THE RUNAWAYS
That fate which had seemed to favor the three audacious youngsters did
not desert them when the critical point in their enterprise arrived.
The chief of police was wise in restraining any hint of what was in
his mind to the parents of Tommy Wagstaff. It would have been repelled
with wrath and made them enemies—all the more bitter, perhaps, when it
should appear that the wise officer was right.
The youngster, having suffered so cruelly, received every compensation
his friends could give him. His father reproved himself for making him
stay home from the concert. Had he taken him with him, the outrage
never could have occurred.
The mother heaped favors upon her darling Tommy, who might have
luxuriated for weeks on the general sympathy felt for him. He was
visited by several newspaper reporters, who took down the thrilling
account from his own lips. The chief trouble in these cases was the
wide variance in the versions given by the lad. In some instances he
insisted there were three burglars, in others only two, while to one
young man in spectacles, he solemnly averred that there were seven by
actual count, and that they were all armed with tomahawks and scalping
knives. These wild statements were attributed to the lad’s nervousness
instead of to the real cause.
But on the next afternoon, or rather evening, Tommy did not make his
appearance at supper. The mother was greatly frightened and believed
the robbers had returned to revenge themselves upon her darling for
telling the truth about them.
Before the evening was late, Mr. Wagstaff learned that Tommy,
accompanied by Billy Waylett and Jimmy McGovern, had been seen
hurrying in the direction of the railway station. Inquiry there
revealed the fact all three had bought tickets for New York.
About this time a dim suspicion took shape in the mind of Mr.
Wagstaff. He gave no hint to his wife, but he telegraphed the
authorities in the metropolis to look out for three boys, and to
arrest them at once and communicate with their parents, Messrs.
Waylett and McGovern having joined in the request.
New York was so near Ashton that the runaways arrived there more than
an hour before the telegram was sent, otherwise they would have been
returned to their homes the same evening.
Their fathers next held a conference, and on the following day applied
to the chief of police for counsel. That gentleman listened grimly to
them, and then quietly said that the robbery of Mr. Wagstaff’s home
had been planned and carried out by the three lads without help from
any one else. They were shocked, but when he showed Billy Waylett’s
handkerchief, which had been used to check the utterance of Tommy, and
pointed out the numerous tell-tale slips made by the boys, especially
the shooting through the windows, they were convinced, and became
eager to capture them at the earliest possible moment, each parent
declaring that the instant his son was brought within reach, he would
give him a trouncing that he would remember to his dying day.
It was arranged that Chief Hungerford should undertake to hunt them
up, and he readily agreed to do so, for the gentlemen were warm
friends of his, for whom he was ready to make any reasonable
sacrifice.
And now that a pursuer is on the trail of the runaways, let us see how
they got along.
The indulgence shown Tommy by his parents gave him just the
opportunity he wanted. He was able to hold several meetings with his
intended partners, without any one suspecting what was going on, and
the arrangements were made for starting for New York on the afternoon
following the supposed robbery.
In one respect, the lads showed a wisdom beyond their years. Knowing
that prompt search would be made for them, and that they were likely
to be looked upon with suspicion, they decided to leave the stolen
jewelry where it had been placed beneath the old stump. If worse came
to worse, they could return and draw upon it, but if they should try
to sell the valuables in New York, they would be arrested on
suspicion.
So they wisely left the jewelry behind, and took with them only a
single gold watch, which Tommy wore, since it was the property of his
father. They found that they had fully a hundred dollars in money,
which, as nearly as they could learn, would carry them most of the
distance they wished to go, when such bright chaps would have no
trouble in hitting upon the means for raising the wind.
Since they expected to meet Snakeroot Sam, it was intended to send him
back to Ashton, to sell the plunder for them, inasmuch as he could
readily do it without danger, and was so honest that he would turn
over every penny of the proceeds to them.
Reaching New York ahead of the telegram, they were too wise to linger
around the large station at Forty-second Street. More than likely, all
three of their irate fathers would be there in the course of an hour
or two, and it was, therefore, no place for them.
Since it was growing dark, they decided to put up at some obscure
hotel, under assumed names, and make an early start for the West. The
wisdom shown by the lads was astonishing—the oldest of whom had not
seen fourteen years. They had talked and discussed the venture for
months, and stored their minds with all the information obtainable.
Consequently, when they sauntered out on the street, and, after some
inquiries, reached Broadway, they attracted no special attention. They
were well dressed, and the additional revolvers which they speedily
bought were carried out of sight, so that there was no noticeable
difference between them and the hundreds of other boys who may be met
on any day in the great metropolis of our country.
Billy Waylett, being the youngest, needed some coaching, but he was
tractable, and the lads were fortunate enough to escape the sharks
that are always waiting in the large cities for just such prey as they
would have proved.
The only thing that worried Tommy Wagstaff was the fact that he did
not know how to find Snakeroot Sam. That worthy had been told of the
intended start for the West, but, of course, the leader could not give
him the precise date of their departure. It was known, however, that
he spent a good deal of his time in New York city, and the leader of
the party instructed his companions to keep a sharp lookout for him.
They did so, but though they pointed out several persons who answered
his description, none of them proved to be the individual they were so
anxious to meet, and who, doubtless, would have blessed his lucky
stars could he have met them.
Tommy Wagstaff was satisfied that the crisis in their enterprise would
come when they reached the ferry to buy their railway tickets.
