DAVE DOES SOME GOOD WORK
"Good evening, Mr. Hinman!" called Dick softly.
The old man started, affrighted.
"Who---who calls?" he quavered.
"One of the boys you talked with, this noon."
"Where are you?"
"Here," answered Dick, throwing his blanket aside, rising and
stepping toward the old man, who, more bent than ever, was shaking
as though from fright. "Don't be afraid of us, sir. Can we help
you in anything?"
"I am afraid not," replied the peddler, then leaned against a
tree-trunk, staring, as he tried to stifle his sobs.
"What has happened, sir?" asked Tom Reade, also stepping forward.
"I've been robbed!" replied the old man, in a broken voice.
"Robbed?" repeated Dick. "Do you mean that some villains have
stolen the goods from your wagon?"
"No, no!" replied the old man, with sudden, unlooked for vehemence.
"I've been robbed, I tell you---my money stolen!"
"Money?" asked Tom in surprise. "How much was taken from you?"
"Four hundred and eighteen dollars," replied the old man, with
a lack of reserve that testified to his confidence in these unknown
but respectful and sympathetic high school boys.
"All that money?" cried Dick. "How did you ever come to have
so much about you?"
"I owe some bills for goods, over at Hillsboro," replied Reuben
Hinman, "and this trip was to take me toward Hillsboro. But now-----"
He broke off, the strange, rending sobbing returning.
"Perhaps we can help you, bad as the case looks," Tom suggested.
"Try to tell us all about it, sir."
"Where did you have the money?" inquired Dick.
"In a wallet, in this inside coat pocket," replied the peddler,
holding his frayed coat open at the right side.
"You carried your wallet as conspicuously as that when traveling
over lonely country roads?" cried Prescott in amazement.
"I had a lot of letters and papers in front of the wallet, so
that no one would suspect that I had the wallet or the money,"
explained Reuben Hinman.
"I don't see any papers there now," Tom interposed.
"They're gone," replied Mr. Hinman. "Probably the thief thought
the papers valuable, also, but they weren't.-----"
"You were robbed---when?" asked Dick.
"When I was sleeping."
"At some farm house?" Reade inquired.
"No; I slept on a pile of old rags that I had taken in trade."
"In the wagon?-----" from Prescott.
"Yes."
"But why did you sleep in the wagon? And where did you have the
wagon?" Dick pressed.
"The wagon was off the road, two miles below here," the peddler
explained brokenly. "It would cost me fifty cents for a bed at
a farm house, so, when the night is fine, I sleep outdoors on
the wagon and save the money. It's cheaper with the horse, too,
as I have to pay only for his feed."
"But the money?" Tom pressed the old man. Reuben Hinman groaned,
but did not take to sobbing again.
"I woke up to-night, and found it gone," he answered.
"Did you feel or hear anyone prowling about, or searching your
clothing?"
"No; if I had discovered anyone robbing me," shivered the peddler,
"I would have caught and held on to him. I have strong hands.
I have strong hands. Do you see?"
Holding up his wiry, claw-like hands, the old peddler worked the
fingers convulsively.
"Then how do you know you were robbed, Mr. Hinman?" Dick insisted.
"Because the money is gone," replied the old man simply.
"You searched the rags, and the surrounding parts of your wagon?"
Reade asked.
"Young man, you may be sure that I did."
"And where were you going when we stopped you?"
"For help."
"Whose help?" Dick inquired.
"I don't know," replied the old man blankly. "Perhaps to a lawyer."
"Lawyers don't recover stolen property," rejoined Reade.
"Perhaps not," assented the peddler. "The people whom you should
see are the local officers," Dick assured the old man. "Probably
they couldn't recover your money, though, since you have no idea
who robbed you."
Reuben Hinman groaned helplessly. It was plain to the two high
school boys that the peddler had started out, thus, in the middle
of the night simply because his misery was too great to permit
of inaction on his part.
"I wish we could help you," Prescott went on earnestly.
"Why can't you?" eagerly demanded the peddler, as one who clutches
at the frailest straw.
"Call Dave, Tom. Try not to wake the others," murmured Dick.
Then, while Reade was gone, Prescott asked:
"Mr. Hinman, why on earth didn't you keep your money in a bank,
and then pay by check?"
"No, no, no! No banks for me!" cried the old man tremulously.
"Are you afraid to trust banks with your money?" demanded Dick
incredulously.
"No, no! It isn't that," protested the peddler confusedly. "The
banks are all right, and honest men run them. But-----"
Whatever was in his mind he checked himself. It was as though
he had been on the verge of uttering words that must not be spoken.
Dick Prescott found himself obliged to turn his eyes away. It
was altogether too pitiful, the look in old Reuben Hinman's shriveled
face. In his misery the small, stooped peddler looked still smaller
and more bent.
Tom soon came along, carrying a lantern and followed by Dave,
the latter yawning every step of the way.
