THE EAVESDROPPER.
Fred Sheldon had learned one most important fact. Beyond all doubt
the letters "N. H. H." stood for the name Nathaniel Higgens Heyland,
who for some months past had been attached as an employee to Colonel
Bandman's menagerie and circus.
By some means, hard to understand, this young man had dropped his
pocket-knife, bearing these initials, on the floor of the upper room of
the brick mansion, at the time he entered it disguised as an ordinary
tramp, and with the sole purpose of robbery.
It was proven, therefore, that Bud had committed that great offense
against the laws of his country, as well as against those of his Maker,
and he was deserving of severe punishment.
But young, as bright, honest Fred Sheldon was, he knew that the hardest
work of all remained before him.
How was the silver plate to be recovered, for the task would be less
than half performed should the owners fail to secure that?
How could the guilt of Bud Heyland be brought home to him, and who was
his partner?
Although Fred was sure that the stranger who called himself Cyrus
Sutton was the other criminal, yet he saw no way in which that fact
could be established, nor could he believe that the proof which he held
of Bud's criminality would convince others.
Bud was such an evil lad that he would not hesitate to tell any number
of falsehoods, and he was so skilled in wrong talking, as well as wrong
doing, that he might deceive every one else.
Fred Sheldon felt that he needed now the counsel of one person above
all others. The one man to whom his thoughts first turned was Archie
Jackson, the constable, and he was afraid to trust him, for the
temptation of obtaining the large reward offered was likely to lead him
to do injustice to the boy.
The one person whom he longed to see above all others was his
mother--that noble, brave woman whose love and wisdom had guided him so
well along his journey of life, short though it had been.
It was she who had awakened in him the desire to become a good and
learned man, who had cheered him in his studies, who had entertained
him with stories culled from history and calculated to arouse an
honorable ambition in his heart.
The memory of his father was dim and misty, but there was a halo of
glory that would ever envelop that sacred name.
Fred could just remember the bright spring morning when the patriot,
clad in his uniform of a private, had taken his wee baby boy in his
arms, tossed him in the air, and, as he came down, kissed him over and
over again, and told him that he was the son of a soldier who intended
to fight for his country; and commending him to God and his wife, had
resigned him to the weeping mother, who was pressed to his heart, and
then, catching up his musket he had hurried out the little gate and
walked rapidly down the road.
Held in the mother's arms, Fred had strained his baby eyes until the
loved form of his father faded out in the distance, and then the
heavy-hearted wife took up the burden of life once more.
But, though she shaded her weary eyes and looked down the road many a
time, the husband never came back again. Somewhere, many long miles
away, he found his last resting place, there to sleep until the last
trump shall wake the dead, and those who have been separated in this
life shall be reunited, never to part again.
Fred's memories of those sad days, we say, were dim and shadowy, but he
saw how bravely his mother fought her own battle, more sorrowful than
that in which the noble husband went down, and Fred, young though he
was, had been all that the fondest mother could wish.
"Let him be spared to me, oh, Heavenly Father," she plead, and
henceforth she lived only for him.
It was she who taught him to kneel at her knee and to murmur his
prayers morning and evening; who told him of the Gracious Father who
will reward every good deed and punish every evil one not repented of;
it was she who taught him to be manly and truthful and honest and brave
for the right, and whose counsel and guidance were more precious than
those of any earthly friend ever could be.
Fred had no secret from her, and now that so much had taken place
in the last few days he felt that he could not stand it much longer
without her to counsel and direct him.
"I sha'n't tell anybody a word of what I've found out," he said to
himself, as he walked thoughtfully along the road, in the direction
of the old brick mansion, where he expected to spend the night; "the
Misses Perkinpine are such simple souls that they can't help a big
boy like me, and though they might give me something, I don't want it
unless I earn it. I'll bet mother can give me a lift."
And holding this very high and not exaggerated opinion of his parent's
wisdom, he continued onward, fervently hoping that she would return on
the morrow.
"We've never been apart so long since I can remember," he added, "and
I'm beginning to feel homesick."
The night was clear and starlight, the moon had not yet risen, but he
could see very distinctly for a short distance in the highway. He was
thinking of nothing in the way of further incident to him, but, as
it sometimes happens in this world, the current of one's life, after
flowing smoothly and calmly for a long time, suddenly comes upon shoals
and breakers and everything is stormy for a while.
Fred, in accordance with his favorite custom, had his trousers rolled
high above his knees, and was barefooted. In the dust of the road he
walked without noise, and as the night was very still he could hear the
least sound.
Though involved in deep thought he was of such a wide-awake nature
that he could never be insensible to what was going on around him.
