarled Joel Carrow, in a

rage. “Take that!” and with his disengaged
hand he aimed a blow at Bob’s head. The
youth ducked, and the fist of the farmer came
in sharp and painful contact with a corner of
the pig-sty he was repairing. With a howl of
pain he let go his hold on the boy and placed
his wounded hand to his mouth, and then swung
it in the air. The youth lost no time in retreating
several paces.

“I’ll fix you!” cried Joel Carrow. “You’re a

good-for-nothin’ lazy whelp!”

“Thank you!” returned Bob, with increased<span class="pagenum"

id="Page_11">[11]
coolness. “And you are the meanest man in
the State.”

“Shut up!”

“I won’t. I’ve stood your abuse long enough,

and now I intend to speak my mind. I’ve
worked for you nearly a year now, and in that
time you have treated me worse than a dog.”

“I’ve treated you better’n yer deserve,” muttered

Joel Carrow, not knowing what else to
say.

“You promised to give me ten dollars a

month and my board, and you have never yet
paid me a full month’s wages, always deducting
something for this or that I couldn’t help; and
the food you gave me wasn’t fit for a pig.”

With a snarl Joel Carrow sprang toward Bob.

The youth had told the plain truth, and it was
evident the farmer knew it only too well.

Bob retreated, and his miserly employer followed

him into the barn-yard. He had almost
succeeded in catching the youth, when he tripped
over a pitchfork and fell headlong into a puddle
of water. His face was covered with mud, so
was his blue jean shirt, and he was a sight to
behold.

Bob gazed for a second in silence, and then

burst into a peal of laughter.

“Hold up, till I take a snap shot of you!”

sang out a voice from the fence behind the barn.

Bob looked in the direction, and beheld a<span class="pagenum"

id="Page_12">[12]
young man seated on the top rail of the fence.
The newcomer held a camera on his lap, and the
lens was pointed toward Joel Carrow.

Before the farmer could rise from the puddle,

there was a click, and the amateur photographer
had taken his picture.
Bob gazed with interest at the young man.
He had seen the fellow before, and knew him
to be the son of a wealthy merchant of New
York.

“I was going to take a picture of still life

around the barn,” explained the newcomer.
“But this suits me better.”

“Go on about yer business,” snarled Joel

Carrow.

“What are you chasing that boy for?”

“None o’ yer business, Frank Landes.

Clear out, afore I set the dogs on you!”

“I must say you are in a very amiable mood

this morning, Carrow,” laughed Frank Landes,
without shifting his position.

“Are yer goin’?”

“Not just yet. I saw you try to strike the

boy, and I’m curious to know what it’s all
about.”

“You have no right on my place.”

“That’s true, Carrow, in one way, but not in

another.”

“What do you mean?” returned the farmer,

uneasily.

[13]“I came down to tell you that the

last consignment
of eggs you sent our firm weren’t
strictly fresh, and unless you do better in the
future, Mr. Dale says he will get his eggs elsewhere.”

“Them eggs were strictly fresh when they

left here,” grumbled Joel Carrow.

“That’s not so,” put in Bob. “The eggs

were taken from those we had stored all winter,
and——”

“Shut up!” interrupted the farmer, red with

rage.

“I won’t. I said it wasn’t a fair way to do

when you shipped them.”

“If yer don’t keep quiet, I’ll wring yer

neck!”

Joel Carrow made another dive for the youth.

Bob escaped to the barn, but before he could go
farther the farmer caught him by the collar,
pulled him backward, and threw him down.

“I’ll fix yer!” he foamed, as he caught up a

heavy stick, and hauled back ready to strike
Bob on the head.

“Don’t you dare strike me, Joel Carrow!”

“Yer can’t worry me, Bob Alden. Let this

be a lesson to you.”

Joel Carrow’s hand was about to descend, but

the blow never reached its mark.

“Not so fast!” sang out the voice of Frank

Landes, and the next instant the farmer was[14]
hurled backward, and the stick was wrenched
from his grasp.

Taking advantage of the interruption, Bob

Alden sprang quickly to his feet.

“I owe you one for that,” he said to Frank

Landes.

“No, you don’t,” returned Landes. “If I am

not mistaken, it was you saved me from that
wild bull the day I was taking pictures over in
Sarding’s meadow.”

Bob smiled. He remembered the incident

well, in which he had played the part of a hero.

During this time Joel Carrow was muttering

a number of nasty things under his breath. He
now strode over to where Frank Landes stood,
the stick still in his hand.

“You ain’t got no right ter interfere in this

fashion,” he began, savagely.

“No?” returned Landes, with just the faintest

show of a smile playing around the corners
of his mouth.

“No, yer ain’t. I won’t stand it.”

“What do you propose to do about it?”

“I’ll—I’ll have yer arrested.”

At this even Bob was compelled to laugh.

The laugh enraged the miserly farmer still more,
and his eyes blazed furiously.

“It ain’t no laughin’ matter.”

“You have no right to hit the boy,” returned
Frank Landes, sternly.

[15]“What do you know about it?”

“If I hadn’t stepped in you would have nearly

killed him.”

“He deserves it,” howled Carrow. “He’s the

imp’s own.”

“What’s the row?”

“As I said afore, it’s none o’ your business.”

“He said I hadn’t put the saw where it belonged,”

explained Bob. “I placed it on the
peg in this barn, and just because it wasn’t there,
he told me he was going to tan my hide for
me.”

“And I presume you objected to the tanning

process, eh?”

“I did.”

“I don’t wonder. Carrow, you are a big

brute.”

“What!”

“I’ve said it, and I’ll stick to it. You are a

brute and ought to go to jail.”

“Take care, Landes, I ain’t standin’ everything,”

snarled the farmer.

“Is this boy anything to you?”

“I hired him ter work on the farm, but he

ain’t wuth his salt.”

“He works me half to death,” put in Bob.

“He makes me get up at four o’clock every
morning, Sundays included, and I don’t have
five minutes to myself till it’s time to knock off,
generally nine or ten o’clock at night.”

[16]“I wouldn’t stay if I were you,”

replied Frank
Landes.

“I don’t intend to. I’m going to leave to-day.”

It was a sudden resolution on Bob’s part, but

the youth meant it.

“Leave!” ejaculated Joel Carrow, in sudden

alarm.
“Yes, leave.”

“Yer month ain’t up.”

“I don’t care.”

“I won’t pay yer a cent.”

“I don’t care for that, either. I’m going, and

that’s all there is to it.”

“You ought to pay the boy what is coming

to him,” put in Frank Landes.

“Not a cent,” returned the farmer, decidedly.

“You had better, Carrow. If you don’t, I’ll

help him take his case to the nearest justice and
testify as to how you’ve been treating him.”

“You villain!”

“Softly, sir. You had no more right to hit

that boy than you had to hit me. The best
thing you can do is to settle up with him.”

Joel Carrow breathed hard. He wanted to

say something sharp, to tear somebody to pieces,
but he didn’t dare to make a move, and there
was really nothing to say.

Frank Landes turned to Bob.

“How much does he owe you?” he asked.

[17]“Five dollars on this month, and

three on
last.”

“Then, Carrow, pay the boy eight dollars and

let him go.”

The coolness of the suggestion amazed the

farmer. He stared at the young man and staggered
up against a feed box.

“Pay—him—eight—dollars?” he said, with

painful slowness.

“Either that, or I will take him to the nearest

justice without further delay. You will find
going to law much more expensive.”

Joel Carrow gave a groan. Then he brought

forth a well-worn pocket-book and with trembling
fingers counted out eight greasy bills.

“Now you are acting sensibly,” said Landes,

as Bob took the money. “Will you go with
me?” he asked, turning to the youth.

“Where to?”

“I am bound to Stampton, on a camera tour.

I will pay your way if you care to go.”

“I’ll jump at the chance,” returned Bob,

quickly. “I would like——”

“Joel! Joel Carrow! Where are you?” came

in the shrill voice of the farmer’s wife. “Here
you are leavin’ the pig-sty wide open an’ all the
pigs running into the garden! Mercy sakes!
one of ’em’s in the dairy! Come quick, you big
fool, an’ tend to ’em, or I’ll be out there with a
broom!”

[18]Mrs. Carrow’s angry voice was

coming nearer,
and without stopping to parley longer with the
others, Joel Carrow darted from the barn, and
after the scampering pigs who were scattering
in all directions.

“Now is your chance to get away,” said Frank

Landes, hurriedly. “I presume you have a better
suit of clothes than that.”

Bob shook his head.

“This is my best and only one.”

“And your shoes?”

“The same, and also the hat. But I have a

few things up in my room,” and running up the
ladder to the part of the loft called his room Bob
soon reappeared with a small bundle tied up in
a piece of old table oil-cloth.

“Here are all my duds,” he laughed. “Ain’t

quite a trunk full, is it? Now I’m ready to——”

A wild cry from outside reached their ears,

and both ran to the door-way and then out into
the barn-yard.

“By Jove! that’s rich!” cried Frank Landes.

“I must take another picture by all means!”

He hurried for his camera, and meanwhile

Bob stood by the corn-crib laughing merrily.

Joel Carrow and his wife had cornered two of

the frisky porkers and were doing their best to
catch them. The pigs began to squeal, and
suddenly one of them darted under Mrs. Carrow’s
foot just as she raised it to step out of the[19]
way. She fell down, and Joel Carrow went with
her, while both pigs flew over a log and went
crashing into the glass top of a hothouse bed.

The farmer rose up and went after the pigs.

He was so mad he did not notice the hot-bed
frame, and before he knew what he was doing,
he, too, was smashing glass at the rate of a
dozen panes a second.

“Joel! you good-for-nothing man!” shrieked

Mrs. Carrow. “Come out o’ thet!”

Mrs. Carrow arose, madder than a hornet.

Near at hand was a broom, and, picking it up,
she went after her husband.

“We had better get out before they see us,”

said Bob. “I’ve got my fill of the place.”

“Come on, then.”

Frank Landes leaped the fence and Bob

quickly followed. In a few minutes the two
were on a country road and out of sight of the
Carrow farm.

As they walked along the two became thoroughly

acquainted. There was something in
Bob Alden’s composition that pleased Frank
Landes, and he became thoroughly interested
in the youth.

“And you say you are an orphan, Bob?” he

said.

“So far as I know,” returned the youth.

“Old Thompson, of Windham, brought me up,
and he said he never knew where I came from.”

[20]“Where did he get you?”

“He never told me. I intended to ask him

once, but before I could get the chance he was
killed over to the flour mill. Then I had to
shift for myself, for his relatives came in and
cleared out the house and wouldn’t have nothing
to do with me.”

“That was hard luck.”

“It wasn’t as hard as falling in with Joel Carrow,”

answered Bob. “Gee Christopher! but
he was a hard one to get along with. If I had
stayed there another month I would have committed
suicide.”
“Well, as I said before, I will take you to
Stampton with me if you wish to go, and I’ll
pay expenses on the way. But what will you
do when you get there?”

“I don’t know.”

“Finding work is no easy job in a city.”

“I reckon I’ll fall on my feet. I generally

do. I would like to learn to take pictures,” concluded
the boy.

More talk followed, and they hurried along

until it was past noon.

“About dinner-time,” said Frank Landes,

consulting his watch. “Let us see if we
can’t get dinner at that farm-house just beyond.”

They walked to the farm-house, and, after

some talk, the farmer’s wife agreed to furnish[21]
them with a meal for twenty cents each—a price
which Landes promptly paid.

“By jinks! this is what I call a spread,” cried

Bob, as he surveyed the fairly well-filled table.
“I never struck such a table at Carrow’s.”

“Well, fill up, Bob,” laughed Landes. “The

price is the same.”

And Bob did fill up, much to the amusement

of the woman who had served the meal, a fat,
jolly person.

After the meal Landes lit a cigar and sat

down on the stoop to enjoy it. He offered Bob
one, but the youth shook his head and munched
an apple instead.

The cigar finished, Frank Landes arose and

stretched himself.

“Well, Bob, we might as well be on our way.”

“I’m ready whenever you are, Mr. Landes.”

Landes took up his camera and satchel, and

Bob his bundle, and both started on again.
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
[22]

<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER II

BOB AT THE CLIFF</h2>

</div>

Toward the middle of the afternoon, Bob and

Frank Landes came to a picturesque mountain
stream, flanked on one side by sloping hills and
on the other by a jagged cliff fifty or sixty feet
in height.

“I want to get one or two views here,” said

Frank Landes. “Let us get over the stream
and under the cliff.”

They crossed the bridge and walked along

the base of the cliff for a distance of several
hundred feet.

“Now straighten out that tripod and I’ll put

some plates in the camera,” went on the young
man.

He had explained the workings of the different

parts of his instrument to Bob, and the
youth lost no time in complying with his request.

The tripod was set up, and the young man

was just about to place the camera upon it, when
there came a terrible scream from overhead.

“What’s up?” queried Frank Landes.

[23]“My gracious!” burst out Bob.

“Look
there!”

The young man looked to the spot indicated.

The sight presented was enough to chill the

blood of both. A young girl had fallen over
the edge of the cliff, and now hung suspended
in mid-air, her dress caught in some scraggy
rocks and bushes.

“She’ll be killed!” ejaculated Frank Landes.

“We must save her!” returned Bob. “I wonder

if I can’t climb up to her and keep her from
falling.”

“Help! help!” cried the girl, in tones of

deepest agony, as she caught hold of one of the
bushes with her right hand.

“Hold fast till I climb up to you!” shouted

Bob.

He caught up the tripod and began to ascend

the face of the cliff as best he could.

“What are you going to do?” asked Frank

Landes.

“Save the girl,” returned Bob, resolutely.

In a few minutes the fearless youth had

reached a ledge some ten feet below the spot
where the girl hung. He tried to go up higher,
but found it was impossible to do so.

“Oh, help me! Help me, please!” cried the

girl, as soon as she caught sight of Bob.

“I will,” he said.

Taking the tripod he braced it as firmly as he<span class="pagenum"

id="Page_24">[24]
could on the ledge upon which he was standing.
Then, by the aid of some bushes he managed to
balance himself upon the top.

By reaching out he could now grasp the girl’s

arm.

“Let go and I will land you safely on the

ledge,” said Bob.

“I am afraid. The fall has made me

dizzy,” cried the girl. “Besides, my dress is
caught.”

“Then wait till I crawl up a little higher.”

Bob had hardly spoken when there was a sudden

crack. One of the legs of the tripod had
broken, and with a wild cry, the boy lost his balance
and went over the ledge!

Frank Landes gave a cry of horror, and the

girl above a shrill shriek of added fear.

As Bob plunged over the ledge, he threw out

both of his hands, and one of them caught in
some of the bushes growing below.

The bushes were torn from their roots, but

Bob’s progress downward was somewhat stayed,
and, when his other hand caught a bit of projecting
rock, he held fast.

“Hold hard!” shouted Landes. “I forgot,

I’ve got a bit of rope with me.”

He clambered up the cliff until he reached

the ledge. Then he lowered one end of the
rope and Bob grasped it.

“Can you pull me up?” asked the youth.

[25]“I can, if you will help by
holding on to the
bushes,” returned Landes.

He began to pull up slowly and with great

care, and soon Bob’s hands grasped the edge of
the ledge, and he drew himself up to a place of
safety.

In the mean time the girl above was growing

weaker, and she gave a low moan.

“I can’t hold on any longer,” she gasped.

“My head is awfully dizzy.”

“Hold for just a minute longer,” shouted

Bob. “Frank, let me climb up on your shoulders.”

Landes agreed. In an instant Bob was up

on the young man’s shoulders. By this time
the bushes to which the girl clung had partly
loosened themselves, and the girl now hung
within reach of Bob’s sturdy arms.

“Steady below!” he shouted to Landes.

“Now, hold out your hand and jump. You
will come down all right,” he added to the fair
one.

The girl hesitated, but after one look into

Bob’s truthful eyes, she grew confident, and,
letting go her hold, allowed herself to drop into
his outstretched arms.

Landes collapsed under the combined weight.

But Bob expected this, and, as he and the girl
came down, he took good care that neither
should go over the edge of the ledge.

[26]“Oh, thank you for that!” cried

the girl, and
with these words she fainted in Bob’s arms.

“Why it’s Grace Maverick,” cried Frank

Landes, in intense surprise.

“And who is she?” queried Bob, gazing at

the beautiful form in rather a helpless way.

“She is the daughter of Gregory Maverick,

the president of the T. W. & L. Railroad which
runs through Stampton.”

“Well, what shall I do now?” queried Bob,

more awed than ever, now he knew who his fair
burden was.

“Let me help you down to the brook with

her,” replied Landes. “Come this way, there is
quite a good path.”

Between them they carried the girl from the

narrow ledge to a grassy slope at the base of the
cliff. Then Bob took off his cap, filled it with
water, and dashed some of it into Grace Maverick’s
face.

With something like a gasp the girl came to

her senses. She gazed around for a moment,
and then sat up.

“Where—where am I?” she stammered, in

bewilderment.

“You are safe, Miss Maverick,” returned

Frank Landes, politely.

“Oh, Mr. Landes, is it you? I remember it

all! And where is the boy who saved me?”

“Here he is. His name is Bob Alden.”

[27]Landes turned to the youth, and

Bob shuffled
forward, blushing furiously. Grace Maverick
grasped his hands within her own.

“Oh, how can I thank you!” she cried, impulsively.

“If it hadn’t been for you, I would have
been killed.”

“Mr. Landes did his share,” said Bob, generously.

“Nonsense,” put in Frank. “Bob is the

hero.”

“I am thankful to both,” said the girl.

“Where are the others?”

“What others?”

“My friends. There were four of us on the

cliff, and a savage dog scared us. I ran near
the edge, and stumbled.”

“I’ll go up and look for your friends,” said

Landes, and, without waiting, he made off.

“And your name is Bob Alden?” questioned

Grace Maverick.

Bob nodded.

“Mine is Grace Maverick. I am awfully glad

to know you. Do you belong around here?”

“I don’t belong anywhere just now.”

“Why, what do you mean?”

“I worked for a farmer over in Shellville, but

he treated me so meanly I left. I am bound for
Stampton.”

“To get work?”

“If I can.”

[28]“Well, when you get there you must

call on
me. Mr. Landes will tell you where I live.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t forget. I want my papa to see you.

He says he likes to see heroes, and you are
one.”

“No, I’m not! I’m only a plain country boy,”

said Bob. “Anybody could do what I did.”

“Perhaps they could, but they wouldn’t all

have the nerve to try. Oh, here comes Mr.
Landes now, and he has found my teacher!”

Frank now returned with an elderly lady, who

at once proceeded to take Grace in charge,
scolding her for going so close to the edge of
the cliff.

“Here is the young man who saved me,” said

Grace, pointing to Bob.

The elderly teacher gave the youth one stare,

and then shrugged her shoulders.

“You must have nothing to do with such

common people, Grace,” she said, lowly, but
still loud enough for Bob to hear. “Come with
me at once.”

“He is a noble boy,” protested the girl.

“Good-bye, Bob Alden, I shall expect to see you
in Stampton. Good-bye, Mr. Landes.”

The teacher hurried Grace away. Bob and

Frank both tipped their caps, and then the
youth turned to the young man.

“Christopher! Isn’t the old lady a sour one?”

[29]“Rather,” returned Frank. “But,

Bob, you’re
in luck.”

“How so?”
“It’s a good stroke for you,” went on Frank.
“It ought to be worth a good deal to you.”

“What ought?”

“Saving Grace’s life. Such a thing isn’t done

every day.”

“Pooh! You’re as bad as she was.”

“Why, what did she say?”

Bob told him. Frank caught his hand. “Let

me congratulate you. You’re all right.”

“Give it to me plainer, please.”

“Can’t you see? You call on Grace. See

old Maverick. He takes an interest in you and
rewards you handsomely.”

“But he won’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I won’t call.”

Frank stared at Bob in amazement.

“Won’t call?” he gasped.

“That’s it. I’d feel worse than a cat in a

strange garret. I’m not used to high-toned society.”

“But look what it might be worth to you.”

“I don’t want anything for doing a nice girl

like her a little service.”

“Well you’re the queerest!”

“Maybe I am. But, say, I’m downright sorry

I broke the three-legged thing.”

[30]“Don’t bother your head about

that. It’s
worth a dozen tripods to be a hero.”

“If you don’t shut down on that talk, I’ll leave

you at once,” burst out Bob. “I’m not a hero,
never was, and am not likely to be. Here’s a bit
of strong string. Let me see if I can’t splice
the broken leg of your machine.”

Frank said no more, and, sitting down, Bob

took the tripod and speedily mended the split
leg.

This done, the two proceeded to take several

pictures of the spot, including one of the place
where the thrilling scene recorded had occurred.

“I’ll give you a copy of it,” said Frank.

“And perhaps I’ll send one to Miss Maverick.”

Bob was very much interested in the taking

of the pictures, and asked innumerable questions.

“We’ll stop at Fitt’s Half-way House to-night,”

said Frank. “And then I’ll show you
how to develop the plates. You have to do it
in a dark room.”

“How can you see to show me, then?” asked

Bob, and Frank laughed.

“We use a red light,” said the young man.

“It is the only light that doesn’t affect the
plates.”

“Do you know, I would like to become a

photographer,” burst out Bob. “It must be an
interesting business.”

[31]“It is, especially outdoor work.

Gallery
work, though, is rather confining.”

“I would like to become a travelling photographer,

taking houses and so, for people.
Couldn’t a fellow make money that way?”

“I should think so, if he went at it the right

way.”

After this, Bob was silent for a long while.

He was revolving a great number of things in
his mind. He loved to travel about, and the
idea of combining business with pleasure just
suited him. Besides, he was of an artistic turn,
and pictures pleased him.

“Yes, I’ll become a photographer,” he said to

himself. “And I’ll travel around, and not only
try to make money, but also see if I can’t find
out who I am, and where I came from. I won’t
be Bob Alden, the nobody, any longer.”

At about sunset the two came to Fitt’s half-way

road-house, an old-fashioned hotel. Half a
dozen wagons were tied up beneath the shed,
and the dining-room and parlor were both comfortably
filled.

They met the proprietor of the place in the

hall, and Frank at once made arrangements for
a room for both with supper and breakfast.
Their traps were taken up, and both took a
wash and a brushing up previous to entering
the dining-room.

“Did you see that dark-looking fellow standing<span class="pagenum"

id="Page_32">[32]
by the door of the office?” questioned
Frank, as they were arranging their toilet.

“The chap with the cut on his left cheek?”

“Yes. He is an enemy of mine, and I’m

sorry he is here.”

“How is he your enemy?” asked Bob, with

interest, for he could not understand how so
good-hearted a person as Frank Landes could
have an enemy.

“He used to work for our firm, and I once

detected him in wrong-doing. I exposed him,
and he was discharged. He promised to get
square, and I know he will try to keep his
word.”

“What is his name?”

“James Casco. He has Spanish blood in

him, and is a bad man when in a temper.”

“We’ll both keep our eyes open for him,” returned

Bob. “If he tries any underhand work,
and I catch him at it, I’ll—I’ll pulverize him.”

“Really!” laughed Frank.

“I will. I always stick up for my friends,

and you’re the first friend I’ve struck in a long
time. So let Casco keep his distance.”
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
[33]

<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER III

BOB AT THE HALF-WAY HOUSE</h2>

</div>

When Bob and Frank Landes entered the

dining-room and looked around at the guests
present, they saw nothing of James Casco.

“Most likely in the bar-room,” said Frank.

“He is a pretty heavy drinker.”

They did full justice to the spread, and then

the young man lit a cigar, and Bob followed him
out on a side piazza, which was almost deserted.
Frank had hardly seated himself, when a door
at the end of the piazza opened, and James
Casco came out.

The scar-faced fellow had been drinking freely,

and the habitual scowl upon his face was deeper
than ever.

“So you are here, eh?” he said, abruptly.

Frank stared at him.

“Did you address me?” he demanded, coolly.

“I did, and you know it. What do you mean

by following me?”

“I was not aware I was following you.”

“It’s false!” cried Casco. “You’ve been following

me all the way from New York.”

The young man jumped to his feet.

[34]“See here, Casco, I want you to

shut up. I
have not been following you, and I am not in
the habit of being addressed as you have addressed
me. The quicker you get out of here
the better.”

“Humph! So you fancy you can bluff me?”

sneered the scar-faced man.

“It’s no bluff, I want you to take back what

you said.”

“Take back nothing, Landes. You are a

sneak—and worse, and——”

Casco did not finish. Drawing back, Frank

left out with his right hand and Casco received
a slap on the cheek that sent him staggering.

“The next time you address a gentleman be

careful what you say.”

With a howl of pain and rage, Casco gathered

himself together.

Bob looked on with keen interest. Frank

seemed to be well able to take his own part, and
so the youth saw no reason to interfere.

Muttering something under his breath, Casco

now sprang to the edge of the piazza and looked
around. No one appeared in sight. Bob was
standing in a deep shadow, and in his rage the
scar-faced man did not notice him.
Suddenly Casco put his hand into his pocket
and drew forth a short club. It made Bob start.

“I’ll see how you like that, Landes,” cried

Casco. “Here you are!”

[35]Jumping forward, Casco attempted

to hit
Frank Landes on the head, but before the club
could descend, Bob rushed forward and hauled
Casco back.

“Better call the landlord,” he said to Frank.

“This man ought to be arrested.”

“Never!” muttered Casco. “Let me go, or

I will strike you!”

Casco began to struggle, and Frank Landes

jumped in to help Bob. They had just succeeded
in disarming the scar-faced man, when
Casco uttered a peculiar whistle.

“What does that mean?” queried Bob.

“I don’t know,” muttered his companion.

“Get up,” he said to their prisoner.

Casco had hardly arisen, when two men rushed

around the corner of the hotel. Each wore a
slouch hat, and in the darkness nothing could
be seen of their faces.

“Help me!” cried Casco. “We must get

away from here.”

“But the plan, Jim, that——” began one of

the men.

“It’s all up,” muttered Casco. “Quick, help

me.”

Both of the new arrivals at once fell upon Bob

and Frank. The youth and the young man
fought well, but they could not overcome the
other three, and by the time the landlord and a
number of his guests arrived the two had Casco[36]
free, and then the three assailants made off in
the darkness, Casco carrying his short club
with him.

“What’s the trouble?” demanded Fitt, the

keeper of the road-house.

Frank and Bob related their story. All

crowded around, and listened with deep interest.
“I thought that chap was up to no good,”
said Fitt. “I took him to be a gambler.”

“He does play cards,” said Frank. “Do you

know those other men?”

Fitt shook his head.

“The three of them landed here this afternoon,”

he said. “They hired a front room, but
brought no baggage. I told ’em they would
have to pay in advance, and this Casco pulled
out a fat roll of bills and settled on the spot.
The roll of bills and his general way made me
suspicious of him.”

“I wonder where he got the money?” mused

the young man. “When he was discharged
from our house, he was compelled to make up a
deficiency in his accounts, and he then claimed
he was without a dollar.”

“Maybe he didn’t give it all back, or else stole

some since,” ventured Bob. “He looks thoroughly
bad.”

“You may be right.”

“Shall we go after the rascals?” asked Fitt.

“All three ought to be in the lock-up.”

[37]“I don’t know which way they

went,” returned
Frank. “Do you, Bob?”

“I thought they cut around the back. Is

there a road in that direction?”

“Yes, Martin’s lane comes through, and meets

the road alongside the railroad track,” answered
the hotel-keeper.

“Then perhaps they took that road,” suggested

Bob. “If you say the word, Frank, we’ll
go after them.”

“Couldn’t find ’em in the dark,” said Fitt,

who was too scared to venture on such a quest.

“I’ve got pretty good eyes,” laughed the

youth.

A hurried consultation was held, and Frank

and Bob started off alone, Bob carrying a revolver
Fitt had loaned him, Frank being supplied
with a weapon of his own.

On the two went until Bob came to a sudden

halt, and plucked Frank by the sleeve.
“Hush!” whispered the youth.

“What did you see?” came in a low tone.

“Do you see that stack of hay over yonder?”

“Yes.”

“I’m pretty sure I just saw a man dodge behind

it.”

“Only one?”

“Yes. But the whole three may be there.

Wait here for a few minutes.”

“What do you intend to do?”

[38]“Go back a short distance and jump

the fence.
There is a ditch there, and I think I can crawl
along and get on the other side of that hay-stack.”

“Hadn’t I better go along?”

“No; you watch out on the road. They may

make a dash, and then you will have to go after
them. My idea is to see if they are there without
letting them discover me.”

“And if they are?”

“Then I’ll give you a signal—a whip-poor-will

cry—and you can hurry off for help, and we can
capture them. Understand?”

“Yes, but the danger——” protested Frank.

“I don’t mind it. Now, I’ll be off. Watch

the hay-stack, and listen for the whip-poor-will
cry.”

And with these words, Bob slipped into the

shadow of some near-by bushes, leaving Frank
standing by a tree in the lane, alone.

Frank stood perfectly still for several minutes

and then moved silently toward a stone near the
fence, intending to rest until he should hear
from Bob in one way or another.

Having seated himself the young man drew

out his pistol, and examined it to make sure
that it was in proper condition for use.

It was then that he made a discovery which

caused him to utter a low cry of dismay.
The weapon was empty.

[39]“That’s a fine state of affairs,”

he muttered
to himself. “And the cartridge box in my
satchel, too. I ought to be kicked for not
looking at the pistol before we left the hotel.”

Frank was thoroughly put out, but this did

no good, and, with something of a sigh, he restored
the useless fire-arm to his pocket.

“I ought to have something,” he went on.

“I wonder if I couldn’t cut a stick somewhere
in the bushes.”

He arose once more, and getting out his

pocket-knife proceeded to cut a sapling,
which he quickly reduced to quite a respectable
club having several hard knobs at one
end.

“There, I reckon if a fellow got that on the

head it would make him see stars,” thought
Frank. “It isn’t as good as a loaded pistol, but
it’s better than nothing.”

Quarter of an hour passed, and still he heard

or saw nothing of Bob.

“He’s making slow work of it,” soliloquized

the young man. “I presume he wants to make
sure and not walk into any trap. Dear me, but
this is lonely, and I half wish I was back at the
hotel.”

Another quarter of an hour passed, and Frank

arose to walk to a spot several yards away, and
thus obtain a different view of the hay-stack,[40]
which was all of two hundred feet back in the
meadow lot.

Scarcely had he walked a rod when a shadow

crossed his shoulder.

He wheeled about to see what was there, but

no one was in sight.

What did it mean? Had a night bird swept

near, or had he merely imagined the shadow
there?

He grasped the club a little tighter, and listened

with strained ears. A faint crackling
sound reached him, coming from a distance but
a few feet away.

Again he swung around. A form leaped directly

before him, the form of James Casco.

“Casco!”

“You are right, Landes. So you are following

me again.”

“I am following this time, yes. Stop where

you are.”

“What do you mean?”

“Move another step, and you will be sorry for

it.”

And Frank drew his empty pistol, and pointed

it.

Casco was somewhat dismayed, but only for a

second. Then he rushed at Frank.

At the same instant came a whip-poor-will

cry. In the excitement, however, the young
man did not notice it.

[41]Casco rushed in, and knocked up

Frank’s
weapon, at the same time uttering the same
whistle he had used on the hotel piazza.

Knowing that this was a call for help, Frank

tried to run away. Casco promptly tripped him
up and then came down on the young man.

“Do you give in?” he demanded.

“No,” returned Frank, firmly.

Without ado the scar-faced man brought

down his club upon Frank’s head. It was a
vicious blow, well directed, and with a groan
the young man fell back insensible.

“He’ll not worry me again, I reckon,” muttered

Casco, as he surveyed the inanimate form
before him. “I suppose I might as well go
through him now I have the chance. By Jove,
this is starting on the new career for certain!
No backing out after this.”

Casco bent over Frank’s form, and began a

rapid search of his victim’s pockets. He brought
to light a roll of bills amounting to seventy dollars,
a number of letters and documents, and
several things of less importance.

“A pretty good haul,” muttered the thief.

Just then the bushes parted, and one of the

men wearing a slouch hat came over the fence.

“Where are you, Casco?”

“Here, Barker, I’ve knocked him out.”

“Him? Who?”

“The fellow I had a row with at the hotel. I<span class="pagenum"

id="Page_42">[42]
felt certain he must be somewhere around
here.”

“Humph! You seem to have a grudge against

him.”

“I have. It was he exposed me in New

York. I might have had that snap yet if it
hadn’t been for him.”

The man called Barker chuckled, as if what

he had been told was a joke.

“What was his pockets worth?”

“Not much. A handful of change and these

letters.”

“What will you do with him?”

“Throw him in the ditch, behind the bushes.

They won’t find him so easily.”

“All right.”

The two caught up the limp body, and, taking

it to the ditch, threw it in.

In the mean time Bob had crawled along the

ditch to a point almost directly behind the hay-stack.
It was so dark here that he could see
but little, but his ears were on the alert and, by
listening intently, he made out the faint murmur
of voices.

He could not make out what was said, and,

after waiting for several minutes, he ventured a
couple of yards closer.

Then he beheld the two men in slouch hats

in low but earnest conversation. Casco was nowhere
to be seen.

[43]Making sure that he was not

discovered, Bob
drew still closer to learn, if possible, what had
become of the scar-faced man.

“Well, Grogan, what do you think of Casco’s

plan?” he heard one of the men say.

“Sure, an’ Oi think it purty bould, Barker,”

replied Grogan, who was undoubtedly an Irishman.
“’Tis a foine way to make money widout
workin’.”

“It’s not so fine if you get caught,” replied

Barker. “To my mind it’s rather risky.”

“Sure, an’ how could it be? If Casco gits in

wid the——”

“Hush! What’s that?”

Barker sprang up from his bed on the hay.

“Phat did yez hear?” demanded Grogan, in

alarm.

“I heard some kind of a noise.”

“Perhaps ’tis Casco comin’ back.”

Barker looked around, and Bob did his best

to keep out of sight. His foot had struck a dry
stick, which had snapped in two, making quite
a loud report.

The two men went on talking, but Bob caught

only a few words to the effect that inside of a
week Casco would have some plan ready in all
its details.

“They are up to no good,” thought Bob. “I

think their talk means robbery on a large scale
and nothing else.”

[44]Presently from the road came a

sharp whistle.
Barker again jumped up.

“It’s a signal from Casco,” he said. “Something

is wrong. Look around here, while I go
and see what it is.”

He hurried off. Grogan sprang up a moment

later, and almost immediately sighted Bob
lying in the long grass.

“Who be yez?” he demanded, pouncing upon

the youth.

Bob at once gave his whip-poor-will signal to

warn Frank.

“Stand where you are, you rascal,” he said to

Grogan.
“Bad cess to yez!” cried the Irishman. “Do
yez think Oi’m to be overpowered by a b’y?
Indade not.”

He rushed at Bob, and a desperate struggle

ensued.
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
[45]

<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER IV

BOB IS LEFT TO HIS FATE</h2>

</div>

Bob was strong for his age, but his strength
was nothing compared with that of Mike Grogan,
who now faced the intrepid youth.

The Irishman was every inch of six feet in

height, and, as he towered in front of Bob, it
looked as if he would crush the boy.

As he closed in he struck out at Bob several

times, but the youth ducked and dodged and
not a blow took effect.

Then the Irishman tried new tactics. He

pretended to run, and, when Bob followed, he
turned swiftly and caught the youth by the
waist.

“Now I have yez!” cried Grogan. “How

do ye loike that, me b’y?”

He threw Bob on the ground, and kicked

him heavily in the side. The youth attempted
to scramble up, but the Irishman kicked him
again, and then Bob was glad enough to lie still.

“’Tis the same b’y we met at Fitt’s hotel,”

muttered Grogan, as he looked closer at Bob.
“Phat brought yez here?” he demanded.

“That’s my business,” returned Bob, with a<span class="pagenum"

id="Page_46">[46]
gasp. Besides bruising him severely, the kicks
had taken all the wind out of him.

“Is it?” said Grogan, sarcastically. “Mebbe

Oi’ll make it moine, too. Lie where yez are,
onless yez would rather be kicked to death.”

“What do you propose to do with me?” demanded

Bob.

“Yez will see when the toime comes.”

“You have no right to keep me here.”

Grogan gave a chuckle.

“’Tis not the loikes of you to be tellin’

me phat Oi kin do, moind that. Phat’s yer
name?”

“Bob Alden. Does that make you feel any

better?”

“Do yez belong up to the hotel?”

“No.”

“Yez got yerself into a foine pickle whin yez

put up against me an’ the others.”

“You had no right to attack my friend,” returned

Bob, warmly. “It’s a pity we didn’t
capture you then and there.”

“Shut up! Oi want no more from ye.”

Grogan began to get angry, and, seeing he

could gain nothing by keeping up the conversation,
Bob became silent.

The youth wondered what had become of

Frank Landes. Had he fallen into the hands
of Casco or Barker?

“It looks like it,” thought Bob. “I wish I<span class="pagenum"

id="Page_47">[47]
could get away from this chap, and find out for
certain.”

He looked up at Grogan, who still stood over

him, smoking a short clay pipe and glaring
down at him. The Irishman seemed to read
his thought.

“Yez can’t git away, and yez had better not

troy,” he said, savagely.

“Go for him, Bill!” exclaimed Bob, to an

imaginary person behind Grogan.

The ruse worked well. Mike Grogan turned,

with a startled air, to confront the person he
supposed was about to attack him. On the instant
Bob jumped to his feet. His side felt fearfully
sore, but to this he paid no attention.

“Shtop!” roared Grogan, as soon as he realized

that he had been imposed upon.

But instead of stopping, Bob dashed for the

fence which lined the lane. Grogan came after
him at the top of his speed. But the boy was
the better runner of the two, and he reached
the fence fully twenty feet ahead of the Irishman.

Bob vaulted over with a single bound. His

intention was to run up the lane and join Frank,
if possible.

But as he went over the fence his hopes were

crushed before his feet touched the ground on
the other side. He fell plump into the hands of
Casco and Barker, who were just returning[48]
from casting Landes into the ditch some distance
away.

“Ha! who’s this?” cried Casco. “That boy,

as I live!”

“What boy?” asked Barker.

“Landes’ friend. Catch him!”

Barker caught Bob by one arm, and, running

up, the scar-faced man caught him by the
other. Bob tried to break away, but found
it useless.

“Hold him tight, Barker. I’ll bind his hands

behind him.”

“What for?”

“I have reasons. Hold him. That’s it.”

Casco produced a bit of strong cord, and with

it bound Bob’s hands together tightly.

“Now come along, and don’t make any

noise,” he said to the youth.

“Where to?”

“To that hay-stack over there.”

“I won’t go. What have you been doing out

here on the road?”

“Nothing,” returned Casco, in pretended surprise,

and he pinched Barker’s arm to make his
companion keep silent.

Bob was about to question them concerning

Frank. But he thought it possible Landes had
gotten away, and such questions might spoil
any chance of rescue as well as the capture of
the trio.

[49]Seeing he could not help himself,

Bob at last
went over the fence, and with Casco on one side
and Barker on the other marched to the hay-stack,
Grogan bringing up the rear, with a club
in hand, ready to strike at the first sign of
rebellion.

“Now we will sift this matter to the bottom,”

said Casco, as he came to a halt. “You are
Frank Landes’ friend, are you not?”

“I am,” returned Bob.

“What has become of Landes?”

And Casco poked Barker in the ribs on the

sly.

“I don’t know.”

“Was he with you?”

“That is my affair.”

“Answer me.”

Bob remained silent. Casco pretended to get

very angry, but at last simmered down.

“He sez his name is Bob Alden,” put in

Grogan.

“What’s that!” demanded Barker, in intense

surprise.

Bob looked at him, and saw that the man was

very pale, and evidently under strong excitement.

“Is your name Bob Alden?” he demanded,

facing the youth.

“It is.”

“Did you use to live with old Thompson?”

[50]“I did. But I don’t remember you,”

returned
Bob, growing interested.

“I suppose not. Where have you been since

Thompson died?”

“I lived with a farmer named Joel Carrow.”

“What are you doing now?”

“Answering questions,” returned the youth,

with a faint smile.
“I want none of your jokes,” growled Barker.
“Do you work for a living?”

“I expect to, just as soon as I can get a job.”

“Are you on the road?”

“I’m walking to Stampton, if that’s what you

mean.”

“Humph!”

“How did you fall in with Landes?” put in

James Casco.

“He took my part when Carrow wanted to

whip me, and I’m helping him take pictures in
return for my board on the road.”

The men ceased asking questions, and Casco

and Barker walked a short distance away, leaving
Grogan on guard.

