A GOOD DEED
Ned was the only one who showed any surprise at the constable's action,
and quite naturally, since he alone was acquainted with all the facts in
the case. Hocker had already taken Moxley to the boat and seated him;
the ruffian had lost his defiant manner, and was cowed and sullen.
Jeffries now started to follow with Bug, but was stopped by a detaining
touch on the arm.
"I beg your pardon, Mr. Jeffries," said Ned, trying hard to control his
feelings, "but you surely don't intend to carry off Bug to jail after
all he has done to-night? We owe everything to him."
Jeffries looked at the lad half sternly.
"Law is law," he replied in a pompous tone. "I am an officer of justice,
and must do my duty. This fellow was clearly concerned in the theft of
Mocker's gun and boat, and what he did before or after that don't wipe
out the crime. Why, if I'd turn him loose now I'd be compoundin' a
felony. Of course I'll speak a good word for him when he comes up for
trial--I'll promise you that--and it may lessen his sentence."
"Jeffries is right," said the farmer. "If a man will commit crimes he
must suffer for them. Both fellows air guilty, no doubt."
Bug threw a grateful glance at Ned, and then turned appealingly to
Hocker.
"I don't deny that I was with Moxley when he broke into your cabin," he
said huskily, "but I was only with him because I wanted to help these
boys. I couldn't leave him without spoilin' my plans, and I couldn't
persuade him to let the cabin alone, though I tried hard enough. He gave
me the slip next morning, as it was, an' I had to tramp it down the
creek the rest of the way. It's purty hard fer a feller to get into a
scrape like this under them circumstances."
Hocker's face wore a perplexed expression as he replied slowly:
"I'm sure I don't know what to say. Jeffries has the law at his finger
ends, and it ain't fur me to contradict him. I reckon things will have
to take their course."
Bug's hopeless looks and attitude went straight to Ned's heart, and he
resolved to make a final appeal in his behalf. He was satisfied that
Hocker would help him if he could be made to see the matter in its
proper light, so he drew him aside and told all he knew about Bug in a
simple, earnest way--dwelling especially on the fact that Bug's desire
to keep the boys out of a scrape was the sole cause of his own
misfortune.
The appeal carried conviction with it, and Hocker's sympathies were
aroused.
"I reckon I can fix this matter," he said after a little consideration.
"I owe you lads something anyhow, and this is a good time to pay the
debt."
Hocker was as good as his word. He walked over to the boat and surprised
Jeffries by saying in a grave tone, "Look here, old man; I've sorter
veered round on this thing. Now that I've got Moxley safe and sound I
don't intend to prosecute the other chap. I reckon what he says is true,
an' you know yourself what he did fur us to-night--more than you or me
would have done. He deserves to go free."
"Well, if you're determined not to make a charge, why that settles it,"
replied Jeffries a little stiffly. "I have nothing agin him personally,
and I hope he'll take warning by this affair and keep out of bad
company."
He turned around and quickly removed Bug's handcuffs.
"You're a free man now," he said. "See that you stay free and justify
the clemency of the law by leadin' a respectable life in future."
Bug was dazed at first by the unexpected transition from despair to
hope. He stammered out a few inarticulate words of gratitude to Hocker
and Jeffries and then approached Ned.
"This is your doin'," he said brokenly. "You saved me from goin' to
jail. I shan't forget it--" He choked and broke off short.
Ned drew him down the wasteway to a little clump of bushes, out of
earshot of the others.
"Bug," he said earnestly, "if you are really grateful to me for saving
you from a term in prison, I'll tell you how you can prove it. Your
brother told me the whole story of your life, and what a shadow it has
cast on your home. You are breaking your mother's heart, and even your
father feels the disgrace keenly, and would welcome you back if you came
prepared to lead a different life. Go home, Bug, and make them all
happy. You will never regret it if you do. You are not bad at heart, I
know, and evil company has been the cause of all your trouble. Let
Moxley's fate be a warning to you. Turn over a new leaf from to-night.