He heard again the soft murmur of the wind in the forest, the faint,
distant moan of the river, the cock crowing fully a mile away, answered
by a similar signal of a chanticleer still further off, and then all at
once he distinctly caught the subdued sound of voices.
He at once stopped in the road and looked and listened. He could see
nothing, but his keen ears told him the faint noise came from a point
directly ahead, and was either in or at the side of the road.
His intimate knowledge of the highway, even to the rocks and fences and
piles of rails, that here and there lined it, enabled him to recall
that there was a broad, flat rock, perhaps a hundred rods ahead, on the
right side of the path, and that it was the one on which many a tired
traveler sat down to rest.
No doubt the persons whose voices reached him were sitting there,
holding some sort of conference, and Fred asked himself how he should
pass them without discovery, for, like almost every one, he was timid
of meeting strangers on a lonely road after dark.
His recourse suggested itself the next minute--he had only to climb the
fence and move around them.
At this point there was a meadow on each side of the highway, without
any trees near the road, so that great care was needed to avoid
observation, but in the starlight night Fred had little doubt of being
able to get by without detection.
Very carefully he climbed the fence, and, dropping gently upon the
grass on the other side, he walked off across the field, peering
through the gloom in the direction of the rock by the roadside, whence
came the murmur of voices.
The boy was so far away that, as yet, he had not caught a glimpse of
the others, but when he stopped at the point where he thought it safe
to begin to approach the road again, one of the parties gave utterance
to an exclamation in a louder voice than usual.
Fred instantly recognized it as that of Cyrus Sutton, the cattle
drover, who had formed such a strong friendship for Bud Heyland.
"I'll bet that Bud is there, too," muttered Fred, moving stealthily in
the direction of the rock; "they are always--halloo!"
In imitation of the loud voice of Sutton, the other did the same, and
in the still night there could be no mistaking it; the only son of
Michael Heyland was sitting at the roadside, in conversation with Cyrus
Sutton.
It was natural that Young Sheldon should conclude they were discussing
the subject of the robbery, and he was at once seized with the desire
to learn what it was they were saying, for, more than likely, it would
throw some light on the matter.
Fred had been taught by his mother that it was mean to tell tales of,
or to play the eavesdropper upon, another, but in this case he felt
warranted in breaking the rule for the sake of the good that it might
do.
Accordingly, he crept through the grass toward the highway until he
caught the outlines of the two figures between the fence rails and
thrown against the sky beyond. At the same time the rank odor of
tobacco came stealing through the summer air, as it floated from the
strong briar-wood pipe of Bud Heyland.
It was not to be supposed that two persons, engaged in an unlawful
business, would sit down beside a public highway and hold a
conversation in such a loud voice that any one in the neighborhood
would be able to learn all their secrets.
Fred Sheldon got quite close, but though the murmur was continued with
more distinctness than before, he could not distinguish many words nor
keep the run of the conversation. There may have been something in the
fact that the faces of the two, as a rule, were turned away from the
listener, but now and then in speaking one of them would look at the
other and raise his voice slightly.
This indicated that he was more in earnest just then, and Fred caught
a word or two without difficulty, the fragments, as they reached him,
making a queer jumble.
Bud Heyland's voice was first identified in the jumble and murmur.
"Big thing--clean two thousand--got it down fine, Sutton."
The reply of the companion was not audible, but Bud continued staring
at him and smoking so furiously that the boy, crouching behind them,
plainly saw the vapor as it curled upward and tainted the clear summer
air above their heads.
In a moment, however, Fred caught the profile of Cyrus Sutton
against the starlight background, while that of young Heyland and his
briar-wood looked as if drawn in ink against the sky.
Both were looking at each other, and the words reached him more
distinctly.
"Must be careful--dangerous business--been there myself, Bud, don't be
in a hurry."
This, of course, was spoken by the cattle drover, and it was plain that
it must refer to the robbery. Bud was laboring under some impatience
and was quick to make answer.
"Can't play this sick bus'ness much longer--must join the circus at
Belgrade in a few days--must make a move pretty soon."
"Won't keep you waiting long--but the best jobs in--country--spoiled by
haste. Take it easy till you can be sure how the land lies."
"That may all be--but----"
Just then Bud Heyland turned his head so that only the back portion was
toward the listener, and his voice dropped so low that it was some time
before another word could be distinguished.
Fred Sheldon was deeply interested, for a new and strong suspicion was
beginning to take possession of him.
It seemed to him on the sudden that the two worthies were not
discussing the past so much as they were the future.
That is, instead of talking about the despoiling of the Perkinpine
mansion, a few nights before, they were laying plans for the commission
of some new offense.
"That Sutton is a regular burglar," thought Fred, "and he has come
down here to join Bud, and they're going to rob all the houses in the
neighborhood. I wonder whom they're thinking about now."