“It’s a surprise, and no mistake,” said Barker,

in a low tone. “I was sure the boy had gone
West. Thompson’s relatives said so.”

“Is the old matter settled up?” questioned

the scar-faced man.

“Almost. But there might be more money

in it,” mused Barker. “Say, I have a plan.”

[51]“What is it?”

“I wonder if we could get the boy to join

us?”

“Not likely.”

“Why not? The promise of big money

might fetch him.”

“He looks too honest. Still, you might

sound him. Only if he refuses, what then?
You won’t dare to let him go.”

“I won’t give him much information till I am

sure of him,” rejoined Barker.

Bob could not make out what the two men

said, but from their actions he felt certain they
were conversing about him.

“Say, boy!” demanded Barker, coming up.

“Have you any offer of work at Stampton when
you reach there?”

“No.”
“You’ll find it mighty hard getting a job.”

“Perhaps I will. But that’s none of your

affair.”

“Don’t get saucy. I thought, perhaps, you

might like to leave Landes and join us.”

“What at?”

“A little private business we’re working.”

“Does it pay?”

“You bet it does.”

“Do you work hard?”

“Not at all.”

“Then I’m afraid it wouldn’t suit me. I’ve<span class="pagenum"

id="Page_52">[52]
been used to hard work, and, if I knocked off,
it might hurt me.”

Barker was enraged at this cool reply, and he

would have struck Bob in the head had not
Casco held him back.

“I told you how it would be,” said the scar-faced

man. “He is too particular for this
crowd.”

“Maybe not,” said Bob, who was anxious to

learn what were the plans of the gang. “Tell
me the work, and I may join.”

“Can you keep your mouth shut?” asked

Casco.

“I can when I have to.”

“We are going to get rich by a bold move,”

said Barker. “We intend to make twenty
thousand dollars in one night, and——”

“Barker, don’t be a fool!” cried Casco,

angrily.

“’Tis bad to tell the b’y that,” grumbled

Grogan.

“I know what I’m doing,” returned Barker.

“Will you help us make it?”

“You intend to rob somebody, eh?” said

Bob, with flashing eyes.
“We intend to get twenty thousand dollars.
Will you join us, and take your share?”

“No. I am not a thief.”

“That may be. But your father would have

jumped at the chance,” returned Barker, coolly.

[53]“My father? Did you know my

father?”
cried Bob, in astonishment.

“I did. He and I were old friends.”

“Tell me about him. Where is he?”

“Dead, long ago.”

“And my mother?”

“Dead also.”

Bob took a long breath. Was this man telling

the truth?

“And you say my father would have jumped

at a chance like this?” he said, slowly.

“Yes. He and I worked many a little game

together, and never got caught, either. You had
better join us, and I will show you all the ropes.
It beats working hard all to bits.”

“You are an infernal scamp!” burst out Bob.

“Tell me my father was a thief? If I were
loose I would—would—pulverize you. If you
knew my father at all, it must have been at some
time when he found you out and exposed you.”

Barker drew back as if shot. Evidently Bob’s

last remark had struck home. He breathed
hard, and glared at the youth.

“You don’t know when you’re well off,” he

cried. “I offer you the best possible chance to
make money, and you refuse.”

“I never trained with thieves,” returned Bob,

stoutly.

“Oi’ll fix yez fer that!” cried Grogan. “B’ys,

Oi have a plan!” he said to the others.

[54]“Shove him into the hay-stack,”

cried Barker.
“He’s as stubborn as his father was,” he added,
in a lower tone. “I’ll fix him later.”

The three caught up the youth, and shoved

him into an opening on one side of the stack.

“Come on,” Barker cried to the others. “We

have just about time to do that other work, and
get away before morning.”

The three villains hurried from the scene,

leaving Bob to his fate.

They had gone but a few minutes, when the

boy smelt smoke. He looked around. Grogan
had knocked out his pipe, and the burning tobacco
had set fire to the hay directly behind
him!
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
[55]

<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER V

BOB MAKES HIS ESCAPE</h2>

</div>

For the moment Bob could not realize his

awful peril, but when he saw the tiny flame feeding
on the loose hay, and creeping steadily
toward him, he gave a cry of horror.

The flame became stronger each instant, and

as it grew it advanced with increased rapidity.

“I will be burned alive!” groaned the youth.

He tried to roll from the place in which he

had been shoved, but Barker had tied him to a
pole in the centre of the hay-stack, and he found
it impossible to free himself.

“Help! help!” he cried.

No answer came back to his appeal. The

spot was out of sight of any house, and it was
more than likely that the fire would be well
under way before being discovered by any outsider.

“If only Frank would come,” thought Bob.

“He ought to be somewhere about.”

Little did the youth dream that his friend

was at that moment lying at the bottom of the
ditch. The blow upon Frank’s head had been
a severe one, and when Barker and Casco left[56]
him they expected he would not very soon recover.

The flames near the stack were now mounting

higher, and suddenly a puff of wind carried
them directly toward Bob, and the youth was
almost immediately surrounded by fire.

“I’m a goner now!” moaned Bob.

The fire ate its way swiftly toward the youth’s

back—it touched his hands—and he shrieked
with pain.

The smoke was thick, and it not only blinded

him, but choked him as well.

Bob was almost overcome when the wind

shifted and carried the flames another way.

He began another desperate struggle, and at

last succeeded in freeing one hand, although in
so doing he tore a large portion of the skin from
his wrist.

“Now or never,” he muttered, desperately.

“I must get free before the wind shifts back, or
I’ll be a goner.”

He tugged at his other hand, but the cord

held and the knot refused to budge.

“Help! help!” he cried again, at the top of

his lungs.

He had hardly uttered the words before the

wind swerved around, and once more the flames
and smoke surrounded him.

“Hullo there!” came faintly from the darkness

beyond.

[57]“Help!” cried Bob again.

His throat was almost choked, and his mouth

was parched.

“Where are you?”

“In the hay-stack. Save me, I am tied fast!”

“By Jove! I’m coming!”

An instant passed and then through the

smoke appeared a swaying form that seemed
every moment to be on the verge of collapsing.

“Bob!”

“Frank! Save me, quick!”

“What’s the trouble?”

“I am tied to this pole,” moaned Bob.

“Quick, cut the cord, or I’ll be burnt up!”
Frank drew out his knife, and opened it.
Two slashes, and Bob was free. With one mad
leap he jumped from the burning stack to the
open space beyond. Frank followed, and both
were safe, while a sudden puff caught the flames
and sent them upward with a roar.

“In the nick of time,” burst out Bob. “Just

look at that wrist, and I know my neck is blistered.”

“I am glad I arrived when I did,” returned

Frank. “I suppose the same rascals tied
you——”

He stopped short. Bob saw him reel, and,

springing forward, he caught the young man in
his arms.

“Fainted, by jinks!” exclaimed the youth.<span class="pagenum"

id="Page_58">[58]
“And his neck is covered with blood. They
must have attacked him, too.”

Bob laid Frank flat on his back, and began

to fan him with his cap. While he was doing
this, two men, evidently father and son, rushed
up.

“Here, what be yeou a-doin’ here?” demanded

the elder, savagely.

“We didn’t set the stack on fire,” returned

Bob.

“Thet’s well enough fer yeou to say,” went

on the younger. “Git up there,” this to Frank.

“He can’t get up,” replied Bob.

“Why not?”

“He has fainted.”

“What were yeou doin’ in the stack?” demanded

the elder.

“Nothing. I was tied there by three men,

and one set the stack on fire from his pipe.”

“By gum!” ejaculated the younger.

“Thet’s a likely story. Guess we can’t save

it, Ruel, anyhow.”

“’Tain’t likely, dad. Thet hay is lost, sure.”

“It’s these fellers’ faults,” grumbled the father.

“They most likely went to sleep smokin’ in it,
an’ thet’s how it caught.” He grabbed Bob by
the arm. “Yeou cum along o’ me.”

“It’s not my fault. Let go,” returned Bob.

“Look at that wrist! And my friend has been
struck in the back of the head. You had better[59]
help me carry him to some house and get a doctor.
He is no tramp, but a guest over to Fitt’s
hotel.”

At these words the farmer let go his hold and

scratched his head.

“Wall, I dunno. Who be yeou?”

“Never mind that. This young man is Frank

Landes. Perhaps you have heard of him. He
comes around here occasionally.”

“Frank Landes! By gum, so it is! He’s

with a New York commission house. Wall,
thet’s different, o’ course it is. But who sot the
hay afire?”

“Three men named Casco, Barker, and

Grogan.”

“I don’t know ’em.”

“They are a bad set. But come, help me with

Frank. You can’t do anything with that hay.
It’s all smoked through, and the cattle won’t
touch it.”

“Thet’s so. Where shall we take him?”

“How far is your house?”

“Jess tudder side o’ thet hill.”

“Then we might as well take him there,” said

Bob.

The three raised up the limp body, and carried

it to the farmer’s house. Half a dozen
neighbors, who had been attracted by the blaze,
came up and followed.

Ruel Dalmer—that was the son’s name—set<span class="pagenum"

id="Page_60">[60]
off for the nearest doctor on his buckboard, and
it was not long before a physician arrived.

Just before he entered, Bob, who was standing

over Frank, doing all in his power to make
the young man comfortable, had the satisfaction
of seeing the blood-shot eyes open and heard a
faint gasp.
“Thank fortune, he’s coming around,” murmured
the youth. “His injuries are much
worse than mine.”

The physician at once went to work. He

sewed up the cut in the back of Frank’s head,
and gave the young man a strengthening potion.

“All he needs now is plenty of rest,” said the

physician. “It is an ugly wound, but by no
means a serious one. Nevertheless, had it come
an inch farther up the young man would have
been killed.”

“He can’t be moved, can he?” asked Bob.

“Not for a day or two.”

“He can stay here a week,” said the elder

Dalmer. “I did not know it was Landes at
first, or I wouldn’t have been so rough.”

They left Frank lying on a bed in the spare

room, and then Bob followed the others below,
and there told his story, starting with the meeting
between Frank and Casco at the hotel.

“I heard about that affair only an hour ago,”

said the doctor. “And so those are the men
who attacked you both?”

[61]“They are.”

“They oughter be in jail!” cried old Dalmer.

“Sech rascals ain’t fit to be loose.”

The doctor was about to leave, when a wagon

dashed up to the house. It contained two men,
one of whom jumped down and rapped sharply
on the door.

“What’s up, John?” demanded Dalmer, opening

the door at once.

“Our house has been robbed, and we want

help to catch the robbers,” was the startling
reply.

Of course, every one was astonished. Bob

sprang to his feet.

“I’ll wager anything it was Casco, Barker,

and Grogan did it,” he exclaimed.

“Wot makes yeou think thet?” questioned

the elder Dalmer.

“Because they spoke of having just time

enough to accomplish something. They robbed
the house, and are now getting away as fast as
they can.”

“I’m going after them, and I’ll catch ’em, too,

just as sure as my name is John Wright,” exclaimed
the man who had made the announcement.
“Who’ll go along?”

“I can’t go,” said the man who had driven up

with Wright.

“I’ll go after them,” said Bob. “I owe those

fellows one.”

[62]“An’ I’ll go, too,” put in Ruel

Dalmer.
“They’ll find out they can’t fire our hay-stack
fer nuthin’, by gosh!”

So a party of three was hastily formed, and

they drove off in John Wright’s wagon at a
breakneck speed.

“Have you any idea what direction the robbers

took?” questioned Bob, on the way.

“I reckon they cut toward Stampton,” said

Wright. “We’ll see if they have learned anything
new up to the house.”

When they reached Wright’s home, they

found everything in confusion.

An entrance had been effected through a dining-room

window, and the entire lower floor
ransacked.

In one closet Mrs. Wright had had a quantity

of silverware. This was gone, and with it a
table spread in which the robbers had most likely
tied up this part of their booty.

An old desk stood in a corner of the sitting-room.

This desk held Wright’s private papers
and also his strong box. It had been skilfully
unlocked, and both the box and many of the
documents were gone.

“And the box contained eighteen hundred

dollars in cash,” said John Wright. “Plague
take the luck! I ought to hev took that money
to the Stampton bank.”

Bob began to look around carefully. Presently<span class="pagenum"

id="Page_63">[63]
he stopped and picked up something lying
on the floor near the looted desk. It was a
short clay pipe.
“That settles it,” he said, holding up the article.
“That is the same pipe Grogan was smoking.”

“You are sure?” questioned Wright.

“Yes. We had better get after them without

delay.”

“But which way?”

“Ye-as, we can’t go after ’em unless we know

thet,” put in Ruel Dalmer.

“I suppose they went out the way they came,”

said Bob. “Let us see if we cannot trace them
from the dining-room window.”

An extra lamp was procured by Mrs. Wright,

who was shedding copious tears over her loss,
and a minute examination of the ground outside
of the window took place.

“The steps lead off in that direction,” said

Bob, pointing toward a road which ran to the
south of the house. “Come on!”

By the aid of a lantern they followed the foot-prints

to the road.

“And from here they went straight to Stampton,”

said Wright. “I wonder if they had a
horse and wagon.”

“No, they didn’t!” shouted Bob, from the

other side of the road. “They crossed to here
and struck out for the woods.”

[64]Wright and Dalmer came over, and

both
agreed that the youth was right. The foot-prints
could be seen plainly.

“We’ll have no difficulty in following them,”

said Bob. “I suppose you are both armed?”

Wright said he had a pistol. Ruel Dalmer

had a stout club, and declared he wanted no
better weapon.

“Jess give me a whack at ’em with this, an’

I’ll knock the daylights clean outer ’em,” he observed,
as he grasped the club more firmly than
ever.

“They are desperate men,” said Bob. “They

would not hesitate to shoot, if cornered. I intend
to take no chances.”
“It’s a pity it ain’t day instead o’ night,” observed
Wright. “I reckon it’s pitch dark in
the woods.”

“The moon is coming up,” said Bob. “That

will soon help us. Let us go forward and make
as little noise as possible.”

Without further words, the three left the road

and entered the belt of timber beyond. Here
the ground was soft, and the tracks made by the
robbers were plainly visible for a distance of
several hundred feet.

“Maybe they crossed to the Shanover turnpike,”

suggested Wright. “They might do
that, and throw us off the track.”

“We’ll soon find out,” returned Bob.

[65]Deeper and deeper they went into

the timber,
until at length they came to a small stream,
both sides of which were covered with rocks.

Here, of course, the tracks made by the robbers

could not be followed, and the searchers
came to a halt.

“Stuck,” said Dalmer, laconically. “Wot’s

ter do now?”

“We had better separate,” said Bob. “Supposing

one of you go up the brook, one down,
and I will cross and see if I can’t hit the trail in
the wood beyond.”

“All right, that’s a good plan,” said Wright.

“I’ll be the one to go down stream.”

He turned in the direction. Ruel Dalmer

started in the opposite direction, and Bob was
left alone.

The moon had now risen, and a faint light

stole through the timber, broken here and there
by heavy shadows. A boy less brave than Bob
might have shivered at the uncanny situation,
but Bob did not know what fear was. He had
seen too much of the seamy side of life for that.

Jumping from one rock to another, he crossed

the stream and plunged boldly ahead. He had
a fair idea of the direction of the Shanover turnpike,
and thought he could do no better than
make directly for it.

“For that is what those chaps did, if they

were bound this way,” he reasoned.
[66]Less than half an hour later Bob
came
to a large mass of rocks, covered with trailing
vines and moss. He paused for a second,
and as he did so a peculiar sound came to his
ears.

“What was that?” the youth asked himself.

“It sounded like a man’s foot slipping on a wet
stone.”

Bob listened intently, but the sound was not

repeated, and after waiting a full minute the
youth began to move forward again.

He passed to the end of the rocks, and struck

out for the turnpike, which he knew was now
not five minutes’ walk ahead.

Suddenly a dark object seemed to loom up

directly in his path. It was the form of a man.
In a moment more the boy made out the figure
of John Wright.

“Do you know where the robbers went?”

asked Wright.

“No.”

“I sent word over to Stampton and to Shanover,

and the police are now on the villains’
tracks.”

“Hope they catch them,” muttered Bob.

“They are the toughest crowd I ever heard of.”

“That’s so. But the chief of police of Stampton

assured me they couldn’t escape. I suppose
he knows how to run ’em down first clip.”

Bob had his doubts about the matter, but he[67]
did not express them. Yet he hoped Wright
spoke the truth.

He was anxious to interview Barker. What

did the man know about him and about his
father?

“I’ll make him tell,” muttered Bob to himself.

“And I’ll make him prove what he says,
too. I don’t intend to be a nobody any
longer.”

Bob followed John Wright to his home. Here

he was invited to partake of breakfast, which he
did willingly, for the events of the past hours
had sharpened his appetite.
Having finished the meal, Bob started back
toward the Dalmer house, to see how Frank
Landes was progressing. He sincerely hoped
his newly-found friend would speedily recover
from the injuries he had received.

About half-way down the road he espied a

rickety turn-out approaching. He thought he
knew the rig, and he was not mistaken.

It was Joel Carrow’s turn-out, and on the seat

sat the miserly farmer, looking meaner than
ever.

“I wonder what he’ll do when he sees me?”

thought Bob.

Joel Carrow’s horse approached on a slow

trot, and the farmer was not long in espying the
youth.

Bob eyed him sharply, as he stepped aside to<span class="pagenum"

id="Page_68">[68]
let the wagon pass. He was about to speak,
but changed his mind.

“What are yer doin’ here, yer young whelp?”

was Carrow’s salutation, as he pulled up.

“Are you speaking to me?” asked Bob,

coolly.

“Who else would I be speaking to, you rat!”

“Thanks for your kind expressions. What

I am doing is none of your business.”

“I hear Wright’s house was robbed last

night,” went on Carrow, meaningly.

“Well?”

“I was goin’ ter ride over an’ see. It’s more’n
like you hed sumthin’ ter do with it.”

Bob laughed at this.

“You’re crazy, Mr. Carrow,” he said. “Just

because you and I can’t hitch, I suppose you
think I’m the worst boy in the State.”

“So yer be! So yer be! An’ don’t yer call

me crazy!” shouted Carrow, getting angry.

“Then keep your opinions to yourself. Nobody

asked you for them, and they are not
wanted.”
“Don’t give me any o’ yer sass!”

“Then don’t call me hard names.”

“I’ll do as I please. I ain’t ter be talked to

by no boy!” howled Carrow.

“Did you catch the pigs?” questioned Bob, in

a teasing manner.

“I’ll pig you!”

[69]“How about that hot-bed? It must

have cost
a nice penny to put all that glass back.”

“Shut up!”

Carrow was in a fearful rage. He could not

stand being chaffed.

“Say another word, an’ I’ll skin yer alive!” he

roared.

“Another word,” returned Bob promptly,

“You are on too good terms with yourself.
Leave me alone, and I’ll leave you alone.”

“I’ll leave you alone,” snarled the farmer.

“How do yer like thet, you scamp!”

He pulled his whip from the socket, swung

the end in the air, and brought the lash down
on Bob’s back.

The blow was a heavy one, and it hurt. Bob

sprang back, his eyes blazing like stars.

“What did you do that for?” he demanded.

“Ter teach you a lesson.”

“Come down off of that seat.”

“What fer?”

“Come down and I’ll show you.”

“I reckon I won’t accommodate ye!” returned

Carrow, pulling up on his reins. “Let
thet be a lesson to yer!”

“If you don’t come down, I’ll throw this at

you,” cried Bob.

He stooped as he spoke, and picked up a

large, round stone.

“Don’t yer dare!” cried the farmer, in alarm.

[70]“Then come down. You had no right
to hit
me with the whip, and I want to settle with you.”

Carrow looked at the determined youth, and

grew just a bit nervous. He knew Bob was a
good shot with a stone, and he did not fancy
getting such a missile in the head.

“Do you want me to give you more of the

whip?” he asked, but in a milder tone.

“Never mind. Come down.”

Instead of complying, Carrow spoke to his

horse. The animal took a step forward, but
Bob promptly stopped him.

“Let go the hoss!” cried the farmer.

“I won’t, and, what is more, I want you to

come down. I’ll give you just half a minute to
do it in.”

Carrow hesitated and then jumped to the

ground, wondering what would come next.

He still held the whip in one hand. Rushing

up, Bob wrenched it from his grasp.

“Turn about is fair play,” cried Bob. “How

do you like that?”

He hauled off and swish! the lash swept

across Carrow’s face, leaving a deep red stripe
behind.

“Ough!” shrieked the farmer, dancing around

with pain. “I’ll have you arrested for that!”

“I am not afraid of you,” returned the youth,

as coolly as he could. “I hope this teaches you
a lesson.”

[71]Carrow grew white with rage. That

boy had
dared to hit him with a whip, and in the face,
too! It was shameful!

He looked around for some means of getting

the best of Bob. Suddenly his eye caught sight
of a pitchfork which lay in the back of the
wagon. He made a dash, and secured the pitchfork.
Then, handling it as if it were a bayonet,
he rushed upon the youth.
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
[72]

<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER VI

BOB LEARNS SOMETHING</h2>

</div>

As a matter of course, Bob retreated. He

had no desire to be punctured with the points
of the pitchfork—those tines looked altogether
too ugly.

Joel Carrow rushed after Bob, making several

lunges, whenever he thought he saw a chance
of reaching the youth.

“Stop it!” cried Bob, when he had retreated

a hundred feet or more. “Stop it, or you will
be sorry.”

“So yer afraid, are you?” snarled Carrow.

He made another lunge, and had not Bob

jumped to one side, the tines would have entered
his body. The youth watched his chance, and
doubled on the farmer. The wagon was a good
bit up the road, and, running to it, he jumped in.

“Hi! Stop there!” cried Carrow, in alarm.

“Good-by, old freckles!” returned Bob.

He turned the horse’s head, and before the

farmer could reach him started off at a lively
gait, leaving Carrow standing in the middle of
the road, shaking his fist in impotent rage.

Bob fully understood the horse he was<span class="pagenum"

id="Page_73">[73]
driving, and he made good time to Dalmer’s
place.

Jumping off here, he tied the reins to the

dash-board and started the horse off, feeling certain
that the animal would go straight home.

Entering the house, he found Frank Landes

sitting up in an easy-chair.

“Hullo, Bob! so you’ve come back! Mr.

Dalmer thought you had followed those rascals
to Stampton, or some other place.”

Such was Frank’s salutation, and Bob saw at

a glance that the young man was much better.

“I wish I had been able to follow them,” returned

the youth, and, sitting down, he related
the particulars of the useless search.
Frank shook his head slowly.

“That’s the end of them, mark my word.”

“I’m afraid you’re right,” returned Bob.

“They are sly as well as bad. How do you
feel?”

“Much better. I think I can start out again

by to-morrow morning. How is your wrist and
back?”

“Mighty sore, but I reckon I’ll pull through,”

and Bob grinned. “I’m tough, you know.”

Bob remained with Frank for an hour. During

this time he saw Joel Carrow tramp past,
pitchfork in hand, and looking the picture of
sourness. He laughed, and told his companion
of the incident on the road.

[74]“He ought to be dressed down,”

said Frank.
“But, Bob.”

“Well?”

“I wish you would go over to the hotel and get

our traps. I haven’t a cent with me. Luckily
I left some money in the satchel. Settle with
the landlord, and tell him we intend to stay here
to-night. Mrs. Dalmer says she will accommodate
us.”

“All right, Frank. But——” and Bob hesitated.

“But what?”

“It’s asking too much of you to keep me

a whole day for nothing, and those fellows
cleaned me out when they caught me at the
hay-stack——”

“That’s all right. You are to stay with me

until we reach Stampton, even if we don’t get
there until six weeks, and I’m to settle the bills.
Don’t say no, or I’ll get angry.”

“Thanks! I wouldn’t make you mad for the

world,” and Bob made off without further
words.

It did not take the youth long to reach the

half-way house. He secured all of Frank’s
effects as well as his own bundle, and remained
for a while talking to Fitt about the robbers.

“It’s a pity they weren’t caught,” said the

hotel-keeper. “I believe they are a regularly organized
gang and nothing less.”

[75]“Perhaps they are. You haven’t

seen any
trace of them around here, have you?”

“I had a sort of an idea I saw one of them

sneaking around early this morning, but I guess
I must have been mistaken,” answered the landlord.

Before leaving the hotel, Bob had occasion to

go up-stairs, wishing to make sure that nothing
belonging to Frank had been left behind.

As he passed through the main corridor, he

saw a tall, slim man pass hurriedly to one side
and slip into a room the youth knew was vacant.

The actions of the fellow were so peculiar that

Bob could not help noticing them, and the more
he thought over the matter, the more he became
convinced that the slim man was up to no good.

“I’ll watch him for a few minutes and make

sure,” said Bob to himself.

He entered the room Frank and he had occupied,

and from a crack of the door looked out
into the vacant corridor.

A minute passed. Then he saw the slim

man emerge from the apartment in which he
had sought shelter, and cross to a room opposite.

The door of the room was locked, but the

man inserted something, which Bob thought was
a wire, into the key-hole, and at once passed
inside.

“That’s queer,” said the youth to himself.

“I think I’ll investigate a bit further.”

[76]Leaving his room, he tiptoed his

way down
the corridor until he came to the room which
the man had just entered. The door had been
closed from the inside, and, by turning the
handle gently, Bob discovered that it had also
been fastened.

The catch had been turned so that the key-hole

was still clear. Bending down, Bob peered
through this small aperture.

He could not see a great deal, but he saw

enough to convince him that the man was rummaging
through a bureau. He had all the
drawers open, and was going through them with
a dexterity that showed he was no novice at this
work.

“A hotel sneak-thief,” thought Bob. “Gracious!

what a lot of robbing there is going on!”

He scanned the face of the man carefully.

The fellow was a stranger and where he had
come from the youth could not conjecture.

Bob concluded that the best thing he could

do would be to call up the landlord, and place
the case in his charge. Yet he was afraid to
leave the corridor for fear the man would get
away before he could return.

At that moment the man left the bureau, and

walked to one of the windows.

“Hullo! she is coming back,” Bob heard him

mutter.

Then, stuffing a number of articles into his<span class="pagenum"

id="Page_77">[77]
coat-pockets, the man rushed to the door and
flung it open.

He was astonished to come face to face with

Bob.

“Who—what—” he stammered, and tried to

pass the youth. But Bob blocked his way.

“What were you doing in that room?” demanded

the youth.

“What’s that?” came from the man.

“You heard what I said.”

“That room is mine, sir.”

“Really! I thought it belonged to a lady.”

“You mean my wife.”

The sneak-thief spoke so coolly that for the

instant Bob was taken aback.

“Is she your wife?”

“Certainly. Let me pass,” and again the

man attempted to push Bob aside.

“What makes you in such a hurry?” and

Bob placed his hand on the slim man’s arm.

“You are tremendously impudent!” cried the

sneak-thief, putting on an air of importance.
“Thank you. Just you come down to the
office with me.”

“I’ll do nothing of the kind. The idea of a

boy, a mere boy, speaking to me in this fashion!
Get out of my way, before I knock you down.”

And he drew back as if to attack Bob.

“Help! thief! help!” cried Bob, at the top of

his voice.

[78]“Stop that racket, you fool!”

muttered the
slim man.

He tried to catch Bob by the throat, but, failing

in this, made a dash to get away.

Near the head of the stairs stood the traps

belonging to Frank and Bob. The corridor
was but dimly lighted, and the fellow did not
see them.

“Stop the thief!” went on Bob.

There was a commotion below. The man

heard it, and ran harder than ever.

At the top of the stairs he tripped over the

camera, tripod, and satchel, and sneak-thief and
photographic outfit rolled to the bottom together.
Then came a greater commotion than
ever.

“What’s the row?”

“Mercy! the house must be coming down!”

“Stop that man!” yelled Bob. “He is a

thief!”

At this there was a shriek from several

women.

Fitt and another man rushed forward and

grabbed the slim man by the arms just as he
was rising to his feet.

“Let me go!” cried the sneak-thief. “That

boy is crazy.”

“No, I’m not. He’s been ransacking one of

the bureaus in Room 14,” returned Bob.

“My room!” cried an elderly lady. “And I<span class="pagenum"

id="Page_79">[79]
left my jewels in the middle drawer. Oh, the
rascal! Hold him tight!”

By this time Bob had reached the lower landing.

Quite a crowd began to collect. The
youth picked up the camera, and stood it out of
the way of further harm, and then faced the
sneak-thief, who looked decidedly uncomfortable.

“This is all a mistake, gentlemen,” he said.

“That boy is the thief.”

“What?”

“Yes. I caught him with these jewels in his

pocket. He tried hard to escape, and when
he found he could not, he raised the cry you
heard.”

The crowd looked from the slim man to Bob.

“That’s not true!” cried Bob. “I saw this

man acting rather strangely and I watched him.
He picked the lock of the door, and——”

“Tut, tut!” put in the sneak-thief. “Why,

boy, do you know who I am?”

“I don’t care if you are the President. You

stole those jewels, and you know it.”

“I am Senator Briscoe from the West, looking

up my interest in the T. W. & L. Railroad.
To say I am a sneak-thief is preposterous. I
am afraid,” went on the pretended senator, with
a wave of his hand, “that this youth is not quite
right in his mind. Landlord, do you know
him?”

[80]“Yes, I do,” returned Fitt. “And I

don’t
know you,” he added, suspiciously.

“I can refer you to President Maverick of

the railroad. You are making a sad mistake,
and I must request you to let go of me.”

Fitt was rather a nervous man, and of a weak

turn of mind. At these smooth words he let
go his hold, and so did the other man.

“I wouldn’t trust him,” said Bob, bluntly.

“He may be a Senator, but he is a thief, just
the same, and—stop him!”

For without warning the slim man had made

a dash through the crowd. He reached the
piazza, and, jumping into the road, made off as
fast as his long legs would carry him.
“After him!” shrieked the elderly woman.
“He has my jewels still.”

She was right. Fitt had not taken the box

the sneak-thief had produced, and they were still
in the slim man’s possession. Bob rushed after
the fellow. The others followed, but the youth
was the better runner of the two.

He caught up to the sneak-thief just as the

latter was about to mount a horse which stood
a short distance from the hotel.

“Give me those jewels!” he cried.

The slim man paid no attention. He probably

thought Bob was only a boy and could do
nothing.

Just as the man mounted the horse, Bob<span class="pagenum"

id="Page_81">[81]
caught him by the side pocket of his sack coat.
The pocket was torn away, and out on the road
tumbled the jewel case.

Bob snatched it up. Seeing what had happened

the slim man thought first to dismount
and try to recover the case, but Fitt and several
others were not far off, and he reconsidered the
matter and galloped off at top speed.

“Have you it?” gasped the landlord, anxiously.

“Yes,” and Bob held up the case. “I’ll return

it to its owner,” he added, as Fitt held out
his hand for it.

The elderly woman soon appeared on the

scene. She was overjoyed to recover her valuables.

“Better see if they are all there,” suggested

one of the crowd.

The woman opened the case, and made a

hasty examination.

“All here but a small diamond and ruby cross,”

she said, “and that, I think, was not inside the
case, but on a cushion in the top drawer.”

“Then that’s most likely a goner,” said Bob.

He accompanied the elderly woman to her

room. Nothing was learned concerning the
cross, and she agreed with Bob that the sneak-thief
must have gotten away with it.

“But it was of small value in comparison to

the contents of the case,” added Mrs. Varley,[82]
for such was her name. “The jewels in the
case are worth five hundred dollars.”

“Then it’s a good thing that chap didn’t get

away with them,” said Bob with a smile.

“I must reward you for your service to me.”

“Don’t want any reward.”

“But you have earned it. I would have to

pay a detective well to recover them had that
fellow gotten away with them. Here, take this,
with my sincere thanks.”

She handed Bob a bill. He glanced at it. It

was for fifty dollars.

“You—you’ve made a mistake,” he said, with

something like a gasp.

“How so?”

“This is a fifty-dollar bill.”

“Well?” smiled Mrs. Varley.

“You didn’t mean to give me that much, did

you?”

She nodded.

“But it ain’t worth it—not by half. I didn’t

do much.”

“Let me be the judge of that. Keep it, and

I only hope it gives you as much pleasure to receive
it as it does me to give it.”

“Gee Christopher!” murmured Bob, surveying

the crisp bill. “Fifty dollars! Why, I
never had so much money in my life before.”

Mrs. Varley laughed outright.

“Well, let us hope you’ll have a great deal<span class="pagenum"

id="Page_83">[83]
more than that before you are much older.
What is your name?”

Bob told her, and quite a conversation ensued,

broken by the entrance of Fitt, who was still
highly excited.

It was nearly half an hour later before Bob

left the half-way house. Mrs. Varley shook
hands with him, and wished him luck, and he
said he hoped she would get back her diamond
and ruby cross.

“If I ever meet that man again I’ll get it for

you, or know the reason why,” he added.

Frank Landes was surprised to learn what

had kept Bob at the hotel so long.

He listened attentively to the youth’s story.

“Did that slim man have a slight limp when

he ran?” he asked.

“I imagine he did. Went this way,” and

Bob illustrated as best he could across the room
floor.

“That’s it. He is known as Slippery Paul

Bidwell in New York.”

“He was slippery, that’s a fact.”

“He is a professional crook, and lives altogether

by his wits. It’s greatly to your credit
that you got the jewel case away from him.”

“It’s fifty dollars to my credit,” laughed Bob.

“Say, do you know what I’m going to do with
that money?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea.”

[84]“I’m going to ask you to buy a

camera and
outfit for me. I’ve been thinking it over, and I
don’t see why I can’t go around the country
taking pictures of houses and so on, and make
some money.”

“You can if you learn the business,” returned

Frank.

“Will you teach me?”

“I said I would show you all I know. But

you ought to get some points from a regular
photographer.”

“I will,” returned Bob, with a sudden determination.

That evening Frank felt much stronger. He

opened his outfit, got out his trays and chemicals,
and, by the aid of a ruby light, proceeded
to develop the pictures he had taken since Bob
had been with him.

The youth was greatly interested, and watched

every part of the process closely. Both had a
hearty laugh over the picture of Carrow plunging
into the hot-bed after the pigs.

“It’s awfully interesting,” declared Bob.

“The glass seems to have nothing on it, and the
picture comes out as if by magic when you pour
the developing fluid on it.”

“Here is a first-class book on photography,”

replied Frank. “You can’t do better than
study it closely. I will make you a present of
it.”

[85]Bob was delighted. He read a great

part of
the book before going to bed, and it was astonishing
how quick he caught the right idea concerning
the art he intended to make his own.

“I imagine you must have been born a photographer,”

said Frank on the following day,
when the two were taking pictures. “You have
learned more in two days about the matter than
I learned in a week.”

Frank was still very weak, so the taking of

the pictures depended to a great extent on Bob,
and the youth rose fully equal to the occasion.

Before night came they took over a dozen

views, and these they developed at the farm-house
at which they put up. One of the pictures
had not been exposed long enough, and
Bob took his first lesson in correcting this mistake.

“As soon as we get to Stampton, I’ll give you

a practical lesson in printing,” said Frank.

Early on the following morning they came

upon a circus which was moving from one city
to the next. First came the wagons and chariots—the
latter covered over with canvas to protect
the gold leaf from exposure to the weather—and
then followed a herd of elephants and
another of camels.

“By Jove! we must get pictures of these

beasts!” cried Frank. “Quick, Bob, get the
camera into shape. They are stopping.”

[86]Something was the matter with one

of the
wagons ahead, and a temporary stoppage all
along the line ensued.

Bob at once unslung the tripod and set it up.

Then the camera was placed on top, and both
hastily sighted the instrument at the camels,
who were standing in a picturesque group.
In half a second the picture was taken.

“Now for the elephants,” said Frank. “Let

us catch that big fellow in front. He is looking
directly toward us.”

“And he looks as if he didn’t like it,” added

Bob. “See him swaying from side to side.”

“By Jove! I believe you’re right,” cried the

young man. “Gracious! he is coming this
way.”

Frank was right. Unobserved by his keeper,

the huge beast was striding toward them, his
trunk high in the air.

“Look out!” yelled Bob. “Something is

wrong.”

He had hardly uttered the warning, when the

elephant let out a terrific roar.

The next instant the camera was knocked

over and smashed under foot.

And then with another roar the elephant

made for Bob and Frank.
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
[87]

<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER VII

BOB AND THE ELEPHANT</h2>

</div>

For the moment it looked as if Bob and

Frank would be crushed under the ponderous
feet of the elephant. The beast was thoroughly
enraged over the way in which the smashed
camera had been pointed at him. Possibly he
had never had his picture taken, and he did not
understand it. Perhaps he took the instrument
for some new machine of destruction.

He trumpeted loudly as he came near to the

two, and this noise attracted the attention of
the keepers, who had gone ahead to see what
had caused the delay on the road.

“Ho, ho!” shouted one of the men. “Ho,

there, Jonco!”

But Jonco would not listen. He had now

reached the spot where Bob and Frank had
stood, and was continuing after the two, who
were scurrying across the open field, which was
close at hand.

The keepers at once started after the elephant,

only one remaining behind to keep the remainder
of the herd in check.

[88]“By Jove! I believe he means

business!”
gasped Frank.

“The best thing we can do is to get out of

the way,” returned Bob.

They soon reached the end of the open field.

Beyond were a mass of brush and a number of
small trees.

Frank dived into the brush and disappeared

from sight. Bob was not so fortunate, and the
elephant continued after the youth, as if bent
upon venting his rage before giving up the
chase.

At length Bob came to a clump of small trees,

and darted among them. They were so close
together that he knew the beast could not get
between them, and for the moment he thought
himself safe, although the position was far from
a pleasant one.

But when the elephant reached the trees, he

at once threw his weight against the foremost,
and they went down with a crash, as if they had
been so many pipe-stems.

One of the falling trees struck Bob, and he

was knocked flat on his back. Before he could
rise the elephant was upon him.

Bob did his best to scramble out of the way,

but before he could do so the beast caught
him by the coat and hoisted the youth in the
air.

By this time the keepers were close at hand.<span class="pagenum"

id="Page_89">[89]
Each was armed with a sharp steel, and they
began to prod the elephant whenever they got
the chance.

He trumpeted at a great rate, but did not let

go his hold upon Bob, until the youth, under a
sudden inspiration, hit him in the eye with his
fist.

This blow surprised the elephant more than

it hurt him. But his surprise made him uncurl
his trunk and loosen his grip, and Bob lost no
time in leaping to a safe distance.
Then the keepers surrounded the beast, and
swiftly and skilfully chained his two right feet
together and otherwise bound him; and the danger
was over.

Frank rushed from the brush to where Bob

stood, pale as a sheet.

“Are you hurt?” he demanded, anxiously.

“No; but I don’t want to go through any

such experience again,” returned Bob. “That’s
the first and last time I shall try to photograph
an elephant.”

“The camera is teetotally smashed,” went on

Frank.

“Serves you right,” growled the head keeper.

“If you hadn’t pointed the thing at Jonco he
would have been as quiet as a kitten. He don’t
take to strange things.”

Frank was about to say something concerning

the damages, and who was to stand them,[90]
but he changed his mind, for he knew the keeper
was more than half right.

It was not long before the circus moved on

again. Jonco still acted somewhat wildly, but
the keepers kept him well in hand.

“This ends the camera trip,” said Frank, as

the last of the equipage passed out of sight
around a bend in the road. “The camera is
good for kindling wood, and nothing else.”

“It is partly my fault,” said Bob. “What

was the machine worth?”

“It cost me seventy dollars. But it was not

your fault, Bob, so don’t worry. I have another
at home, even better than this.”

“Perhaps the lens isn’t injured.”

They made a hunt, and found the lens crushed

in the soft dirt. There was a tiny scratch upon
it, but this, Frank thought, could be remedied.

Without further delay they struck out for

Stampton, which they expected to reach by the
middle of the afternoon.

At twelve o’clock they found themselves near

a moss-covered cottage, in the door-way of which
an old man sat smoking. Frank hailed him.
“What are the chances of our getting dinner
here, friend, if we pay for it?”

“The chances is mighty good,” returned the

old man. “Mary!”

A middle-aged woman came to the door.

“What is it, pop?”

<figure class="figcenter illowe28_125" id="i_090a">

<img alt="" class="w100" src="images/i_090a.jpg" id="img_images_i_090a.jpg">
<figcaption class="caption">AND THEN WITH ANOTHER ROAR THE
ELEPHANT MADE FOR BOB
AND FRANK.</figcaption>
</figure>

[91]“These yere young men want

dinner.”

“Oh!”

“Cost both of ye twenty cents apiece,” went

on the old man.

“That’s fair enough,” said Frank. “Can we

have it soon?”

