BOB MAKES A FIND
Every one in the sitting-room was astonished. Bob sprang to his feet.
“You are sure it is gone?” he demanded.
Frank continued his search, each moment growing paler.
“Yes, it’s gone!” he groaned. “Eighteen hundred dollars! What will the
firm say?”
“When did you feel to see if it was safe last?” asked the young
photographer.
“When I jumped up into the tree to get out of the way of the
blood-hounds.”
“And you are sure you had it then?”
“Yes.”
“Then you must have dropped it while running here. Perhaps it jounced
out of your pocket.”
“Maybe it did. My head hurt so before you tied it up I didn’t give the
money a thought.”
“Well, the best thing to do is to go back for it,” said Bob, promptly.
“The quicker the better.”
“What, go back to Raymond’s?” screamed Mrs. Larchmond. “He will kill
you.”
“It’s tremendous risky,” said the old man, with a shake of his head.
“Never mind, it’s got to be done,” said Bob. “Eighteen hundred dollars
is a lot of money.”
“Yes, I must go back,” said Frank. “What would the firm say if the
money was lost? They would most likely discharge me, and maybe say I
gambled it away, or something like that.”
“Will you lend us a lantern?” asked Bob, turning to Larchmond.
“Certainly.”
“You need not go, Bob. I can go alone.”
“No, indeed, Frank; we stick together to the end.”
The old farmer left the sitting-room and presently returned with a
lantern and a blunder-buss.
“You might as well take the buss along, too,” he said. “It’s a putty
good shootin’ piece.”
“Thank you, but I think our pistols will do, if you have any cartridges
around.”
“Timothy had cartridges for his pistol,” put in Mrs. Larchmond. “They
are up in his closet. I’ll get ’em.”
She soon returned with the cartridges, which, luckily, just fitted the
pistol Bob carried. It took but a moment to load, and then the boys
were ready to start back.
“I’d go, only my rheumatism is wuss,” said old Larchmond,
apologetically.
“Indeed you wouldn’t!” put in his wife. “I wouldn’t let you go for
twice eighteen hundred dollars; there, now!”
The boys were soon on the road. The lantern shone brightly, lighting up
every foot of the way.
“I trust we find it before we get anywhere near Raymond’s,” said Frank.
“I have no desire to get into another tussle with him.”
“Neither have I,” returned Bob. “But, Frank, keep your pistol ready for
use. We don’t want to waste words with such a desperate character as
that hotel-keeper.”
“I agree with you. Here is my pistol right in my coat pocket.”
“And I’ll carry mine in my hand. You take that side of the road, while
I take this, and carry the lantern as low as possible.”
In this fashion the two moved slowly along, searching every foot of the
hard and dusty road.
“I would like to know where Casco went,” said Bob, presently. “For all
we know, he might have watched that fight with the blood-hounds and
followed us.”
“Hardly. If he escaped across the brook, he most likely set out to join
Barker and Grogan. He would leave Raymond to settle the row here.”
“I wish they were all in jail,” sighed Bob. “Then perhaps I could make
Barker reveal something of the past, and make a somebody of myself.”
“You’ll make a somebody of yourself, anyway, Bob,” returned Frank,
encouragingly. “You’ve got too much grit to fail.”
But Bob shook his head, as if the idea of never finding out the secret
of his life did not please him.
Quarter of an hour later they came to a halt. They had reached the
boundary line of Raymond’s place, and still the money had not been
found.
“If we keep the lantern lit, they will surely see us,” said Bob. “You
had better put it out.”
“But how are we going to find the money in the dark?”
“By feeling for it. I know exactly the way we came, and I will lead on.”
Frank, after some hesitation, put out the lantern. The first streaks
of the early dawn were now appearing, and it was not so dark as he had
anticipated.
Bob was several yards ahead, moving along slowly, with his eyes bent on
the ground. Suddenly he gave a low cry.
“Here it is!”
“You have it?” inquired Frank, running up.
“Isn’t this the roll?”
“Yes.” The young man’s face took on a look of relief. “Oh, how thankful
I am!”
“Better examine it and make sure,” suggested Bob.
“Oh, it must be all right.”
Nevertheless, Frank hastily undid the paper and elastics which were
placed about the roll of money, and began to count the bills.
So absorbed did both he and Bob become that they did not notice the
approach of a tall form from a mass of shrubbery which grew close to
the road.
The newcomer was Jim Casco, who was on his return to Raymond’s Hotel,
satisfied that for the present, at least, it was safe to do so.
Casco was astonished to come upon the pair, and still more taken aback
to behold them at work counting a big roll of bills.
“What does this mean?” he muttered to himself. “They can’t have been so
near all this while.”
He drew closer, and nervously clutched the heavy stick he held in his
right hand.
“It’s right,” said Frank finishing the counting.
“You have every dollar of the eighteen hundred there?” asked Bob.
“Yes.”
“Good enough. Now we might as well go back without delay. I am dead
tired.”
“I should think you would be, not having any sleep since last night.
Perhaps Mr. Larchmond will give us a shake down.”
“I hope so.”
“Where is that wonderful photographic outfit you wrote me about?”
“Over in Dartinville. I will have to go for it as soon as we finish up
with Raymond.”
“We will see if we can’t have him arrested,” said Frank, decidedly.
“That’s it. And when--what was that?”
Bob broke off short. A dark object loomed up over his back and a
stinging blow went singing through his head.
“Stop!” he heard Frank cry. “Give me that money!”
Both Bob and Frank were sprawling in the road, while across the fields
ran Casco, with the roll of bills in his hand.