Officers would be on the watch for them, and if the three should
present themselves at the office and pay their fare to Chicago or some
other Western point, they were quite sure to be stopped and compelled
to give an account of themselves.
Accordingly, he arranged the matter with the shrewdness he had shown
from the first. They separated at the foot of Cortlandt Street and
made their way into the railway office, as though they were strangers
to each other. Billy had enough money to buy a ticket to New
Brunswick, and Jimmy to procure one to Trenton, while Tommy, who had
taken charge of the entire funds, paid his fare to Philadelphia. Then
they passed through the narrow gateway upon the ferryboat.
The three were alarmed by the sight of a blue-coated policeman,
standing at the broad entrance to the ferry, and who scrutinized them
sharply as they joined the swarm hurrying upon the boat. The officer
followed Billy with his eyes, and seemed on the point of starting
after him. The youngster’s heart was in his throat, and he wished that
something would blow up and scatter everybody so far apart that no
policeman could see him.
So guarded were the boys they did not speak to each other while
crossing the ferry, indulging in only an occasional sly glance, as
they stepped off the boat and passed up the slip.
Here they were startled again, for the big policeman near the
passageway to the trains, after one keen look at Billy, asked him
where he was going.
“To New Brunswick,” was the slightly tremulous reply.
“Let me see your ticket,” was the gruff command.
Billy fished out the pasteboard and showed it to the terrible fellow,
who was not yet satisfied.
“What are you doing in New York?”
“I aint in New York; I am in Jersey City.”
The officer smiled at the manner in which he had tripped, and asked:
“Where are the other two boys that came with you?”
Billy came nigh breaking down. He saw Tommy and Jimmy watching him
from a little way, and his naturally quick wit came to his relief.
“What two boys are you talking ’bout? Don’t you see there’s nobody
with me, and if you keep me much longer, I’ll miss the train, and
father will be mad, ’cause he expects me to be home as soon as I can
get there.”
The urchin made as if to move forward, and the officer, satisfied he
was not the one for whom he was looking, allowed him to pass on.
After entering the car, Tommy Wagstaff saw no risk in their
companionship. Since the train was not crowded, he and Billy sat
together, while Jimmy McGovern placed himself on the seat in front,
where no one shared it with him.
There was a bustle and novelty about this business which kept the boys
in such a constant state of excitement that they had felt nothing as
yet like homesickness. In fact, they were eager to get forward, and
though there was much to see that was new and strange, they would have
been glad could the cars have traveled with double the speed.
“The way I figure it out,” said the leader, feeling now that he could
talk freely, since they were well under way, “is that we shall reach
Philadelphia before noon. Jiminy! but that is traveling fast; shall we
get off there and stay over till to-morrow?”
“What would we do that for?” demanded young McGovern.
“There’s so much to see that I didn’t know but what you would like to
stop and look around.”
“Not much,” replied Jimmy, with a disgusted shake of his head; “we
can’t get out West soon enough to suit me; I feel hungry for Injins
and grizzly bears: how is it with you, Billy?”
“That’s me, clear through; you know we’ve got to get a Winchester
apiece, and then we’ll be ready to begin popping over Injins; that’ll
be more fun than anything else in the world, and what do I care for
all the cities and strange things that’s between us and the West?”
Tommy laughed, for he was pleased.
“That’s just the way I feel, but I didn’t know whether you two was
right up to the handle yet; I’m glad you are; it proves that we are
bound to win, like real brave American boys.”
All three smiled approvingly on each other, and, glancing out of the
window, wished the cars would run at the rate of two miles a minute,
for the rest of the distance.
The conductor came through, punched the tickets, and took up Billy’s,
because it entitled him to ride only to New Brunswick. He intended to
slip off there and buy one to Philadelphia, while Jimmy would do the
same at Trenton. If the Quaker City were reached without mishap, they
would conclude that all danger of being stopped was over, and from
that point would travel openly and without fear.
The little party chatted and discussed their plans, sometimes speaking
so loud in their ardor that the gentleman sitting just across the
aisle overhead their words and looked curiously at them more than
once, over the top of his paper.
Just before reaching the long trestle-work which spans the Raritan,
Billy said:
“We must be pretty near New Brunswick, Tom, and I guess you had better
give me enough money to buy a ticket: how much will it be?”
“I don’t know; I s’pose two or three dollars; you ought to travel on
half fare, but it aint worth bothering about; we’ll gather in all the
funds we want in Chicago.”
“It strikes me,” remarked McGovern, “that we might as well divide up
the money, so that if any one loses his share, we won’t be in a bad
fix.”
“I guess that would be a good plan,” replied Tommy, who reached in his
trousers pocket for the roll of bills which he had placed there.
He started and turned pale the next moment, and hurriedly ran his hand
in his other pocket. Then he sprang to his feet and frantically
searched the pockets of his coat and vest.
“What’s the matter?” asked Jimmy, with a sinking of the heart.
“The money is gone!” was the alarming answer.
“No; that can’t be!” faintly exclaimed Billy; “it must be somewhere
about you.”
“I put the roll in _that_, pocket,” replied Tommy, who kept up
his search, through all the receptacles, again and again. Then he
stooped down, and hunted under the seats with a nervous distress which
was fully shared by his companions.
Finally he straightened up and said, despairingly:
“My pocket has been picked, and we haven’t a dollar among us.”
He spoke the truth.