“I will have it ready in quarter of an hour,”

said the woman.

“That is time enough.”

The woman disappeared, and Frank and Bob

sat down on a bench to rest. They entered into
conversation with the old man, and it was not
long before the talk drifted around to the
Wright robbery, of which the old man had just
heard.

“They ain’t cotch them fellers yet, I hear,”

he said. “It’s great pity.”

“That’s true. But perhaps they’ll be caught

soon,” said Frank.

“Do yeou know I have an idee I saw them

chaps?”

“Tell us of it,” put in Bob, eagerly.

“It wuz last night. I have rheumatics, an’

can’t sleep very well. I got up about eleven
o’clock ter rub some liniment on my leg, when
I heard talking goin’ on back by the barn. I
listened fer a minit, an’ then hollered out to fin’
out who wuz there.”
“Well, did you see them?”

“Yes. They didn’t answer nuthin’, but made<span class="pagenum"

id="Page_92">[92]
tracks fer the road, and got out o’ sight jess ez
quick ez they could.”

“Did you look at the place where they had

been?”

“Yes, but I couldn’t see nuthin’.”

“Have you any objections to our looking?”

“O’ course not. Go ahead—or, hold up, I’ll

show ye where I seed them.”

The old man led the way to the spot. A carriage

shed hid it from the house.

Both of the boys looked around carefully,

striving to find some clew which might prove
that the men had been the robbers.

While they were looking the old man plied

them with questions. He was surprised to learn
of the part Bob had played in the first chase.

“I shouldn’t think yeou would want ter meet

’em again,” he laughed.

“That’s just where you are mistaken. I shall

not be satisfied until those rascals are run down.”

“I have an idee they went to Stampton,” said

the old man.

Bob shook his head.

“No; the police are watching out for them

there. They have passed around Stampton and
gone to some other place.”

“What place?”

“There is no telling. They might go to

Dartinville or Burnham’s Ridge, or else strike
out directly for the river.”

[93]“Most likely they struck out for

the river,”
said Frank. “That is if the men were really
the robbers. They might have been tramps.”

“I don’t think so,” said the old man. “Tramps

don’t move away so lively-like ez these fellers
did.”

All laughed at this point, the old man loudest

of all.

Presently, before Bob had completed his

search, the woman came out to announce dinner.
She looked at Bob sharply a number of
times, and seemed on the point of asking some
question, but changed her mind and remained
silent.

“Well, there doesn’t seem to be any use

in searching farther,” said Frank. “Perhaps
they only stopped here to talk over their
plans.”

“But what did they do with their booty?”

questioned Bob. “They either have it with
them, or else they hid it somewhere.”

“It isn’t likely they would hide it around

here.”

“Thet’s so,” said the old man.

“Did you see if any of them carried a bundle?”

asked Bob.

“I dunno but what one of ’em did. But it

wuz too dark to be certain on it.”

There was a second of silence, broken by the

woman.

[94]“I am afraid dinner will be

spoiled, if you
wait any longer,” she said.

“Well, we’ll give it up,” said Frank, as he

turned toward the house.

“No, we won’t,” shouted Bob. “Look here!”

He had picked up something from among the

straw and dirt.

“What’s that?” cried Frank.

“A spoon, and it’s one of Mrs. Wright’s.”

“How do you know?”

“Because it’s just like the one she showed

me. It has the same letter D on it.”

“Yes, she was a Dalmer afore she got married,”

put in the old man.

“Perhaps there are more of them,” put in the

woman.
All began a stricter search than ever. But
although they went over every inch of the
ground nothing more was found.

“I have an idea they merely looked over their

booty,” said Bob. “They were anxious to find
out what they had got and couldn’t wait any
longer.”

“Or else they had a row among themselves,

and started to divide up,” suggested Frank.

“Well, one thing is certain,” concluded Bob.

“The men were Casco, Barker, and Grogan.”

They were soon inside the house, and making

away with the well-cooked food the woman had
prepared for them. The meal over, they were[95]
on the point of leaving when the woman touched
Bob on the arm.

“Haven’t I seen you before?” she said.

“Perhaps. I used to work for Joel Carrow.”

“I don’t know the man. I must be mistaken,

but I fancied I had met you some years ago,
when you were a small boy.”

“I used to live with old Peter Thompson before

I went to work for Carrow.”

“Then that is where we met. I used to work

for Thompson.”

“You did? How long?”

“From the time his wife died until you were

about seven or eight years old.”

Bob was immediately interested. Here was

somebody who might know something concerning
the past. He motioned to the woman, and
the two walked to one side, Frank refraining
from following, knowing Bob would rather be
alone.

“May I ask your name?” went on Bob.

“Mary Ridley.”

“Were you related to Thompson?”

“Very distantly, yes.”

“Do you remember when he brought me to

the place?”
“He did not bring you.”

“No?”

“No; a man in a carriage brought you.”

“Who was that man?”

[96]Mary Ridley shook her head.

“You did not know?”

“No. I asked Peter, but he would not say,

and evaded the question.”

“Did you ever hear where I came from?”

and Bob’s heart beat quickly at this direct question.

“I can’t answer that truthfully. Once Peter

said you came from a Brooklyn orphan asylum,
then he said you were the son of an old friend
who had lived in Batavia, and another time he
got angry and said he had a good mind to send
you back to Buffalo, where you belonged.”

Bob mused for a moment. It was more than

likely that the man had spoken the truth when
angry, and that Buffalo was the place from
which he had been brought.

“Did you hear the name of the man who

brought me to Thompson’s?”

“I heard Peter call him Bill.”

Bob started. Could the man have been Bill

Barker, the robber?

Such would not be very strange. Barker had

said he knew something concerning Bob’s early
history. Of course, he must have told an untruth
about the boy’s father being a thief, but
still Bob was inclined to believe that Barker
knew a good deal.

“Did this Bill ever come back?”

“Oh, yes, he used to come about every three<span class="pagenum"

id="Page_97">[97]
months at first. But during the last year he
came only once. Then Peter and him had a
big row, and that ended it.”

“What was the row about?”

“Something about money. I didn’t make it

out. But I heard Peter say that if it wasn’t that
he had become attached to you, he would have
sent you back.”
“Back where?”

“I don’t know. Haven’t you ever learned

anything about yourself?”

“Not a word.” Bob swallowed a curious

lump that had come up in his throat. “But I
am trying hard to get on the track. I know
one thing, and since you have told me so much
I’ll tell you it. The Bill Barker, who is one of
the robbers we are after, was, to my way of
thinking, the man who brought me to Peter
Thompson’s house.”

“Gracious! How did you learn that?”

“By certain things I heard him say. That is

why I am anxious these robbers should be
caught.”

“I see.”

“You don’t know anything further, do

you?”

“No. I left Peter’s, you know, and then

mother and my only sister died, and I was all
upset. But I thought I knew your face. Let
me hear from you, if you ever learn anything.”

[98]“I certainly shall. By the way, do

you think
you would remember this Bill, if you should
ever see him again?”

“I can’t say. He always came at night, and

was pretty well muffled up.”

“Evidently he didn’t wish to be seen,” mused

Bob. “That shows his work was underhanded.”

A little later Bob and Frank left. The young

man noticed that the youth was unusually silent
on the road, but he asked no questions until the
outskirts of Stampton were reached, and then
he did not touch the subject nearest to Bob’s
heart.

“What do you intend to do in Stampton,

now we have arrived?”

“I hardly know,” said Bob. “I must find

some boarding-place I suppose, and then I’ll
hunt for a job among the photographers.”

“Don’t you think we had better report to the

police about that spoon first?”
“Of course.”

They soon met a policeman, who directed

them to the station-house. They found the
chief in charge, and quickly related what they
had learned.

“Certainly an important clew,” said the chief.

“I will send a man to follow it up without delay.”

“And I’ll leave the spoon with you to be returned

to Mrs. Wright,” said Bob.

[99]Bob and Frank then separated, as

the young
man had to send a telegram to the firm for which
he worked. He was having a vacation, but had
to keep in communication in case his services
were needed.

Bob had but slight difficulty in finding a suitable

boarding-house, where he obtained a neatly-furnished
attic room and good board for four
dollars and a half a week, washing thrown in.
He had the landlady change the fifty-dollar bill,
and paid for a week in advance.

“That breaks the fifty,” thought the youth.

“But I think I had better learn more about
the photographing business before I buy that
camera.”

It was now too late to look for a situation,

and Bob started out to hunt up Frank, who said
he would stop at the American Hotel.

Bob had not been to a large city for some

time, and the many sights to be seen pleased
him greatly. He often hesitated to gaze into a
shop window, and, when he reached a photographic
outfit establishment, he stopped for a
long time.

“Very fine views, Maverick,” he heard one

gentleman say to another, as both emerged from
the door-way.

“That’s true, Fallon. I wish we had as good

a lot. It would help our excursion tours wonderfully.”

[100]The two men passed down the

street. Bob
gazed after them.

“One of them must be Grace Maverick’s

father,” he said to himself. “I wonder where
they live? I would like to take a look around,
even if I didn’t go in.”
For Bob thought a country boy like himself
had no business in one of those fine brownstone
mansions, even if he had been invited to call.

Bob continued to look at the things displayed

in the show window until he had noted them
all. He made up his mind that there was more
to the art of photography than he had dreamed.

“But I’ll master it, see if I don’t,” he muttered,

as he turned away and resumed his walk.
“I won’t be a nobody any longer.”

Bob had scarcely gone a dozen steps when

he saw a familiar-looking figure approaching.
The man was Slippery Paul Bidwell, the sneak-thief.
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
[101]

<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER VIII

BOB OBTAINS A SITUATION</h2>

</div>

For the moment the sneak-thief did not recognize

Bob.

“Not so fast, my friend,” cried the boy.

Bidwell started back.

“What, you!” he exclaimed.

“Exactly, Bidwell, and I want you.”

Bidwell turned and darted across the street.

Bob lost no time in following.

Reaching the other side of the thoroughfare,

the sneak-thief made off as fast as his long legs
would permit.

He was a good runner, and would no doubt

have gotten away had not a fortunate accident
occurred.

Turning a corner Bidwell ran full-tilt into a

stout man who was walking leisurely along, carrying
a basket on his arm.

Down went the stout man, with Bidwell on

top of him, while the basket with its contents
flew in all directions.

“Who—what?” the stout man spluttered.

“Beg pardon,” returned Bidwell, glibly. “It’s

a case of life or death—man seriously injured.”

[102]He attempted to rise, but before

he could do
so Bob had him by the arm.

“Stay where you are!” ordered the youth,

determinedly.

“Let go of me, boy!” cried Bidwell, angrily.

“Not much! Police, police!”

The stout man arose slowly to his feet, and

stared at Bob.

“What does this mean, young man?” he

questioned.

“This man is a thief, and is trying to get

away.”

“It’s not so,” put in Bidwell. “A man is dying,

and I am running for a doctor.”

“He’s a thief I say,” went on Bob. “Will

you call a policeman?”

“I will,” returned the stout individual. He

was angry at Bidwell for the rough treatment he
had received.

A policeman was not far away, and the man

hurried off to get his assistance.

Bidwell tried to wrench himself loose. But

Bob’s grip was a good one, and he held on like
grim death.

“What’s the row here?” demanded the policeman,

as he hurried up, followed by the stout
man.

“I want this boy arrested,” said Bidwell, hurriedly.

“He has just escaped from the asylum.”

“Crazy, eh?”

[103]“As crazy as a bedbug. He’s been

following
me around for over an hour.”

“That’s not so,” put in Bob. “This man is

a sneak-thief, and——”

“He’s crazy on the subject of thieves,” said

Bidwell. “He was once scared by a midnight
burglar, and it affected his brain. He belongs
up at the Cloverdale Asylum.”
“Well, what were you running for?” asked
the stout man, suspiciously.

“A man was hurt. I was running to get a

doctor.”

“Who are you?”

“I am Albert E. Whistler, the hardware

manufacturer of Troy. I came to Stampton
this morning on business.”

“He tells it good,” said Bob. “Shall I tell

you who he really is?”

“Don’t believe him, he is crazy.”

“His right name is Bidwell, and he is known

as Slippery Paul, the crook.”

At this declaration the policeman opened his

eyes.

“You are sure about that?”

“Positive. If you don’t believe me, take us

both to the station-house.”

“That’s fair,” said the stout individual. “I’ll

pick up my basket and set it in one of these
stores and go along. I’m anxious to see the
matter out.”

[104]This arrangement did not suit

Bidwell, but
he put on a pleasant face.

“All right, I’ll go along,” he said. “But keep

a sharp lookout on that boy.”

“And I’ll ask you to handcuff him,” said Bob.

“He may try to slip away.”

At this Bidwell muttered something under

his breath. He looked as if he wanted to kill
Bob, and the policeman saw that the shot had
told.

“You’ll bear watching, I’m thinking,” he said.

“So I’ll—hullo!”

Once more Bidwell had taken to his heels.

But the officer was a fine runner, and he soon
overtook the sneak-thief.

“That settles it. Hold out your hands!”

“What for?”
“Never mind, hold them out!”

Bidwell did so, and he was quickly handcuffed.

Then the whole party marched to police
headquarters.

Bidwell was quickly recognized by the captain

of the police, and his capture was considered
an important one, especially when Bob related
the particulars of the jewel robbery. A pawn-ticket
was found in the sneak-thief’s pocket, and
this afterward proved to be for money loaned
on the diamond and ruby cross, which was returned
to Mrs. Varley.

The stout man who had been knocked down,<span class="pagenum"

id="Page_105">[105]
became quite interested in Bob, and after the
hearing was ended, and Bidwell locked up, he
followed the youth to the street.

“Good for you,” he said, clapping Bob on the

back. “I admire your pluck. It is not every
young man would have braved it out as you
did.”

“I knew I was right, and had nothing to fear,

sir.”

“Did you say your name was Robert Alden?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you belong in Stampton?”

“Not exactly. I came from Shellville. I am

here looking for a job.”

“Oh! At any particular trade?”

“I wish, if possible, to learn the art of photography.

I know a little about it, and I am
anxious to learn more.”

The stout man smiled.

“Do you know me?” he asked.

“No, sir.”

“My name is Edgar Starleigh, and I am a

photographer.”

“Edgar Starleigh? I read the name on a

sign.”

“So you would like to learn photography?”

“That is my ambition, sir.”

“Rather a difficult art, my boy.”

“And it will take quite a while to learn, too,

I suppose, sir.”

[106]“That’s true, although some

learn quicker
than others.”

“Even so, I would like to take it up.”

“Might give you a trial,” mused Mr. Starleigh.

“Eh? What did you say?” asked Bob,

quickly.

“You might come to my studio in the morning.”

“Employment so quickly just suits me,”

laughed Bob.

“Rather a lucky encounter, after all,” said the

photographer, joining in the laugh.

“And what time shall I come?” asked Bob.

“Unless you have other matters to arrange,

come in at six o’clock.”

“That’s rather early, isn’t it, for photographing?

Not but what I’ll be on hand.”

“Hardly, when one has a lot of sunlight printing

to do.”

“Oh, I see!”

“Real good printing needs good sunlight, and

to get that one has to be alert the moment the
sun comes up. Of course I do a good deal of
printing by gaslight, too.”

The conversation then drifted around to the

subject of wages, and Bob was hired at six dollars
a week, to be advanced as soon as he was
worth more.

On the following morning the youth presented<span class="pagenum"

id="Page_107">[107]
himself at Mr. Starleigh’s studio. He found the
place somewhat shabby in appearance. But the
man was an excellent photographer, and his
business was brisk.

Starleigh was well pleased at the manner in

which Bob took hold, and predicted that if the
youth continued to apply himself he would soon
be able to take any kind of a picture.

During the noon hour Bob met Frank, and

told him of the situation he had secured, and
also of Bidwell’s capture.

“Good for you. Starleigh is said to be a first-class

man, and you had better stick to him for
a while. But I must bid you good-by for the
present.”

“Why, what’s up?”

“I must go back to work. One of our men

has been taken sick, and I’ve got to take his
trip throughout the western part of the State
next month.”

“Then I won’t see you for a while?”

“No; but I’ll write, and I’ll expect you to do

the same.”

And so the two parted firm friends.

Several days went by and Bob stuck diligently

to his work, much to Mr. Starleigh’s satisfaction.
He saw nothing of Grace Maverick, and
in a roundabout way learned that the young
lady was away on a brief trip to the seashore.

The building in which the photographic studio<span class="pagenum"

id="Page_108">[108]
was situated was a large one, containing over
two dozen offices. A hall ran through the middle
as far as the top floor, and there was also a
rear hall on the second and third stories.

On the evening of the fourth day Bob was

left to lock up alone, Mr. Starleigh having gone
away on business, and the other assistant being
sick. Bob remained behind a little later than
usual, being anxious to finish mounting a set of
landscapes, which were to be called for the next
day.

It was dark when Bob finished and stepped

out into the hall-way. Locking up securely, he
started to go below.

Presently he heard the murmur of voices on

the floor below. He looked down, and saw
three men coming up the second flight of stairs.

The hall-way was too dark to distinguish

faces. But as the three men turned and entered
an office near the landing just below Bob, the
youth recognized the voices.
The men were Casco, Barker, and Grogan.

What had brought them to the place, and at

this hour in the evening?

“Perhaps they are up to one of their old

tricks,” said Bob to himself. “I ought to notify
the police and have them bagged without delay.”

He heard the men still talking, and, anxious

to make out what was being said, he tiptoed his
way to the door and listened.

[109]“You are sure Lawrence is

nowhere about?”
he heard Barker say.

“Positive,” returned Casco. “He got a letter

calling him to Middletown, and he left on the
four-fifteen train.”

“Then we have the whole office to ourselves.”

“We have.”

“Then lock the door and come to business.”

“Yis, it’s hoigh toime we did that same,”

growled Grogan. “’Tis a lot ov toime we’ve
been afther wastin’.”

“Slow but sure, Mike,” laughed Casco. “You

mustn’t forget that the police are on our heels.”

“I doubt if they know we are in Stampton,”

put in Barker. “The old Nick take that boy!
If it hadn’t been for him they wouldn’t know
who stole the stuff.”

“Say, Bill, you seem to be down on him more

than any of us,” came from Casco.

“So I am.”

“What’s the reason?”

“That’s my affair.”

“Oh, if you’re going to be so close-mouthed

about it——” began Casco, coldly.

“That boy’s father did me an injury once,

and I haven’t forgotten it,” returned Barker.

“Who was his father?”

“Never mind that. He had me jugged, and

that’s enough.”
[110]“And now the old man’s dead, you
are going
to take it out of the boy, eh?”

“And so would you, if you had been treated

as I have been. I am not one of the forgiving
or forgetting kind.”

“Sure an’ we both know that same!” laughed

Grogan. “Yer a gintlemon in yer shtoyle, Barker,
but yer a terror whin it comes to timper.”

“But say, Bill, didn’t you have something to

do with the boy when he was younger?” went
on Casco, curiously.

“Who told you I had?”

“Nobody exactly, but I fancied——”

“You fancy too much, Jim. That matter

hasn’t got anything to do with the work on
hand.”

Bob listened with bated breath to all that was

said. He was sorry Barker had cut the others
short. What might he not have learned had
the man chosen to continue the conversation!

Bob was in a quandary. Should he summon

the police, or should he stay and hear whatever
might be said?

“If I go out, they may leave during my absence,”

he said to himself. “I think I had better
stay with them until somebody comes this way.”

He heard the men seat themselves around a

table, and then Barker and Casco lit cigars, while
Grogan got out a pipe.

“Now to come to business,” said Barker.

[111]“That’s the talk,” said

Grogan.

“Well, Rosenbaum says he will give four

hundred dollars for the stuff,” began Casco.

“That’s mighty little.”

“He says all the stuff is not solid silver.”

Barker’s face fell and so did Grogan’s.

“I know it’s a disappointment,” went on

Casco. “I thought the haul would pay much
better myself, but still four hundred dollars is
better than nothing, not to say anything of the
cash.”

“Ye can’t make that Jew come up in the

proice?” ventured Grogan, puffing away vigorously.

“No. He only wanted to give three-fifty

first.”

“Well, we might as well let it go,” said

Barker. “The sooner we get the stuff off our
hands the better.”

“That’s so,” returned Casco. “It will leave

us free for that other deal.”

“Thrue fer you,” added Grogan. “’Tis meself

that is itchin’ to get to worruk upon that.”

“Plenty of time,” said Barker. “By the way,

I wonder if there is anything in this place worth
taking along?”

“Nothing like making a search,” returned

Casco, coolly.

He and the others arose, and Bob heard them

moving about the office. Presently he heard[112]
the slide of a roller-top desk shoved back, and
then a conversation, too low for him to hear
clearly, reached his ears.

“If I only knew how long they intended to

remain,” thought the youth. “If I go for the
police now they may leave at any instant, and
then I’ll miss them sure.”

Suddenly he heard Barker utter a cry.

“Just the thing!”

“That’s so. It will help us wonderfully.”

“Phat is it?” questioned Grogan.

“Never mind, Mike; you’ll know before you

are much older.”

“Yis, but——”

Bob caught no more. There was a quick step

on the stairs, and the janitor of the building appeared,
broom in hand, to sweep out the place.

“Hullo! what are you doing at that door?”

he asked, loudly.

Bob motioned him to be silent, and then tiptoed

his way to where the man stood, mouth
wide open in expectation.

“There are three well-known robbers in Mr.

Lawrence’s office,” whispered the youth.

“Robbers!” cried the man, louder than ever.

“Just wait till I get after them!”

“Better summon the police,” urged Bob.

“They are all strong men, and you cannot capture
them alone.”

“We’ll see if I can’t,” cried the janitor, who<span class="pagenum"

id="Page_113">[113]
was a very self-important individual. “Run for
the police yourself, if you want to.”

He took a key from his pocket and unlocked

the office door.

Rushing into the apartment he gazed around.

“What’s the matter with you?” he cried,

turning to Bob, angrily.

“Nothing! Catch them!”

“There is nobody here.”

“What?” gasped Bob.

He brushed past the man. Sure enough, the

room appeared deserted.

“They were here a moment ago,” went on

the youth. “Look in the closets.”

“This is some trick of yours,” grumbled the

janitor.

Nevertheless he opened the two closets which

the office contained. Neither held a single
human form.

During this time Bob had entered a private

office located in the rear of the main one.
Here there was a window opening upon a narrow
alley.

The window-sash was raised, and looking out

Bob saw that the opening readily connected with
a fire-escape.

“That settles it; they have gotten away,”

thought the youth.

“Well?” queried the janitor.

“You just missed them,” said Bob. “They<span class="pagenum"

id="Page_114">[114]
got out on the fire-escape. I’m going to run
them down if I can.”

“You must be mistaken,” said the janitor.

“There don’t seem to be anything disturbed.”

But Bob did not hear him. He was already

on his way down-stairs, three steps at a time.

Reaching the sidewalk he hurried around to

the alley-way. It appeared to be deserted.

Bob looked around. On the curbstone sat a

bootblack eating a banana.

“Shine, boss?”

“No. Did you see three men come out of

the alley a moment ago?”

“I did.”

“Which way did they go?”

The bootblack pointed his dirty finger down

the street.

“Straight down?”

“Yes.”

“Thanks.”

Away went Bob at the top of his speed. At

the first corner he paused. Had the three robbers
gone straight ahead, or turned down the
side street?

“I’ll take my chances that they made a turn.

The question is which way, to the left or the
right?” he asked himself.

Bob looked up and down the side street. He

saw that to the left the street came to an end
but a block off.

[115]“They must have gone to the

right,” he muttered.
“I’ll try that, anyway.”

Turning to his right he dashed down the

cross street.

He had gone less than five hundred feet when

he saw the figure of a man emerge from behind
a bill-board and scale a near-by fence.

The man was Bill Barker.

<div class="chapter">
[116]

<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER IX

BOB HAS A LIVELY FIGHT</h2>

</div>

Barker was alone, and no sooner had he disappeared

over the high board fence, than Bob
made up his mind to follow him.

It was quite dark by this time, and perched

on the top of the fence Bob could see little or
nothing. He listened intently, but nothing save
the hissing of escaping steam reached his ears.

The yard was one attached to a planing mill

and box factory. It was filled with boards and
packing cases, and affording a number of excellent
hiding-places.

Bob dropped inside the yard and stole cautiously

forward until he reached a sort of driveway
which divided the yard into two parts.

Nothing was yet to be seen of Barker, and

Bob was puzzled to know what had become of
the robber.

Stepping to a nook near a high pile of lumber,

Bob stopped once more to listen.

Was he mistaken, or had he heard the faint

creaking of a board to his left?

He bent in the direction and waited. No; he

was not mistaken; there was the noise again.

[117]Feeling around, Bob found a

billet of wood.
It was two feet long, and more than an inch
thick, and would answer very well as a club.

With the stick in his hand, he made his way

cautiously to the spot whence the sound had
proceeded.

Suddenly something brushed past him, and a

second later he found himself confronted by
Barker, who caught him by the arm.

“What are you following me for?” demanded

the man.

Instead of replying Bob raised the stick and

struck the fellow on the head.
“Stand where you are, Barker!” he cried.

“What, Bob Pe——” began Barker, and

stopped short.

“You know me, I reckon,” returned the youth.

“Stand where you are, unless you want another
taste of this stick.”

“Was it you in the hall-way of that building?”

demanded Barker, in astonishment.

“It was. Where are Casco and Grogan?”

“Skipped the town,” returned the robber.

“Are you alone?” he went on, anxiously, as he
tried to pierce the darkness behind Bob.

“Never mind about that,” returned the youth.

“You come along with me.”

“Where to?”

“I’ll soon show you.”

“I don’t think I will be such a fool.”

[118]“If you don’t come along, I’ll

knock you over
with this stick,” returned Bob, decidedly. “I
don’t propose to stand any more fooling.”

“You talk mighty big for a boy,” sneered

Barker.

“Perhaps I do, but I mean what I say.

Come, move along.”

Instead of complying, Barker made a spring

for the youth.

Bob retreated, and the next instant the stick

descended on the robber’s head with such
force that the man was knocked flat on his
back.

“Now will you mind?” demanded the youth,

standing over him with the stick upraised.

“The old Nick take you!” cried Barker, in a

rage. “Let up there!”

“Will you promise to go along if I do?”

Barker hesitated. His head ached from the

blow Bob had administered, and he did not wish
such a dose repeated.
“Answer me.”

“Yes, I’ll go. But, Bob, you are making a

great mistake.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You are. Do you know me?”

“I know you are the man who said my father

was a thief,” was the bitter answer.

“I was only fooling, Bob.”

“I knew you wasn’t telling the truth.”

[119]“I thought I could get you to

join in our little
plan to make money.”

“And you found out I wasn’t built that way,

Barker.”

“That’s so. But you are making a big mistake

by handing me over to the police.”

“I think it will be a first-class job done.”

“You want to learn something about yourself,

don’t you?” went on Barker, significantly.

Bob breathed hard. Barker had touched the

subject dearest to his heart.

“It’s natural that I should, isn’t it?” was the

slow response.

“Well, you will never learn anything by having

me locked up.”

“Don’t be too sure about that.”

“I am dead positive, for nobody knows anything

about that matter but me.”

“You are mistaken, Barker.”

“No, I am not.”

“There is a woman knows about it.”

Barker started.

“What, has Sarah Blake dared to tell you——”

he began, and stopped short.

Bob caught the name and remembered it.

Little did he dream of the peculiar circumstances
under which he would meet Sarah
Blake.

“Never mind, Barker. I am not so much in

the dark as you think.”

[120]“Sarah doesn’t know it all,”

grumbled Barker.
“I am the only one that has all the facts.”

“And you won’t tell if I have you arrested?”

“That’s the size of it.”

“And if I let you go, what will you tell me?”

“A good deal that will be to your interest.”

Bob looked at the man and smiled grimly.

“I wouldn’t trust you, Barker. I would

rather hear what you had to say after you were
behind the bars.”

“I won’t tell you a word, then. You can live

and die the poor, miserable nobody that you
now are.”

“We’ll see. Let me tell you something.

Even if I could trust you to tell the whole truth,
I wouldn’t let you go. You are a criminal, and
your place is in prison.”

“You’ll never put me there,” cried Barker.

“Yes, I will. Now march along.”

“Where to?”

“Over to that gate.”

Barker moved on as indicated. He wanted

to run for it, but Bob kept the club raised, and
he did not dare.

Just as they neared the gate footsteps were

heard, and a man appeared with a lantern.

“Vot’s der madder here?” he demanded, in

broken English.

“This man is a robber,” said Bob. “I want

him arrested.”

[121]“By chimminy, vos dot so?”

“Yes. Are you the watchman around here?”

“Yah. I dinks me I vos hear somepotty by

der yard.”

“Will you call a policeman?”

“Sure, I vill.”

The watchman hurried off, and presently returned

with an officer. In a few words Bob
told the policeman that Barker was one of
the men who had robbed John Wright’s
house.

The officer at once took the robber in charge,

and Bob accompanied both.

The station was some distance from the lumber-yard,

and Barker proposed that they take a
horse-car, stating that he had slipped on a log in
the factory yard and sprained his ankle.

To this the policeman consented, and smilingly

added that if his ankle was sprained perhaps
he wouldn’t feel much like trying to get
away.

“No, confound the luck,” returned the robber.

The car was crowded, and all three were compelled

to stand on the back platform.

They had scarcely gone a block, when the car

stopped at rather a dark spot to take on a couple
of passengers. There was squeezing on all
sides, and for a moment Bob lost sight of both
Barker and the policeman.

Then when the car started again Bob looked<span class="pagenum"

id="Page_122">[122]
around with a cry of dismay. The officer and
the robber had disappeared.

Bob forced his way inside of the car, thinking

that the pair might have entered to get out of
the crush outside.

But a thorough search failed to reveal either

of the persons in whom the youth was interested.

“Gone!” ejaculated Bob, with a sinking heart.

“What’s that?” asked a bystander.

“Nothing. Did you see anything of that policeman

and his prisoner?”

“They got off at the last stop.”

“Thank you.”
Bob lost no time in leaving the car and hurrying
back to the place. All was dark, and nobody
appeared in sight.

“Hullo there, officer!” he called out.

He repeated the call several times, and finally

the policeman came running toward him, club
in hand.

“Where is the man?” asked Bob, breathlessly.

“That’s what I want to know,” returned the

officer.

“Did he get off with you?”

“No; he jumped off, and I followed.”

“Well, that’s a fine piece of business!” exclaimed

Bob.

“I’m not to blame,” returned the officer,

alarmed over the thought that he had in some
way neglected to do his duty.

[123]“Really?” asked Bob,

sarcastically. He was
angry.

“No. Why didn’t you watch him?”

“It wasn’t my business after I had delivered

him to you.”

“Yes, it was.”

“It was not. You’re a fine officer to take

charge of a man.”

“Come, don’t talk to me that way,” cried the

policeman.

“You didn’t attend to your business.”

“Say another word and I’ll run you in for

loafing,” cried the policeman, catching Bob by
the arm.

“Let go of me!”

“Then don’t say it was my fault. I had nothing

to do with it. It was your duty to keep
watch of the man until you made a charge
against him.”

The policeman thought he could hoodwink

Bob by saying this, but the youth’s common
sense told him better.
“It was all your fault,” said Bob, breaking
away. “I have your number, and perhaps I’ll
report you. Now, I am going to hunt for the
man again.”

And before the officer could stop him, Bob

made off, while the policeman went back to his
beat, there to concoct some excuse for his failure
to do his duty.

[124]Bob hurried down the street,

looking in all directions
for Barker, but the robber was nowhere
to be seen.

At the end of an hour the youth was discouraged,

and slowly and thoughtfully he made his
way to his boarding-house.

How much had been missed by the escape of

Barker! Not only the chance of recovering the
stolen goods, but also that of interviewing the
robber concerning the shrouded past.

“But I’ll meet him again some day, and then

I won’t trust him to any fool of a policeman,”
said Bob to himself.
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
[125]

<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER X

BOB’S FIRST CUSTOMER</h2>

</div>

Mr. Starleigh was much interested in the

story Bob had to tell him on the following morning.

“Lawrence has got back, and his desk was

robbed of a hundred and five dollars, so he
says.”

“Those chaps are bad ones,” said the boy.

“They steal wherever they happen to be.”

The old photographer advised Bob to make

a complaint against the officer who had allowed
Barker to slip away, but Bob shook his
head.

“What’s the use? He would find some excuse,

and I would only get into trouble. No;
after all, I’ll simply do what I can alone, and let
the rest go.”

A week passed, and Bob made rapid strides in

the art he was following, for photography now
interested him more than ever before.

One day he was left alone at noon, and in

rushed a young man.

“I’ve got fifteen minutes to spare,” he said.

“Can you give me a sitting in that time?”

[126]“I am sorry, but Mr. Starleigh

is out, and so
is his assistant,” said Bob.

“Too bad! If I had a sitting to-day when

could I have the photos?”

“All of them?”

“The first one.”

“In a few hours. The others, if you want a

dozen, would be done a couple of days later.”

“I wanted one to-morrow night sure. My

brother is going to South America day after to-morrow,
and I promised him my picture to take
along.” The young man scratched his head.
“Can’t you give me a sitting?”

“I would rather you would wait,” replied

Bob, fearing Mr. Starleigh would not like such
a proceeding.

“I can’t wait. Go ahead, if you know anything

about the work.”

The young man insisted, and at last Bob consented

to give him a sitting.

With great care Bob adjusted his focus, and

gave his customer what he considered an artistic
pose. In a minute more two plates were taken.

“How about proofs?” asked the youth, as the

young man pulled out his watch and then a roll
of bills.

“I haven’t time to come for them. How

much will the dozen be?”

“Four dollars and a half.”

“Here’s your money. Send that picture to<span class="pagenum"

id="Page_127">[127]
my home on Mountain Avenue. My name is
Ralph Maverick.”

And before Bob could say a word, the young

man was gone.
“Ralph Maverick,” murmured Bob to himself.
“I wonder if he is any relation to Grace?
The two look a little alike. Perhaps they are
sister and brother.”

When Mr. Starleigh returned, Bob related

what he had done. The old photographer lost
no time in looking at the plates and developing
them.

“One is no good, but the other is excellent,”

he said. “You gave him a first-rate pose, Bob.
Get a frame and some paper, and we will print
a couple at once. You’ll soon be a full-fledged
photographer, and I’m glad of it, for Sidler
drinks so much I’ll have to discharge him.”

While Bob was getting the paper, he asked

Mr. Starleigh if he knew the young man.

“Oh, yes; he is a son of Gregory Maverick,

the president of the T. W. & L. Railroad. You
can take the picture to his house as soon as it is
done.”

This pleased Bob. He wished to see Grace

Maverick once again, if possible, but he did not
care to make a call unless he had business, being
afraid she might think he had come to be rewarded
for his bravery in helping her down the
cliff.

[128]Bob left the photographing

establishment at
six o’clock with four of the pictures in his pocket.
He had worked hard during the day, and
he felt both tired and dirty.

“I think I’ll go home first and wash, dress,

and get supper before I deliver the picture,” he
said to himself. “If I called at the house looking
like this, Grace Maverick might take me for
a tramp.”

Which showed that Bob placed a high value

on the beautiful young girl’s opinion.

Bob hurried to his boarding-house, and after a

good scrubbing dressed himself in a new suit he
had just purchased. Then he hastily swallowed
his supper, and set out for Mountain
Avenue.

The way lay past the studio, and as Bob drew

near to the place where he was employed, he noticed
a crowd rushing along.

“What’s up?” he asked of a man who was

running.

“Fire up the street.”

The man had hardly answered, when with a

shrill tooting an engine came tearing along, followed
by a hose-cart and a hook and ladder company.

Bob was instantly interested. He had never

witnessed a fire in the city, and he was anxious
to see how the thing was managed.

He followed the crowd. What was his astonishment<span class="pagenum"

id="Page_129">[129]
to see the engine stop directly in
front of the building in which the studio was
situated.

“Back there!” cried a policeman to the crowd,

while the firemen began to run a hose into the
hall-way.

“Why, where is the fire?” cried Bob, in alarm.

“Upstairs,” returned a bystander.

“They say it started in a photographic place,”

said another man.

Bob turned pale. They must mean Mr. Starleigh’s

studio. He wondered if his employer
was around.

Bob had a key to the studio. Breaking

through the crowd, he dashed past the policeman
on duty.

“Here—what?” demanded the officer.

“I want to save our things if I can,” returned

Bob.

He dashed up the first flight of stairs and then

the second. The hall-way was filling with smoke,
but no fire was to be seen.

But on the third landing he paused. The

smoke was thicker than ever, and he could hear
the faint crackling of flames. Would it be safe
to venture farther?

He hesitated for only a second.

“I’ll save what I can,” he murmured, and up

he dashed.

He was about to insert the key in the lock,<span class="pagenum"

id="Page_130">[130]
when he noticed that the door was already unfastened.
He pushed it open, and rushed in.

The thick smoke rolled directly into his face,

almost choking him.

“I can’t stand this very long,” was his

thought.

Suddenly a puff of flame rolled overhead,

lighting up the apartment.

Guided by this, Bob made a rush for the operating-room,

bent on saving the valuable lenses,
if nothing more.

He had just reached the curtain to this apartment,

when there came another puff of flame,
followed by a shower of sparks.

Some of the sparks alighted on a table in the

corner filled with chemicals.

There was an explosion almost immediately,

and poor Bob was hurled backward, while the
chemicals flew all around him.

The smoke was thick, and, completely bewildered,

the lad could not tell which way to turn to
reach the door.

Once he started, crawling on his hands and

knees, and brought up directly opposite to where
he wanted to go.

The smoke was every moment getting thicker,

and it looked as if the brave youth was to die
like a rat in a trap.

“I must get out somehow,” he muttered, desperately.

“Why can’t I find the door?”

[131]He turned, and, rising, made a

dash forward.

“Help, help!”

The cry startled him. It came from the developing

closet, and Bob recognized the voice as
that of Mr. Starleigh.

“Mr. Starleigh!” he called out.

“Oh, Bob, is that you? Help me, in Heaven’s

name!”

“I will.”

Guided by the voice, Bob rushed through the

operating-room, and threw open the door of the
dark closet.

A red light burned on a stand, and by it Bob

saw his employer lying on the floor, one hand
grasping a box of plates.

“Help me, Bob!”

“I will if I can, sir. Can’t you get up?”

“Yes, but I can’t walk. I tried to save all

those new plates, and two of the boxes fell on
my ankle.”

“Take my hand.”

The old photographer did so, and got up,

although the movement caused him great pain.

“I’m afraid we can’t get out through the main

room,” said Bob. “The flames are breaking
through everywhere.”

“I see, and—your coat is on fire. Let me

put it out.”

Mr. Starleigh caught the burnt portion in his

hand, and crushed it.

[132]“That must have caught when the

chemicals
exploded. Tell me, what is beyond this
closet?”

“The hall-way, I believe.”

“There is no door out?”

“There was, in that corner, but I nailed it

up.”

“We must get it open somehow. Stand over

there, out of the way.”

Mr. Starleigh followed directions. Bob

pulled away the stand which stood before the
closed door.

“If I only had an axe,” he said.

“There is a hammer in the next room on the

shelf.”

“I’ll get it.”

Leaving Mr. Starleigh leaning against a table,

Bob rushed out into the operating-room. He
found the hammer, and also brought with him
the valuable lenses, which he knew his employer
greatly prized.

With all his force he began to batter on the

door. At first it resisted his efforts, but finally
with a crash one of the panels gave way.

Then another panel was knocked out, and,

with savage energy, Bob attacked the middle
strip.

His blows fell thick and fast. At last came a

crash, and the top of the door was smashed into
several parts.

[133]“Just in time,” cried Mr.

Starleigh. “See,
the whole operating-room is in flames!”

The hall-way seemed to be now quite free

from smoke. Bob leaped through the opening
he had made, and helped his employer to
follow.

“Hullo! what’s up here?”

It was a fireman who asked the question.

“We’ve just escaped,” said Mr. Starleigh.

“Help us to get down-stairs.”

“He can’t walk,” said Bob. “If you will get

on one side of him I will get on the other.”

The fireman willingly complied, and it was

not long before they reached the sidewalk,
where a denser crowd than ever was now congregated.

Mr. Starleigh was assisted to a near-by drug-store,

and a doctor at once gave his injured ankle
proper attention.

“I wish I had saved my lenses,” he sighed.

“The rest of the stuff in the place was not of so
much account.”

“Here are the lenses,” returned Bob, producing

them.

“What! Did you really get them?”

“Yes. I trust they are not scratched,” went

on the youth, with considerable concern.

