CAPTURED BY HIGHWAYMEN.
“WHAT do you want?” demanded Gates.
“Your money,” said the other briefly.
Gates was a man of courage, and he answered coolly:
“Your answer is brief, and to the point.”
“I meant it to be,” said the highwayman.
“Suppose we object to complying with your polite request, what then?”
“I hold the answer in my hand.”
“Your pistol, I suppose.”
“You are perfectly correct. You must surrender either your money or your
life.”
The Dutchman, who had been staring open-mouthed, began to understand the
condition of affairs, and was panic-stricken.
“Give him de money,” he said, trembling. “Take his money, good
gentleman, and spare my life. I want to go home to meine Katrine.”
Serious as the case was, Gates could not help laughing at the naiveté of
his Teutonic traveling companion.
“Mr. Highwayman,” he said, “I assure you it isn’t worth your while to
rob me. My Dutch friend here is a great capitalist—a banker, I believe.
Be content with what he will give you.”
Herr Schmidt was exasperated.
“That is one beeg lie,” he said. “I am only a poor saloon-keeper, with a
few dollars which I made by selling lager. Let me go, and I will go home
to meine Katrine.”
“Gentlemen,” said the highwayman, “I make no exceptions. You must all
empty your pockets.”
“Stop a minute!” said Gates, and he suddenly drew a revolver from his
pocket and pointed it at the robber.
The latter did not appear disconcerted.
“That won’t avail you,” he said.
“Why not?” asked Gates. “We are four to two.”
“We shall see.”
The robber put a whistle to his lips and blew a shrill blast.
In answer to this summons six other men burst from the covert, all
armed, all dangerous.
“You see,” said the first speaker, “we are stronger than you thought.
Fire at me, and all your lives are sacrificed. Your triumph will be
short.”
“Don’t shoot, Herr Gates,” said the Dutchman in an agony of
apprehension. “I don’t want to die. What would become of Katrine and the
Kinder?”
Gates was a sensible man. He saw that to fire would only be to throw
away his own life and that of his companions. This he felt that he had
no moral right to do.
“What shall I do?” he asked, turning to Morton.
“It’s useless to resist,” said the latter nervously.
“And what do you say, Tom?”
“Since these gentlemen are so very pressing, we shall be obliged to
yield.”
“I believe you are right.”
Then turning to the former speaker, who appeared to be the chief of the
robbers, he said:
“Will you let us go if we surrender our money?”
“Not to-day. You must follow us.”
“Where?”
“Where we shall lead you.”
“What is that for?”
“It is unnecessary to ask.”
“That is adding insult to injury. I don’t like that.”
“Perhaps,” suggested Tom, “these gentlemen mean to give us some supper
and a night’s lodging. If so, I go for accepting the invitation. There
isn’t any hotel about here that I know of. I take their invitation as
very kind.”
“They mean to make us pay dearly for their accommodation.”
“We may as well get something for our money,” said Tom.
“That’s so. Well, gentlemen, for reasons which it is unnecessary to
particularize, we accept your invitation.”
“Very good,” said the chief. “Put up your revolver, then, first of all,
or rather give it to me.”
“I would like to keep it.”
“Impossible. Give it up.”
Gates handed over the weapon unwillingly.
“Now give me yours,” said the chief to Morton.
The latter with trembling hand surrendered it. He was deficient in
courage, and had sat silent, pale with terror, while the conference had
gone on.
“Now, my young bantam,” said the robber, turning to Tom, “have you any?”
“Yes, but I should like to keep it.”
“Hand it over.”
“It doesn’t belong to me.”
“We’ll take care of it for the owner.”
“Here it is. Be careful how you handle it, for it’s loaded. It might hit
my fat friend there.”
The Dutchman began to kick at this suggestion.
“Take care, Mr. Robber,” he exclaimed. “It might go off all at once, and
that would be an end of Johann Schmidt.”
“Oh, never mind, mein herr,” said Tom. “There are plenty of John
Schmidts in the world. One more or less wouldn’t make much difference.”
“It would make much difference to me,” said Johann sensibly, “and mein
Katrine and the kinder.”
“Well, what next?” asked Gates. “Can we go on?”
“No, you must go with us. First, get down from the wagon.”
“What is that for?”
“Ask no questions, but obey,” said the highwayman sternly.
“Very good. I suppose, under the circumstances, we must obey orders.”
“Get down, Herr Schmidt,” said Tom to the Teuton.
“What for? What will he do?” asked the terrified Dutchman.
“I don’t know,” said Tom gravely; “but I’ll tell you what they do
sometimes.”
“Was?”
“They stand travelers up in a line and shoot them.”
“Will they be so wicked?” groaned the poor Dutchman, turning as pale as
his florid complexion would admit. “They would not dare!”
“They dare anything, but the only thing we can do is to follow
directions.”
Tom assisted the poor man from the wagon. Gates and Morton were already
out.
“Now,” said the chief of the highwaymen, turning to the driver, “you can
go. But take heed,” he added sternly, “that you say nothing of this
adventure. If you do, you are a marked man, and your life will not be
worth an hour’s purchase.”
“I understand,” said the man.
Gates turned toward the driver with sudden suspicion.
“I believe you are in league with these men,” he said sternly. “You have
led us into a trap.”
“That is not so,” said the driver earnestly. “I swear it.”
“The man speaks truth,” said the captain. “We have never had anything to
do with him.”
“Then why don’t you keep him as you do us?”
“We don’t fly at such game. He is a poor laboring man. We don’t prey on
such.”
“I am a poor laboring man,” said Herr Schmidt eagerly. “Let me go, too,
good Mr. Robber. I am not rich like these gentlemen.”
The chief laughed.
“We can tell better by and by,” he said. “Now, gentlemen, I must trouble
you to follow us.”
Escorted by the eight highwaymen, our four travelers walked on into the
depths of the forest.
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