"Now, which way are we going to look first?" Reade inquired.
"I've been thinking that over," Dick replied. "It seems to me
that the sanest course will be to start right at the scene of
the robbery. From there we may get a clue that we can follow
somewhere."
"Yes, that's as good a course as any," nodded Darrin, who had
received some of the particulars of the affair from Reade.
So the three high school boys started off down the road together,
old Reuben Hinman trudging tirelessly along with them, acting
like a man in a trance.
At last they came to the old, red wagon. The tethered horse,
disturbed, rose to its feet.
"Now, the rest of you keep away," requested young Prescott, "until
I've had time to look all around the wagon with the lantern.
I want to see if I can discover any footprints that will help."
For a considerable radius around the wagon the high school athlete
scanned the ground. He could find no footprints, other than those
of Reuben Hinman, and the fresher ones made by himself.
"Nothing doing in the footprint line, boys," Dick called at last.
"Now, come along and we'll search the wagon."
"Let me have the first chance," begged Dave, taking the lantern.
Reuben Hinman showed where he had slept on the pile of rags, but
this was hardly necessary, the impression made by his slight body
being still visible.
Dave began to rummage. At last he got down into the body of the
wagon. With the rays of the lantern thus concealed, the other
three stood in darkness.
"Hooray!" gasped Dave at last. Then rising, leaning over the
side of the wagon, he called:
"Mr. Hinman, I've found a wallet, with a lot of greenbacks inside.
How much I don't know. Please count it and see if all the money
is there intact."
With an inarticulate cry the old peddler seized the wallet that
was handed down to him. He shook like a leaf as Tom held the
lantern for him to count the money. Now that the strain was over,
Mr. Hinman's legs became suddenly too weak to support him. He
sank to the ground, Tom squatting close so that the lantern's
rays would fall where they would be most useful. Thus the old
peddler counted his money with trembling fingers.
"Where did you find the wallet?" young Prescott asked Darrin.
"Up against the side of the wagon, under a partly tilted, upsidedown
feed-pail," Dave answered. "I can understand why Mr. Hinman didn't
find it. He was too much upset---too nervous, and it certainly
didn't look like a likely place."
"It must have fallen out of his pocket as he slept," Prescott
guessed correctly. "Did you find any papers down there on the
floor of the wagon?"
"Yes; some sort of paper stuff," nodded Dave. "I took it for
rubbish."
"The money is all here!" cried the old peddler, in a frenzy of
joy. "Oh, how can I thank you young men? You don't know what
your blessed help means for me!"
"Was it all the money you had?" Dick asked feelingly.
"Yes; all except for few loose dollars that I have in a little
sack in my trousers pocket," replied Mr. Hinman.
"Then it was all you had in the world, outside of your peddling
stock and your horse and cart?" Prescott continued.
"All except a little house and barn that I own, and the small
piece of ground they stand on," said the peddler. "If I had not
found my money I would have been obliged to mortgage my little
home to a bank---and then I am afraid I could not have repaid
the bank, and my home would be taken from me."
"But you would have found the money in the wagon some day soon,"
suggested Dick.
"Perhaps," replied the peddler. "Who knows? Perhaps someone
else would have rummaged the wagon and found it before I did.
Oh! It might have been taken a little while ago, even when I
was toiling down the road, or talking with you boys at your camp!"
he added, with a sudden wave of fright over the thought.
"One thing is certain, anyhow, Mr. Hinman," Dick concluded. "Someone
may have overheard you talking with us about this money. You
will hardly be safe here. I urge you to come to our camp, and
there spend the night with boys who know how to take care of
themselves, and who can look after you at need. You will not be
attacked in our camp."
Reuben Hinman eagerly agreeing, Dave harnessed the bony horse
into the wagon. After a while the red wagon rested within the
confines of the camp of Dick & Co.
In the bright light of the morning, Harry Hazelton was the first
to be astir. He saw Prescott asleep on the floor of the tent,
rolled up in a blanket, while another blanket rested on Dick's
cot, brought back to the tent, as though some stranger had slept
there.
Outside, attached to the seat of their camp wagon, Hazy found
a note that mystified him a good deal at first. It read:
_"The sun is now well up. I shall go at once to Hillsboro, and
then my great worry will be over. Boys, you will ever be remembered
in the prayers of R.H."_
"Now, that's mighty nice of R.H., whoever he is," smiled Harry
Hazelton, not immediately connecting the initials with the name
of the little, old peddler.
Nor was it until Prescott and Reade were astir that Harry was
fully enlightened as to the meaning of the words scrawled in pencil
on the sheet of paper.
"You boys call me Hazy, and I must look and act the part," laughed
Hazelton shamefacedly, "when we can have such an invasion of the
camp, and such an early get-away with a loaded wagon, and all
without my stirring."
Reuben Hinman was on his way, and, all unknown to himself nearer
the hour when he would meet the high, school boys under vastly
more exciting circumstances.