“They do not appear to be. Bob, I shall not

forget you for this work, nor for saving my life,
also.”

[134]“Pooh! I didn’t save your life,”

replied Bob,
and he returned to the fire.

By this time several other engines had arrived,

and half a dozen streams of water were being
poured on the flames. The firemen had a hard
fight of it, but in less than an hour the fire was
under control, although they continued on
guard and would allow no one within the fire
lines.

Bob stood around for a while longer, and then

he suddenly remembered the photographs in his
pocket. He pulled them out, and found they
were uninjured, which was strange, considering
the rough usage they had seen.

“I might as well deliver these, and get it off

my hands,” he said to himself. “I wonder if
Mr. Starleigh saved the plate, so that we can
print the others.”

Bob returned to the drug-store. He found a

fellow-photographer talking to Mr. Starleigh.
A number of plates had been saved, among
them the one containing Ralph Maverick’s picture,
and these the other photographer said he
would finish for Mr. Starleigh.

At the drug-store Bob brushed up as best he

could. His new coat had several small holes
burnt in it, but this could not be helped.

Arriving at the Maverick mansion, he rang

the bell and asked for Mr. Ralph Maverick.

“Yes, he is in.”

[135]“Please tell him I come from Mr.

Starleigh’s
studio.”

The servant who had answered the summons

retired, and presently Ralph Maverick appeared.

He was well satisfied with the picture.

“I don’t see how Mr. Starleigh could have

done any better,” he said.

Bob told the young man of the fire, but added,

that the pictures would, nevertheless, be ready
in the course of a few days.

“Well, it’s too bad you were burned out,”

said Ralph Maverick. “Will you start up
again?”

“I suppose so.”

A little more talk followed, and then Bob
turned to go. He was keenly disappointed at
not seeing Grace.

But his disappointment was of short duration.

Presently, while the two stood in the hall-way,
there was a rush of feet on the stairs and Grace
Maverick ran up.

“There! I was afraid you would never call!”

she cried, catching Bob by the hand, and giving
him a squeeze that made him blush.

“Why, Grace, do you know him?” questioned

Ralph Maverick, in surprise.

“Indeed I do,” returned the beautiful girl,

warmly. “He is the young gentleman who
saved my life when I fell over the cliff.”

“You don’t say! I must shake hands with<span class="pagenum"

id="Page_136">[136]
him myself. Why didn’t you introduce yourself?”

“Oh, I—I——”

“He brought my picture. He didn’t say anything

about knowing you,” went on Ralph.

“Then you didn’t come to see me?” asked

Grace, pouting slightly.

“Well, I’m glad I did see you,” stammered

Bob. “But I have to attend to business, you
see,” he went on, lamely. “I work for a photographer,
and we are fearfully busy.”

“I’ve been looking for you ever since I got

back from the seashore.”

“Yes, I heard you had gone,” said Bob.

“Come into the parlor, I want to talk to you.

I thought sure you and Mr. Landes would call
together.”

“He had to go on a trip for the house he represents.

Otherwise, I imagine he would have
been glad to come,” explained Bob.

He was taken into an elegant parlor, where he

felt a good deal like a fish out of water. But
Grace and her brother did all they could to make
him feel at ease, and, before he left, he was quite
at home.

“Papa wants to see you very much,” said

Grace, during the course of conversation. “He
is not at home to-night, but he will be to-morrow
evening. Will you call, then?”

“I will, if I can.”

[137]“Oh, that won’t do! You come

sure, and I
will make papa stay home, even if he has got
another engagement.”

“He might not care to do that,” suggested

Bob.

“Oh, he cares to do whatever I want him to,”

returned the young lady.

When Bob left, he felt in particularly high

spirits; why, he could not exactly state.

He returned to his boarding-house by way of

a short cut through a number of back streets.

It was quite dark when he reached the steps

of the boarding-house. As he was about to ascend,
latch-key in hand, he noticed a man sitting
on the curbstone, his head resting on his hands.

Approaching the man, Bob shook him by the

shoulder.

“What’s the matter with you?” he asked.

The man stared at him vacantly.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“I asked what was the matter with you?” repeated

Bob.

Instead of replying the man sprang to his feet,

and caught Bob by the throat.

“I’ll show you,” he mumbled, with a hiccough.

“Give me back my money, Jim Casco,
d’ye hear?”
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
[138]

<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XI

BOB ASSISTS A STRANGER</h2>

</div>

Bob was surprised at the stranger’s words.

He shook off the hold the man had on his
throat, and then grasped him by both arms.
“What did you say?” he demanded.

“I said I wanted my money back,” growled

the stranger, wildly. “You drugged me, and I
know it, Jim Casco.”

Again the man stared at Bob, and then to

both sides.

“I must be off,” he hiccoughed. “I thought

I was still in Cabot’s place.”

“Is Cabot’s a saloon?”

“It’s a saloon and a thieves’ den,” growled the

man. “Gosh! how my head spins.”

“And you think you were drugged?”

“Of course I was. Ordinary liquor wouldn’t

knock me out like this.”

“You said something about a Jim Casco.”

“That’s the man—heard the barkeeper call

him by the name, but he got hushed up pretty
quick.”

“Where did you meet this Casco?”

<figure class="figcenter illowe28_125" id="i_138a">

<img alt="" class="w100" src="images/i_138a.jpg" id="img_images_i_138a.jpg">
<figcaption class="caption">THERE WAS AN EXPLOSION AND BOB WAS
HURLED BACKWARD.</figcaption>
</figure>

The drugged man gave a deep sigh. He was

[139]gradually coming to his right
senses. Bob got
some water and bathed his head, after which the
victim felt better.

“Let me think. Oh, yes, I met this Casco

down by the river. There was an Irishman with
him——”

“What was his name?”

“This Casco called him Mike. But, say,

who are you?”

“I know those rascals, and I am willing to be

your friend,” returned Bob.

“Good for you. And your handle?”

“Bob Alden.”

“Mine is Walter Anderson. I came to

Stampton from Buffalo a month ago, and I’ve
been making pretty much of a fool of myself
ever since. But I wish I had my money back.”

“How much did you have with you?”

“About thirty dollars.”

“And it’s gone?”

“Every cent of it, hang the luck!”

Bob thought for a moment.

“Would you mind showing me the way to

Cabot’s place?”

“Certainly not. Come on. I’m feeling better

than I did a while ago.”

Walter Anderson led the way down the

street, and into a dirty square fronting the
river.

“See that fancy light over on the corner?”

[140]“Yes.”

“That’s it. Cabot calls it the Rivermen’s

Rest. It is nothing but a thieves’ den.”

“Now listen to me,” said Bob, earnestly. “If

I go in, will you stay here till I come out?”

“Yes, but——”

“I will see if this Casco and Mike are inside.

If they are, I will let you know, and you can
summon assistance, and we can have them arrested.”

“Good enough.”

Anderson took a seat on a stepping stone

near the curb. Pulling his hat far down over
his eyes, and turning up his collar in true
“tough” style, Bob made his way toward the
Rivermen’s Rest.

Nothing could be seen from the outside but

the lights, as the screens were tightly drawn over
windows and doors.

Bob hesitated only a moment, then he opened

one of the doors and entered.

A cloud of thick and rank tobacco smoke

greeted him, mingled with the smell of stale
liquors.
“Phew! enough to make a decent man sick!”
was the youth’s mental comment. “How anybody
can love to come to such a place is past my
comprehension.”

The place was a long and narrow one. In

the rear was a sort of restaurant, and, seeing a[141]
vacant table, Bob walked over to it, and dropped
into a seat.

“A sandwich and a cup of coffee,” he said to

the dirty waiter who came to take his order.

While the waiter was filling the order Bob

gazed around him, and his keen eyes took in
every detail of the place.

Not far behind him was a door leading to a

side room. This door stood partly ajar, and by
pushing his chair back a little distance from the
table, Bob was enabled to see into this apartment.

At a table in the middle of the small room

were seated an old man and a middle-aged woman.
The old man, it was plain to see, was little
better than a sot. His clothes were worn out
and dirty, and his general appearance showed
that he had long since lost all pride.

The woman was quite lady-like in appearance

and well dressed. She seemed to be expostulating
with the old man.

“Why don’t you leave them, father, and turn

over a new leaf?” Bob heard her say.

“That’s all right enough to say,” growled the

old man, in return. “I can’t leave ’em.”

“Yes, you can.”

“If I did, how would I get along?”

“I will help you.”

“Bosh! Your help wouldn’t amount to

enough. It costs money to live.”

[142]“It costs money to drink,” she

cried. “Otherwise——”

Bob did not catch any more of the conversation.

Presently, just as the waiter came with
the youth’s order, the lady arose and left by a
side door.

“She looked out of place here,” thought Bob.

“If that is her father, I pity her.”
In vain Bob scanned the faces of those already
in the place, and those who came in. Nothing
was to be seen of Casco and Grogan.

“They must have left before I got here,”

thought Bob. “I wonder if I can find out where
they went.”

He ate his sandwich slowly, but even when he

had finished he was still in doubt as to how to
proceed.

But just as he was about to arise, some one

came through a hall-way in the back, and entered
the little side room.

“Well, Blake, did you think I wouldn’t get

back?” asked the newcomer of the old man.

“You’ve been a long time,” mumbled the old

man.

“I couldn’t help it. Where is the girl?”

“Gone.”

“Good! I don’t want to run against her any

more.”

“Sarah ain’t like she used to be,” was the

reply.

[143]Bob listened with great interest

to this talk.
The old man’s name was Blake, and the woman
was spoken of as Sarah. Could she be the
Sarah Blake Barker had mentioned?

“If she is, I must meet her and talk to her

by all means,” said Bob to himself. “She must
know something about the past.”

Bob wondered who the newcomer was, but he

was not kept in doubt long. The voice sounded
slightly familiar from the start, and presently the
speaker spoke up louder, and the youth made
the astonishing discovery that the man was
James Casco in disguise.

The scar-faced man wore a heavy beard and

mustache, and was dressed in the garb of a waterman.

“I have located him at last,” thought Bob.

“Now to see that he does not escape me.”

Casco and the old man entered into a low conversation,

of which Bob heard but little, although
he tried his best to make out what was
being said.

Presently the two arose, and slipped out of a

door into the back hall.

“They are going up-stairs,” was Bob’s conclusion.

“I wonder if I dare follow them?”

Arising, he walked to the desk, and settled

for what he had had. Then he pretended to be
interested in a number of pictures hanging on
the walls.

[144]Gradually he drifted back toward

the side
room, and, watching his chance to see that he
was not observed, he slipped into the apartment,
and swiftly but silently made his way to the hall.

Here only a smoky lamp, hanging from the

ceiling, lit up the place, leaving all in semi-darkness.

No one appeared to be in the hall, and, listening

intently so as not to be caught napping, Bob
ascended the stairs.

“I suppose if they found me here, and knew

what I was after, it would go hard with me,” he
thought. “Well, I am in this game to win, and
I’ll prove to them yet that I am not a nobody.”

Arriving at the upper hall, Bob paused and

peered around. All was dark save for a thin ray
of light that shone from under the door to one
of the middle rooms.

Approaching this door Bob listened for several

minutes. At first he could hear nothing,
but gradually there came to his ears the voices
of four men in earnest conversation.

The four men appeared to be in a room beyond

the one opening upon the hall. Should
Bob enter the first room?

“I’ll go the length of the string,” he said,

bravely. “It is the only way to capture them.
I wonder if that Walter Anderson is still on
guard?”

[145]He tried the door, and, finding

it unlocked,
pushed it open.

The room appeared to be a sort of lodge-room,

with half a dozen benches scattered
around, and a desk and chair at one end.

A lamp stood on the desk, which was piled

high with papers.

Opposite the desk was the door leading to the

room in which were the four men. This door
stood on a crack, and tiptoeing his way forward,
Bob peered in and beheld Casco and Blake on
one side of a table with Barker and Mike Grogan
on the other.

“All of them,” he muttered to himself.

“What a haul it would make if the police were
only here at this moment.”

He was about to leave and summon help,

when he heard Barker mention his name.

“Yes, I had a hard time of it getting away,”

went on the man. “I tell you that boy is smart.”

“He comes from a smart family,” put in old

Blake. “His father——”

“Hush!” cried Barker, hastily. “None of

that here.”

“Well, just as you say, Bill,” returned the old

man. “But I reckon you will have a job with
Sarah——”

Barker put up his hand, and the old man

broke off at once.

“Well, how about that money?” demanded<span class="pagenum"

id="Page_146">[146]
Grogan. “Sure, an’ we have waited long
enough fer it, so we have.”

“And we’ll have to wait a while longer.”

“Phat fer?”

“The Jew has got into trouble.”

“How?”

“Over some stolen goods a jeweller’s clerk

sold him. We have got to take the stuff to
somebody else.”

“Sure, an’ ’tis a shame,” growled Grogan.

“We’ve had more throuble about that swag than
enny Oi ever seen befure.”

“That’s true,” said Casco. “But the whole

thing will be settled by next week, and then
we’ll be off for the big haul.”

“And I’m to be in that?” put in old Blake,

eagerly.
“You are,” said Barker.

Suddenly Casco jumped to his feet.

“I forgot to ask Cabot about something,” he

cried. “Just wait till I come back.”

He made for the door. Bob tried to retreat,

but he was too late. Out in the hall Casco overtook
him, and caught him by the shoulder.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

“Let me go!” cried Bob.

He tried to break away, but the scar-faced man

held him fast.

“Hullo, it’s that Bob Alden! How did you

get in here?”

[147]“Walked in. Let me go!”

“Oh, I’ll let you go!” returned Casco, sarcastically.

“Hi, there, boys, here’s a spy!”

“Sure, an’ who is it?”

Barker ran out, and aided Casco in dragging

Bob into the lodge-room.

Then before they released him the door was

closed and locked.
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
[148]

<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XII

BOB’S QUEER EXPERIENCE</h2>

</div>

“Now, I imagine we have you safe,” said

Casco, after the door was locked. “Sit down
on that bench.”

“Well, if you insist, I will,” returned the

youth, trying to make the best of the situation.

He was terribly chagrined at the turn affairs

had taken, but he resolved to brave it out as
best he could.

“Now tell us how you came to follow us

here,” said Barker.

“I discovered Casco was stopping here.”

“How did you discover that?”

“He robbed a friend of mine.”

“Humph! he must mean the jay who was

drugged,” muttered Casco. “I didn’t know he
was a friend of yours.”

While Casco was talking, Barker opened a

closet and brought forth a rope.

With this Bob was bound hands and feet.

“Now, if you make the least outcry, we will

gag you,” he said.

“What do you intend to do with me this

time?” questioned the youth.

[149]“One thing is certain, you won’t

escape us,”
returned Barker, with an evil smile.

“Betther see if he has any money wid him,”

suggested Grogan.

Bob was at once searched, and the three dollars

in his pocket taken from him.

“Every little counts,” said the Irishman.

“Blake, suppose ye go down an’ git a bottle fer
all hands.”

Old Blake at once left the lodge-room.

In less than two minutes he returned all out

of breath.

“Get the boy out of sight,” he cried.

“What’s up?” asked the others, in concert.

“Cabot says the police are watching the place.

He just saw an officer walk past with that fellow
who was drugged.”

“The old Nick you say!” muttered Casco.

“I thought he had been fixed for all night.
Catch hold, Barker.”

“Where to?”

“The garret, quick!”

Barker caught hold of Bob on one side,

and Casco on the other, and between them they
carried the youth up two flights of narrow
stairs, and into a sloping room under the
roof.

Grogan followed with a lamp which was

placed on the floor.

“Let me see!” said Casco, looking around.<span class="pagenum"

id="Page_150">[150]
“Ah! here is a cross-beam! Let us lash him
to that!”

This was quickly done in such a manner that

Bob could move but little.

“We must make it impossible for him to escape,”

said Barker.

In spite of his stout heart, Bob was compelled

to shiver at being tied up.

“We had better gag him,” went on Barker.

“Of course. Here is a bit of rag will do for

that purpose.”

A strip of an old dress was brought forth,

and after tying a large knot in the middle the
strip was placed over Bob’s mouth with the knot
inside and made fast.

“That settles him for the present,” said the

scar-faced man. “Now we had better put out
the light.”

“Yis, douse the glim be all manes,” said Grogan.

“Thin Oi’ll look out the front winder, an’
see if thim men is still hangin’ around.”

The light was extinguished, and the Irishman

opened the small window in the front end of
the garret. The fresh air that came in was
very welcome to Bob, who could hardly
breathe.

“Oi can’t see anybody,” said Grogan, after a

long look down into the street. “Perhaps Cabot
was mistaken.”

“I’ll go down and see,” replied Barker. “If<span class="pagenum"

id="Page_151">[151]
anybody comes up here and tries to nose around
bluff him off.”

“We will,” said Casco. “But keep watch,

and give us plenty of warning.”

This was agreed to, and Barker left the garret

immediately.

The others grew silent, Casco standing by the

stairs with ears on the alert.

Five minutes passed. They dragged slowly

to Bob, who was wondering what would happen
next, and if he would ever get out of his predicament
with a whole skin.

Suddenly two pistol-shots rang out. They

were followed by a whistle outside, and then
another on the second floor below. The raid
by the police had begun.

As it was dark in the garret, Bob could not

make out the movements of his captors.

He heard Casco say something to Grogan,

and then the two went off, leaving old Blake in
sole charge. The latter remained near the
stairs, listening intently for the first sign of any
one trying to come up.

Presently there was another cry, and then

Blake hurried to Bob’s side.

“Listen to me,” he said. “Don’t you dare

to make a move or a sound till I come back. If
you do, I’ll fix you.”

Then Bob heard him descend the stairs, and

heard the opening and closing of the door.

[152]Bob at once set to work freeing

himself. He
did not care for the threat which had been
made. Probably Blake had become frightened,
and would not return at all.

Close to where Bob was bound was a large

blue chest, with iron-bound corners. When he
had been brought to the spot the youth had noticed
that one of the iron corners was broken,
leaving a sharp edge sticking from the top.

Bob could just reach the chest with his feet,

and, by rubbing the rope around his ankles over
the rough edge of the iron, he managed after
considerable trouble to wear the rope in two,
thus freeing his feet.

But his hands were still tied behind him and

to a small bit of joist between two upright
beams.

Planting his feet firmly on the floor Bob

tugged at the joist with all his strength, and was
at last overjoyed to find he had loosened one end.

To loosen the other was a comparatively easy

job, and then Bob stood a free boy, but with his
hands still fastened to the bit of wood. Bending
over the chest, he again began his rubbing process,
and soon the wood fell to the floor, and
Bob’s hands were once again ready for use.

He lost no time in tearing the dirty gag from

his mouth. While he was doing this, he heard
the door at the foot of the stairs unlocked, and
Grogan came up.

[153]Bob knew the Irishman’s tread

too well to be
mistaken. He turned to flee, then, not knowing
where to go, he stopped short and faced his
enemy.

Grogan carried a lantern on one arm. He

cast the rays over to where Bob had been tied,
and uttered an exclamation of dismay.

Then he caught sight of Bob. At the same

time the youth snatched up the piece of joist.

“Make a sound, Grogan, and I will strike!”

cried Bob, determinedly.

“How did you git loose?” demanded the

Irishman.

“That is my affair. Stand where you are.”

Instead of complying, Grogan made a dash

forward. As he did so, Bob struck out at
him.

The joist struck the lantern, shivering it to

pieces and leaving the pair in darkness.

Bob struck out again, and this time Grogan

was knocked over.

Finding his enemy did not offer to move, Bob

spoke to him. Grogan made no reply. Growing
alarmed, Bob struck a match and lit the
wick of the lantern which lay close at hand.

“Knocked out that trip,” muttered Bob to

himself. “Well, it serves him right. I reckon
I had better go below.”

He was about to carry out this idea, when he

heard the door at the foot of the stairs open.

[154]“Hurry up, Barker,” he heard, in

the voice of
Casco, and then the steps came closer.

What was to be done? It would be fool-hardy

to face the two men, both of whom he felt sure
were armed. He must escape by some other
means.

The window in the front end of the garret was

still open, and toward this Bob rushed and
looked out. The sidewalk was fully forty feet
below, and there was no way to reach it save
by a jump, and this would have meant instant
death.

Bob looked up. Overhead, the roof of the

building was but a few feet away. He sprang
upon the window-sill, and without hesitation
pulled himself out and upon the sloping roof
beyond.

It was a dangerous situation, but Bob’s nerves

were up to a high tension, and he did not falter.

The electric lights on the street beyond threw

considerable light on the roof, and by this means
the youth was enabled to crawl down to the gutter.
Then he walked along to the rear, and
finding here a projection one story lower,
dropped upon it.

All had become quiet in the saloon and restaurant

below, and Bob wondered what the police
had done, and if they had really gone.

The youth looked around for some means of

reaching the ground. There was the water[155]
spout, but that seemed too frail to bear his
weight.

Leaning over the edge of the roof, he saw not

far below a pulley-line used for drying clothes.
The other end of the line was fastened to a
house on the opposite side of the yard, and, by
pulling upon the line, Bob found it moved
through the pulley easily.

Taking his pocket-knife the youth quickly severed

one of the lines and hauled in on the other.
The consequence was that he soon found himself
in possession of about a hundred feet of
good strong wash-line.

Twisting the line double, Bob fastened one

end to a chimney, and, grasping the other, he
started to lower himself down over the edge of
the roof.

Bob came down the last ten feet with a great

rush, thereby tearing some of the skin from his
hands.

But he shut his teeth hard, and though the

pain was great, he made no sound.

Darting across the yard, he entered the back

door of the house on the next street. The door
led to a dark and narrow hall-way. Once inside,
Bob closed the door, and finding a bolt on it,
quickly slipped the fastening into place.

By feeling around the youth found that there

was no way out of the hall-way, except by going
up the stairs or down into the cellar. He followed[156]
the former course, and soon found himself
on an upper landing, where a broad staircase led
to a large and well-lighted front hall.

He lost no time in descending the stair, doing

so almost silently, as the steps were heavily
carpeted.

But below the hall-way was of polished wood,

and his footsteps rang out clearly as he passed
to the door.

This was locked and bolted, and the youth

had considerable difficulty in opening it.

“Hullo, young man, what are you doing

here?” suddenly demanded a sharp voice, and
a side door opened from a store, and a heavy-set
man rushed out.

“I was trying to escape from the house on

the next street,” explained Bob. “Some men
weren’t treating me right.”

“That’s fine enough to say, but I don’t believe

you. Just you wait until I call an officer.”

Bob was so taken aback that for the moment

he did not know what to say.

“An officer!” he gasped.

“That’s what I said. We have suffered from

your kind several times, and now I intend to
put a stop to it.”

The man spoke very decidedly, and, as he

faced Bob, he looked fiercely at the youth.

“I am not a thief. You can search me, if

you wish.”

[157]“Perhaps you didn’t have the

chance to get
anything,” sneered the heavy-set man. “But
you are in the hall of my house, and that’s
enough.”
The man saw to it that the front door was
locked, and placed the key in his pocket.

Then he walked to the side door.

“Jimmy,” he called loudly.

“What’s up, pop?” came in a boyish voice.

“Go and get a policeman. I’ve caught one

of those confounded sneak-thieves at last.”

“Is that so, pop! Good for you!”

A freckle-faced boy with red hair came

out into the hall, and looked wonderingly at
Bob.

“So you’re a sneak-thief, hey?” he said.

“No, I am not,” replied Bob.

“Don’t stand there all night, Jimmy; but do

as I told you,” cried the parent.

Jimmy at once disappeared. The heavy-set

man stood close to Bob, wearing upon his face
a look of great importance.

“You are making a great mistake, sir,” said

Bob. “I just came from Cabot’s place, and all
I did was to attempt to pass through your hall-way.”

“And pick up anything you could find on the

way, I suppose,” was the cold reply.

“No, sir.”

“Well, I won’t waste words with you. The<span class="pagenum"

id="Page_158">[158]
police will give your case all the attention it deserves.”

Bob heaved a sigh. If arrested, how could he

prove his innocence? The fact that he had been
in Cabot’s at the time of the raid would not
stand to his credit. Perhaps his story of being
a prisoner would not be believed, especially if
Casco, Barker, and the others escaped.

Bob meditated a dash for liberty, but before

he could put it into execution the boy came back
with a policeman.

“Caught one of ’em, have you, Mr. Olney?”

said the officer, as he took Bob in charge.

“I have.”
In vain Bob tried to explain matters. The
policeman would not listen, and the youth was
hurried off to the station-house and thrust into a
cell, to await a hearing in the morning.

He wondered what had been done at Cabot’s

place, and if any of his enemies had been captured.

“If not, this will give them a good chance to

clear out,” he said to himself, bitterly.
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
[159]

<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XIII

BOB MAKES A TRUE FRIEND</h2>

</div>

The cell in which Bob was confined was provided

with a rough sleeping-bench, but though
the youth lay down he did not slumber, but lay
awake thinking over his troubles.

At last morning came, and at nine o’clock

Bob was brought out into the little court-room
attached to the station. Here sat a stern-faced
judge who eyed him sharply, as the charge
against him was made.

“What have you to say to this?” Bob was

asked.

Bob, of course, put in a plea of not guilty.

Then he was asked a number of questions, and
he related his whole story.

“You look as if you were telling the truth,

but the facts in the case don’t bear you
out,” said the judge. “You had no right
under any circumstances to enter Mr. Olney’s
house.”

At that moment a man brushed forward. It

was Mr. Starleigh.

“May it please your honor, may I ask why

this young man was brought here?” he asked.

[160]The judge happened to know the

old photographer,
and he related the case.

“He is not guilty, you may be sure of that,”

said Mr. Starleigh. “I am positive he is perfectly
honest.”

“You know him, then?”

“He works for me. He is the person who
helped to capture Bidwell, the thief.”

“Oh, then, that is a different matter. But

still——”

While the judge was talking, Mr. Starleigh

turned to Olney.

“John, you are making a sad mistake. This

young man is not a sneak-thief.”

“It looks mighty suspicious,” returned Olney.

He was a dealer in photographic supplies, and
Starleigh was a good customer.

“I feel certain you are mistaken.”

“Did you say he works for you?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll withdraw the charge,” Olney said,

not wishing to displease a valued customer. He
turned to the judge. “Your honor, will you
allow me to withdraw the charge?”

“Well, under the circumstances, you may,”

returned the judge. “The young man having
such a person as Mr. Starleigh to vouch for his
honesty, makes a difference. Robert Alden,
you may go.”

Bob lost no time in stepping down. Olney<span class="pagenum"

id="Page_161">[161]
stopped to talk to Mr. Starleigh for several minutes.
When he was gone, the youth grasped
the old photographer by the hand.

“Oh, how can I thank you!” he exclaimed,

warmly.

“That’s all right,” returned Mr. Starleigh.

“I haven’t forgotten what you did for me, Bob.”

“It was fortunate you came here.”

“I was summoned to testify against a fellow

who set the building on fire,” returned the old
photographer. “He had a grudge against one
of the tenants. But the case has been postponed
for a couple of days, so I am not needed.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“If you will, I wish you would go over to

Martin’s studio. He will give us facilities for
printing from the plates we saved. This afternoon
the fire insurance agents are going to adjust
my claim and then I will open somewhere
else just as soon as I can.”

“Before I leave I would like to know what the

police did at Cabot’s,” said Bob.

“We will ask Captain Downes. I know him

quite well.”

The official mentioned was found close at

hand. He said two rivermen had gotten into a
dispute in the saloon, and both had discharged
their pistols, but without damage. Two policemen
had been summoned, and the rivermen
were now in jail.

[162]Bob then told of Casco, Barker,

and Grogan.

“I heard about that through the fellow who

was drugged,” said Captain Downes. “And two
detectives are already on the way. But no doubt
those men have lost no time in getting away, and
Cabot will deny they were ever there. They
are a set of shrewd and slippery criminals.”

“Can you tell me anything about this Blake?”

The captain shook his head.

“Never heard of him.”

“And Sarah Blake?”

“Never heard of her, either. They are probably

newcomers to Stampton.”

The conversation continued for several minutes,

and then Bob left to make his way to Martin’s
studio, while Mr. Starleigh hurried off to
rent new quarters in place of the ones burnt out.

Bob found Martin a very nice man. The

youth worked hard, and by evening he had printed
and mounted an unusually large number of
photographs.

“You have the knack of it, I see,” said Martin.

“If you are ever out of a job, come over
and see me.”

“Thank you, perhaps I will,” replied Bob.

He had not forgotten the promise he had

made to Grace Maverick, and, after supper that
evening, he brushed up and again visited the
mansion on Mountain avenue.
The girl met him at the door, and at once[163]
conducted him to the library, where sat Mr.
Gregory Maverick, the president of the T. W.
& L. Railroad.

Mr. Maverick was a short, round-faced man,

with rather a pleasant cast of countenance. He
sat in an easy-chair, his slippered feet resting on
a cushion.

“Papa, this is Mr. Robert Alden,” said Grace,

presenting the youth.

Mr. Maverick at once jumped up, and caught

Bob by the hand.

“So you are the young man who rescued

Grace, are you?” he said. “I am very happy
to meet you. I have been wanting to thank you
for a long time for that brave act.”

“Oh, it wasn’t much!” stammered Bob.

“I think it a good deal,” laughed the railroad

president. “Sit down. Grace tells me you are
a stranger to Stampton.”

“Yes, sir. I came here looking for work.”

“And have you succeeded?”

“Yes, sir.”

And Bob started to tell how he had run across

Mr. Starleigh through the sneak-thief’s effort to
get away.

“I’ve heard of that fellow,” said Mr. Maverick.

“But go on with your story. I am quite
interested.”

“And so am I,” added Grace, who had taken

a seat at her father’s feet.

[164]Bob did as requested. Both Mr.

Maverick
and his daughter asked a great number of questions,
and before the youth was aware he had
related his entire history, and the clock had long
since struck ten.

“Really I must be making you tired,” said the

youth, as he glanced at the time-piece.

“On the contrary, I have been deeply interested,”

said the railroad president. “I like to
see a young man show pluck and determination.
That is the only way to succeed in life. So your
ambition is to become a first-class photographer?”

“Yes, sir. I don’t care so much for studio

work, but I would like to use the art on the
road. I love travelling from place to place.”

Mr. Maverick stroked his chin reflectively. A

sudden idea had flashed through his mind.

“You like to do work outdoors, eh?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How long will it take you to learn that

branch of the work?”

“Oh, I can take that sort of a picture now.

Faces are the hardest things to photograph.”

“I see.” Mr. Maverick mused for a moment.

“Will you do me the favor to call here to-morrow
evening? I may have a proposition to make
to you.”

“I will come, sir.”

Then the conversation became general, and<span class="pagenum"

id="Page_165">[165]
a quarter of an hour later Bob left, Grace Maverick
seeing him to the door.

Bob could not help but wonder what proposition

the railroad president would have to make.
Of course, it would be in return for the assistance
he had given Grace.

Perhaps Mr. Maverick would offer him a

place on the road. Well, if it paid, Bob would
accept it, even though it was not in exact line
with his desires. He would do a good deal to
be where he might occasionally come in contact
with Grace.

On the following morning Mr. Starleigh announced

that he had purchased the title and interest
in a photographic establishment close to
the one which had been burned out. The
plates which had been saved, as well as the
lenses, were at once transferred to the newly-acquired
studio, and by dinner-time they were
once more ready for business.

The assistant who drank had been discharged,

and when Mr. Starleigh went off to purchase
some supplies which would soon be needed,
Bob was left in sole charge of the studio.

The man who had owned the establishment

before Mr. Starleigh had purchased it had been
a wild sort of a fellow, and had paid but scant
attention to business. Consequently trade was
all run down, and as Mr. Starleigh’s former
patrons had not yet heard of the change, business[166]
during the afternoon was exceedingly
dull.

But Bob worked hard at printing and mounting

photographs, and to him the time passed
quickly enough.

At length, about five o’clock, there came a

series of loud knocks on the glass door which
led to the hall.

“Come in!” called out Bob, and in response

there stalked in a very tall, lean man, with hollow
cheeks and sunken eyes.

The man stared vacantly around the studio,

and then dropped into a chair.

“You take photos here, I understand?” he

said, in a deep bass voice.

“Yes, sir,” returned Bob, politely.

“Photos of all the Presidents, I understand?”

“Hardly,” laughed Bob. He thought the

man was joking. “Sometimes we take a bank
president, or something like that.”

“Never took a President of the United

States?” demanded the man, sharply.

“I think not, sir.”

“I understood differently, understand, I understood

differently,” cried the man, raising his
voice and jumping to his feet. “I am not to be
imposed upon, either,” he added.

“I am not imposing on you,” returned Bob,

gently. He realized at once that the man was
not right in his mind. “We would willingly[167]
take a President, if he would grant us a sitting.”

“Ah! so I thought. That’s the reason I

came here. Do you know who I am?”

“I do not, sir.”

“I am the President of the Sandwich Islands—appointed

by act of Congress last month.
Take off your hat.”
As Bob had no hat on, he could not comply
with this demand. His failure to do as bidden
seemed to anger the man, who was nothing more
or less than crazy.

“Did you hear me, sir?”

“I did; but I haven’t any hat on.”

“Ah! that’s different. I am short-sighted—lost

my sight in the Mexican war—a shell passed
in front of me—I dodged—and though I escaped,
it carried the best part of my eyesight
with it.”

To this Bob made no reply. He was meditating

on how best to get rid of his unwelcome
visitor.

Suddenly the man stole over to where he

stood.

“Get the machine ready,” he cried.

“What for?”

“For my picture. I want you to take the

largest ever taken, regardless of expense.”

“I can’t do that, sir.”

“Why not?”

[168]“I am only a helper here—the

proprietor is
out. You had better call again.”

“Ha! I would, but I haven’t time, understand,

I haven’t time. Every moment of a President’s
life is important. I have three ministers
to appoint before I go to sleep, and the people
harass me to death with their applications.”

“Well, I can’t take the picture.”

“Then I will take it myself.”

The man rushed toward the camera, and

caught hold of the tube.

“Stop!” cried Bob, in alarm. “You may

break something.”

Bob grasped the crazy man by the arm and

tried to make him let go his hold on the camera.

“You will only break it,” he went on. “Please

come in to-morrow.”
“Now or never! I have promised all my
friends a picture of my skeleton, and I do not
intend to disappoint them. Where are the
plates? The best in the house, mind, regardless
of expense. The President has his picture
taken at the public expense, ha, ha! That’s a
joke.”

Seeing he could do nothing with the crazy fellow,

Bob moved toward the door, intending to
summon assistance and have him removed.

But now a knowing look came into the lunatic’s

eyes. He left the camera, and leaped
toward the youth.

[169]“No, I’m not going back, and you

can’t make
me. They all say I’m crazy, but they are jealous,
that’s all. But when the picture is taken
it will be all right. Stay here till I press the
button, and don’t dare to move, or I will have
you banished to utter darkness forever.”

And, catching up a folded tripod, the crazy

man stood guard, so that Bob might not escape
from the studio.
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
[170]

<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XIV

BOB MAKES A NEW MOVE</h2>

</div>

Bob was alarmed when the crazy man strode

forward, tripod in hand, as if to brain him
should he attempt to leave the studio.

He had not had much to do with people of

unsound mind, but he was well aware that his
present position was both a delicate and a dangerous
one.

If the lunatic attacked him, he would have a

hard struggle to keep himself from harm, for,
despite his hollow eyes and shrunken form, the
man looked strong.

“I’m not going to leave,” said Bob. “Put

down the tripod, and sit in the chair if you want
the picture of your skeleton taken.”

He left the vicinity of the door, and seeing

this the crazy man at once dropped the folded
tripod and sank into a chair.
“Will you take the picture?” he demanded.

“I will if you will promise to go away right

afterward,” returned the youth.

“That goes. Take me this way, and be quick.

I must catch the next ocean steamer for the
Sandwich Islands.”

[171]The man sprawled out on the

chair, put one
hand to his chin and the other to his breast and
put on a sober, earnest look.

Bob at once placed a prepared tin plate in the

camera, put on the proper lens, and in a few
minutes had a tintype of the crazy man.

“There you are,” he said, as he trimmed it

up. “Now you will have to hurry to catch that
steamer.”

The lunatic glared at the picture for a second.

Then he burst out into a wild fit of laughter.

“Is that me? Really, where is the skeleton?

Oh, this is a fraud! Take a thousand more, and
be sure and add the skeleton, if you want your
pay.”

Bob’s heart sank within him. He had made a

great effort to get rid of the lunatic, and failed.
What was to be done now?

He decided to use strong measures. Picking

up the folded tripod, he advanced toward the
lunatic.

“Get out of here at once,” he said, sternly.

“I am too busy to be fooled with. Go!”

The crazy man’s face fell, and with a slow

step he moved toward the door.

“Excuse me,” he said, softly. “I didn’t know

you were busy. I’ll come in some time to-morrow.”

He made a profound bow, and started as if to

go.

[172]“Thank fortune I am rid of him!”

thought
Bob.

But the youth was mistaken. Reaching the

door, the lunatic suddenly turned, and, before
Bob was aware, sprang straight for the youth’s
throat.
The attack was so unexpected that Bob was
borne over backward, the crazy man landing on
his breast.

“Let up!” gasped Bob, desperately.

The crazy man did not reply, but tightened

his grip on Bob’s throat, so that he was nearly
choked to death.

In vain Bob struggled. He could not loosen

that nervous hold the lunatic had taken, and
now his head began to swim, and strange lights
began to flicker before his eyes.

He tried to kick, but could not reach his opponent.

Half a minute more passed, and poor
Bob was on the point of giving himself up as
lost.

Then the door of the studio opened, and Mr.

Starleigh hurried in, followed by Mr. Martin.

“Hullo! what’s this?” cried the old photographer,

surveying the strange scene in astonishment.

“It’s Crazy Sam Bartlett,” ejaculated Mr.

Martin.

“He is choking the boy to death,” went on

Mr. Starleigh. “Here, let him be!”

[173]He caught the lunatic by the

shoulder, and
hauled him backward.

The man set up a howl, and ceased tormenting

Bob. He gave one look at Mr. Martin and
his face fell.

“Sam, what does this mean?” demanded the

photographer.

“Haven’t time to explain,” returned Bartlett,

hurriedly.

“When did they let you out?”

“I ran away—they think I am crazy—but I’m

the President of the Sandwich Islands. Here
we go!”

Bartlett made a dash for the door. Mr. Martin

tried to stop him, but he was too late.

A second later they heard a crash. Bartlett

had leaped down the entire flight of stairs. All
three went after him, and found him lying at the
bottom, his left leg broken.
The police were at once summoned, and a
close coach was procured, in which he was
taken to the lunatic asylum from which he had
escaped.

Then Mr. Starleigh had Bob tell his story.

Both the old photographer and Mr. Martin
listened with great interest.

“And I never want another such experience

as long as I live,” concluded Bob.

“I shouldn’t think you would,” said Mr. Starleigh.

“Cranks are bad enough, but a real[174]
crazy man is ten times worse. It is lucky we
came in when we did.”

Bob went to work again, but his nerves were

all unstrung, and before long the old photographer
told him he might as well stop for the
day, as there was no need for further hurry.

When Bob reached his boarding-house, he

found a long letter from Frank Landes awaiting
him. In the epistle Frank said he intended to
take a trip to Stampton before long, and then go
on a business tour along the T. W. & L. Railroad.

“I would like to go with him,” thought Bob.

“Maybe I’ll see Frank, if Mr. Maverick offers
me a place on the road.”

That evening found Bob again at the railroad

president’s mansion, according to agreement.
Grace was present, and a long talk occurred.

“I want to do something for you, Bob,” said

Mr. Maverick. “I think I owe it to you, after
what you did for Grace. But I will not offer
you money for that service, for such acts are not
to be paid for in cash.”

Mr. Maverick paused. Bob bowed, but did

not reply. He was wondering what was
coming.

“You said you loved the art of photography,

and would like nothing better than a chance to
travel about taking pictures. To help you along
in this direction, I have purchased for you a[175]
complete travelling outfit, including a horse and
a wagon——”

“Mr. Maverick!” burst out the youth. “Do

you really mean that?”

“Yes, Bob,” smiled the railroad president.

“Come with me!”

Grace jumped up, and led the way out of the

house and down to the barn.

There stood a fine horse and a regular photographer’s

turn-out. The lantern was lit inside
of the wagon, and Bob saw it contained several
cameras, some lenses, a great number of plates,
besides a cabinet of chemicals and other things
needed for taking pictures.

“This is Grace’s gift to you,” said Mr. Maverick.

“How does it strike you?”

“It—it strikes me all of a heap,” gasped Bob.