Will you do it, Bug? Will you go straight home and lead an honest,
respectable life?"
Tears were standing in Bug's eyes, and he brushed them away with his
coat sleeve.
"I'll do it," he said in a firm, but husky voice. "I've been wantin' to
go home fur a long time, but I didn't dare to. I'm sick enough of livin'
in this way, an' what you've done an' said to-night will make a
different man of me. I mean it all, and I'll stick to it. I'll do no
more lyin' or stealin', and I'll keep away from bad company. I'll stay
at home and work. Here's my fist on it."
Ned warmly shook the proffered hand, and then both went slowly back to
the boat.
Bug's appearance was the signal for a most outrageous burst of
profanity and threats from Moxley, and when Jeffries had finally subdued
the ruffian by strong measures, the whole party crossed the wasteway,
and moved up to the farmhouse, which was half a mile distant.
Mrs. Zinn spread a huge table with all sorts of tempting food, and the
starved boys attacked it with a vigor that made her open her eyes in
amazement. The others were almost as hungry after all they had gone
through that night, and did ample justice to the viands. Moxley's
bracelets were taken off and he was allowed to eat his fill with the
rest.
It was four o'clock on Saturday morning before the tired crowd got to
sleep. The four boys were given a room containing two large beds, and
the adjoining apartment was occupied by Hocker and Jeffries, and their
prisoner. Bug was accommodated with a cushioned settee in the kitchen.
The boys woke up, refreshed in mind and body, about three o'clock in the
afternoon. They came down stairs just in time to see Hocker and Jeffries
drive away in a buggy with the sullen faced prisoner between them.
Hocker had made arrangements with the farmer to take the boat back to
the cabin in a wagon.
Moxley had been compelled to disgorge his plunder, and the boys were
highly gratified when Jeffries handed over the watches and money the
tramp had so coolly taken from them.
Half an hour after the trio had departed for Carlisle jail Bug took an
earnest farewell of the boys, and struck across the country in a bee
line for his home at the Gap. His last word to Ned was a renewal of the
promise to stay at home and lead an honest life, and Ned sincerely
believed that he meant it.
"That load of salt I put into Moxley's legs turned out for the best
after all," said Randy in a roguish tone. "If I hadn't pulled trigger
that night Bug Batters would still be treading the path of wickedness,
with no hope of a reformation."
"Your foolishness had one good result, I'll admit," replied Ned. "But
don't try the experiment again. It's too costly."
The boys tacitly agreed with Ned. Even Bug's conversion was rather a
high price to pay for the fright and indignities they had endured at the
hands of Mr. Dude Moxley. They remembered also that the burning of the
mill was indirectly due to Randy's foolish shot.
The certain prospect of the insurance money effectively silenced any
resentment that Mr. Zinn might otherwise have felt toward the boys. He
warmly invited them to stay over Sunday, and the invitation was promptly
accepted. They went down after supper to examine the canoes, and allowed
them to remain where they were on the farmer's assurance that nothing
could happen to them. The grain bag containing the greater part of the
baggage had been taken up the house the night before. The tin boxes had
perished in the flames, but this was a trifling loss, and did not
trouble the boys much in the light of what might have been.
Sunday was a day of peaceful enjoyment after the turbulent events of the
past week.
"Three square meals were not to be sneezed at," as Randy irreverently
expressed it; and not the least pleasing incident of the day was the
five mile drive to a country church with the farmer's family, on which
occasion Nugget braved the ridicule of his companions, and proudly wore
his linen shirt and piqué vest.
Monday morning dawned clear as a whistle, and after a hearty breakfast
the boys trudged down to the creek laden with all manner of country
produce, for which the good natured farmer would accept only a beggarly
recompense.
Half an hour later the gold and crimson pennant fluttered proudly in the
breeze as it led the Jolly Rovers down the swift and turbid channel--for
the creek was still a few feet above low water mark.