BOB ON THE ROAD
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 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.
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, 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.”
“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 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.
“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 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.”