“Do you really mean to say this whole outfit is
for me?”

“Certainly,” said Grace. “And I hope you

will make money out of it.”

“But—but it’s too much!” went on the

youth, who could as yet hardly realize his good
fortune.

“No, it isn’t,” returned the girl, warmly.

“You deserve every bit of it.”

“There is a money drawer under the seat,”

went on Mr. Maverick. “In it you will find
some cash, which you will need.”

Bob shook his head. There was too much of[176]
a lump in his throat to say anything. Good fortune
seemed to have come all in a heap.

“Does it suit you?” asked Grace, watching

him curiously.

“It more than suits,” burst out Bob. “Why

I—I can’t thank you enough. You have made
me the happiest chap in Stampton.”

“I have not finished yet,” said Mr. Maverick.

“Now you have the outfit, I believe you are almost
capable of doing the work I wish done.”

“I will do whatever I can for you,” returned

Bob, quickly. “And I won’t charge you a
cent.”

“In that case you can’t do anything. But this

work is for the railroad.”

“And what is it?”

“We intend before long to get up a new guide

book of the route, and our superintendent thinks
we ought to get out a fine illustrated work similar
to those put out by some of the larger roads.
For that purpose we will have to send out a man
to take at least thirty or forty of the finest views
obtainable for photo-engravings. I have spoken
to Mr. Starleigh—met him just before I returned
home—and he thinks with a little coaching you
could do this work very well.”

“I would do my best,” returned Bob, with

sparkling eyes.

“I advise that you remain with Mr. Starleigh

for several weeks yet, and then we will start you[177]
out. You may take your own time in getting
over the ground, and whenever you need money
you can send to the paymaster for it. When
you have finished, the bill will be promptly paid,
and I trust by that time you will have other
work, sufficient to keep you going. Do you accept?”

Bob did, without hesitation.

<div class="chapter">
[178]

<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XV

BOB BECOMES A TRAVELLING PHOTOGRAPHER</h2>

</div>

Bob did not know if he was walking on stone

or the air when he left the Maverick mansion.
To him it seemed as if the vista of good fortune
had opened to its very widest limit.

“I must be dreaming,” he murmured. “Bet

a cent I wake up in the loft of old Carrow’s barn
and find it all a dream.”

And the youth actually pinched himself to

make sure that he was not asleep.

It was past eleven o’clock, but though Bob

might have taken a horse-car to his boarding-house,
he preferred to walk, knowing full well
that even when he came to lie down, he would
not be able to sleep for speculating over all that
had happened.

The night was a gloomy one, and presently,

without hardly any warning, it began to rain.
At first the drops were few and far between, but
before the youth had gone a block farther the
shower turned into a deluge, and Bob scampered
for shelter.
Not far away was a shed over the front of a
butcher shop. Under this shed ran Bob, and[179]
huddled close to the building to avoid the rain
which the rising wind drove in.

Bob had been under the shed probably three

minutes when a man and a woman came out of
the hall-way beside the butcher shop, and stood
watching the rain.

“We will get all wet, Paul, if we try to leave

in this storm,” Bob heard the woman say.

“It may break away in a few minutes, Sarah,”

returned the man. “It is only a shower.”

“Showers sometimes last a long time,” was

the reply.

The sound of the woman’s voice was somewhat

familiar to Bob, and he moved forward a
bit to get a look at her face. She was the same
he had seen in Cabot’s establishment, the one he
rightly supposed was Sarah Blake.

Instantly he was all attention, and, pulling his

hat still farther over his eyes, he edged close to
the open door-way.

“You saw the old man?” went on the man

called Paul, after a short pause.

“I did.”

“And you could do nothing with him?”

“No. He loves drink, and will do almost

anything to obtain it. The case is hopeless.”

“You offered him money, I suppose?”

“I offered him what I could. But it was not

enough. He said he would take care of himself,
and told me to leave him.”

[180]“That crowd evidently have him

well in
hand.”

“I am afraid so, Paul.”

“Well, the best thing you can do is to let the

whole matter drop. You have done your duty.”

“I know, but——”

“Remember, he is only your stepfather, and

if you insist on following him up, you may get
into trouble.”

“But, Paul, I feel that he has not done right.

He was mixed up in some crooked work, and I
am afraid every day that I will hear of his arrest.”

“You take too much on your shoulders,

Sarah,” returned the man, earnestly. “You had
better come back home with me and let the matter
drop. This travelling around under an assumed
name and stopping in such a boarding-house
as this——”

Bob heard no more. A violent gust of wind

shut the door with a bang, and all became dark
and dreary once more.

Bob hesitated, not knowing what to do.

Should he knock on the door and ask the
woman for an interview?

While he was deliberating, the door opened

again, and the man came out. He hurried up
to the corner, where stood a cab, and got in.

Was he going to leave the woman behind?

It certainly looked so.

[181]But an instant later the woman

came out and
with all speed she ran toward the cab.

Bob dashed forward, but before he could stop

the woman she had entered the cab beside the
man, and the driver whipped up the horses.

Away went the cab at a high rate of speed.

Bob tried to catch on behind, to signal the

driver to stop, but he failed in both. He slipped
on the wet stones, and went down on one knee,
and by the time he arose the cab had disappeared
in the darkness.

Bob was much chagrined. He felt almost

certain that the woman could have told him
something concerning the past.

“And that’s not the worst of it,” grumbled

Bob to himself. “It’s bad enough to let them
slip, but they are most likely going out of town,
and goodness only knows when I’ll see her
again.”

He turned back under the shed again, and

dashing the water from his hat, and wiping off
one of his hands, which had become covered
with dirt, he rang the hall bell.
A moment of utter silence passed, and then a
tall, sour-faced woman, evidently an old maid,
appeared.

“Good-evening,” said Bob, politely. “I

called to find out if you could tell me where
that lady and gentleman who just left had gone
to.”

[182]“No, I can’t,” snapped the

woman. “What
do you want to know for?”

“I wish to see the lady.”

“So did several men. But she’s gone, and

I’m glad of it.”

“Will you please tell me her name?”

“I don’t know it. She said it was Brown, but

perhaps it isn’t. I didn’t like her, and I’m glad
the man came and took her away.”

“Do you know where she came from?”

“No. She paid in advance, and I needed the

money, so I took her in. But she was too sly
for me. Is that all you wanted to know?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Without another word, the woman shut the

door in Bob’s face and locked it. Bob could
not help but smile to himself.

“Something didn’t suit,” he murmured to

himself. “Rain or no rain, I’m going to try to
follow that cab.”

He started off at once in the direction the cab

had taken, running as fast as the slippery pavement
would allow.

But though he traversed several blocks, no

vehicle of any kind outside of a horse-car appeared
in sight, and finally he was forced to
abandon the chase.

On the following day Bob and Mr. Starleigh

had a long talk in regard to the youth’s future.
The upshot of this talk was that Bob agreed to[183]
work for nothing for two weeks, providing the
old photographer would teach him as much of
the business as possible in that length of time.

Bob was slightly worried over the question of

what to do with his horse and wagon during
that time, but Mr. Maverick solved it by telling
Bob to leave the turn-out in charge of the stable-hand
until he started away from Stampton.

The two weeks passed rapidly, and Bob spent

every hour of the time in devouring every item
of information which might prove useful to him
while taking pictures on the road.

During that time Grace Maverick came to the

studio to have her picture taken. Mr. Starleigh
allowed Bob to do the work, which proved
highly satisfactory. When Bob printed and
mounted the pictures, he made an extra one,
but this did not go among the studio samples.

“I’ll keep that for my own,” said Bob to himself.

At length the day came for Bob to quit the

studio. Mr. Starleigh shook him warmly by the
hand.

“I am sorry to lose you, Bob,” he said. “But

I am glad you are going to start on your own
account with such bright prospects. I have
taught you all in my power, and you ought to
be able to get along very well.”

“Thanks, Mr. Starleigh, and I won’t forget

what you’ve done for me,” returned Bob.

[184]Bob had received full

instructions from the
railroad superintendent as to what sort of pictures
were desired. He was to go along the
entire length of the road, and the original order
for thirty pictures had been increased to fifty,
to include sections of the roadbed, bridges, and
views of the scenery on the route and in the
vicinity.

“And do your best, Bob,” said Grace

Maverick.

“You can take my word I will,” replied the

youth. “And if you will allow me, I will occasionally
send you a few private pictures, taken
by the way.”

“Oh, that will be delightful!”

He shook her hand. The extra squeeze he

gave it was returned, and both blushed. Then
he turned to Mr. Maverick, bade him good-by,
and drove off.

Bob the Photographer had started on his first

travelling tour. Little did he dream of the many
adventures and perils he was to encounter before
he returned to Stampton.

The horse that had been presented to him

was a good one, and he started off at a lively
gait. The wagon moved along easily, and Bob,
seated up in front, whip in hand, felt in the best
of spirits.

His first stop was to be at a place called Dartinville,

a small town, situated on the mountain[185]
side. It was a great place for summer boarders,
all of whom had to come by way of the T. W.
& L. Railroad.

The road to Dartinville ran along the side

of a narrow but deep creek. It was rather a
rough road, with the mountains directly back
of it.

As Bob drove along, he began to whistle, but

presently the whistle died on his lips, as he
heard the rush of wheels directly behind him.

He looked back, and saw a horse tearing

toward him at a breakneck speed.

Behind the horse was a sulky, and clinging to

the seat of this was a bareheaded man, who
seemed to be paralyzed with fright.

Bob’s heart jumped into his throat. What

was to be done?

“Steer out!” he yelled to the man, as the

horse and turn-out came nearer.

“I can’t! Stop the horse!” yelled the occupant

of the sulky, in terror.

“I can’t stop him. Steer out or there will be

a smash-up,” went on Bob.

The man paid no attention. He had dropped

the lines, which were trailing on the horse’s
heels, and he did not have courage enough to
risk letting go his hold in an endeavor to pick
them up.

Bob saw that something must be done, and at

once. He caught up his own reins, and at the[186]
risk of upsetting his wagon turned in toward
the mountain slope.

“Steer out, I tell you!” he cried again. “If

you run into me, you’ll be killed.”
“Stop the horse!” was the man’s only reply.

With a bound, Bob was on the ground. He

ran back of his own wagon as fast as his legs
would carry him.

By this time the runaway was but a few feet

away. Seeing Bob in the road, the horse sheered
in and darted past the youth.

Bob gave a groan. The runaway was now

less than five yards from his own turn-out, and
it looked as if he would dash headlong into it
and thus smash it into a thousand bits.

“Whoa!” yelled Bob, in one mighty, final

effort to attract the mad steed’s attention.

The horse heard the command, gave a snort,

and shook his head. Then he swerved outward,
and flew past Bob’s turn-out, just grazing
one of the rear wheels.

Bob rushed forward, but before he could catch

the mad animal the horse swerved still more,
made a leap, and plunged into the water, dragging
the sulky, with the man on it, after him.

<figure class="figcenter illowe28_125" id="i_186a">

<img alt="" class="w100" src="images/i_186a.jpg" id="img_images_i_186a.jpg">
<figcaption class="caption">THE HORSE PLUNGED INTO THE WATER,
DRAGGING THE SULKY,
WITH THE MAN ON IT, AFTER HIM.</figcaption>
</figure>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
[187]

<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XVI

BOB TAKES A DIVE OVERBOARD</h2>

</div>

Bob was alarmed when he saw the horse go

overboard, dragging the sulky with the man
clinging to it after him.

He saw the horse go down out of sight. The

rear end of the sulky remained above water, but
the man dropped over the front, and he, too,
disappeared.

Bob waited for a moment in breathless suspense.

Then he saw the horse come up and
begin to struggle wildly.

Where was the man? Second after second

passed, and still he failed to appear.
“Perhaps he’s caught in the sulky and can’t
rise,” thought Bob. “He’ll be drowned if he
stays under much longer.”

Suddenly the youth saw something which

filled him with horror.

It was one foot of the man, which stuck up

through the left sulky wheel.

“He’s caught sure,” burst out the youth.

“Unless I help him he’ll be drowned.”

The horse was still struggling madly, and the

water all around was churned into foam.

[188]Bob approached the brink of the

creek and
watched eagerly to see if the man would show
any sign of life.

Presently he saw the foot give a spasmodic

movement, and then on the other side of the
wheel appeared the man’s head.

“Save me!” were the first words he uttered,

as he expelled a lot of water from his mouth.

“Can’t you get clear of the wheel?” cried

Bob.

“No; my leg is caught in the reins, which are

all twisted up.”

Bob listened to no more. He pulled out his

clasp-knife and opened it. Then watching for
a favorable opportunity, he dived to the man’s
assistance.

Under the surface he went, but quickly came

up close to where the man was situated.

“It’s my left leg,” cried the man. “Confound

the horse, why can’t he keep still?”

“Because he wants to be saved, too,” replied

Bob, and under he went.

Bob was used to the water. Indeed the only

recreation he had had while living with old Peter
Thompson was to go swimming in the river behind
the house, and gunning in the woods.

Consequently the youth felt perfectly at home.

With eyes wide open, he quickly took in the
situation, and two slashes of the clasp-knife released
the tangled-up limb, and the man was free.
[189]Without a word the man made for
the bank,
and, catching hold of some overhanging bushes,
pulled himself up.

“Don’t you want to save your horse?” called

out Bob, taking care that the animal should not
kick him.

“I do, but I don’t know how.”

“Get the rope tied under my wagon.”

The man ran off, and in less than fifteen seconds

returned with a long rope which the young
photographer carried for a case of emergency.

“Throw one end down,” went on Bob, and

this was promptly done.

Catching the floating end, Bob made a noose

in it. Then he swam close to the struggling
horse and threw the noose over the animal’s
head.

“Now pull him down the stream to that shallow

place,” cried Bob. “Hurry up, or he’ll
be a goner.”

Pulling on the rope the man started down the

stream. It was hard work, and long before he
reached the shallow spot Bob was up on the
bank beside him.

As soon as the horse struck the shallow part

of the creek he ceased to struggle, and they had
but little difficulty in leading him to dry ground.

Here, however, he began to tremble, and

finally sank down on his side.

“He’s chilled more than anything,” said Bob.<span class="pagenum"

id="Page_190">[190]
“The best we can do will be to rub him. I
don’t believe he has swallowed much water.”

“He don’t look so. But he was fearfully

heated from running away. I reckon that rubbing
will warm us up, too.”

Bob ran back to his wagon and got a blanket

and several other articles. When he came back,
he found the man had already gone to work,
and he set to helping.

Once thoroughly rubbed down and blanketed,

the horse appeared to be better.

“Leave him in the strong sunshine for a

while, and he’ll be all right,” said Bob. “As
soon as he makes a move to stand up make
him do so and walk him around.”

“I see you are used to handling horses.”

“A little. What was the trouble, did he run

away?”

“Yes, got the bit and that settled it. I am

glad we saved him.”

“He looks like a valuable animal.”

“I believe he is. He is not mine. He belongs

to a friend, who asked me to take him out
and exercise him.”

“Your friend will be surprised when he learns

of what has happened.”

“I suppose so. But who are you, if I may

ask?”

Bob told him.

“I am Edgar Willett, of Dartinville. I<span class="pagenum"

id="Page_191">[191]
owe you something, Alden, for your generous
help.”

“That’s all right.”

“So you are taking pictures for the railroad

company?”

“Yes.”

“Intend to stop at Dartinville?”

“Such was the calculation.”

“Then while you remain you must make my

home your own. My house is the first beyond
the blacksmith shop. I have lots of stable room
for your horse and wagon.”

“Thank you.”

“Oh, no thanks. You saved the horse, and

that is worth a good deal to me.”

While they were waiting for the horse to

recover, Bob entered his own turn-out and
changed his clothes. He gave Willett a like
chance, offering him a suit that almost fitted
him, and the man gladly made the transfer.

A couple of hours later they started for Dartinville.

Willett led the way to his own house,
and Bob tied up in the stable. Mrs. Willett
was told of what had happened, and she at once
prepared a hot dinner for the two.

Bob was hungry, and he ate heartily. Then

Willett started to return the horse and the
sulky, and the young photographer went off to
take his first picture for the railroad company.

There was a bridge at Dartinville which the<span class="pagenum"

id="Page_192">[192]
railroad company had built over the creek. It
was a picturesque place, and Bob had every
reason to believe that it would make a fine view.

With his camera in one hand and his tripod

and satchel slung over his shoulder, Bob made
his way to the spot.

In order to get the proper view the young

photographer was compelled to climb through a
mass of thick brush and stubble. This was not
very agreeable, but Bob bore it philosophically,
remembering that all work is not play.

At last Bob reached a spot he thought a good

one and without delay he set up his tripod. He
had just adjusted his camera and was putting
in a plate when a noise close at hand made him
pause.

The noise came from the depth of the brush,

and for the moment Bob could not make out
what it was.

“Maybe somebody is following me,” he

thought.

A minute later the sound ceased. Bob

listened for it quite a while, but at last turned
again to his work. It was no easy matter to
get a good picture, as the sun shone almost
directly toward him.

“If I am not careful, I’ll have a ghost on the

plate,” he said to himself, thereby meaning that
the sun would cause the picture to be white
spotted.

[193]To make sure of getting a

perfect plate Bob
took two pictures, one while the sun was out
full and the other when that luminary was
slightly clouded.

The pictures taken, Bob placed them away so

that no light might reach them, and prepared to
leave the spot.
“That makes picture number one,” he
thought. “And I sincerely hope that it proves
a success.”

He resolved to develop both plates as soon

as he reached the wagon, and if one was not perfect
in every way to return and try again.

Bob had just started to close up his camera

when the strange noise he had heard before
reached his ears.

This time it came closer, and the young

photographer made up his mind it was some
animal roaming in the brush.

“Perhaps a stray cow,” he said to himself.

“Here, cush! cush! cush!” he called out.

For reply the crashing through the brush

came even closer.

Presently the brush was thrust aside by a pair

of horns and the head of a large and angry-looking
bull appeared.

“Hello, this is interesting,” thought Bob,

springing back.

The bull gave a look around and then fixed<span class="pagenum"

id="Page_194">[194]
his glaring eyes on the young photographer in a
most threatening manner.

“Gee haw!” shouted Bob, trying by this

means to make the bull leave.

Instead of turning, the bull gave a fierce snort.

“He means mischief,” thought Bob, looking

around for something with which to defend
himself.

Then the bull lowered his head and with

another snort rushed toward Bob.
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
[195]

<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XVII

BOB MAKES A STRANGE CAPTURE</h2>

</div>

Bob sprang to one side, catching up the

camera as he did so.
The bull charged forward, and had the youth
been in the spot where he had just stood he
would have been gored to death.

The bull had a ring in his nose, and Bob now

saw that he was of the wildest sort, and evidently
used to being chained.

“If I had an axe, I would knock him on the

head,” said Bob, as he again dodged. “There
goes the satchel. I’ll bet he smashed every
bottle in it.”

For the bull had planted his foot on the

travelling bag, and Bob had heard the crash of
glass.

Again the wild animal made for Bob, his eyes

glaring like two balls of red fire.

“He has escaped from somebody,” thought

Bob. “I wonder what I had best do?”

While Bob continued to dodge around among

the brush he heard the sounds of voices.

“Hullo there, help!” he cried out.

[196]“Is that bull there?” came back

almost immediately.

“He is, horns and all,” returned Bob. “And the

sooner you capture him the better I will like it.”

“Drat the luck!” returned another voice.

“Hi, hi!”

Presently two farmers came in sight, opposite

to where Bob stood. One carried a gad and
the other a chain and clasp.

“It’s him, sure enough,” said one of the

farmers. “Look out, if you don’t want to be
killed!” he yelled.

“I am looking out,” said Bob. “By jinks!”

The bull had made another charge, and the

young photographer had to step lively to get
out of reach.

“If he was mine, I’d knock him on the head

with an axe,” said Bob. “He’s too dangerous
to leave running around.”

“He broke away this morning,” replied one

of the farmers. “He belongs up to the county
fair. They had a high old time before he got
out of the back gate.”

“And you’ll have a high old time before you

get him back, I’m thinking,” laughed Bob, who
was now beginning to relish the scene.

“I guess you’re right. What’s that thing?”

“My satchel. He just smashed it.”

“Humph! It’s good luck he didn’t smash

you instead of the bag.”

[197]“That’s so, too. How do you

propose to
catch him?”

“Bless me if I know.”

“I want ter git the chain on to him if I kin,”

put in the other farmer.

“That’s easier said than done. Hold up, give

me that chain.”

Bob snatched the chain from the man’s hand.

The bull was at that moment standing under

a tree, the lower branches of which were just
over his back.

Bob ran up behind the animal and in a twinkle

was up the tree.

Then he crawled out on the branches until

he was near the bull’s head.

At that instant the bull looked up. Quick as

a flash Bob bent down and hooked the chain in
to the ring in the animal’s nose.

The bull gave a loud snort and tried to lower

his head.

But before he could do so Bob had the chain

wound around the branch several times, and he
held fast with all his might.

The bull pulled hard, but though the branch

bent pretty low, it did not break.

“Well, I swan!” cried one of the farmers.

“If that ain’t the cutest trick I ever see.”

“Don’t yer tumble on to him, or he’ll gore

yer ter jelly!” yelled the other farmer.

Bob fastened the end of the chain so that it<span class="pagenum"

id="Page_198">[198]
could not slip, and then slid down on the opposite
side of the tree.

By this time pulling on the chain had begun

to hurt the bull’s nose, and he quieted down,
although his eyes rolled as fiercely as ever.

“He’s safe there for the present,” said Bob.

“The best thing you can do is to get another
chain and hobble him.”

“We’ll get his regular keeper,” returned one

of the farmers. “By gosh, but ain’t he a regular
picter with his nose stuck up in the air!”

This remark gave Bob a sudden idea. He

ran back for his camera, and setting it up,
hastily took a picture of the captured beast.

“I’ll send it to Frank,” he said to himself.

“It will remind him of the time we tried to
photograph that elephant.”

While Bob was taking the picture and looking

over the wreck of his satchel, one of the farmers
made off to notify the keeper of the prize bull
of what had occurred. He returned in a short
while, having met the keeper on the road.

A number of ropes and chains were procured,

and before long the bull was under complete
control. The keeper spoke kindly to him, and
gradually the fierce light in the bull’s eyes died
out utterly, and he became as gentle as an
ordinary animal.

“A woman teased him with a red parasol,”

explained the man to Bob. “Otherwise he[199]
would never have acted in this fashion. I will
be able to lead him back without further
trouble, mark my word.”

And when he started, the bull went along

just as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

As there were no more pictures to be taken

that day, Bob followed the keeper and the two
farmers to the county fair, which was being held
on the outskirts of Dartinville. He was allowed
in without buying a ticket, and when he met the
owner of the bull, that individual promptly
offered to pay for all damages done.

“Well, the chemicals in the bag were worth

about six dollars,” said Bob.

“And the satchel?”

“I don’t know. It was a gift.”

“Will a ten-dollar bill cover it?”

“I think so.”

“Then here is a twenty—ten for your loss

and ten for your ingenuity in helping us capture
the bull.”

Bob pocketed the cash with thanks. The adventure

had been rather a perilous one, but on
the whole he had enjoyed it.

Buying himself a pocketful of peanuts, Bob

strolled around the grounds. He was not much
interested in the display of prize fruit and vegetables,
having seen too much of this stuff while
working on the farm.

[200]But the side-shows attracted his

attention.
They had big paintings hung outside, and Bob
had seen very little of anything like it before.

“Walk up, ladies and gentlemen, and see the

most marvellous exhibition on the face of the
globe!” cried out one of the side-show spouters.
“The bearded lady from Georgia, the four-legged
man from California, and the celebrated glass-eater,
Mazzati, from the Island of Borneo. Admission
but a dime, and if you are not satisfied
we will refund you your money.”

Bob listened for a while, and during the time

he was doing so he saw a tall figure walk up to
the stand, buy a ticket, and enter the dirty tent.

It was Joel Carrow.

“Gracious, he must be treating himself,”

thought Bob. “A whole ten cents spent at one
time, not to say anything about the price of admission
to the fair grounds. I have half a mind
to follow him in and see what he has to say
when we meet.”

Bob thought over the matter for a moment.

Then he dropped a dime into the doorkeeper’s
hand and passed inside the show-tent.

As he expected, the show—if it may be designated

by that name—was the worst kind of a
swindle. The bearded lady’s beard was a false
one—the four-legged man had two artificial
limbs, and the glass-eater ate nothing more
brittle than a peculiar kind of rock candy.

[201]Only half a dozen visitors were

inside the
tent, and they stared stupidly around, first at
the so-called curiosities and then at one another.

Bob looked for Joel Carrow, who had inspected

the “curiosities,” and was now making
his way to a corner of the tent where stood a
flashily-dressed man, having before him a small
show-case and a box filled with envelopes.

The show-case was laden with articles of jewelry,

each bearing a certain number.

“Here’s your chance to make money,” said the

flashily-dressed man. “Each of the envelopes
in this box contains a number, and that number
can be found on some articles of jewelry in the
case. The price of an envelope is only twenty-five
cents, and there are no blanks. Try your
luck and win the gold watch or the diamond
scarf-pin, either of which is worth fifty dollars.”

Joel Carrow was interested. He did not

know that none of the envelopes contained the
number corresponding to the articles of any
value in the case. It was true there were no
blanks, but it was also true there were no prizes
of a greater cash value than five cents.

“I’ll try my luck,” said Carrow, after some

hesitation, and he passed over twenty-five cents.

“I think I’ll watch this,” thought Bob. “That

man will try to swindle Carrow all he can.”
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
[202]

<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XVIII

BOB SHOWS UP A SWINDLER</h2>

</div>

Bob had no great feeling of love for the

miserly farmer who had so misused him, yet he
did not intend to stand calmly by and see Joel
Carrow done out of his money.

He had heard of this prize-package swindle

while in Stampton, and he knew exactly how it
was worked.

The flashily-dressed man took in Carrow at a

glance, and also noted that the farmer carried a
well-filled pocket-book.

He thought Carrow would prove well worth

plucking, and smiled broadly.
“One package? We sell five for a dollar.
You had better try it. You may win all large
prizes.”

“I’ll try one first,” replied Carrow, cautiously.

The man handed out the box. One of the

envelopes projected slightly beyond the rest,
and this Carrow took.

“Number 37,” he said, reading from a slip.

“What’s that good fer?”

“Number 37 takes this elegant ruby scarf-pin,<span class="pagenum"

id="Page_203">[203]
worth eight dollars,” replied the swindler, handing
over a pin that was nothing but a bit of
colored glass and brass. “You’re in luck.”

“Is the pin worth eight dollars?” questioned

Carrow, doubtfully.

“Certainly. Would you rather have five dollars

in cash? That is what they cost direct
from the manufacturers. Many jewellers sell
them for double the money.”

It will be noticed that the swindler did not

say he would give five dollars for the pin, although
he led Carrow to believe he would.

This remark made the old farmer feel good.

“N-no; I’ll keep the pin.”

“Very well. Try again? Remember, only

one dollar for five.”

“Well, I dun no,” and Carrow scratched his

head.

“Let me show you something.” The swindler

pretended to shake up the box of envelopes.
“How is this?”

He drew out an envelope. The number inside

was fifty, and this called for the watch said
to be worth fifty dollars.

“Gosh!” murmured Carrow, in admiration.

“I wish I had drew it.”

“Nothing easier. See here, I will place the

number back into the envelope and put the
envelope back into the box. There it goes.
Now remember, you know as well as I it has[204]
got the number entitling you to the fifty-dollar
watch. You most likely know just where it is.
Try it for fun.”

Carrow did so. Sure enough, his sharp eyes

had followed the right envelope and the number
was within it.

“Now I’ll try it again. There it goes, just as

before. If you want to win, I’ll give you the
chance. For ten dollars you may draw three
envelopes. You are bound to strike the right
one in one out of three.”

Carrow’s eyes sparkled. He was sure he had

his eye on the right envelope.

He drew out his pocket-book to get out his

ten dollars.

At this instant Bob brushed up to him. The

young photographer had watched proceedings
closely, and he knew exactly what had occurred.

“Don’t try it, or you will lose,” he whispered.

Carrow started back as if shot.

“What, Bob Alden!” he cried.

“Yes, Carrow. Did you hear me?”

“Where did you come from, you scamp?”

“I’m not a scamp, Carrow.”

“You—you——” blustered the farmer, hardly

knowing what to say.

“I want no words with you,” replied Bob. “I

merely meant to warn you. This is a swindle.”

“A swindle!” gasped Carrow.

“What’s that?” put in the sharper, roughly.

[205]“I am talking to this man,”

returned the
young photographer.

“He says it’s a swindle,” put in Carrow.

“You had better mind your own business,

young man. What right have you to interfere
here?”

“The right of anybody to show you up,” returned

Bob, bravely. “You sha’n’t swindle this
man out of ten dollars if I can help it.”
“How do yer know it’s a swindle?” asked
Carrow, faintly.

“Because he didn’t put the number in the

envelope.”

“Are yer sure o’ thet?”

“Yes.”

“Nonsense!” cried the swindler. “This is a

perfectly honest game of chance.”

“He had two numbers in his hand. The first

time he placed one of them in the envelope, but
this time he placed the other, and you can be
sure it wasn’t the fifty.”

“See here, you get out of here!” cried the

swindler, in a rage. “I have a good mind to
have you arrested for interfering with my business.”

“You may have me arrested if you wish,”

replied the young photographer, coolly.

The swindler rushed from behind his stand

and caught Bob by the arm.

“Let go!”

[206]“You get right out of here.”

Bob pulled himself away. The row had

attracted the attention of several in the tent
and they now interfered.

“Leave the boy alone!”

“He told the truth; that game is always a

swindle!”

“The whole show is a swindle!”

“That’s so, too.”

The crowd shoved forward, and the swindler

move back to his stand.

As he brushed past Bob he muttered into the

youth’s ear:

“I’ll get square with you some time for this!”

“Perhaps I won’t give you the chance,”

replied Bob, aloud.

In the disturbance Joel Carrow slipped away

without even thanking Bob for the service which
had been rendered to him.
“But that’s just like him,” thought Bob. “He
wouldn’t thank me even if I saved his life.”

He left the tent with several others, the swindler

shaking his fist after the youth.

By this time the fair was about over for the
day, and after a short walk among the exhibits
in the main building, Bob left the grounds.

He had accepted Willett’s invitation to remain

at the latter’s house all night, and when
he reached the place he found supper awaiting
him.

[207]The family were all seated out

on the porch,
and they made such a fine group that Bob took
a tintype of them, while it was still light, he
having brought along an outfit for such pictures.
The tintype he presented to Mrs. Willett, much
to that lady’s pleasure.

“I should think it would be fun taking pictures,”

said she.

“And worth money, too,” added her husband.

“It is both, and it is also perilous,” returned

Bob, and he told of the adventure with the prize
bull.

“My! it’s lucky you weren’t killed!” cried

the woman. “Weren’t you scared?”

“I was at first. But I am having so many

adventures I am getting used to them.”

Bob learned that the horse which had plunged

into the creek was doing nicely, and would in
all likelihood recover entirely from his involuntary
bath.

Bob had never been in Dartinville before, and

after supper, and while it was still light, he took
a stroll though the town. He stopped at the
drug-store and there purchased such chemicals
as had been lost in the smashed satchel.

“Now if one of those plates turn out all right,

I’ll be ready to start off first thing in the morning,”
he thought.

Bob did not know that his entrance into the

drug-store had been noted, yet such was a fact.

[208]The man who had tried to swindle

Joel Carrow
was stopping at the hotel opposite the place
of business, and he was now seated on the
piazza, smoking a cigar.

“There’s the boy who caused me so much

trouble this afternoon,” muttered the swindler.
“I promised to get square with him, and I will.”

Throwing away his cigar, he ran down the

piazza steps and took up a place behind a tree.

He had not long to wait. With the chemicals

in a small package in his left hand, Bob came
out of the drug-store and walked toward the
Willett home.

It was getting dark now, and the young

photographer wished to develop the pictures he
had taken before retiring.

With a look of intense hatred in his face, the

swindler followed Bob until they came to a dark
spot in the road and caught the youth by the
collar.
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
[209]

<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XIX

BOB ON THE ROAD</h2>

</div>

For the instant Bob could not make out who
had caught hold of him. The road was dark,
and the fair-ground swindler had come up in his
rear.

He thought he must be the victim of some

footpad, and, dropping his bundle of chemicals,
he strove to break away.

“Let go of me!” he cried.

“I will when I have you where I want you,”

returned the swindler.

Bob fancied he recognized the voice, but he

was not sure. He renewed his struggle and had
almost succeeded in breaking away when the
swindler hit him a blow in the neck that dazed
him.

“Now we’ll see who’s ahead,” hissed the man.

“I’ll teach you to interfere with Joe Horning’s
business.”

“I’ll give you away to the police the next

time,” returned Bob, although rather faintly.
“Let go your hold!”

“Not much! See here, you served me a

mean trick, and I promised to get square. I[210]
don’t intend to lose ten dollars for nothing.
How much have you got in your pockets?”

“More than you’ll ever get,” cried Bob, growing

desperate. “Will you let go?”

“I told you before I would not.”

“Then take that!”

Bob had by this time somewhat recovered

from the blow in the neck. He now hauled off
with his right fist and let the swindler have it
straight in the mouth.

Bob threw all his muscle in the blow. It

caught Joe Horning in the upper lip, and not
only drew the blood, but also loosened two of
the swindler’s front teeth.

The swindler began to splutter, and he put

up one of his hands to his mouth.

Thus partially released, Bob twisted himself

free from the other hand, rolled over and sprang
up.

Joe Horning had not anticipated such resentment

on Bob’s part, and he was surprised in
addition to being hurt. He stepped back into
the road, and made a movement as if to draw a
pistol.

“I’ll fix you!” he muttered, after spitting out

a mouthful of blood.

Whether the swindler had a pistol or not,

Bob did not know. But he was determined to
take no risk with so desperate a character, and,
springing forward, he closed in on Horning.

[211]The two rolled over into the

dirt of the road,
and for a while it was a question as to which
would come out on top. Horning was at first
under, but he was a strong man, and he now
put forth every effort to get the best of the
young photographer.

“You think you’re mighty fly, but I’ll show

you,” he puffed.

To this Bob made no reply. He saw he had

a hard task before him, but he did not intend to
waste breath.

Horning tried to roll over several times, but

Bob held him down, until, when he could do
nothing else, the swindler bit the young photographer
in the finger.

It was not a hard bite, but it was so painful

and unexpected that Bob was for the moment
taken off his guard.

In that moment Horning pushed the youth

aside and sprang on top.

“This is my innings. Pass over that ten

dollars that is coming to me.”

“I won’t do it.”

“I say you shall. Come, be quick!”

Horning tried to get one of his hands into

Bob’s vest pocket. That pocket contained
seventeen dollars in bills, and Bob struggled
vigorously to save his money.

Just then there came the sounds of carriage

wheels on the road. Bob, lying on his back,[212]
heard them first and brightened up. Perhaps
help was close at hand.

At last the swindler succeeded in getting his

fingers into the pocket. The tips came in contact
with the roll of bills, and he renewed his
efforts to gain possession of the money.

He had just succeeded in getting the bills in

his grasp, when he noticed the approaching carriage.
He tried to spring away, but Bob held
him fast.

“Help, help!” cried the young photographer.

The carriage came to a sudden stop. A man

sat on the front seat, whip in hand.

“What’s up?” he cried, curiously.

“This fellow is robbing me. Help!”

The man made a leap to the road. Horning

saw him coming, and he tried his best to
wrench himself away.

But Bob’s hold was a good one, and although

the swindler kicked him several times, he did
not relinquish it until the new arrival had
Horning by the collar.

Then Bob jumped up, and caught the fellow

by the arm.

“Don’t let him escape,” he cried to the man

from the carriage.

“I’ve got him fast enough,” returned the

stranger. “So he was trying to rob you, eh?”

“Yes. He has a roll of bills he took from my

vest pocket.”

[213]“That’s not so!” cried Horning.

“I have
nothing but some loose change in my possession.”

“Then he threw the roll away when you came

up,” said Bob. “He took it from my vest
pocket only a second ago.”

“Strike a match and take a look around,”

suggested the stranger. “He may have flung
it away as you say.”

Bob quickly lit a match, and then several

more. In a few minutes he found the bills,
lying to one side in the dust.

“I have them,” he cried.

“What will you do with this fellow?” asked

the stranger. “If you say so, we can take him
to my uncle, who is the squire.”

“I think that would be best,” said Bob. “He

attacked me because I exposed his swindling
methods in a side-show at the fair this afternoon.”

“Oh, I heard about that! So you are the

chap, and this is the swindler.”

“Yes,” returned Bob. “Shall we walk him

there, or can you take him in your carriage?”

“Take him in the carriage.”

“Is it far?”

“About five minutes’ drive.”

“All right. Come, get in the carriage!”

went on Bob, turning to Horning.

“See here, gents, this is rather rough,” returned<span class="pagenum"

id="Page_214">[214]
the swindler. All the bluster and
bravery seemed to have died out of him.
“It’s not any worse than you deserve,” said
Bob.

“No, I ain’t that kind. I sometimes go in for

a bit of fun, but——”

“You can do your talking when you are

locked up,” said the stranger. “Now get in at
once.”

He assisted Horning up on the front seat,

still retaining his hold on the fellow’s collar.

“Now you had better take a seat in the rear,”

said he to Bob. “You will find a heavy stick
under the seat. Don’t hesitate to use it if he
tries to escape.”

Bob was about to enter the carriage, when

suddenly Horning sprang up and hit the stranger
on the breast. The blow was so unexpected
that the carriage owner reeled backward. He
would have struck on his head had not Bob
caught him.

“Get up!” cried Horning to the horse, and

the animal moved forward.

The swindler caught up the reins, and away

went the carriage, leaving Bob in the middle of
the road supporting the carriage owner, who
had not yet recovered.

“Whoa!” cried the youth to the horse, but

the animal paid no attention, and soon swindler
and turn-out had disappeared in the darkness.

[215]“Well, that’s a fine mess!”

cried the carriage
owner as he recovered himself. “He
got the best of Jack Hicks that time, and no
mistake.”

“What is best to be done?” questioned Bob.

“I must go after him,” replied Hicks.

“You can’t do it on foot.”

“I’ll borrow a rig from Edgar Willett.”

“Do you know him? I am stopping at his

house.”

“Oh, yes, he is an old friend of mine.”

The two hurried off, and soon reached the

Willett homestead. Willett had gone to bed,
but he quickly dressed and got out a horse and
light spring wagon.

He wished to accompany Hicks, but his wife

persuaded him to remain at home.

“I suppose I can go?” said Bob.

“Certainly. Jump in.”

Bob placed his chemicals in a safe place, and

a minute later the spring wagon was on the
road, spinning along in the direction Horning
had taken.

“Are there any side roads near here?” asked

the young photographer, after a drive of several
minutes in silence.

“Not for fully a mile from here.”

“We ought to try to catch him before he has

a chance of branching off.”

“That’s what I am thinking. The trouble is<span class="pagenum"

id="Page_216">[216]
my horse is a pretty fast stepper, although he is
rather tired just now.”

On and on they went through the darkness.

Presently Hicks drew up rather suddenly, and

pointed to one side of the road.

“There is a cow-path in here,” he said. “He

might have gone this way.”

“And he did,” said Bob.

“How do you know?”

“There is your horse and carriage standing

in the bushes.”
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
[217]

<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XX

BOB IN THE WOODS</h2>

</div>

The young photographer was right. There,

scarcely ten yards away, were the horse and the
wagon.

Hicks at once jumped down and strode over

to the turn-out. Bob followed.
“Is it O. K.?” queried Bob.

“Seems to be. He drove the horse for all

he knew how,” responded Hicks.

“Which way do you think he went?”

“Can’t say. It’s so infernally dark it will be

impossible to follow him up.”

“Well, I’m glad you got your rig back.”

“So am I. Yes, it’s all right, too.”

“Let me have the lantern a moment.”

“What for?”

“I’ll see if he left any trace behind.”

Bob took the lantern and made a close search.

But though there were foot-marks, there were
too many to trace out those made by the
swindler.

“What is beyond here?” asked the young

photographer as he returned the lantern to the
spring wagon.

[218]“This cow-path leads to Gus

Freeman’s barn-yard.”

“Is it far?”

“Quite a walk. There is a short cut over the

fields.”

“Then supposing we take a walk up that

way? We may head the fellow off.”

“That’s so. Wait till I tie both horses and

we’ll go.”