The anxiety of the eavesdropper to hear more of what passed between the
conspirators was so great that he grew less guarded in his movements
than he should have been.
His situation was such already that had the suspicion of the two been
directed behind them they would have been almost sure to discover the
listener; but, although they should have been careful themselves, it
was hardly to be expected that they would be looking for spies in such
a place and at such a time.
Fred caught several words, which roused his curiosity to such a point
that he determined to hear more, though the risk should be ten times as
great.
As silently, therefore, as possible, he crept forward until he was
within a dozen feet of the rock on which Heyland and Sutton sat.
The fact that the two had their faces turned away from him, still
interfered with the audibility of the words spoken in a lower tone than
the others, but the listener heard enough to fill him not only with
greater anxiety than ever, but with a new fear altogether.
Without giving all the fragments his ear caught, he picked up enough to
convince him that Bud Heyland and Cyrus Sutton were discussing their
past deeds and laying plans for the commission of some new act of evil.
It was the latter fact which so excited the boy that he almost forgot
the duty of using care against being discovered, and gradually crept up
near enough to keep the run of the conversation.
But, when he had secured such a position, he was annoyed beyond bearing
by the silence, occasionally broken, of the two. It looked, indeed, as
if they had got through the preliminaries of some evil scheme, and were
now speaking in a desultory way of anything which came in their heads,
while one smoked his pipe and the other his cigar.
Cyrus Sutton held a jack-knife in his hand, which he now and then
rubbed against a portion of the rock, as if to sharpen the blade, while
he puffed the smoke first on the one side of his head and then on the
other. Bud was equally attentive to his pipe, the strong odor of which
at times almost sickened young Sheldon. Bud had not his whip with him,
and he swung his legs and knocked his heels against the rock and seemed
as well satisfied with himself as such worthless fellows generally are.
"It's a pretty big thing and it will take a good deal of care and skill
to work it through."
This remark was made by Sutton, after a minute's pause on the part of
both, and was instantly commented upon by Bud in his off-hand style.
"Of course it does, but don't you s'pose we know all that? Haven't we
done it in more than one other place than Tottenville?"
"Yes," said Sutton, "and I've run as close to the wind as I want to,
and closer than I mean to again, if I can help it."
"Well, then," said Bud, "we'll fix it to-morrow night."
"All right," said the drover, "but remember you can't be too careful,
Bud, for this is a dangerous business."
"I reckon I'm as careful as you or any one else," retorted the youth,
"and ain't in any need of advice."
These words disclosed one important fact to Fred Sheldon; they showed
that the unlawful deed contemplated was fixed for the succeeding night.
"They're going to break into another house," he mentally said, "and
to-morrow is the time. Now, if I can only learn whose house it is, I
will tell Archie Jackson."
This caused his heart to beat faster, and again the lad thought of
nothing else than to listen and catch the words of the conspirators.
"Do you think we can manage it alone?" asked Sutton, turning his head
so that the words were unmistakably distinct.
"What's to hinder? Halloo! what's that?"
Bud Heyland straightened himself and looked up and down the road. The
affrighted Fred Sheldon saw his head and shoulders rise to view as he
glanced about him, while his companion seemed occupied also in looking
and listening.
What was it they had heard? The lad was not aware that he had made the
slightest noise, but the next guarded remark of Heyland startled him.
"I heard something move, as if in the grass."
"It would be a pretty thing if some one overheard our plans," said
Cyrus Sutton, turning squarely about, so that his face was toward the
crouching lad; "we ought to have looked out for that. Where did it seem
to come from?"
"Maybe I was mistaken; it was very faint, and I couldn't think of the
right course; it may have been across the road or behind us."
Fred Sheldon began to think it was time for him to withdraw, for his
situation was becoming a dangerous one, indeed.
"I guess you were mistaken," said Sutton, off-hand; "this is a slow
neighborhood and the people don't know enough to play such a game as
that."
"You was saying a minute ago that you couldn't be too careful; I'll
take a look across the road and up and down, while you can see how
things are over the fence there."
The last clause referred to the hiding place of Fred Sheldon, who
wondered how it was he had not already been seen, when he could
distinguish both forms so plainly, now that they stood up on their feet.
It looked as if detection was certain, even without the two men
shifting their positions in the least.
The lad was lying flat on the ground and so motionless that he might
have hoped to escape if special attention were not called to him.
But he felt that if the cattle-drover came over the fence it would be
useless to wait a second.
As Bud Heyland spoke he started across the highway, while Cyrus Sutton
called out:
"All right!"
As he did so he placed his hand on the top rail of the fence and with
one bound leaped over, dropping upon his feet within a few steps of
poor Fred Sheldon, who, with every reason for believing he had been
seen, sprang to his feet and ran for dear life.