FOILING A HIGHWAYMAN.
Of course Andy was startled when he saw the pistol in close proximity to
his head. I feel no hesitation in admitting that he felt far from
comfortable. Some heroes are represented as startled by nothing, and
afraid of nothing; but though Andy was unusually self-possessed for his
years, he was not above the ordinary emotions of humanity.
Still, he did not lose his presence of mind utterly, nor was he willing
to surrender at discretion, though it did occur to him that he was in
an uncommonly tight place.
More for the sake of gaining time to think than because he really needed
the information, he asked, with a calmness which he did not feel:
“What do you mean, sir?”
“What do I mean?” repeated his companion, with a sneer. “If you are not
a fool, you ought to know what I mean.”
“I suppose you are playing a joke on me,” said Andy, innocently.
“Does this look like a joke?” asked the young man, with a significant
nod at the pistol which he held in his hand.
“Is it loaded?” asked Andy.
“Loaded?” retorted the other. “I could blow off the roof of your head
with it.”
“I hope you won’t, then,” said our hero, looking anxiously in advance,
hoping to see some approaching vehicle.
If so, he would be safe, for his companion, desperate though he might
be, would not venture in that case to risk capture and the long term of
imprisonment to which such a daring attempt at highway robbery would
expose him to.
“I have no time for fooling!” said the young man, sharply. “Give me that
money you have in your possession, or it will be the worse for you.”
“What money?” asked Andy.
“The money you are carrying to Cranston to deposit in the bank for the
old women in Hamilton.”
“Where could he have found out about it?” thought Andy. “I wish somebody
would come along.”
Anything to gain time!
“Pray don’t take it from me, Mr. Robber!” said Andy, pretending to be
overcome with terror. “They will think I took it.”
“I can’t help that.”
“And they will have me put in jail. Oh, don’t take it from me!”
“The boy is pretty well scared,” said the robber to himself. “I didn’t
think he would wilt down so easily. He seems a little soft.”
“I’ll attend to that,” he said aloud. “I’ll write them an anonymous
letter, saying that I took it from you.”
“That will be better,” said Andy, seeming relieved.
“Then hand it over.”
“I won’t exactly give it to you,” said Andy; “but you can take it.”
So saying, he drew a large wallet from his inside pocket, and, before
his companion could grasp it, threw it some rods away by the roadside.
“There,” he said; “you see I didn’t give it to you, though I can’t help
your taking it.”
His companion’s eyes glistened as he saw the plethoric wallet lying by
the roadside.
“Stop the horse!” he exclaimed, jerking at the reins. “I’ll get out
here.”
“All right!” said Andy. “You’ll be sure to write to Miss Peabody that I
couldn’t help giving you the money?”
“Oh, yes! What a simpleton he is!” thought the highwayman, as he sprang
from the buggy, and hurried in the direction of the wallet, now some
little distance back.
As soon as he had gotten rid of his companion, Andy brought down his
whip with emphasis on the back of his spirited horse, and dashed over
the road at great speed.
The young man smiled as he heard the flying wheels.
“He’s pretty well scared,” he thought. “Well, he can go to Cranston as
fast as he pleases, now that I have what I was after.”
He stooped and picked up the wallet, and opened it to feast his eyes on
the thick roll of bank bills, but was overcome with rage, fury and
disappointment when he found that the supposed treasure consisted only
of rolls of brown paper, so folded as to swell out the wallet and give
the impression of value.
“The artful young scoundrel!” he exclaimed, between his closed teeth.
“He has made a fool of me, and I all the time looked upon him as a
simpleton. What shall I say to Hogan, who put me up to this job?”
He had a momentary idea of pursuing Andy, but by this time the buggy was
a long distance ahead, and every minute was increasing the distance.
To pursue it with any expectation of overtaking it would have been the
merest folly. It was hard to give up so rich a prize, but there seemed
no help for it.
“I wish I could wring the young rascal’s neck,” thought the baffled
highwayman. “He was fooling me all the time, and now he is chuckling
over the trick he has played upon me. How shall I meet Hogan?”
The young man hesitated a moment, and then plunged into the woods that
skirted the road.
Continuing his walk for five minutes, he came to a secluded spot, where,
under a tree, reclined an old acquaintance of ours--in brief, Mr.
Michael Hogan.
Hogan’s face was red and inflamed, and his eyes were sore. He was
suffering from the severe scalding which had rewarded his attempt to
enter the house of the Misses Peabody.
He looked up quickly as he heard the approach of his confederate, and
demanded, eagerly:
“Well, Bill, did you see the boy?”
“Yes, I saw him.”
“And you have got the money?” asked Hogan, with like eagerness.
“I have got that,” answered the younger man, as he displayed the
deceptive wallet.
“Give it to me.”
“You are welcome to all you can find in it.”
Hogan opened the wallet quickly. When he saw the contents, he turned
upon his confederate with lowering brow.
“What does this mean?” he demanded, in a harsh voice.
“It means that I have been fooled,” said Bill, bitterly.
“Who has fooled you?” asked Hogan, with an angry look.
“The boy! I tell you, Hogan, he’s a smart one.”
“I don’t understand this. I believe you are deceiving me,” said the
older man, suspiciously.
“Think what you please,” said Bill, sullenly. “It is as I say.”
“Didn’t you take out the bills and replace them with worthless paper?”
“No, I didn’t. I wouldn’t dare play such a trick on you. I know you are
a desperate and reckless man, and I wouldn’t try it.”
“Then will you explain this foolery?” said Hogan, sharply. “Why did you
let the boy palm off this worthless paper on you?”
“I’ll tell you all about it,” said Bill, convinced that his personal
safety required him to allay the evident suspicion of the old man.
Thereupon he told the story, which is already familiar to the reader.
“You’re a fool!” said Hogan, with bitter harshness. “Bah! are you not a
match for a boy of sixteen?”
“He may be only sixteen,” said Bill, doggedly; “but he’s no baby, I can
tell you that! As to not being a match for him, you know something about
that.”
Mike Hogan sprang to his feet, livid with fury at this allusion to what
was, with him, a very sore subject.
“If you dare to mention that affair again,” he said, “I’ll brain you!”
and he looked quite capable of carrying out his threat.
“We ought to be revenged upon him,” declared Bill, hurriedly, anxious to
divert the wrath of the elder man into a channel less menacing to
himself. “I have a plan----”
“Out with it!”
“The boy will have to come back along the same road.”
“Well?”
“Let’s lie in wait for him.”
“But he will have deposited the money in the bank. It will do no
good----”
“Not in the way of money, but you can be revenged upon him for the way
he treated you the other night.”
This allusion evoked another oath from the desperate and angry ruffian,
but on the whole the plan pleased him. He thirsted for revenge upon the
boy to whom he was indebted, not alone for foiling him in his attempted
robbery, but who had entailed upon him so much physical suffering.
“There’s something in that,” he said. “If I get hold of him, I will give
him something to remember me by!”
The lawless pair posted themselves near the road, yet in concealment,
and waited impatiently for the return of Andy from the Cranston Bank.