To a person not accustomed to outdoor life,

walking over the rough fields would have
been no easy task, but Bob was used to it,
and he easily kept up with Hicks’s long
strides.

When they reached the barn-yard of which

Hicks had spoken, they found it dark and silent.
The house stood some distance away, but there,
also, was no sign of life.

“He must have branched off,” said Hicks, as

they came to a halt near the stile.

“Perhaps, but—hist! what was that?”

Bob pointed to the rear of the cow-shed as he
spoke. A movement of some kind had attracted
his attention.

“I didn’t see anything.”

“It looked to me like a man moving about.”

“Perhaps it was Freeman’s colt. He leaves

him out here over night.”

But Bob shook his head. He was certain

that what he had seen was not a horse.

[219]“I’m going up and find out,” he

said. “You
stay here and watch for a move from below.”

“All right. If you see him, whistle.”

Bob moved away through the semi-darkness.

Passing along the rail fence to the end of the
barn he hopped over, and, without making a
sound, crossed to the cow-shed.

As he did so, a form sprang away from the

shed and darted around the corner of the barn.
Bob was sure it was the form of Joe Horning.

He gave a whistle to notify Hicks, and then

ran after the man, who by this time had passed
the barn and was making for a corn-field situated
some distance to the right.

As we know, Bob was a good runner, and

now he put forth his best effort, hoping to catch
Horning before he entered the field.

But in this he was unsuccessful. The swindler

gained the field, and in a moment vanished
among the tall rows of corn.

Now, any one who has been in a field of tall

corn knows full well how difficult it is to see in
any direction over a distance of ten feet.

Bob ran after Horning, but once in the field

he depended altogether on his ears to guide
him toward the fellow.

He heard Horning making his way down the

slope toward the creek, and he concluded that the
swindler knew nothing of the “lay of the land.”

Presently Bob heard a splash, and he knew<span class="pagenum"

id="Page_220">[220]
the man had reached the creek. He rushed
straight ahead, and was just in time to see
Horning wading knee-deep across to the stony
field beyond.

“He means to escape, if the thing can be

done,” thought Bob. “I wonder if I can’t jump
over and thus save myself a wetting?”

He gave a loud whistle for Hicks’s benefit,

and then, drawing back several paces, took the
leap.

Bob was a good jumper, and he cleared the

creek with nearly a foot to spare.

Horning by this time was making up the

rocky slope which led to a patch of timber land,
rather sparingly overgrown. He looked behind,
and, seeing that Bob was still following, redoubled
his speed.

But Bob was more used to such travelling than

the swindler from the city, and he kept gaining
on Horning, until, when the other side of the
timber was reached, he was not more than a
hundred feet behind.

Again he whistled to Hicks, but whether he

was answered or not he was unable to tell.

“I’ll have to fight it out alone,” thought Bob,

grimly. “Well, I won’t give him the ghost of a
chance this trip. He’ll find he can’t nip my
finger for nothing.”

“You might as well stop, Horning!” he

called out.

[221]“I believe I will,” returned the

man, and he
turned about and waited for Bob to come up.

“Do you give in?”

“Certainly not. I am no fool.”

“We are two to one.”

Horning started. He had supposed Bob

alone.

“Who is with you?”

“Never mind, you’ll soon see.”

Bob gave another whistle, but to his dismay

he received no answer.

He did not know that Hicks was slightly hard

of hearing, and had only heard the signal when
Bob was comparatively close by.

In perplexity over the non-appearance of

Hicks, Bob looked around for a stick. He
soon found one, and, picking it up, he brandished
it in the air.

“Now, we’ll see who is the best man. Do

you see that light over in the cottage yonder?”

“Not being blind, I do,” returned Horning,

sarcastically.

“Well, you’ll walk straight for it.”

“I won’t, and you can’t make me.”

As Horning spoke, he sprang at Bob. The

young photographer took a step back, and then
brought down the stick with all force.

The blow caught Horning in the arm, and he

uttered a shrill cry of pain.

“You have broken my arm!”

[222]“Not quite as bad as that I

hope,” said Bob.
“Do you intend to mind now?”

“No.”

Again the swindler made a dash for Bob.

Once more the stick descended, but this time

Horning dodged, and, putting out his foot, he
tripped Bob up.

When the young photographer arose, Horning

was again running as fast as his long legs would
permit. But Bob was equal to the emergency.
He picked up a stone, and, with unerring aim,
flung it at the retreating form.

The missile caught Horning in the back of

the head. He staggered, tried to recover, and
then fell forward.

He was partly stunned, and before he recovered

Bob was on top of him. In his pocket the
young photographer had a strong cord, and
with this he bound Horning’s hands behind
him.

“You have broken my skull!” moaned

Horning, completely subdued when he saw
how helpless he now was.

“No more broken than is your arm,” returned

Bob. “Will you go along now?”

“No.”

“Want another dose of that stick, eh?”

“Hold up! I’ll go. Oh, my head!”

“We’ll have your head attended to as soon as

I have you in a safe place. Come on!”

[223]Bob caught Horning by the arm,

and both
walked toward the cottage, from the window of
which a light was streaming.

Bob had no idea who occupied the place, but

he thought it would be likely he would find
somebody to give him assistance.

Arriving at the cottage, he knocked on the

door. There was at once a commotion inside,
and Bob fancied that the light was lowered.

“Who’s there?” came in rather a rough

voice.

“I want help,” said Bob.

The door was opened cautiously, and the

next moment Bob was nearly dumfounded to
find himself confronted by Mike Grogan.
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
[224]

<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXI

BOB TAKES A RISK</h2>

</div>

If the young photographer was astonished,

so was the Irishman.

“Phat, you?” he gasped.

“Mike Grogan!” ejaculated Bob.

He darted a swift glance around the interior

of the room, and was even more taken back
than before by beholding Casco and Barker
seated at the table, a bottle between them.

“It’s that Alden boy,” cried Casco.

“Alden!” exclaimed Barker, jumping up.

“How did he find out we were here?”
“I don’t know.”

“Is he alone?”

“No; there is a man with him, and hang me

if it isn’t Joe Horning.”

“What, Joe Horning the circus fakir?”

“Yes.”

“What does he want?”

“Give it up.”

Barker moved toward the door, which Grogan

still held open.

[225]Bob was trying to think. What

should he
do? Confronting the villainous trio had completely
upset his calculations.

He had half a mind to run away. It was certain

the trio would help Horning and not himself
when they understood the situation.

But Casco seemed to realize what was passing

through the young photographer’s mind, for
with a quick movement he sprang past Grogan
and caught Bob by the arm.

“Come in here!” he said, sharply.

Bob marched into the place. Horning followed,

and then the door was locked, and the
Irishman placed the key in his pocket.

Bob glanced around curiously. He saw that

the cottage contained nothing but a rude table,
and several boxes for seats, and rightly conjectured
that the trio had found it deserted and
made of it a temporary rendezvous.

“Now tell me what brings you here?” demanded

Barker, facing Bob, savagely.

“I came to get help,” returned the youth, as

coolly as he could.

“Help! What for?”

“To take this man to the lock-up.”

“What! Horning?”

“Yes.”

“That’s rich.”
And both Barker and Casco laughed.

“Shake,” said Casco to the fakir.

[226]“I can’t, my hands are tied,”

returned Horning,
rather sheepishly.

“Blame me if they ain’t. So the boy had you

a prisoner, Joe.”

“Yes,” growled the swindler. “He hit me

in the head with a rock first and knocked me
silly.” He did not fancy having the others
think he had been overpowered by a boy.

“Why was he after you?”

“We had a row up to the fair grounds.”

“I was after him because he tried to steal my

money and then stole a horse and carriage,” returned
Bob.

There was a general laugh, but at whose expense

it was hard to say.

Casco cut the cord which bound Horning.

The first thing the swindler did when released
was to confront Bob.

“I’ve a good mind to fix you for that crack

in the head,” he cried.

“Hold up, Joe, he’s our game,” interrupted

Casco.

“He is,” added Barker.

“An’ don’t worrhy but phat we’ll git square

wid him,” said Grogan.

“You seem to know him pretty well,” remarked

Horning.

“We do,” said Casco. He turned to Bob.

“See here, how long have you been following us
since you escaped from Cabot’s place?”

[227]“I haven’t been following you at

all.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Well, if you know better, what do you ask

me for?”

“Don’t get impudent. Do you know that

you are in our power?”

“Seems to me I was in your power before,”

and Bob grinned.

“Sure, an’ he’s a terror,” remarked Grogan.

“He is that,” said Horning. “But I say,

what are you three fellows doing out here? I
thought you were in New York.”

Barker winked at him. The wink was not

intended to reach Bob, but, nevertheless, the
youth caught it.

“They are up to no good, that’s certain,” he

thought. “If they were merely hiding from the
authorities, they would choose some more congenial
spot than this.”

Barker now produced a rope, and was about

to tie Bob up when Grogan came forward.

“Phat’s the good o’ that?” he asked. “Sure,

an’ the b’y kin git out o’ it loike a snake.”

“You’re right,” said Casco. “He’s the imp’s

own. Put him in one of the back rooms and
place Mike to watch him. I want to talk to
Joe.”

Grogan’s face fell a little, but when Casco

said he could take the bottle along for company
the Irishman was reconciled.

[228]Barker conducted Bob to a room

separate
from that now occupied. Here the young
photographer was tied to a support under a
heavy shelf and left in care of Grogan.

Grogan at once settled himself on a box, and,

filling his pipe, lit it.

“As yez don’t drink, Oi’ll take a sup fer yez,”

he said, and took a deep potion.

“What are you fellows doing up here, Grogan?”

asked Bob, as cheerfully as he could.

“Ax me no questions,” muttered Grogan.

“If ye want ter think o’ somethin’ cheerful,
think o’ how we will trate ye in the marnin’.”

Bob was compelled to shiver, and he became

silent. Once more was he in the power of this
lawless set of men.

Quarter of an hour dragged by. Grogan sat

calmly smoking, with his small eyes fastened on
the young photographer. He did not intend to
give the youth the first chance to escape.

Bob heard the murmur of voices, and he

knew Casco, Barker, and Horning were talking
over some matter of importance.

While the time slipped slowly by, Bob heard

a distant rumble which came closer and then
died away utterly.

“It must have been a train. I did not know

we were so close to the tracks,” thought the
youth.

Presently Grogan took another drink, and<span class="pagenum"

id="Page_229">[229]
again lit his pipe. But now Bob noticed that
the Irishman did not puff so vigorously as before.
Was he growing drowsy?

Fervidly the youth hoped so. He watched

Grogan as a cat watches a mouse, and he was
filled with hope when he saw the man’s pipe fall
and the Irishman make no effort to restore it to
his mouth.

“Now is my chance!” said Bob to himself,

and he set swiftly to work to free himself.

As Grogan was to watch the prisoner, Barker

had been rather careless in tying Bob up. The
bonds were soon slipped off, and then raising
one of the windows Bob leaped out.

Just as he did so, Grogan started up. Seeing

the youth disappear through the opening, he
gave a loud cry, which soon brought the others
to the scene.

“Where is he, Mike?”

“After him, boys!”

“Yes; he must not get away this time!”

Meanwhile Bob was running away as fast as

his feet could move. When about a hundred
yards from the cottage, he looked back and saw
that all four men were in pursuit.

On he dashed until striking a stone with his

toe he went down flat on the ground.

He arose as quickly as possible, but the time

lost had enabled his pursuers almost to close
the distance between them.
[230]Bob was now but fifty feet from
the railroad
tracks, which were situated on a small embankment.
As he ran up toward the tracks, he saw
a slow freight approaching.

Should he board one of the cars? It might

afford an excellent means of escape.

With a glare of the head-light the train came

along. Bob ran to meet it, with the four men
not far behind him. A moment later Bob was
on the train.
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
[231]

<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXII

BOB ON THE FREIGHT TRAIN</h2>

</div>

The young photographer did not have the

chance to look back at his pursuers. He had
one foot on the iron step of the car, and, though
the train was going at a slow rate of speed, he
found it no easy task to draw himself up on the
narrow platform.

“Come back!” he heard Barker cry.

He paid no attention to the order, satisfied

that anything would be preferable to falling
again into the hands of the villainous crowd
who were pursuing him.

At last, with a mighty effort, the youth drew

himself up. The ladder leading to the top of
the car was close at hand and to this he clung
while the train swung around a curve and out
of sight of those left on the embankment.

“By jinks! but that was a narrow escape!”

muttered Bob to himself as he drew a long
breath.

Bob remained where he was for five minutes

or more, trying to regain his breath and collect
his thoughts at the same time.

“I would like to know what those men are<span class="pagenum"

id="Page_232">[232]
doing out here,” he soliloquized. “Maybe they
are planning to rob a house in the vicinity.
They are certainly up to no good.”

The freight train made a strong rumble as it

moved along, but presently Bob fancied he
heard footsteps on the top of the car behind
him.

He was not mistaken, for in a moment the

form of a man appeared overhead. The man
looked down, as if searching for something.

“One of the train-hands most likely,” thought

Bob. “Maybe he saw what took place, and
wants to know what it is all about.”

Bob was about to call out, when he made a

discovery that filled him with surprise.

The man above was James Casco.

Casco had jumped aboard the sixth car behind

the one boarded by the young photographer.

That he was bent on searching out Bob the

youth felt certain, and he crouched low as the
man bent down to get a better view in the semi-darkness.

“Must be the next platform,” Bob heard

Casco mutter. “Although I was almost certain
it was this one.”

He was about to pass on, when just then the

train rolled past a farm-house, from the upper
windows of which streamed a strong light.

The light fell directly upon Bob, and Casco

caught a full view of him.

[233]“So I have found you, eh?”

muttered the
scar-faced man, with a gleam of satisfaction in
his eyes.

“What do you want here?” demanded Bob.

“You know well enough, Alden.”

“I must confess I do not.”

“You think, now you have discovered our

plans, you will inform the authorities and have
us all bagged.”

“What makes you think that?” asked Bob,

with interest, for he did not know the men had
any plans.

“I can put two and two together. You were

in that neighborhood tracking us.”

“You seem to know all about it.”

“I have watched you on the sly. Do you

deny that you also called on Gregory Maverick?”

“What has that got to do with it?”

“You know as well as I, Alden. But it won’t

do you any good. You might as well give up
trying to hunt down this crowd. It can’t be
done.”

Bob was much mystified by this speech.

Evidently Casco took it for granted that he
knew much more than was a fact.

“Perhaps I can do more than you think,

Casco,” he said, on a venture.

“You can, if I allow you to get away, maybe,

but I don’t intend any such thing shall happen.”

“What do you mean?”

[234]“Simply this: You imagine you

can ride
through to Stampton on this train, don’t you?”

“Perhaps so.”

“And when you arrive there, you will call on

Maverick and the chief of police and send word
all along the line to search for us. You will do
nothing of the sort.”

“Who will prevent me?” questioned Bob, as

calmly as he could, even though he knew what
to expect by way of an answer.

“Who will prevent you? I will.”

“I don’t see how.”

“I’ll show you. Do you see this?”

As Casco spoke, he shoved the muzzle of a

pistol down in the neighborhood of the young
photographer’s head.

“Do you intend to kill me in cold blood?”

“I intend to make you mind me, Alden.

When I give the command, you will jump from
the train.”

Bob shrank back in horror. The freight

train was now moving at the rate of twenty
miles an hour, and a jump would be full of peril.

He looked around for some means by which

to protect himself. But the narrow platform
was bare, and he was without weapon of any
kind.

“What if I do some firing on my own account?”

Bob asked, more to gain time than
anything else.

[235]“Have you a pistol?”

Instead of replying, Bob made a leap upward,

and before Casco could draw back the youth
had hold of the pistol and had wrenched it from
his hand.

“Stop!” cried the scar-faced man. “Give

me that pistol!”

“I’ll give you one of the bullets. Stay where

you are.”

With the pistol in one hand, Bob turned and

ran up the iron ladder to the top of the adjoining
car.

As he did this, Casco, instead of complying

with Bob’s command, arose and hurried along
the top plank of the freight car.

“Stop!” cried Bob, jumping across the opening

and making after the rascal.

But it was too dark to see the planking

clearly, and afraid of missing his footing, the
young photographer was compelled to go slow.

Casco, on the other hand, had once been a

brakeman, and he ran over the planking of several
cars at a lively rate, and then disappeared
from view.

With the pistol ready for use, Bob made his

way along, until he came face to face with one
of the train-hands.

“Hullo, Jack, is that you?” called out the

man.

“No,” replied Bob, and added: “I am after a<span class="pagenum"

id="Page_236">[236]
thief who is aboard this train. Did he just pass
you?”

“Nobody passed me. You are sure he is on

board?”

“He was a minute ago.”

And, as briefly as possible, Bob related what

had occurred.
“He must be a desperate fellow,” said the
train-hand, with a shake of his head.

“He is, and I want to catch him the worst

way.”

“Humph! Well, let us take a look with the

lantern. We don’t want any such fellows on
this train.”

The man got his lantern from the caboose,

and the two began a rapid search around each
car.

“He might have dropped down on one of the

platforms and swung himself into one of the
empty cars,” suggested the train-hand. “Or he
might have jumped off.”

“I don’t think he jumped off,” replied Bob.

“Let us look into those cars just ahead.”

The train-hand went ahead, and not without

difficulty swung himself into one of the empty
cars.

Seeing how the thing was done, Bob started

to do the same upon the car ahead.

He reached the guide upon which the door

hung, and was making his way along it toward[237]
the opening when Casco’s head suddenly appeared
from out of the empty car.

“Now I have you!” cried the scar-faced man.

He reached out, and, catching Bob by the arm,
attempted to throw the young photographer
from the train.
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
[238]

<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXIII

BOB FORMS A RESOLUTION</h2>

</div>

The attack was so sudden and unexpected

that Bob had all he could do to hold on with
the remaining hand.

“Let up!” he cried.

“Not much! Off you go, Alden!”

“Help! help!” cried Bob.

He attempted to draw back on the platform,
but Casco held him fast by the arm, while at the
same time trying to push him away from his
hold.

“What’s up?” cried the train-hand from the

other car.

“Here he is! Help me!” returned Bob.

“I will.”

Casco’s face fell when he heard that Bob had

help close at hand. He made another effort to
push the young photographer off, and had
almost succeeded when the train-hand appeared.

“By hookey!” cried the man. “Stop that,

you villain!”

Just then Casco succeeded in making Bob

let go his hold. But now the train-hand caught
the youth by the arm, and drew him back in
safety to the platform.

[239]“There you are. It was a narrow

escape.”

“Thank you!” gasped Bob. “Indeed it was.”

“So he’s safe in that car.”

“Yes.”

“Just wait till I call Jack, and we’ll bag him.”

“All right. But be careful.”

The train-hand ran off over the cars, while

Bob, pistol in hand, sat down to watch for any
movement Casco might make.

It was a novel situation, but it cannot be said

that Bob enjoyed it.

Five minutes passed. Bob wondered how

long the train-hand expected to be gone. Every
second seemed ten to the young photographer.

Suddenly with a shriek of the whistle the

freight train slowed up, and came very nearly to
a stop. The train-hand appeared, but, instead
of helping Bob, began to put on brakes as fast
as possible.

“Better watch your man,” he cried. “I’ve

got to obey the whistle.”

Bob did watch, and almost instantly saw

Casco spring from the open car into a patch of
brushwood. The scar-faced man tumbled over,
but at once arose, and ran off through the
darkness.

The young photographer’s first impulse was

to follow. But then he reasoned that the darkness
was against him, and the district was one
entirely unknown to him.

[240]“He’s gone,” he said to the

train-hand as the
whistle came to loosen brakes again.

“Skipped, did he?”

“Yes. What neighborhood is this?”

“We are just coming into Kentown. Here is

the station.”

As the man spoke, they rolled into a long,

narrow milk depot. Without waiting to see if
the train would come to a stop, Bob called out
a good-night and sprang off.

He met but three men at the depot, and all

of these were so busy handling milk-cans that
they could spare no time to hear what he might
have to say.

Finally the young photographer asked if there

was a constable in town, and he was directed to
one Aaron Dimler, who lived but a few rods
from the depot.

Bob had a hard time arousing Dimler, but

once aroused the constable was eager to join the
youth in a search for the scar-faced man.

“We had better walk up the track to where

he jumped off the freight,” said the constable.
“Then I’ll be better able to judge of the direction
he took.”

So the two half-walked, half-ran up the track

until Bob called a halt.

“Is this the spot?” asked the constable.

“As near as I can judge it is,” returned Bob.

“There’s a hat. Was that his?”

[241]“Yes.”

“Then you’re right about the spot. Did he

start off in that direction?”
“I believe he did.”

“Then the place he would be likely to strike

would be Raymond’s cross-road hotel.”

“How far is that from here?”

“Not over five minutes’ walk. If he’s reached

that place, you might as well give up the
hunt.”

“Why?”

“You will never learn anything from Raymond.

He is a bad one, and has been in court
half a dozen times.”

“I would like to know if Casco knows him?”

mused Bob.

“Even if he didn’t, Raymond would befriend

him, if he knew the sort of chap the man you
are after was. He has sheltered more criminals
than I can mention.”

“I am quite interested,” said Bob. “Come

on!”

But the constable held back. The fact of the

matter was that Raymond was down on him,
and had threatened to make matters warm if he
found Dimler around his hotel.

“We can go in the morning,” said the constable,

by way of excuse.

“Casco may be gone by that time, if he is

there.”

[242]“I have no papers to search

Raymond’s place.
I don’t want to get into trouble.”

“I believe you are afraid,” cried Bob, somewhat

angrily. “I will go alone.”

He turned on his heel at once. Dimler’s

brow contracted.

“Well, go on, if you’re so headstrong,” he

said, and, as Bob passed out of hearing, he
added: “He’ll have a fine time if he riles Raymond
up, see if he don’t.”

The road was a perfectly straight one, and

Bob had but little difficulty in finding the cross-road
hotel Dimler had mentioned.

On the way the young photographer kept his

eyes wide open for Casco, but saw nothing of
the scar-faced man. Arriving at Raymond’s
hotel, he found the place to consist of a long,
two-story building, with an addition in the rear
running down to the edge of a brook. A dim
lamp, swinging from a post by the stepping-block,
lit up the exterior of the hotel. A light
also shone from the bar-room, and sounds
of boisterous laughing reached the youth’s
ears.

“They must keep the place wide open all

night,” thought Bob. “I think I will take a
look around before I go in.”

Having inspected the front part of the hotel,

Bob passed around one side and then to the
back.

[243]Here was situated the kitchen,

and, coming
closer, Bob heard two persons conversing in
low tones.

One was a man, evidently a stable-hand, and

the other a woman-of-all-work.

“What kept you so long, Ike?” asked the

woman of the man, who had evidently just
come in.

“The boss wanted me to look out for the

billiard-room for a while.”

“Why, where is Dick?”

“Tendin’ bar. He had to do it cos the boss

had a visitor just now, an’ he had to show the
feller a room.”

“A visitor this time of night? Who was it,

any of the old ones?”

“That fellow was here a couple of times last

week. He came in a tremendous hurry, he
did.”

“Say, there is something up between the boss

an’ that feller,” commented the woman, as she
lit a hand-lamp and moved toward a door.

“What makes you think that, Sadie?”

“Cos he an’ the boss did a pile of whisperin’

the other night, an’ when the boss does that
why——” and the woman finished with a low
laugh.

“Well, it ain’t none of our affairs, Sadie.”

“That’s so, so long as we git our wages. But
come on to bed.”

[244]“I’m ready. This bein’ up half

the night
makes me dead tired.”

The woman passed through the door, and,

after extinguishing the large lamp which hung
from a bracket, the man followed her.

Bob had listened with keen interest to the

conversation between the pair. One thing was
settled. Jim Casco was in the house.

Now what was best to do? Bob knew of no

officer whom he could summon save Dimler, and
after the way that individual had acted, the young
photographer did not feel disposed to ask anything
further at his hands.

Bob passed back as far as the brook, and here

sat down to think matters over. Several things
were quite clear to him.

One was that Casco, Barker, and Grogan were

in the vicinity for no good purpose.

The second was that Casco was acquainted

with Raymond, and that he had called there before.
This would tend to the idea that Raymond’s
place was to be a sort of headquarters
for the crowd of evildoers.

“I’ll shadow them, and find out what they are

up to,” was Bob’s resolve.

And, when Bob made a resolution, he always

stuck to it.

Presently, as Bob sat thinking, he saw a light

flash from one of the upper windows of the
hotel. Then a curtain was drawn down, and for[245]
a second a profile stood out on the white surface.

The profile was perfect, so perfect, in fact,

that the young photographer had no difficulty
in guessing its original.

The profile was that of Casco.

<div class="chapter">
[246]

<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXIV

BOB STICKS UP FOR A FRIEND</h2>
</div>

Bob jumped up, and watched the profile

eagerly.

Then he saw it disappear, as the light was

moved to one side.

“That was Casco, sure,” he said to himself.

“And, hello! there’s somebody else. I wonder
who it is?”

Bob saw that the window of the room was

directly over the one story addition in the rear.
He wondered if he could not get up to it and
find out what was going on within.

Looking around, he espied a short ladder

resting against an apple tree. Catching up the
ladder, he placed it against the addition, and
found it just reached the roof above.

Making sure that he was not being observed,

Bob mounted the ladder silently, and then made
his way over the roof to where the window was
located.

As it was a warm night in the summer, both

the upper and the lower sashes were placed to
admit the air, and, by putting his ear close to
the lower opening, Bob was able to make out
all that was being said within the room.

[247]“You are certain the boy didn’t

follow you?”
he heard, in a rough voice.

“No, I’m not sure, Raymond,” came the reply,

in the tones of Casco. “But though I
looked back I didn’t see him.”

“Humph! He might even this minute be

somewhere about this place. Maybe it would
be better to take a look around.”

“I took a good look before I came in. He

has either gone on to Kentown or farther, I’m
satisfied.”

“Well, it’s your fry, not mine,” laughed Raymond.

“You must have had a hard time with
him.”

“I did. That boy is a wizard for being able

to slip away when you least expect it.”

“Do you suppose the others will follow you

here?”
“I yelled at them to do so, when I sprang on
the freight train. They will, if they heard me.”

“It’s about time that deal went through.”

“I agree with you, Raymond; but the trouble

has been that we could not strike the right man
to help us.”

“Won’t Watson do?”

“No. I sounded him, but he is too honest,

even for big money.”

At that moment the wind flapped the curtain,

and Bob could not hear the immediate conversation
which followed.

[248]“What!” he heard Casco exclaim a

minute
later. “You are sure it is he?”

“Certainly. He signed the register.”

“And he is in the house now?”

“Yes.”

“I would like to get square with him!” muttered

the scar-faced man, savagely. “He is the
chief cause of all my troubles.”

“We don’t want any trouble here,” replied

Raymond. “Unless——”

“Unless what, Raymond?”

“Unless there is money in it.”

“He must have some money.”

“He said he had been on a collecting tour.”

“Then you may depend on it he has boodle.

This district used to pan out several thousands
of dollars.”

“But how will you do the job?”

“You have a key to his room, I suppose?”

“Of course. It is No. 12.”

“I have here a bottle of chloroform. I will

put some on a handkerchief, and steal in and
chloroform him. Then we can make up our
minds what to do next.”
The two men left the room, closing the door
after them.

Bob drew a long breath. He had actually

overheard a plot against one of the guests of the
hotel, and the young photographer was compelled
to shiver at the thought.

[249]His duty was plain. No matter

what the
risk, he must warn the intended victim of the
plot against him.

Bob wondered who the person could be.

Evidently it was somebody with whom Casco
was well acquainted.

Without hesitation Bob pushed aside the curtain

and sprang through the window.

The light was still burning, and at a glance

the young photographer saw the apartment was
an unoccupied bedroom.

Listening at the door to make sure that the

two had really gone below, Bob, a second later,
glided into the semi-dark hall-way.

The room in which the conversation had been

held was numbered 47. Following this came
No. 45, and the youth had no trouble in tracing
the numbers until he came to No. 13, opposite to
which was No. 12.

Bob listened at the door, and fancied he heard

the breathing of a sleeper within.

He tapped lightly, and then a little harder.

“Who’s there?” came in a hurried voice, accompanied

by the creaking of a bed.

“Open the door, quick!” cried Bob, through

the key-hole.

“What’s the matter—house afire?” exclaimed

the occupant of the room, as he bounced up and
unlocked the door.

“No, but I—Frank Landes!”

[250]“What, Bob! is that really

you?”

And the young man held out his hand.

“My, but ain’t I glad I overheard that talk!”

burst out Bob, fervidly.
“What talk?”

“Lock the door, and I’ll tell you. But you

must speak in a whisper.”

Frank locked the door and also bolted

it.

“Now, in the first place,” began Bob, “have

you a pistol?”

“I have; but what under the canopy does it

all mean?”

“Casco is in this house.”

“By Jove! is that true?”

“And he and Raymond, the proprietor, have

just hatched out a plot to chloroform and rob
you.”

“You are joking!”

“No, it’s the truth. Raymond thinks you

have money with you.”

“So I have. I’ve been collecting for the firm,

and that roll under my pillow has eighteen hundred
dollars in it.”

“They would do a good deal for it. You had

better—hist—here they come now.”

Bob caught Frank by the arm, and both grew

silent.

Soft footsteps came up to the door, and then

something scraped in the lock.

[251]“I can’t open it,” came at

length, in the voice
of Raymond. “I know a better way.”

“What is it?”

“We can jump out on the roof of the extension

and crawl through the window. Come on.”

The footsteps moved away. Frank walked to

the bed and brought forth his pistol which was
lying beside the roll of money.

“If they come in here, I’ll give them a warm

reception,” he said, significantly.
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
[252]
<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXV

BOB AND FRANK STAND TOGETHER</h2>

</div>

By Frank Landes’ manner Bob knew that the

young man meant what he said.

“They ought to receive a warm reception,”

returned the young photographer. “But do
you think it will pay to stay here and fight
them?”

“What else is there to do?”

Bob pointed to the door leading to the hall-way.

“We can run away while they are trying to

get in at the window,” he suggested.

“But I am not dressed.”

“Slip on your clothes. I’ll shut the window

and lock it, so they will find themselves foiled,
and have to come back to the door.”

As Bob spoke, he rushed over to the window

and tried to close it.

But for some reason the lower sash refused to

budge, even though in his excitement he struck
it several times along the edging.

“I had the same trouble when I opened it,”

said Frank, who was hurrying into his clothing
as rapidly as possible.

[253]“The confounded thing won’t come

down,
and that settles it,” cried Bob, hopelessly.

“Never mind, let it go. I am ready to start.”

Frank moved swiftly toward the door and

unlocked it. As he did so, the face of Raymond
appeared at the window.

“Quick!” whispered the young man, and he

flung open the door for Bob to pass through.

The hotel-keeper saw at a glance that something

was wrong. He whispered a few words
to his companion, and Casco at once leaped
into the chamber.

“There are two of them!” cried the scar-faced

man. “You didn’t say he had a roommate.”
“He didn’t have. Stop them!”

Frank and Bob had passed into the hall-way.

Casco made after them as noiselessly as possible.

In moving toward the stairs the two had to

pass close to a dimly-burning lamp. As they
did so, Casco uttered a cry of amazement.

“That is Bob Alden with him! How did he

get in?”

“The boy from the freight train?” queried

Raymond.

“Yes. We must catch them. They have

most likely overheard what was said. Come
on!”

Down the stairs went Frank and Bob, two

steps at a time, with Casco and Raymond in[254]
close pursuit. The scar-faced man began to
yell, but the hotel proprietor stopped him.

“Remember, the hotel is half full of guests,”

he said. “We must overcome them without too
much noise.”

Once in the lower hall, Bob and Frank turned

toward the front door. It was locked, but the
key was handy, and they had it open in a trice.

“Now which way?” questioned the young

man when they were outside.

“It doesn’t make any difference. Come on!”

Away dashed Bob, with Frank directly behind

him.

The way was dark, and the young photographer

had scarcely proceeded a dozen steps
when he tripped over some stones and went
down.

Frank came down on top of Bob, and before

either could rise, Casco and Raymond were upon
them.

“We have them,” said Raymond.

“Don’t you dare to move!” cried the scar-faced

man.

The darkness was unfavorable to any kind of

fair fighting, and every one went in as best
pleased him. Casco was a powerful man, but
Bob was thoroughly aroused, and he fought so
skilfully that the scar-faced man was soon retreating.

The young photographer followed him up,<span class="pagenum"

id="Page_255">[255]
thus becoming separated from Frank and Raymond.

At length Casco turned and fled toward the

brook, and jumping over, disappeared in the
brush and darkness beyond.

Bob knew it would be folly just at present to

attempt to follow the man, and after a moment’s
hesitation he returned to the spot where he had
left Frank and Raymond.

The two had disappeared!

“Hullo, Frank!” called out the young photographer.

“Where are you?”

No answer came back to the cry save the

baying of a couple of hounds in the barn, and
Bob at once became more alarmed.

“What’s the row?” asked a voice from the

hotel piazza.

The scuffle had attracted the attention of several

of the men who were making a night of it
in the bar-room.

“Have you seen anything of Raymond?”

asked Bob.

He knew it would be worse than useless to

ask any of those men for assistance.

“He’s up-stairs,” returned another of the men.

“You are sure he is up-stairs?” went on Bob,

ignoring the question.

“He went up there a while ago. I haven’t

seen him since.”

Bob was perplexed. It was more than likely<span class="pagenum"

id="Page_256">[256]
that the man spoke the truth, and this being so,
what had become of Raymond and Frank?

Fearful of being questioned further, Bob

moved toward the back of the hotel again, while
the men, muttering something he could not
catch, re-entered the bar-room.

As Bob walked toward the brook, he fancied

he heard a low cry coming from behind the barn,
which was built close to the water’s edge.
He hurried in the direction, and caught a
faint glimpse of two forms struggling behind a
number of bushes.

Coming closer, he saw that Raymond had

Frank by the throat and was forcing him over
into the water.

As Bob dashed forward, there was a splash,

and Frank went over, while Raymond caught
up a club to hit him should he attempt to
rise.

“Don’t you dare to strike, Raymond!”

At the sound of Bob’s voice the hotel-keeper

turned quickly.

“What do you want?”

“Let my friend up.”

“Hit him, Bob,” exclaimed Frank, faintly.

“Where is Casco?” asked Raymond as he

began to retreat.

“Never mind,” returned the young photographer.

By this time Frank had managed to crawl<span class="pagenum"

id="Page_257">[257]
from the brook. His head was bleeding from a
severe gash over the forehead.

“Look out for him, Bob,” he cried.

“I am looking out. Are you badly hurt?”

“My head feels rather queer.”

“What shall we do with this fellow?”

“He ought to be locked up.”

“Neither of you can do it,” sneered Raymond.

“You don’t know me.”

“Yes, I do,” said Bob. “You are the toughest

road-house keeper in the country.”

“Thanks for the compliment.” Raymond

mused for a moment. “I will make a bargain
with you. Quit the place at once and we’ll
drop the whole matter.”

“We sha’n’t leave you until you are safe in

jail,” burst out Bob.

At these words Raymond burst into a laugh.

“You don’t know what you are talking about.
You, a mere boy, expect to do what no officer
around has been able to accomplish. Get out
of here before I set my blood-hounds on
you!”

As Raymond spoke, he darted around the

corner of the barn before Bob had time to stop
him.

Then they heard him utter a cry that was

immediately followed by the deep baying of a
hound.

“We had better get out of here!” cried<span class="pagenum"

id="Page_258">[258]
Frank. “He has two of the ugliest blood-hounds
you ever saw.”

“I’ll give you one minute to get away in,”

sang out Raymond. “After that I’ll leave both
my dogs loose.”

Raymond muttered something under his

breath. Then there was a rattling of chains,
and the next minute two ferocious blood-hounds
bounded out into the yard.
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
[259]

<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXVI

BOB SHOWS HIS NERVE</h2>

</div>

The blood-hounds stood still for a second on

catching sight of Bob and Frank.

Then, as if scenting the blood on Frank’s

face, both made a dash for the young man.

“Help me!” cried Frank. For the time being

he seemed to be fairly paralyzed with terror.

“Jump into the tree!” returned Bob, quickly.

The tree he mentioned stood but a few feet

away. The lower limbs were not far from eight
feet from the ground and almost directly over
Frank’s head.

With a desperate spring the young man

caught one of the limbs and drew himself up
just as one of the blood-hounds reached the spot
where he had been standing.
Baffled, the hound let out a deep growl and
then stood up on his hind legs, followed by his
mate.

Then Bob thought of the pistol he carried

and produced it.

Crack! Bob pulled the trigger of the pistol

and one of the blood-hounds fell back, shot
through the heart.

[260]“Here, stop that!” roared

Raymond, from
the door-way of the barn.

“I told you to keep them chained,” returned

the youth as coolly as he could. “Better call
the other one in.”

The second hound turned at the shot, and

backed several paces. Then he looked at his
mate as though surprised at what had happened.

“Good for you!” cried Frank. “Wait till I

finish the other.”

He drew his own pistol and fired, but his aim
was poor, and the bullet merely grazed the
blood-hound’s back.

With a howl of rage the hound sprang away

from the tree. Then with set teeth and gleaming
eyes, he turned to attack Bob.

“Go for him, Leo!” cried Raymond.

He was in a rage and would have liked

nothing better than to see the hound tear Bob
to pieces.

Bob again took aim and pulled the trigger.

But for some reason the weapon failed to go
off.

The next instant the young photographer

was knocked flat on his back by the blood-hound.

Seeing this, Frank leaped down from the tree

and rushed forward.

“Get back there!” he yelled at the hound,

and fired his pistol at the same time.

[261]But the beast paid no attention

to the command.
He snapped at Bob, and it was only by
a quick movement to one side that the young
photographer kept himself from having his arm
torn to shreds.
“Go for him!” cried Raymond.

Lying on his back, Bob made another attempt

to shoot the blood-hound. He pulled the trigger
again, and this time the pistol went off, and
with a shrill yelp the beast keeled over and lay
on his side with a bullet through his head.

“I’ll fix you for that!” screamed Raymond.

He gave a shrill whistle, but already half a

dozen men came running from the bar-room of
the hotel, anxious to know what the firing was
about.

“Is that you, Raymond?”

“What’s up?”

“These fellows are prowling about the place,”

returned Raymond.

“That so?”

“They are up to no good. This one just shot

both my dogs.”

“Don’t say! Why, those dogs were worth a

hundred dollars.”

“Every cent of it. Boys, will you help me

capture them?”

“Certainly we will. Hi! stop there!”

“Come on,” whispered Frank to Bob. “We

can’t stand up against such a crowd. The best[262]
we can do is to run away and summon the
authorities.”

“The constable don’t amount to a hill of

beans,” returned the young photographer. “Yet
if you say go, we’ll skip. I was principally after
Casco.”

“Come ahead this way.”

“Lead ahead.”

The young man turned to a lane which ran

to the south of the barn, and Bob came close
behind. It was then that one of the men yelled
for them to stop, but he was not heeded.

“Where is Casco?” asked Frank, as they

scurried along.
“Got away across the brook. I wonder if
any of those fellows will follow us.”

“It’s not likely, after they see the way you

treated the hounds,” laughed Frank. “By
Jove! Bob, you are a crack shot.”

“I used to go hunting with old Peter Thompson’s

gun when I wasn’t any higher than a rail
fence,” returned the young photographer.
“Which way now?”

“There is a customer of mine lives up a side

road not far from here. We might go to his
house. I can’t go much farther with this head
of mine.”

“Does it hurt very bad?”

“It aches fearfully.”

“Let me tie it up with a wet handkerchief.”

[263]Bob got out his handkerchief

and, wetting it
in the brook, tied it over the wound. Frank,
declared this relieved him considerably, and the
two continued on their way at a more rapid
pace than ever.

“I don’t believe they are following,” said

Bob, as, after five minutes of running, they
paused to listen. “I believe that was only a
bluff to get us off.”

“Raymond is fearfully mad over the loss of

those blood-hounds. He set great store by
them. That is one reason the authorities
never cared to go there to serve him with
papers.”

“It was a pity to kill them, but it couldn’t be

helped. I am glad the shots were such lucky
ones.”

“So am I. Here we are at Larchmond’s

place. I suppose he will think it awfully queer
to be roused up at this time of the night.”

They now entered a neat garden, and walking

up a gravel path ascended to the porch. There
was no bell, but a brass knocker instead, and
this Frank used vigorously.

A minute of dead silence followed. Then an

upper window was shoved open and a head
covered with a night-cap appeared.

“What do you want?”

“Is that you, Mr. Larchmond?”

“Yes.”

[264]“I am Frank Landes, the

collector and
agent.”

“Gracious! What business do you want this

time of night? I sent that consignment of eggs
off——”

“The eggs are all right, Mr. Larchmond. I

have other business of a more serious nature——”

“Gracious, you don’t mean it!” and the old

man’s voice actually quivered.

“Shet the winder, you’ll catch yeour deth o’

cold, Thomas!” came in a shrill female voice.

“I’ll be down in a minit,” said Larchmond,

and bang, down came the window.

Several minutes passed. Then a light appeared

in the hall, and they heard the old man
nervously unlock and unbolt the door.

“Come in an’ tell me the trouble,” he said.

“Why, who’s this?” he added, looking at Bob.

“This is my friend, Bob Alden. We have

just come away from Raymond’s Hotel——”

“Is somebody killed there?” put in Larchmond,

quickly. “I always allowed as how some
day they would have a fight and——”

“No one is killed but Raymond’s two blood-hounds,”

laughed Frank.

“Do tell!”

“My friend Bob shot them. But we have

had serious trouble, and we want your advice as
to what is best to do.”

[265]“Come into the sittin’-room.

It’s all right,
Mirandy!” called Larchmond up the stairs.

“I’m comin’ down!” returned Mrs. Larchmond,

and presently she appeared, fully dressed.

The story of the happenings at Raymond’s

Hotel was soon told. Old Larchmond and his
wife listened with interest, the old man shaking
his head repeatedly, and the old lady putting in
a “do tell” at every opportunity.

“And now we want to know what is the best

to do,” said Frank after all the facts had been
related.

“Yeou can’t do nuthin’,” replied Mrs. Larchmond,

promptly.

“We can’t?” cried Bob.

“No, yeou can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Well, it’s this way,” said the old man, by

way of explanation. “Raymond is the wust
feller in the whole deestrict. The law can’t tech
him, nohow. I tried to sue him onct, but the
constable couldn’t serve the papers, nohow.”

“Did you have Dilmer?”

“Yes, I had Dilmer, an’ I had Vincent, too;

but it wuz no ust—them dogs kept ’em at a safe
distance.”

“But the hounds are now dead.”

“It don’t make no difference. Raymond

can’t be teched, nohow. Anybody in Kentown
will tell you the same thing.”

[266]“That’s a nice state of

affairs,” cried Frank.
“A man like that to terrorize the whole neighborhood!”

“Well, you see, Raymond has lots of relations

around here, an’ they all stick up for him.
If it wasn’t for that, somethin’ might be did,
although I doubt it, bless me if I don’t.”

“Thomas is right,” put in Mrs. Larchmond.

“If your money is safe, you better go about
your affairs and say nuthin’.”

“Oh, the money is safe enough,” returned

Frank. “I grabbed that up and put it in my
pocket the first thing.”

As the young man spoke, he put his hand

into his coat pocket to make sure that the
eighteen hundred dollars were still there. Then
he turned pale.

“It’s gone!” he gasped.

<div class="chapter">
[267]

<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXVII

BOB MAKES A FIND</h2>

</div>

Every one in the sitting-room was astonished.

Bob sprang to his feet.

“You are sure it is gone?” he demanded.

Frank continued his search, each moment

growing paler.

“Yes, it’s gone!” he groaned. “Eighteen

hundred dollars! What will the firm say?”

“When did you feel to see if it was safe

last?” asked the young photographer.

“When I jumped up into the tree to get out

of the way of the blood-hounds.”

“And you are sure you had it then?”

“Yes.”

“Then you must have dropped it while running

here. Perhaps it jounced out of your
pocket.”

“Maybe it did. My head hurt so before you

tied it up I didn’t give the money a thought.”

“Well, the best thing to do is to go back for

it,” said Bob, promptly. “The quicker the
better.”

“What, go back to Raymond’s?” screamed

Mrs. Larchmond. “He will kill you.”

[268]“It’s tremendous risky,” said

the old man,
with a shake of his head.

“Never mind, it’s got to be done,” said Bob.

“Eighteen hundred dollars is a lot of money.”

“Yes, I must go back,” said Frank. “What

would the firm say if the money was lost?
They would most likely discharge me, and
maybe say I gambled it away, or something like
that.”

“Will you lend us a lantern?” asked Bob,

turning to Larchmond.

“Certainly.”
“You need not go, Bob. I can go alone.”

“No, indeed, Frank; we stick together to the

end.”

The old farmer left the sitting-room and presently

returned with a lantern and a blunder-buss.

“You might as well take the buss along,

too,” he said. “It’s a putty good shootin’
piece.”

“Thank you, but I think our pistols will do,

if you have any cartridges around.”

“Timothy had cartridges for his pistol,” put

in Mrs. Larchmond. “They are up in his
closet. I’ll get ’em.”

She soon returned with the cartridges, which,

luckily, just fitted the pistol Bob carried. It
took but a moment to load, and then the boys
were ready to start back.

[269]“I’d go, only my rheumatism is

wuss,” said
old Larchmond, apologetically.

“Indeed you wouldn’t!” put in his wife. “I

wouldn’t let you go for twice eighteen hundred
dollars; there, now!”

The boys were soon on the road. The lantern

shone brightly, lighting up every foot of
the way.

“I trust we find it before we get anywhere

near Raymond’s,” said Frank. “I have no
desire to get into another tussle with him.”

“Neither have I,” returned Bob. “But,

Frank, keep your pistol ready for use. We
don’t want to waste words with such a desperate
character as that hotel-keeper.”

“I agree with you. Here is my pistol right

in my coat pocket.”

“And I’ll carry mine in my hand. You take

that side of the road, while I take this, and carry
the lantern as low as possible.”

In this fashion the two moved slowly along,

searching every foot of the hard and dusty road.

“I would like to know where Casco went,”

said Bob, presently. “For all we know, he
might have watched that fight with the blood-hounds
and followed us.”

“Hardly. If he escaped across the brook, he

most likely set out to join Barker and Grogan.
He would leave Raymond to settle the row
here.”

[270]“I wish they were all in jail,”

sighed Bob.
“Then perhaps I could make Barker reveal
something of the past, and make a somebody of
myself.”

“You’ll make a somebody of yourself, anyway,

Bob,” returned Frank, encouragingly.
“You’ve got too much grit to fail.”

But Bob shook his head, as if the idea of

never finding out the secret of his life did not
please him.

Quarter of an hour later they came to a halt.

They had reached the boundary line of Raymond’s
place, and still the money had not been
found.

“If we keep the lantern lit, they will surely

see us,” said Bob. “You had better put it out.”

“But how are we going to find the money in

the dark?”

“By feeling for it. I know exactly the way

we came, and I will lead on.”

Frank, after some hesitation, put out the

lantern. The first streaks of the early dawn
were now appearing, and it was not so dark as
he had anticipated.

Bob was several yards ahead, moving along

slowly, with his eyes bent on the ground. Suddenly
he gave a low cry.

“Here it is!”

“You have it?” inquired Frank, running up.

“Isn’t this the roll?”

[271]“Yes.” The young man’s face took

on a look
of relief. “Oh, how thankful I am!”

“Better examine it and make sure,” suggested

Bob.

“Oh, it must be all right.”

Nevertheless, Frank hastily undid the paper
and elastics which were placed about the roll of
money, and began to count the bills.

So absorbed did both he and Bob become

that they did not notice the approach of a tall
form from a mass of shrubbery which grew close
to the road.

The newcomer was Jim Casco, who was on

his return to Raymond’s Hotel, satisfied that
for the present, at least, it was safe to do so.

Casco was astonished to come upon the pair,

and still more taken aback to behold them at
work counting a big roll of bills.

“What does this mean?” he muttered to

himself. “They can’t have been so near all this
while.”

He drew closer, and nervously clutched the

heavy stick he held in his right hand.

“It’s right,” said Frank finishing the counting.

“You have every dollar of the eighteen hundred

there?” asked Bob.

“Yes.”

“Good enough. Now we might as well go

back without delay. I am dead tired.”

[272]“I should think you would be,

not having
any sleep since last night. Perhaps Mr. Larchmond
will give us a shake down.”

“I hope so.”

“Where is that wonderful photographic outfit

you wrote me about?”

“Over in Dartinville. I will have to go for it

as soon as we finish up with Raymond.”

“We will see if we can’t have him arrested,”

said Frank, decidedly.

“That’s it. And when—what was that?”

Bob broke off short. A dark object loomed

up over his back and a stinging blow went singing
through his head.

“Stop!” he heard Frank cry. “Give me that

money!”
Both Bob and Frank were sprawling in the
road, while across the fields ran Casco, with the
roll of bills in his hand.
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
[273]

<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXVIII

BOB MEETS OLD BLAKE</h2>

</div>

As quickly as he could, Bob sprang to his

feet.

“Save the money!” gasped Frank.

He had received another crack over the head

and the old wound was bleeding afresh.

“Which way did that fellow go?”

“That way.”

“Who was it? Raymond?”

“No; Casco.”

“By jinks! So he had the cheek to come

back. Stay here till I go after him.” With his
head still stinging from the blow the scar-faced
man had dealt him, the young photographer
sprang over the bushes which lined the roadway
and made after Casco, who was running across
the open fields at top speed.

“I’ll either get Frank’s money or finish that

wretch,” was the youth’s somewhat savage
resolve.

When about a hundred yards away, Casco

looked back to see if either of his victims had
recovered from the attack.

He was astonished to see Bob in pursuit.

[274]“Humph! The young rascal means

business,”
he muttered to himself. “I must reach
shelter as soon as I can.”

Not very far beyond was a small lake, the

edge of which was lined with willows. Toward
this Casco directed his steps.

Bob saw the scar-faced man disappear behind

the fringe of willow trees. He did not come to
a halt, but kept on at a slower gait, fearful that
Casco might be setting a trap for him.

Day was now breaking, and every moment

the eastern sky grew lighter.

When Bob reached the edge of the lake,

nothing was to be seen of the scar-faced man.

Bob looked up and down the shore in perplexity,

and then began an examination for foot-prints.

They were plainly visible, leading to a little

cove a hundred feet southward.

When Bob reached the cove, he found close

at hand a stake with a bit of rope attached to it.
The rope had been newly cut.

“Stole a boat, I’ll bet,” muttered the young

photographer to himself. “By jinks, what a
fool I am! There he is!”

Bob looked out on the water, and there, a

goodly distance from the shore, was Casco in a
boat, rowing away as fast as he could.

The scar-faced man was too far off to make a

shot effective, and in deep chagrin Bob saw him[275]
disappear around a cluster of islands in the
centre of the lake.

As fast as he could, Bob ran along the shore

until he reached a spot where he could see the
other side of the island.

The boat had disappeared.

At first the young photographer could scarcely

believe his senses. What had become of Casco
and the craft?

“Perhaps she filled with water and sunk,”

thought Bob. “In that case he would have to
take to the islands. I wish I could keep him
there till I could get assistance.”

But Bob knew better than to leave the spot

at once. Casco was a wily villain, and not
one of the kind to be caught like a rat in a
trap.

“As soon as I disappear, he’ll think I’ve gone

to summon assistance, and then he’ll come
ashore,” was the way Bob reasoned. “I think
I’ll play a watching game.”

Bob sat down on a rock, out of the sight of

the islands, and waited. Ten minutes passed
and he saw nothing to command his attention.

“He is certainly taking his time,” thought

the youth. “Hullo, what’s that?”

Bob’s attention was attracted to a small boat

which had suddenly shot out from the opposite
shore.

The craft contained a single occupant, an old<span class="pagenum"

id="Page_276">[276]
man, who worked away at the oars in a feeble
way.

“He must be going to the islands, too,”

thought the young photographer. “This begins
to look interesting.”

Bob watched the old man with keen interest.

In less than ten minutes the islands were
reached, and the second boat disappeared as
the first had done.

“Who can that old chap be?” was Bob’s

mental question. “Can he know Casco?”

Five minutes more passed, and then the youth

heard a well-known whistle, to which he at once
responded.

In a fraction of time Frank was at his side.

“I couldn’t stay any longer,” said the young

man. “Where is Casco?”

“On one of those islands.”

“You don’t say! How did he get over?”

“On a boat; and just now another man went

over on a second boat.”

“This is Catfish Lake, and they say the

islands are haunted.”

“I don’t believe in ghosts,” declared Bob.

“Neither do I.”

“How is your head?”

“It feels thick, but it doesn’t ache, so I think

I can stand it. What do you propose to
do?”

“Get back your eighteen hundred dollars!”

[277]“Are you going to stay here

until Casco
leaves the islands?”

“Either that or pay the islands a visit. I

wonder if there is another boat anywhere?”

“I don’t know. There ought to be.”

“If you’ll watch the islands, I’ll take a look

around.”

“I will. Sitting still just suits me.”

“Then maybe we had better watch all day.”

But to this Frank demurred. He was too

anxious to get back the stolen money.

Bob at once began his search for another

boat. It was by no means an easy task, as
the shore was rocky and lined with a thick
sedge.

Presently he came to the rear of a large farm,

and here he found a boat moored to a fallen tree.

By the looks of the craft the young photographer

felt sure that it had not been used for a
long time. But it did not leak, so he did not
care how dilapidated it was in appearance.

Untying the boat, he towed her around to

where Frank sat.

“I’ve found one,” he said. “But there are

no oars.”

“I suppose they haven’t used it, fearing the

ghosts from the islands might catch them,”
laughed the young man. “Well, I reckon you
can get along without oars on a pinch.”

“How?”

[278]“The water is so shallow a

couple of poles is
all we will need to push ourselves over. But,
Bob, there is another thing.”

“What is that?”

“By going over to the islands you will run a

big risk.”

“So will you. But if you are afraid——”

“I am not afraid for myself. But it’s asking

too much of you——”

“Oh, stow that, Frank. I haven’t lost any

money, but I’m just as anxious to bring Casco
to justice as you are.”

“And you want to make the trial in broad

daylight?”

“If you say so, yes. We are both armed, and

we ought to have as good a show to come out
on top as Casco.”

“That’s true.”

“If he begins to fire at us, we can come back

and wait.”

A few minutes after they got aboard the boat.

Bob had cut two fair-sized poles, and also several
bushes, which he stood up in the bow of the craft.

“That will destroy his aim if he pulls on us,”

said the youth.

It was hard work poling the boat along, as the

bottom of the lake was for the most part rocky,
and the poles slipped. Once Frank nearly
went overboard, but Bob caught him by the
arm in time to save him.

[279]They had now come within a

hundred feet of
the islands, and still nobody made his appearance,
nor did they see a single sign of hostilities.

“Maybe he’s skipped,” said Frank.

“I don’t see how he could. Come on, we will

run in this inlet and jump ashore. Got your
pistol handy?”

“Yes.”

“Hold on till I take a good look ahead.”

Bob stood up in the bow and parted the

bushes. At the moment that he did so there
reached them a most agonizing scream.

“Help me! Oh, save me!”

The cry came from behind a grove of willow

trees, close to the shore.

“That isn’t Casco’s voice!” exclaimed Frank.

“What can it mean?”

“It may be that old man I saw,” replied Bob.

“Or it may be nothing but a trap.”

“That’s no trap,” said Frank, as the scream

again reached them.

“Don’t sound so, surely. Come on!”

Standing on the bow of the boat, Bob made a

leap and reached the rocky shore. In a minute
he had dashed through the willows to the open
glade beyond.

A sight met his gaze that filled him with horror.
There, lying flat on his back, with his face
covered with blood, was old man Blake!
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
[280]

<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXIX

BOB HEARS INTERESTING NEWS</h2>

</div>

The old man had been struck in the head

with a heavy stick which lay close at hand.

“Hullo, who did this?” cried Bob, as he

leaned over the old man.

“Casco, the villain!” gasped old Blake.

“Too bad!” returned the young photographer,

kindly. “Let me examine the wound.”

“Catch the rascal first; he has stolen the

papers,” cried the old man. “He must not get
away with them.”

“Where is he?”

“He went off in that direction.”

Old Blake pointed with his long, bony finger

toward one of the other islands. Then he tried
to rise, but fell back in a faint in Bob’s arms.
By this time Frank had arrived on the scene.
He did not know Blake, but he surmised that
the old man had been another of Casco’s
victims.

“Tend to him, Frank, while I go after

Casco,” said Bob. “I’ll whistle if I want you.”

Pistol in hand, the young photographer made

his way through the willows and over the rocks[281]
until, jumping a shallow spot in the water, he
landed on one of the other islands.

A noise ahead told him that Casco was not

far off. But as Bob plunged on the sounds suddenly
ceased, and all became profoundly silent.

“I’ll bet a hat he has taken to the water

again,” said Bob to himself.

Reaching the edge of the second island the

young photographer found his surmise correct.
There, half-way to the north shore, was Casco
in his boat, pulling with all his strength. A
minute later Casco reached shore and disappeared
from view.

“Gone!” groaned Bob. “And with Frank’s

eighteen hundred dollars, too!”

The youth felt almost as bad as if the loss

had been his own.

Frank Landes was his dearest friend, and, although

the young man was rich, Bob knew the
loss of the money would be a sore trial to him.

When the young photographer returned to

where he had left Frank and old Blake, he found
that his friend had bound up the old man’s forehead
with a wet rag torn from his coat sleeve.
Blake was as pale as death, and could scarcely
move.

Yet he opened his eyes anxiously when Bob

approached.

“Did you get ’em?” he asked feebly.

“No.”

[282]“Didn’t you see Casco?” asked

Frank.

“Yes. He escaped to the shore.”

Frank’s face fell, and Blake gave a groan.

“The papers, gone!” muttered the old man.

“Gone, and Barker promised me five hundred
dollars for them!”

“What’s that?” asked Bob, with sudden interest.

“Nothin’,” mumbled Blake, but he eyed the

youth in a dreamy, speculative way for a long
while after.

Bob and Frank now held a consultation. It

was obvious that they could not leave Blake
alone. The old man might die if left without
somebody to nurse him.
“If you will remain, I will go after Casco,”
said Frank. “As soon as I reach shore, I will
get somebody to drive me over to Dartinville,
and from there I will telegraph to the city for a
couple of detectives. This chase has lasted
long enough. I will pay a couple of hundred
dollars out of my own pocket to run down
Casco and his gang.”

Bob agreed to remain behind, and in a minute

more Frank was off, poling for the shore as hard
as his tired arms would permit.

“Are you in the habit of coming to this

island?” asked Bob of Blake, when the old
man was able to sit up.

“Sometimes,” was the slow response.

[283]“Is there any sort of shelter

here?”

Blake was silent for a moment.

“Why do you ask?” he questioned at length.

“Because if there was I might take you to it

and make you comfortable. You are not very
comfortable out here on these damp rocks.”

“There is a cave-hut just back of here. Take

me to that, please.”

As Blake spoke, a dizziness seemed to come

over him, and he closed his eyes. Bob waited
until the spell was over, and then half carried,
half dragged the old man to the place he had
mentioned.

The young photographer found that a large

hollow under a shelving rock had been converted
into a dwelling-place by having a front of
logs built up against it.

There were a door and a window, and, entering

the former, Bob discovered a cot, a table,
and a couple of chairs, while a number of pans
and dishes lay heaped up in a corner.

The youth placed Blake on the cot and made

him as comfortable as the conveniences of the
cave-hut permitted. Blake pointed to a flask
resting on a shelf, and when the youth handed
it to him the old man took a deep draught of
the liquor it contained.

It appeared to brace him up. The color

came back into his face, and presently he sat
up.
[284]“So you say Casco got away with
those
papers?” he said slowly.

“He got away. I know nothing of any

papers.”

“He ought to let me have ’em back.”

“What did the papers contain?”

“Never mind.”

“They ought to be pretty valuable if Barker

offered you five hundred dollars for them.”

“Who said he did?”

“You did.”

“I was only foolin’. They ain’t worth anything

to anybody but me.”

“How long have you known Barker?” went

on Bob, seating himself beside the old man.

“Longer than I care to remember.”

“Did you ever know Peter Thompson?”

“Yes.”

“What do you know about my past history?”

The young photographer asked the question

boldly, watching Blake intently as he did so.

He saw the old man start up and then fall

back.

“Who said I knew anything about your history?”

he said, sharply.

“I say so, Blake. Come, you had better tell

me all. I am willing to nurse you and see you
through, but I want the truth from you, and
unless I get it you shall go to prison.”

“No! no!”

[285]“I say yes.”

“But Sarah——”

“You mean your daughter?”

“Do you know her?”

“I know of her.”

“What will Sarah say?”

“I believe she has been at you to turn over a

new leaf, Blake.”

“So she has,” and the old man sighed.

“Then why don’t you do it?”

For a long time Blake was silent. Bob could

see that he was undergoing a severe mental
struggle. At last he heaved a long sigh.

“I will tell you all I know,” he said; “but

you must promise to protect me against
Barker.”

“I will do that.”

“If he found I had exposed him, he might

kill me.”

“It will not be long before Barker is in

prison, and the others with him.”

“That’s where they ought to be.”

“But tell me what you know,” went on Bob,

impatiently.

“I first met Barker about ten or twelve years

ago,” began old Blake.

“Where?”

“At the house of Robert Perry, your uncle,

in Buffalo.”

“Robert Perry; is he still alive?”

[286]“No; he died shortly after

Barker came
there.”

“Who is my father?”

“He was Thomas Perry, Robert’s brother.

He was a captain in the United States Army,
and he was killed in an Indian raid in the Black
Hills.”

“And my mother?”

“I don’t know anything of her. Your father

met her out West and married. When he was
killed, you, a mere baby, was sent to your uncle’s
home. The report was that your mother was
also killed by the Indians; but your uncle could
never learn the exact truth of that statement.”

“Then she may be alive?”

“Yes. I believe Barker knows for certain.”

<div class="chapter">
[287]

<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXX

BOB LEARNS SOMETHING OF THE PAST</h2>

</div>

Never had Bob listened to words that interested

him more. Here, at last, was news concerning
his identity. His real name was Bob
Perry, and he was the son of an officer. It was
not known for certain whether his mother was
dead or not. Supposing she was alive? A
lump arose in Bob’s throat at the mere thought.

“You say you think Barker knows?” he said,

quickly.

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll make Barker speak,” was the

young photographer’s determination.

Blake took another pull at his flask and then

continued:

“Barker pretends that he is the son of a sister

of your father and Robert Perry—a sister who
emigrated to Montana with a man named
Barker.”

“He pretends?”

“Yes, pretends; for Casco found out that old

Barker had no children when he died. That
gave him a hold on Barker.”

“I see. Go on.”

[288]“Grogan knew Barker before he

turned up at
your uncle’s place. He once told me, when he
was full of liquor, that Barker’s real name was
Bill Dix, and that he was a Virginia outlaw,
wanted for shooting a man in Petersburg.”

“And that gave Grogan his hold on Barker?”

“It did. But all three are hard customers,

and will do anything to get money.”
“I’ve found that out. But why did Barker
pretend to be my uncle’s nephew?”

“Because your uncle was a bachelor, very old,

and worth a pile of money. He thought if he
could get you out of the way he would come in
for part if not all of the fortune.”

“And how did he get me out of the way?”

“In rather a roundabout fashion. I was

working for your uncle at the time, and Sarah,
my daughter, who is married to a young man
named Paul Marks, was working for a woman
named Rose.

“This Mrs. Rose had a child sick with scarlet

fever, and just at that time you were similarly
stricken. My daughter was told by the doctor
that Mrs. Rose’s child could not live. Barker
heard of this, and one day, when your uncle had
to go to New York on important business, he
had the two children changed, paying Mrs.
Rose quite some money for the transaction.”

“Did your daughter know of the exchange?”

“She never knew, but she suspected something<span class="pagenum"

id="Page_289">[289]
was wrong, and often asked me. The
day Mrs. Rose’s child was taken to your uncle’s
house it died, and as every one was afraid of
scarlet fever, no one came in from the neighborhood,
and the little one was buried the next
day, the doctor making out a certificate without
viewing the corpse.”

“And I was taken to Mrs. Rose’s house?”

“Yes. My daughter wanted to nurse you,

but Mrs. Rose pretended to want to do the
nursing herself, and would not let my daughter
in the room. I believe the plan was to poison
you, but you got well rapidly, and Mrs. Rose
did not have the heart to poison you, but sent
you off to an orphan asylum instead.”

“But how did I get to old Thompson’s?”

“Barker and Mrs. Rose quarrelled about a

month later, and that very day you were taken
from the orphan asylum by somebody, and then
I lost track of you.”

“No doubt it was Barker’s work,” said Bob,

remembering what Mary Ridley, who had
worked for Peter Thompson, had told him.
“What became of Mrs. Rose?”
“She died of heart failure brought on by the
excitement of the quarrel. At least that is what
they said. Perhaps Barker poisoned her, he is
such a wretch.”

“And did he get possession of my uncle’s

property?”

[290]“He got possession of only a

small part of it.
The rest remains somewhere tied up in the
courts. Barker could not produce satisfactory
evidence in regard to his identity, and besides,
he did not have those papers I spoke about.”

“What papers are they?”

“They pretend to prove that your mother

was killed as well as your father. The package
also has a number of letters from Barker to
Mrs. Rose relating to the changing of the children.
I was holding them to get money, but
that is all over now.”

“How did you learn of all this?”

“By prying around and following Barker,

whom I did not like from the start. Then I
got to drinking, and Barker and Casco made
me their tool. I tried to reform several times,
because Sarah wanted me to, but the appetite
for liquor was too strong. But now I am done
with it forever!”

As Blake finished, he caught up the flask,

which was still half full of liquor, and hurled it
with all his strength against the rocky back
wall of the hut. It was smashed into a hundred
pieces, and the liquor splashed in all directions.

“I swear that from now on I’m going to lead

a different life,” went on the old man. “And
if you will help me, I’ll do what I can to bring
that gang to justice and assist you in getting
your inheritance.”

[291]“And in finding my mother, if

she be alive,”
added Bob. “Blake, give me your hand. From
now on we are firm friends.”

The two shook hands. More conversation

followed, and then Bob started up a fire, for the
air about the hut was damp, and finding some
coffee, made a couple of hot cupfuls, both of
which were relished.

The young photographer asked Blake how he

had come to locate on the islands, and was told
that the old man at times grew utterly disgusted
with himself and the world, and had found on
such occasion a haven of rest there.

“Do you think you can stand it if I row you

to the main land?” asked Bob, when it was
nearly noon.

“I reckon so, but you’ll have to put me to

bed somewhere after that.”

“I’ll take good care of you, Blake.”

“You’ll find my boat over in a hollow back of

these rocks.”

Bob procured the craft, and then, exerting all

of his strength, carried Blake to it and sat him
down in the stern.

Quarter of an hour later they drew up to the

spot where Bob had found the other boat.
Here a fat farmer was looking around in perplexity
for his craft.

“Say, does you vos see mine poats?” he

asked.

[292]“Yes, I borrowed it,” said Bob.

“I will pay
you for its use.”

“Oh, dot’s all right den. I vos dinkin’ it vos

drifted avay, ain’t it?”

“It’s over to the other shore. But, tell me,

do you live here?”

“Sure, right ofer dere,” and the German

jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

“This man has been hurt in the head. If you

will take him in and send for a doctor, I will be
very thankful and settle all bills.”

“Sure, I took him in. Carl!”

At this call a boy, even fatter than his father,

appeared.

“Run an’ tole your mudder a chentleman vos

got hurt an’ to gits a ped reaty kvick.”

“Yah, fadder.”

The boy went off, and Bob, assisted by the

German farmer, lifted old Blake out of the boat,
and carried him up to the farm-house.
Here the old man was placed on a soft feather
bed, and Carl was sent off for the nearest
doctor.

Bob left a twenty-dollar bill behind to pay all

immediate charges, and then bidding Blake keep
a stout heart, he hired a horse and buggy from
the German farmer and set off for Dartinville.

It was a good hour’s drive, but Bob did not

mind that, being busy thinking over all Blake
had told him.

[293]“I must corner Barker and make

him tell me
the whole truth,” was his one conclusion. “If
mother is alive, I want to know it. I’m not
going to be a nobody any longer.”

Half-way to Dartinville Bob met Frank driving

a bay horse at a furious rate.

“I have telegraphed for the detectives,” said

the young man. “They will be on hand this
evening.”

“Then what is your awful hurry?”

“I have a clew as to the whereabouts of

Barker, Grogan, and that fair-ground swindler.
Come along, and I will tell you how I caught it.”

Bob eagerly assented, and the two turned off

into a side road, leading to a hilly district,
rather hard to travel.

On the way Frank explained how he had got

on the track. While telegraphing at Dartinville
a stranger had sent a message to Stampton.
He had written out the message twice, throwing
the first sheet away.

“The stranger’s manner excited my curiosity,”

Frank went on, “and I picked up the
slip. It read: ‘Meeting at the red house on
Rayville Road. B., G. and C. there. To-morrow
sure.’ I knew it meant Barker, Grogan, and
Casco.”

“They have some big plan on hand,” returned

Bob, “and we must stop their evil work. Let
us drive as fast as we can.”

[294]On and on they went, Bob on the

way relating
to Frank what old Blake had confessed.

“They are indeed a set of villains,” returned

the young man. “And it—hold up!”

He drew rein, and Bob followed suit. They

had just passed a cross-road, and looking down
it they discovered a crowd coming toward them
composed of Barker, Grogan, Raymond, and
Casco!
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
[295]

<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXXI

BOB GOES IT ALONE</h2>

</div>

Before the two could draw out of sight they

were discovered by Barker, who was slightly
ahead of his companions.

“Hullo, there!” he sang out. “There they

are, boys!”

“It’s so, for a fact,” said Casco. “Are they

alone?”

“Sure, an’ they are,” put in Grogan.

“A good chance to capture them,” suggested

Raymond.

“What good will it do?” asked Barker.

“The new plan will work all right anyway.”

“Better bag them until the thing is over.”

“That’s so,” said Casco. “Come on, we are

four to two.”

He ran ahead, and the others quickly followed.

Frank saw them coming, and he whipped up

his horse.

“We must drive for it, Bob!” he cried.

“They are too many for us.”

“I would rather stand and fight it out,” returned

the young photographer.

[296]But Frank urged him to follow,

and to please
his companion Bob did so. As Barker and his
companions were on foot they soon outdistanced
the crowd, and then Bob called Frank to hold up.

“What’s best to do now?” questioned the

young man.
“I have a plan,” said Bob. “You go back to
Dartinville and wait for the detectives while I
keep my eyes on this crowd.”

“That’s asking too much of you, Bob.”

“No, it isn’t. I will follow them wherever

they go, and I will leave a paper trail behind me
so that you and your men can follow me up.
That will be the easiest way of tracking them
down.”

“A paper trail?”

“Yes. I have a couple of newspapers I will

tear into strips.”

“Well, here is another, if you insist.”

“If you find the trail ends suddenly, look for

a message on the last slip.”

“I will.”

“And take this horse and buggy, I will go

after them on foot.”

For five minutes more the two discussed the

plan, and then Frank drove off with Bob’s
buggy tied fast in the rear.

Once on the ground, Bob lost no time in

making his way back to the spot where they
had discovered Barker and the others.

[297]The young photographer was

careful to keep
out of sight, and now leaped the rail fence on
the side of the road and pushed forward through
the bushes.

To any one unaccustomed to this method of

advancement it would have proved slow and laborious,
but Bob knew how to go ahead, and he
was too much interested to mind the fatigue
entailed.

When Bob reached the spot, he found the

enemy had moved on up the road, but he soon
drew close enough to make out their conversation,
which they carried on carelessly, as they continued
up a narrow path leading to the red house
on the Rayville road, mentioned in the message.

“What do you suppose they will do?” asked

Raymond.

“Not much,” returned Casco. “I reckon

they have got tired of chasing me.”

“It’s a wonder they don’t come down on your

place, Raymond,” put in Barker.

“If they do, they’ll find out I skipped for

California,” chuckled the hotel-keeper.

“But they just saw you.”

“It don’t make any difference. I’ve skipped,

and the property belongs to my wife, so what
can they do about it?”

There was a general laugh, and then Casco

and Barker dropped slightly behind and began
to converse in lower tones.

[298]Bob could not hear what was

said, but when
he came to a break in the brush he peered out
and saw Casco hand Barker a thick packet,
done up in a large envelope.

“The papers and letters stolen from Blake,”

muttered the young photographer to himself.
“I must get them without fail.”

A short while later the crowd reached the red

house, a low structure, built of bricks, many of
which were cracked and crumbled.

All entered the house, and Bob saw the door

closed, and heard no more.

The youth had been dropping slips of paper

all the way. He now took a larger slip and
wrote this message upon it:

“All in the red house. I am going in to

listen. If I am all right, I will come back for
this slip.”
</div>

Bob had just finished writing the slip when a

low rumble of thunder reached his ears. He
glanced up and saw that a shower was coming
up from the west.

“Good!” he muttered. “The darkness and

the wind may help me.”

Two sides of the red house were surrounded

by trees and bushes, and darting among them
the youth had no difficulty in reaching a side
door, which stood partly open.
[299]Listening intently, the young
photographer
heard a murmur of voices in the front, showing
that the crowd had entered what had once been
a sitting-room.

Throwing a number of strips of paper just

outside of the door, Bob pushed his way
inside.

All was full of dirt and cobwebs, but to this

the youth paid no attention. He had a mission,
and he felt in duty bound to fulfil it, despite
either dirt or danger.

From the side entry Bob passed into the rear

room, which was separated from the sitting-room
by a stairway leading to the second story.

Under these stairs were a door leading to the

sitting-room and also a deep closet.

Peeping through the key-hole of the door,

Bob saw the entire crowd seated around a table
in the centre of the room, smoking and drinking.

“It’s almost time Mavelt was here,” observed

Barker. “He is taking all day to send that
message.”

“Perhaps he is waiting for an answer,” suggested

Casco. “Did you tell him not to wait?”

“No.”

“Then that is what he is doing.”

“Where is Horning?”

“He said he would be here later.”

“We want this thing fully understood,” put

in Raymond. “I admit it’s a big scheme, but[300]
if it don’t work, we’ll all be sent up for ten years
or more.”

“We’ll be sint up for loife,” remarked Grogan.

“’Tis no small wurruk to throw a train off the
track.”

“We won’t throw her off unless it’s necessary,”

said Barker. “Rankin will set the signal
if all is safe and——”

Bob could not catch what followed, for a

burst of thunder drowned out all other sound.

Yet he had heard enough. The evildoers

were plotting to throw a certain train off the
track, unless matters were all right. What was
meant by all right? Casco’s words shortly afterward
solved the question.

“The express car will carry over forty thousand

dollars on her trip, and Rankin will be in
charge,” he said. “If he gets no chance to throw
it off, he will pull the bell-rope, jump off and join
us. Then, when the train starts, we will throw
over that loose rail, and over goes the train.”

“And what then?” put in Raymond.

“I have a key to the safe, which has an ordinary

lock, not a combination. You men can
overpower the agent in charge while pretending
to help the passengers, while I open the safe. We
can carry axes to clear away such of the wreck as
is necessary, and Grogan can be on the wagon.”

“An’ it’s a good tame of horses Oi have for

the occasion,” said the Irishman.

[301]“With the boodle in our

possession we can
make off at top speed,” went on Casco. “Then
we will meet here, divide up equally, and
separate.”

“Yes, but if Rankin says it’s all right——”

Another burst of thunder followed. Then

came heavy drops of rain, followed by a perfect
deluge.

The conversation continued, but Bob could

only catch an occasional word, and leaving the
door he walked back to the entry.

“They are a nice gang of rascals and no mistake,”

thought the youth. “For the sake of
gaining money they would derail a train, and
perhaps kill many passengers. Frank can’t get
here with those detectives any too soon.”

Bob looked outside. The rain was coming

down in a perfect sheet, while the murky air
seemed to be filled with lightning.

“If it wasn’t such a fearful storm, I would

walk back to Dartinville, or up to Rayville, and
summon help,” he muttered to himself. “But
I couldn’t make any progress in such a storm
as this. Phew! how the wind blows!”

A sharp streak of lightning followed which

made everything as bright as though the sun
were shining.
Somewhat blinded, Bob shrank back. As he
did so, a hand was placed on his collar, and he
was jerked rudely backward.
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
[302]

<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXXII

BOB BECOMES A PRISONER</h2>

</div>

“That’s the time I caught you, you little

sneak!”

It was Casco who uttered the words, and it

was he who had stepped up behind Bob and
pulled him partly into the room.

Without replying the young photographer

straightened up and let out with his right
arm.

The scar-faced man went backward in such a

hurry that he hit the wall opposite with considerable
force.

“Help!” he yelled.

After the blow, so well delivered, Bob turned

to flee, knowing full well the danger of remaining
an instant longer.

Alarmed by the sound of the row, Barker

rushed out into the entry, followed by Grogan
and Raymond.

“Who is it?”

“Bob Alden! Catch him!”

“That imp! Which way did he go?”

“Out of the door.”

As he spoke, Casco managed to regain his<span class="pagenum"

id="Page_303">[303]
equilibrium, and he followed Barker and the
others outside.

“There he goes!”

Barker and Grogan came after Bob, but the

youth would have escaped by outdistancing
them had not just then something unexpected
occurred.
Bob was making for the roadway when suddenly
he ran plump into a man who was making
tracks toward the red house.

The force of the meeting was such that both

went sprawling in the mud, and before Bob
could arise Barker was on top of him, and
Grogan followed.

“Here, what does this mean?” gasped the

fellow Bob had knocked down.

“Good for you, Horning!” laughed Barker.

“We wanted him stopped, and you have done
it.”

“Hang me if it isn’t that young fellow who

tried to down me,” cried Horning, as he sprang
up and began to wipe the mud from his face.

“March back to the house,” ordered Barker

to Bob. “No more escapes are in order, understand.”

With something of a sinking heart Bob turned

about and, with Barker on one side of him and
Grogan on the other, walked back and entered
the sitting-room, Horning following.

“It’s beastly weather,” muttered the latter.<span class="pagenum"

id="Page_304">[304]
“I would never have started out if I had known
it was going to pour down like this.”

“Did you see anything of Mavelt?”

“Yes. He is waiting for an answer to his

message. Rankin may change the plan.”

“Pshaw! It wasn’t necessary.”

Once in the red house the whole crowd surrounded

poor Bob, who was disarmed and then
bound.

“Yez sha’n’t escape me again,” said Grogan.

“Oi’ll not go to slape watchin’ yez this toime.”

“No, Mike, for the simple reason that I intend

to do the watching this trip,” laughed
Barker. “You mean well enough, but you are
not always to be trusted.”

“I will take him up-stairs,” said Barker. “I

want to have a talk with him. Then I will
come down, and we can decide on what we intend
to do.”

As he spoke, he winked at Casco, and the

scar-faced man nodded.
“Don’t be long,” said Raymond. “I want
you to fix up that matter for me.”

“All right.”

Bob was compelled to march up to the

second story of the house and into the front
room.

“Now, sit down, Bob,” said Barker, as he

closed the door. “I want you to tell me something.”

[305]Bob took a seat. He saw that

Barker’s face
was unusually cruel. The man looked capable
of killing him then and there.

“You followed Casco this morning, didn’t

you?” began the man.

“Yes.”

“And you met Blake.”

“I did. I arrived just in time to save him

from being murdered.”

“So Casco told me. Now, I want to know

what Blake told you.”

“Told me about what?”

“About——” Barker hesitated an instant.

“About me.”

“Supposing I don’t care to talk about that

matter?”

“I want you to answer me!”

Bob remained silent. Stepping over to the

defenceless youth, Barker raised his hand and
struck him in the face.

“Now will you answer me?”

“No.”

“You are mighty brave, I must say. But

your bravery counts for nothing with me.”

“And your bluster counts less with me.”

“I have you in my power.”

“I have been there before.”

“And you think you can escape again. But

you will not, mark my word.”

“Maybe I will.”

[306]Barker strode up and down the

room a moment
and glared at Bob.

“Did Blake tell you anything about yourself?”

he asked, coming to a halt.

“I told you I wouldn’t answer any questions.

You may ask me if it is going to stop raining
soon, and I’ll have nothing to say.”

Barker grated his teeth.

“May break him, but never bend him,” he

muttered to himself. “I never saw his equal
for pure spunk.”

“What did you hear down-stairs?” went on

the man, shifting his tactics.

Instead of replying, Bob gazed up to the ceiling,

and began to whistle.

Again Barker raised his hand.

“Stop that.”

“Does it annoy you?” asked Bob, coolly.

“You don’t seem to realize your situation.”

“Don’t want to if it’s going to scare me to

death.”

But Bob did realize matters very plainly, and

his chaff was only uttered to keep up his courage.

“Look here, I’ll——” began Barker, when a

crash of thunder drowned out his voice and
made him shrink back in awe.

“How long are you going to be up there?”

called Casco, from the foot of the stairs.

“I’ll be down in a little while,” replied Barker.

“Why?”

[307]“Mavelt is here.”

“What news does he bring?”

“The money will be on the express to-night.”

“To-night?”
“Yes. We have just time to get ready and
no more. Finish with that boy and come
down.”

“That’s all right, too, but——”

A crash of thunder close at hand made both

Barker and Bob jump.

The crash was followed by one of a different

sort, as a tree which had stood close at hand
was split from top to bottom, and one side
smashed in the entire window-sash.

“Oh!” howled Barker. “I can’t stand this!”

Pale as a ghost he made for the door, and ran

down the stairs.

“Now is my chance,” thought Bob. “It’s a

great risk, but it’s the only chance I have to
save my life.”

Bound though he was, he managed to reach

the broken window and climbed up on the sill.

The tree, the top of which was on fire, still

rested against the house, and upon this Bob
threw himself and rolled to the ground.

Some bushes were not far off, and as soon as

he reached the soil the young photographer
rolled over and over, until he was out of sight.

Then came another streak of lightning which

almost blinded the youth. The air was filled[308]
with the smell of sulphur, while the noise was
terrific.

“Help I help!” came from the interior of the

red house, accompanied by the crash of falling
walls.

The lightning had struck the chimney, and

run down the centre of the structure, ruining it
completely.

For the moment Bob thought the end of the

world had come. He lay still, a strange sensation
darting like needles through his whole
system.

“Come on out, if you value your lives!”

he heard Casco cry. “Sure, an’ Horning is
kilt!” howled Grogan as he came rushing forth.
“The loightning shtruck him, so it did. Come
away!”
Bob heard no more. Another crash of thunder
roared in his ears, followed by a tremendous
downpour of rain, and the crowd moved away
to seek a new shelter.

Poor Bob felt as weak as a sick kitten. He

tried to move, but the shock to his nerves had
been too much, and presently his senses left
him, and all became a blank.

When he returned to consciousness, it was

beginning to grow dark. The rain had ceased,
and the sky overhead was once more a deep
blue, flecked with white clouds.

For a while the young photographer could<span class="pagenum"

id="Page_309">[309]
not remember where he was, nor what had happened.
But gradually he recalled the scene in
the upper chamber of the red house, and what
had followed, and raising his head he looked
around.

The cottage was a mass of ruins, burnt and

water-soaked, and beside it lay the tree the
lightning had split, the top charred and blackened.

“Thank Heaven for that escape!” murmured

Bob. “My! what a close shave!”

He was still bound, but by working steadily

at the rope he, after an hour’s labor, managed
to free himself.

He ached in every joint, but to this he

scarcely gave attention. His one thought was
of the gang and what they intended to do.

Approaching the cottage, he examined the

ruins, but could see nothing of Horning’s remains.
Whether or not the gang had buried
the man the youth could not tell.

Bob knew that the express of which the men

had spoken would leave Stampton at eight
o’clock and would arrive in Dartinville at eight-thirty,
making no stop excepting on flag.

It must now be seven or half-past. He must

hurry. If the train and its passengers were to
be saved, there was no time to lose.

Bob knew it was at least a mile and a half to

the railroad track, and two miles to the nearest[310]
way station. Could he cover that distance in
time?

“I’ll do it or die in the attempt!” muttered

the brave youth. “If I only had a horse!”

But there was no horse in sight, nor, indeed,

any farm-house where one might be procured.
All was dark and lonely.

Bob set out at a brisk gait. He felt like

groaning at every step, but ground his teeth together
and kept on. Either he would cover the
necessary distance or drop dead on the road.

“They will find that I am not so easily overcome

as they expected,” he muttered, grimly.
“And now, with hundreds of lives at stake,
what sort of a chap would I be to show the
white feather?”

Bob had to make a guess as to which was the

shortest way to the nearest station, and praying
that he was right and would arrive in time he
pushed on and on.

Over the rough fields and through the brooks,

now swollen high from the recent rain, went
Bob, half walking and half running. He was
hatless, and the jump from the window had
nearly sprained his ankle, but what did he care?
If those lives were to be saved, he alone must
accomplish the task.

At last a long, low rumble reached his ears.

“The track can’t be far off, and that is a

train.”

[311]Bob paused for only a second to

listen and
to locate the sound. He was right. It was a
train, going in the opposite direction.

“It’s the last train through that way to-night,”

he said to himself. “Now the only one to pass
the other way is the express, and that must be
almost due.”

Off through a patch of woods Bob heard the

train slow up, come to a stop, and then start off
again.

“That means a station of some sort most

likely,” was his mental comment. “Oh, if I can
only reach it in time!”

Through the woods, the brush sweeping his

face and scratching his skin, went Bob, his
breath coming in short, sharp gasps. He was
almost played out.

At last the woods were passed. Then came

an open field, and beyond lay the iron tracks.

Bob looked up and down. The little station

was a good hundred yards off.

“Stop the train!” cried the youth as he

dashed up.

Then he gave a cry of dismay—the place was

deserted—the station-master had locked up and
gone home for the night.

And now came a rumble from the distance,

and looking down the tracks Bob saw the
gleaming head-light of the express as it came
thundering along at the rate of fifty miles an hour.

[312]“If I only had a red-lantern!”

groaned the
youth.

He looked around. Was there no lantern in

sight? Hither and thither he rushed, growing
more frantic every second.

Ah! here was an old lantern at last. But it

was a common affair with a white glass and
unlit.

With nervous haste Bob felt for a match and

drew it forth. It was wet from the rain and refused
to burn. He threw it away and pulled
out another and then another, and at last the
lamp was lit and burned brightly. But, alas!
the light was white, and the danger signal must
be red! And now the express was almost upon
him. In ten seconds it would be gone, and then
what dire disaster would follow!

Suddenly Bob gave a jump. In his vest

pocket was a small ruby lantern-slide of red
glass, such as nearly every professional photographer
possesses.

In feverish haste Bob drew forth the bit of

glass and held it in front of the white light.

Then the red light was waved wildly to and

fro as the express dashed past.

Had his signal been seen?

<div class="chapter">
[313]

<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXXIII

BOB AND HIS MOTHER—CONCLUSION</h2>

</div>

The single second which followed the passage

of the express train seemed to Bob an age.

He continued to swing the red light until he

heard a shrill shriek of the whistle and saw the
fire fly from the wheels of the locomotive as the
engine was reversed, and then he staggered up
against the little station.

The express train had been saved!

In less than ten seconds the conductor came

running forward.

“What’s the matter, Boswell?” he cried.

“Quick, we are behind time already!”

Bob tried to speak. His voice came almost

in a sob.

“Don’t go! The track—the robbers have

loosened a rail and——”

“Hullo! it ain’t Boswell at all! Why, what’s

the matter with you? Rivers! Jones! Come
here!”

The engineer and one of the brakemen came

at the call, and all three gazed at the young
photographer, whose eyes were closed, and
whose form was gradually slipping down on the
platform.

[314]“He’s fainting!” went on the

conductor.
“Here, help me place him on this baggage
truck.”

“What did he stop the train for?” asked the

engineer, as he assisted in making Bob comfortable.

“I don’t know. He said something about

robbers and a loosened rail.”

“Is that so? Wait till I get a bit of water

and dash it into his face.”

“He’s been cut on the forehead,” put in the

brakeman, “and he seems completely exhausted.
You can bet he didn’t stop the train for
nothing.”

Water was procured and dashed into Bob’s

face. With something of a shudder he came to
his senses.

“Is the train safe?” he asked feebly.

“So far, yes; but what’s the trouble?”

Bob was silent for a moment, as if trying to

pull himself together. Then he sat up.

“Where is the conductor?”

“I am the conductor.”

“You have an express car attached to the

train?”

“Yes; but what——”

“Arrest the express agent.”

“Arrest him!” called three of the hearers.

“Yes.”

“What for?”

[315]“He is in with a gang of robbers

to rob the
car of forty thousand dollars which you are
carrying.”

“How do you know that?”

“I overheard the plot.”

“Do you know the men?”

“Yes.”

“Who are they?”

Bob mentioned the names. Then in as few

words as possible he related how the deed was
to be done.

“I believe the boy is right,” said the engineer.

“I suspected something was wrong by the way
Mavelt acted yesterday. And, come to think of
it, he asked me the exact time we passed Gooseneck
Falls.”

“Then that is the place where the gang will

try to throw the train off.”

“Who are you?”

“I am Bob Alden, a travelling photographer.

Mr. Maverick hired me to take pictures along
the route for a new guide book.”

“I’ve heard of you,” said the conductor. “By

Jove! but this is a rascally piece of business.”
“What’s to be done?” asked the engineer.
“We can’t stay here all night.”

“I’ll tell you what to do,” said Bob. “Run

back to that last station and get a number of
officers. Then run up to Gooseneck Falls and
capture the rascals.”

[316]“That’s a good plan,” said the

conductor.
“And in the mean time I’ll stay with that express
agent and see that he doesn’t skip
out.”

“Can I go along?” asked Bob.

“Certainly. Come, I’ll help you to the parlor

car and you can go into the lavatory and wash
up. The porter will give you some court-plaster
and such stuff, if you need it.”

Bob braced up and was soon aboard the car.

Then they started back, much to the surprise
of the express agent, who came out to inquire
what was up.

The conductor told him, and also ordered him

to keep still. The fellow was very much frightened,
and said he knew nothing of the intended
robbery.

While the train was making fast time back to

the last station of any size Bob washed his face,
bound up his wounds, and sat down to rest.
The porter offered him some whiskey, but Bob
declined.

“I don’t drink liquor, but if you have any

coffee——”

“Yes, sah, right away, sah,” returned the

darkey, and just before the train came to a stop
the young photographer had a strong cup of
coffee, which made him feel like another person.

Word was at once sent to the nearest police

station, and presently four officers hurried to[317]
the train. Behind them came a form that
looked familiar to Bob. It was Frank Landes.

“I was out with the detectives, but I lost your

trail in the storm. One of the men thought you
had come here. I was at the police station
when the order for the men came in. What’s
up?”

“They are going to bag the whole crowd,”

returned Bob. “Come on, if you want to take
part.”

Frank hopped aboard. In a second more they

were off. The officers, with Bob, Frank, and the
conductor, occupied the express car, so that very
few of the passengers on the train knew that
anything unusual was going on, although they
wondered why the run backward had been made.

The engineer crowded on the steam, and they

went spinning along at the rate of sixty miles
an hour. On the way all hands talked over the
prospects ahead.

Suddenly a whistle was heard and the train

slowed up.

“Here we are,” said the conductor. “Gooseneck

Falls are not over a hundred yards ahead.”

Bob, Frank, and the officers jumped at once

to the ground. Then they separated, the officers
on one side of the track and Bob and
Frank on the other.

“We ought to get some distance away from

the track,” said Bob. “It isn’t likely the gang[318]
will remain close at hand when they expect the
train to run off.”

“That’s so, Bob,” returned the young man.

“Come, here is a path. Let us take that.”

The path led to a spot fully a hundred feet

back of the track. They pursued it in silence
until Bob caught Frank by the sleeve as a
signal to stop.

“What is it?” whispered the young man.

“They are just ahead.”

“You are sure?”

“Yes. I heard Grogan talking.”

“Hark!”

They listened. This time it was Barker who

was speaking.

“Why is the train halting down there? I

don’t see anything of Rankin.”

“That’s what I would like to know,” came in

Casco’s tones. “Something is wrong.”
“Sure, an’ that is phat Oi’m afther thinkin’,”
put in Grogan.

“I’ve a good mind to go down and see,” said

Raymond. “If there is anything wrong, the
sooner we find out the better.”

“Oh, it’s all right,” put in a strange voice,

which Bob supposed must be that of Mavelt.
“Don’t get alarmed the first thing.”

“That storm upset me completely,” said

Barker. “Hullo, the train is coming on again!”

“Yes, but awfully slow.”

[319]“They are watching the tracks!”

cried Casco.
“They must——”

He broke off short. Bob had given a signal

to the officers on the other side of the track. In
a second the signal was returned. The gang
heard it as well as Frank and Bob.

“Something is amiss!” cried Raymond.

“An’ we had betther git out,” added Grogan.

He turned to run, but found himself confronted

by the young photographer.

“Sure an’ it’s a ghost!” he shrieked. “Let

me go!”

Before he could say a word more Bob struck

him in the head, and down went Grogan in a
heap.

“What, Bob?” cried Barker, rushing forward.

“How did you escape?”

“That’s my business, Bill Dix. Hold up

your hands!”

The man addressed was dumfounded.

“Did you hear?” went on Bob.

“Who told you I was Bill Dix?” cried the

robber, savagely, as soon as he could recover.

“Never mind now. Up with your hands!”

“Never!”

Dix, for that was really Barker’s name, attempted

to draw his pistol.
Now came a rush from the other side of the
track, and suddenly a pot of burning red fire lit
up the scene.

[320]“Surrender, in the name of the

law!”

“Trapped!” yelled Casco. “Boys, we must

fight for it.”

“But you sha’n’t do any fighting,” added

Frank, and, rushing up behind the scar-faced
man, the young man wrenched the pistol from
his hand and knocked him down.

Raymond turned to flee, but one of the officers

caught him, while Mavelt was also secured,
and in five minutes more the entire gang was
under arrest.

“Who gave us away?” demanded Dix, while

he was being taken to the train.

“I had that pleasure,” returned Bob. “I told

you I would come out on top, Dix.”

“Just wait till I get out of this scrape,

I’ll——”

“You won’t get out of it for a good many

years,” put in one of the officers. “So you
might as well keep your temper to yourself.”

The burning of the red fire and the pistol-shots

had aroused all the passengers, and they
crowded around when the prisoners were
brought to the train.

A loosened and misplaced rail was found on

the track a hundred feet farther ahead. It was
quickly adjusted and fastened down, and then
the express proceeded to the next large station.

At the depot there was a perfect jam, including

many women, who had been passengers on[321]
the express. They watched the transferring of
the prisoners to the platform with deep interest.

“William Dix!” suddenly cried a woman

from out of the crowd.

Everybody, including Bob, turned toward the

woman. She was a person apparently forty
years of age and dressed in black.

“Bill Dix! I must see that man!” went on

the woman, and she tried to push her way forward.
“Do you know the man?” questioned one of
the officers.

“Yes, yes! I have been hunting for him for

a long time! Oh, let me speak to him!”

“You may do so at the station-house.”

“Thank you! So he is one of the robbers?

I knew he was a bad man, but he is worse than
I supposed.”

The woman followed the crowd to the station-house,

where Bob and Frank, as well as the
chief of the officers, made a formal complaint
against the gang.

After this, two of the officers, accompanied

by Frank, set out to recover what they could of
the money and other things which had been
stolen.

For some reason he could not explain, Bob

was deeply interested in the woman in black.
Presently, seeing a good chance, he spoke to her.

“You say you know this Dix?” he began.

[322]“Yes, I have known him for

years.”

“I am very anxious to learn something about

him,” went on Bob.

“And I am very anxious to make him tell me

something,” returned the woman. “He did me
a wrong, and I want him to do what he can to
right it.”

“He did me a wrong also.”

“Indeed? May I ask your name?”

“I am known as Bob Alden. But my right

name is Bob Perry.”

The woman started back and grew as pale as

death.

“Robert Perry!” she gasped.

“Yes. But why——”

“Were you the son of Thomas Perry, an

army officer?”

“I was, and still am, but——”

“Thank Heavens!” and the woman caught

Bob in her arms.

“I don’t understand,” began Bob, with a curious

sensation stealing over him.

“I am your mother, Bob!”

“My mother!”

“Yes, your mother! Oh, how glad I am that

I have found you!”

“I’m glad, too,” said Bob, brokenly. His heart

was jumping so much he could not say a great
deal. “But it’s all so wonderful,” he added,
after a moment.

[323]“So it is.”

“Where have you been all these years? Why

didn’t you come to my Uncle Robert’s house?”

“It’s a long story. When your father was

killed, I nearly lost my mind. When I recovered,
I was told by a man, who I afterward
found out was Dix’s tool, that you had been
stolen by the Indians. I made a long search,
lasting years. Then I was coming to your
uncle’s home here in the East, when I learned
that he was dead. It was quite by accident that
I discovered the trick which had been played on
me, and I at once set out to find you.”

“And I have been hunting for you,” replied

Bob, with a beaming face. “I understand it all
now. Dix was playing a double game—trying
to keep me out of the way at one end and you
out of the way at the other. But he has been
foiled, just as he deserved.”

When Dix was confronted by Bob and his

newly-found parent, he could not say a word.
He had played a desperate game to the finish
and lost.

Bob conducted his mother to a hotel, and

here the two spent a happy night.

One of the first callers in the morning was

Frank. He was astonished when Bob introduced
Mrs. Perry.

“So you won’t be a nobody any longer, Bob,

eh?” he smiled.

[324]Frank had glorious news. Aided

by a confession
made by Mavelt, he and the officers had
recovered everything stolen by the gang, including
John Wright’s money and plate, Blake’s
package, and Frank’s eighteen hundred dollars.

“It’s a great haul,” said Bob, “and I believe

it will settle this crowd for good.”

And he was right.

But here we must leave Bob the photographer

and pass over a period of several years.

Bill Dix was tried and sentenced to twenty

years in the State prison. After this sentence
is finished he will be sent to Virginia to answer
to a charge involving murder. The other evildoers
are also suffering the penalty of the law.

Old Blake recovered from the attack made

upon him by Casco, and completely reformed.
He now lives with his daughter, who is well settled
in life.

Frank Landes is a partner in the firm for

which he formerly worked, and is getting rich
rapidly.

Bob and his mother live in an elegant mansion

in Stampton. The young photographer has
taken sweet Grace Maverick for a wife.

“And she couldn’t do better, even though the

young man isn’t a millionaire,” says Gregory
Maverick, for he is more than pleased over
Bob’s show of bravery.

But Bob is doing well in life, having at present<span class="pagenum"

id="Page_325">[325]
not only the finest studio in Stampton, but
also an interest in one of the largest photographic
supply houses in the country. And so
we will leave him, wishing him continued success.

THE END.

<div class="chapter">
<div class="transnote">
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:

Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.

Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.

Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.

</div></div>

<div style="text-align:center"></div><section class="pg-boilerplate pgheader"

id="pg-footer" lang="en">
<div id="pg-end-separator">
*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BOB, THE PHOTOGRAPHER ***
</div>

<div>
Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will
be renamed.
</div><div>
Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright
law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works,
so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United
States without permission and without paying copyright
royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part
of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project
Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™
concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark,
and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following
the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use
of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for
copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very
easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation
of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project
Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away—you may
do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected
by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark
license, especially commercial redistribution.
</div>

<div id="project-gutenberg-license">START: FULL LICENSE</div>

<h2 id="pg-footer-heading">THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE</h2>

<div class="agate">PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
</div><div>
To protect the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting the free
distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project
Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full
Project Gutenberg™ License available with this file or online at
www.gutenberg.org/license.
</div><div class="secthead">
Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg™
electronic works
</div><div>
1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg™
electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all
the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or
destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in your
possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a
Project Gutenberg™ electronic work and you do not agree to be bound
by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person
or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
</div><div>
1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be
used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few
things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg™ electronic works
even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See
paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project
Gutenberg™ electronic works if you follow the terms of this
agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg™
electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below.
</div><div>
1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the
Foundation” or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection
of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works. Nearly all the individual
works in the collection are in the public domain in the United
States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the
United States and you are located in the United States, we do not
claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing,
displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as
all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope
that you will support the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting
free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg™
works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the
Project Gutenberg™ name associated with the work. You can easily
comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the
same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg™ License when
you share it without charge with others.
</div><div>
1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are
in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States,
check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this
agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing,
distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any
other Project Gutenberg™ work. The Foundation makes no
representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any
country other than the United States.
</div><div>
1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
</div><div>
1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other
immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg™ License must appear
prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg™ work (any work
on which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the
phrase “Project Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed,
performed, viewed, copied or distributed:
</div><blockquote><div>
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you
are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws
of the country where you are located before using this eBook.
</div></blockquote><div>
1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is
derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not
contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the
copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in
the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are
redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase “Project
Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply
either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or
obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg™
trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
</div><div>
1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is posted
with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any
additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms
will be linked to the Project Gutenberg™ License for all works
posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the
beginning of this work.
</div><div>
1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg™
License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg™.
</div><div>
1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
Gutenberg™ License.
</div><div>
1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including
any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access
to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg™ work in a format
other than “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official
version posted on the official Project Gutenberg™ website
(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense
to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means
of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original “Plain
Vanilla ASCII” or other form. Any alternate format must include the
full Project Gutenberg™ License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
</div><div>
1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg™ works
unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
</div><div>
1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
access to or distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works
provided that:
</div><ul>
<li>• You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
the use of Project Gutenberg™ works calculated using the method
you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed
to the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark, but he has
agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid
within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are
legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty
payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in
Section 4, “Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation.”
</li>
<li>• You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg™
License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all
copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue
all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg™
works.
</li>
<li>• You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of
any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of
receipt of the work.
</li>
<li>• You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
distribution of Project Gutenberg™ works.
</li>
</ul><div>
1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project
Gutenberg™ electronic work or group of works on different terms than
are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing
from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of
the Project Gutenberg™ trademark. Contact the Foundation as set
forth in Section 3 below.
</div><div>
1.F.
</div><div>
1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project
Gutenberg™ collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg™
electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may
contain “Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate
or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other
intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or
other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or
cannot be read by your equipment.
</div><div>
1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right
of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
Gutenberg™ trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
Gutenberg™ electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
DAMAGE.
</div><div>
1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you
received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium
with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you
with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in
lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person
or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second
opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If
the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing
without further opportunities to fix the problem.
</div><div>
1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’, WITH NO
OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT
LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
</div><div>
1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of
damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement
violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the
agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or
limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or
unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the
remaining provisions.
</div><div>
1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
providing copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in
accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the
production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg™
electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses,
including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of
the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this
or any Project Gutenberg™ work, (b) alteration, modification, or
additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg™ work, and (c) any
Defect you cause.
</div><div class="secthead">
Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg™
</div><div>
Project Gutenberg™ is synonymous with the free distribution of
electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of
computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It
exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations
from people in all walks of life.
</div><div>
Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg™’s
goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg™ collection will
remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
and permanent future for Project Gutenberg™ and future
generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see
Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org.
</div><div class="secthead">
Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
</div><div>
The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit
501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification
number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by
U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws.
</div><div>
The Foundation’s business office is located at 809 North 1500 West,
Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up
to date contact information can be found at the Foundation’s website
and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact
</div><div class="secthead">
Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation
</div><div>
Project Gutenberg™ depends upon and cannot survive without widespread
public support and donations to carry out its mission of
increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest
array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations
($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
status with the IRS.
</div><div>
The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations
where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND
DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular state
visit <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/donate/">www.gutenberg.org/donate</a>.
</div><div>
While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
approach us with offers to donate.
</div><div>
International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
</div><div>
Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation
methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other
ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To
donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate.
</div><div class="secthead">
Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg™ electronic works
</div><div>
Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project
Gutenberg™ concept of a library of electronic works that could be
freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and
distributed Project Gutenberg™ eBooks with only a loose network of
volunteer support.
</div><div>
Project Gutenberg™ eBooks are often created from several printed
editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in
the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not
necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper
edition.
</div><div>
Most people start at our website which has the main PG search
facility: <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>.
</div><div>
This website includes information about Project Gutenberg™,
including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
</div>

</section></body></html>

Essential n8n Playbook
From Everand
Essential n8n Playbook
Leandro Calado
No ratings yet
Ultra HTML Reference
From Everand
Ultra HTML Reference
Mike Abelar
2/5 (1)
Hypertext Markup Language (HTML) Fundamentals: How to Master HTML with Ease
From Everand
Hypertext Markup Language (HTML) Fundamentals: How to Master HTML with Ease
Steven Bright
No ratings yet
!doctype HTML Public "-//w3c//Dtd XHTML 1.0 Transitional//en"
No ratings yet
!doctype HTML Public "-//w3c//Dtd XHTML 1.0 Transitional//en"
7 pages
Atticus Theme
No ratings yet
Atticus Theme
7 pages
Numerical Simulation On A Horizontal Airflow For Airborne Particles Control
No ratings yet
Numerical Simulation On A Horizontal Airflow For Airborne Particles Control
6 pages
Merck Sharp and Dohme Argentina, Inc.: Written Analysis of Case
No ratings yet
Merck Sharp and Dohme Argentina, Inc.: Written Analysis of Case
4 pages
List of Positive Affirmations PDF
100% (3)
List of Positive Affirmations PDF
10 pages
Lecture Notes On Plato
No ratings yet
Lecture Notes On Plato
22 pages
Angular Shopping Store: From Scratch to Successful Payment
From Everand
Angular Shopping Store: From Scratch to Successful Payment
Abdelfattah Ragab
No ratings yet
React Portfolio App Development: Increase your online presence and create your personal brand
From Everand
React Portfolio App Development: Increase your online presence and create your personal brand
Abdelfattah Ragab
No ratings yet
Pg75032 Images
No ratings yet
Pg75032 Images
274 pages
CSS Grid Layout: 5 Practical Projects
From Everand
CSS Grid Layout: 5 Practical Projects
Craig Buckler
No ratings yet
Œuvres Complètes de Victor Hugo - Volume 20 - $B Notre-Dame de Paris - Tome 1
No ratings yet
Œuvres Complètes de Victor Hugo - Volume 20 - $B Notre-Dame de Paris - Tome 1
243 pages
How to a Developers Guide to 4k: Developer edition, #3
From Everand
How to a Developers Guide to 4k: Developer edition, #3
Xinc Cyberwizard
No ratings yet
Angular Portfolio App Development: Create your personal brand
From Everand
Angular Portfolio App Development: Create your personal brand
Abdelfattah Ragab
No ratings yet
What Unemployed?
From Everand
What Unemployed?
Diana Leff
No ratings yet
Mastering JavaScript: The Complete Guide to JavaScript Mastery
From Everand
Mastering JavaScript: The Complete Guide to JavaScript Mastery
Tim Robards
5/5 (1)
Client Side Web Development For Beginners (HTML/CSS/JS)
From Everand
Client Side Web Development For Beginners (HTML/CSS/JS)
Maks Uri
4/5 (1)
Learn Css In 1 Hour
From Everand
Learn Css In 1 Hour
John Bura
No ratings yet
Son of the sixth
From Everand
Son of the sixth
Richard John Ellicott
No ratings yet
Master Cascading Style Sheets (CSS) Quickly: CSS Properties, CSS Property Definitions, Inline CSS, Internal CSS, External CSS and Sample Codes
From Everand
Master Cascading Style Sheets (CSS) Quickly: CSS Properties, CSS Property Definitions, Inline CSS, Internal CSS, External CSS and Sample Codes
Steven Bright
No ratings yet
Digital and Microprocessor Techniques V10
From Everand
Digital and Microprocessor Techniques V10
Clive W. Humphris
No ratings yet
HB-3 5ePHBStyle
No ratings yet
HB-3 5ePHBStyle
29 pages
Survival From The Start: The Misadventures of Mekkâr
From Everand
Survival From The Start: The Misadventures of Mekkâr
Saavo
No ratings yet
CSS Box Model and Layouts
From Everand
CSS Box Model and Layouts
Abdelfattah Ragab
No ratings yet
No Ph.D. Game Design With Three.js
From Everand
No Ph.D. Game Design With Three.js
Nikiforos Kontopoulos
No ratings yet
Web Development Step by Step
From Everand
Web Development Step by Step
Enrique Vicente
No ratings yet
JavaScript Fundamentals: JavaScript Syntax, What JavaScript is Use for in Website Development, JavaScript Variable, Strings, Popup Boxes, JavaScript Objects, Function, and Event Handlers
From Everand
JavaScript Fundamentals: JavaScript Syntax, What JavaScript is Use for in Website Development, JavaScript Variable, Strings, Popup Boxes, JavaScript Objects, Function, and Event Handlers
Steven Bright
No ratings yet
How to Build Ebooks Using XHTML & Calibre
From Everand
How to Build Ebooks Using XHTML & Calibre
Ali Noel Vyain
No ratings yet
Pure Guidance
From Everand
Pure Guidance
Master Rashid
No ratings yet
Css - 15 With Page Breaks
No ratings yet
Css - 15 With Page Breaks
9 pages
HB CurseofStrahdCompendiumIIIPathfinder2eCombatEncounters
No ratings yet
HB CurseofStrahdCompendiumIIIPathfinder2eCombatEncounters
73 pages
I Don't Like Mondays
From Everand
I Don't Like Mondays
Bernie Wyatte
No ratings yet
CSS3 Reference: An Alphabetical Guide
From Everand
CSS3 Reference: An Alphabetical Guide
Jo Foster
No ratings yet
Inside the House of David
From Everand
Inside the House of David
Bill Hawkins
No ratings yet
HB CurseofStrahdCompendiumIIIPathfinder2eCombatEncounters
No ratings yet
HB CurseofStrahdCompendiumIIIPathfinder2eCombatEncounters
60 pages
Masters Among Us: An Exploration of Supernal Encounters and Miraculous Phenomena
From Everand
Masters Among Us: An Exploration of Supernal Encounters and Miraculous Phenomena
Thomas Curley
No ratings yet
Learn Html In 1 Hour
From Everand
Learn Html In 1 Hour
John Bura
No ratings yet
HTML And CSS Lab Companion: HTML And CSS Lab Companion, #1
From Everand
HTML And CSS Lab Companion: HTML And CSS Lab Companion, #1
hendra mulyanto
No ratings yet
Comprehensive CSS3 Command List, With Descriptions And Typical Mark Up
From Everand
Comprehensive CSS3 Command List, With Descriptions And Typical Mark Up
Online Trainees
No ratings yet
Building a Retirement Planner Web App with Vanilla HTML, CSS, and JavaScript.: A Practical Q&A Guide Using a Retirement Planner
From Everand
Building a Retirement Planner Web App with Vanilla HTML, CSS, and JavaScript.: A Practical Q&A Guide Using a Retirement Planner
Lumavalle Press
No ratings yet
Theme LINGER
No ratings yet
Theme LINGER
13 pages
Learn Digital and Microprocessor Techniques On Your Smartphone: Portable Learning, Reference and Revision Tools.
From Everand
Learn Digital and Microprocessor Techniques On Your Smartphone: Portable Learning, Reference and Revision Tools.
Clive W. Humphris
No ratings yet
Html5 for Beginners: A Step-By-Step Guide
From Everand
Html5 for Beginners: A Step-By-Step Guide
Zack Mark Lakeman
No ratings yet
The Basics of HTML (Hypertext Markup Language) Coding For Beginners: Learn Foundational HTML Programming Concepts
From Everand
The Basics of HTML (Hypertext Markup Language) Coding For Beginners: Learn Foundational HTML Programming Concepts
Roggie Clark
No ratings yet
Burps From My Butt
From Everand
Burps From My Butt
Marilyn Bricklin Lebovitz
No ratings yet
beyond pretty
From Everand
beyond pretty
B.C. Hatch
No ratings yet
Syling Template
No ratings yet
Syling Template
17 pages
Ebook Design
From Everand
Ebook Design
James LaRoche
No ratings yet
Quick Start Basic HTML and JavaScript
From Everand
Quick Start Basic HTML and JavaScript
Tom Henricksen
No ratings yet
Raw
No ratings yet
Raw
12 pages
Simple Web Programming for Beginners
From Everand
Simple Web Programming for Beginners
Hanaan AM
No ratings yet
HTML in 30 Pages
From Everand
HTML in 30 Pages
U.Q. Magnusson
4.5/5 (14)
Django Admin Cookbook
From Everand
Django Admin Cookbook
Shabda Raaj
No ratings yet
Css - 14 Boom - Css Prince
No ratings yet
Css - 14 Boom - Css Prince
9 pages
Web Development Step by Step - HTML
From Everand
Web Development Step by Step - HTML
Enrique Vicente
No ratings yet
The Journey: Staying on the Path
From Everand
The Journey: Staying on the Path
Chris Futrell
No ratings yet
Cooking up the web with HTML and JavaScript
From Everand
Cooking up the web with HTML and JavaScript
Tom Henricksen
No ratings yet
Lone Wolf
From Everand
Lone Wolf
Robin Mason
No ratings yet
HTML5,CSS3,Javascript and JQuery Mobile Programming: Beginning to End Cross-Platform App Design
From Everand
HTML5,CSS3,Javascript and JQuery Mobile Programming: Beginning to End Cross-Platform App Design
Stephen J Link
5/5 (3)
CSS Stands For Cascading Style Sheets
No ratings yet
CSS Stands For Cascading Style Sheets
26 pages
Tumblr /IMVU Themes
No ratings yet
Tumblr /IMVU Themes
23 pages
I'm going to mom-mom's house!
From Everand
I'm going to mom-mom's house!
Chavonne M Hurdle
No ratings yet
Maths JOVC Pamphlet
100% (2)
Maths JOVC Pamphlet
80 pages
MODULE1 ITEC 205 Information Management
No ratings yet
MODULE1 ITEC 205 Information Management
11 pages
41105067
No ratings yet
41105067
10 pages
Umhere A.B.C
No ratings yet
Umhere A.B.C
6 pages
CH - 7 Integrals
No ratings yet
CH - 7 Integrals
72 pages
Patanjali Case Study
No ratings yet
Patanjali Case Study
33 pages
Text: Hebrews 9:27: "And As It Is Appointed Unto Men Once To Die, But After This The Judgment"
100% (1)
Text: Hebrews 9:27: "And As It Is Appointed Unto Men Once To Die, But After This The Judgment"
11 pages
SMT A1 Shift Plan For Sunday - 04.05.2023
No ratings yet
SMT A1 Shift Plan For Sunday - 04.05.2023
6 pages
Anatomy Module 17
No ratings yet
Anatomy Module 17
23 pages
Nigthtingale Theory
No ratings yet
Nigthtingale Theory
20 pages
Paula Roum - Hst9 Unit 2 Test 2020
No ratings yet
Paula Roum - Hst9 Unit 2 Test 2020
7 pages
Rule 62 Interpleader 1. What Is Interpleader?
No ratings yet
Rule 62 Interpleader 1. What Is Interpleader?
5 pages
Ingls 2ano 1B Comcdigo
No ratings yet
Ingls 2ano 1B Comcdigo
10 pages
Abstract & Reference
No ratings yet
Abstract & Reference
8 pages
Essential Pulmonology
No ratings yet
Essential Pulmonology
22 pages
English Lesson Plan
No ratings yet
English Lesson Plan
6 pages
Mapping of Human Brain
No ratings yet
Mapping of Human Brain
31 pages
Introduction To Mind Mapping
No ratings yet
Introduction To Mind Mapping
13 pages
Sandboxie Installation and Setup
No ratings yet
Sandboxie Installation and Setup
5 pages
Scheme of Studies & Curriculum FOR Bs Chemistry (Semester / Term System)
No ratings yet
Scheme of Studies & Curriculum FOR Bs Chemistry (Semester / Term System)
109 pages
Torrent TaRa Digital Team
No ratings yet
Torrent TaRa Digital Team
1 page
Buddhist Animal Release Practices - Shiu, Stokes
No ratings yet
Buddhist Animal Release Practices - Shiu, Stokes
17 pages
Tim Sales Professional Inviter II - Ft. Lauderdale, FL January 26-27 2007
100% (1)
Tim Sales Professional Inviter II - Ft. Lauderdale, FL January 26-27 2007
15 pages
MATH 1281 - Unit 3 MA
No ratings yet
MATH 1281 - Unit 3 MA
6 pages
Lesson 44: "I Speak Unto You As If Ye Were Present"
No ratings yet
Lesson 44: "I Speak Unto You As If Ye Were Present"
8 pages
Answer Acc 106
No ratings yet
Answer Acc 106
2 pages

Pg75034 Images

Uploaded by

Pg75034 Images

Uploaded by

<!

.xhtml_center {text-align: center; display: block;}

<div class="container" id="pg-machine-header"><p><strong>Title</strong>: Bob, the

<p><strong>Original publication</strong>: New York: Stitt Publishing Company,

<p><strong>Credits</strong>: Aaron Adrignola, David E. Brown, and the Online

<div class="figcenter hide"><img alt="" src="images/coversmall.jpg" width="450"

<figure class="figcenter illowe28_125" id="i_002">

<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<p><i>Or, A Hero in Spite of Himself</i></p>

<span class="xlarge">ARTHUR M. WINFIELD</span><br>

AUTHOR OF “THE ROVER BOYS SERIES,” “THE PUTNAM<br>

<div class="figcenter"><img alt="" src="images/titlepagelogo.jpg"

<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<p class="center"><i>ROVER BOYS SERIES for young Americans</i></p>

<p class="center"><i>Price, per volume, 60 cents</i></p>

<p><span class="smcap">Rover Boys at School</span><br>

<p class="center"><i>PUTNAM HALL SERIES</i></p>

<p class="center"><i>Price, per volume, 60 cents</i></p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Putnam Hall Cadets</span></p>

<p class="center">(Other volumes in preparation)</p>

<p class="center">Copyright, 1902<br>

<tbody><tr><td class="tdr"><span class="small">CHAPTER</span></td><td class="tdr"

<tr><td class="tdr">I.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Bob and His

<tr><td class="tdr">II.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Bob at the

<tr><td class="tdr">III.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Bob at the Half-Way

<tr><td class="tdr">IV.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Bob is Left to His

<tr><td class="tdr">VI.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Bob Learns

<tr><td class="tdr">VII.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Bob and the

<tr><td class="tdr">VIII.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Bob Obtains a

<tr><td class="tdr">IX.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Bob Has a Lively

<tr><td class="tdr">X.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Bob’s First

<tr><td class="tdr">XI.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Bob Assists a

<tr><td class="tdr">XII.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Bob’s Queer

<tr><td class="tdr">XIII.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Bob Makes a True

<tr><td class="tdr">XIV.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Bob Makes a New

<tr><td class="tdr">XV.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Bob Becomes a Travelling

<tr><td class="tdr">XVI.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Bob Takes a Dive

<tr><td class="tdr">XVII.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Bob Makes a Strange

<tr><td class="tdr">XVIII.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Bob Shows up a

<tr><td class="tdr">XIX.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Bob on the

<tr><td class="tdr">XX.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Bob in the

<tr><td class="tdr">XXI.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Bob Takes a

<tr><td class="tdr">XXII.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Bob on the Freight

<tr><td class="tdr">XXIII.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Bob Forms a

<tr><td class="tdr">XXIV.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Bob Sticks up for a

<tr><td class="tdr">XXV.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Bob and Frank Stand

<tr><td class="tdr">XXVI.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Bob Shows His

<tr><td class="tdr">XXVII.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Bob Makes a

<tr><td class="tdr">XXVIII.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Bob Meets Old

<tr><td class="tdr">XXIX.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Bob Hears Interesting

<tr><td class="tdr">XXX.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Bob Learns Something of the

<tr><td class="tdr">XXXI.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Bob Goes it

<tr><td class="tdr">XXXII.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Bob Becomes a

<tr><td class="tdr">XXXIII.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Bob and His Mother—

<p><span class="smcap">My dear Boys</span>:</p>

<p>“Bob the Photographer” relates the adventures

<p>Bob falls in with an amateur photographer,

<p>My object in writing this tale was twofold.

<p>My second object was to let my readers know

<p>Trusting the story will prove to your liking,

<p class="ph2">BOB THE PHOTOGRAPHER</p>

<p>“<span class="smcap">Bob</span>! I say, Bob! Where is that saw?”</p>

<p>“I left it in the barn, Mr. Carrow.”</p>

<p>“Humph! I don’t believe it. I’ve looked all

<p>“I left it on the peg where it belongs,” returned

<p>“I don’t believe a word on it!” growled Joel

<p>Bob Alden stood for a moment irresolute, and

<p>“If the saw isn’t where I put it, I don’t know

<p>“What’s that?” roared the farmer. “Don’t<span class="pagenum"

<p>Still the boy did not budge. Joel Carrow

<p>“See here, what’s got into you this mornin’?”

<p>“No, I’m not,” answered Bob, coolly and

<p>“You ain’t?” gasped Joel Carrow, scarcely

<p>It was the first time that Bob had stood up

<p>“No, I am not,” repeated the youth. “Let

<p>“Oh, I’ll let go!” snarled Joel Carrow, in a