The Man Who Tramps: A Story of To-Day

CHAPTER I. (5-16)

THE RUNAWAY.

Scene, a farm house a few miles from the town
of Ayre, in Indiana. Time, the evening of July 18,
1876.

"I tell you, Jane, you are too hard on the boy.
He has been at work in the field all day, and it is too
hard to badger him in this way as soon as he sets his
foot in the house. Let the poor fellow have a little
rest."

"John Shannon, you're a fool. You're always
taking the part of that impudent, lazy rascal. I told
you when you brought him here, ten years ago, that
he would worry the life out of me, and now you see
how it is. And since my young gentleman has
grown too big to be whipped he grows worse. It's
nothing but mope and sulk the whole time he is
about the house, unless he gets hold of a book or a
newspaper, and then you might as well try to move
a stump. For my part, I wish there wasn't a news-
paper ever printed. All they're fit for is to make
young ones lazy, and old fools like you neglect their
work to dabble in their nasty politics. But you have
no idle paupers about me, I tell you ! " And Mrs.
Shannon threw herself sulkily into a chair and fanned
herself with her apron.

"Jane, you're wrong. Harry is not lazy. He is
only sixteen, and yet he does as much work in the
fields as a man. And at school, his teacher tells me,
he is industrious and obedient, and advances rapidly
in his studies."

"At school!" exclaimed Mrs. Shannon with a
sneer. "Where's the use of sending such pauper
brats to school ? What good will it do him ? Three
months of his work lost every winter to stuff his head
with all this book nonsense, that only makes him
proud, and lazy, and saucy."

John Shannon sat wearily down on the bench be-
side the door; perhaps he thought that Harry Law-
son was not the only one who suffered from Mrs.
Shannon's petulant temper.

"I entered into an agreement to send the boy to
school when I took him from the men who had him
in charge," he said. "Besides, it would have been
my duty, even if there had been no contract, and a
boy works none the worse because he is intelligent.
And as to his being saucy, I have seen nothing like
that about him. He appears to me to be gentleness
itself."

"That's the way, John Shannon," replied his wife
with a snap. "You're always ready enough to take
sides against your poor over-worked wife. I tell you
he is saucy and impudent. Only yesterday, when
he came in from the field at noon, he threw himself
down on the bench on the porch like a lazy lout, and
took up the paper to read. I says, 'Come, young
man, I'll have no lazy bones about me. That churn-
in's to be done, and the sooner you get at it the bet-
ter' Well, what do you think he said? He said,
'Mother Shannon, do let me rest a bit. I'm tired!'
The impudent young cub! I just told him in so
many words that I'd have no lazy paupers round me,
when he rose to his feet with his face as red as fire,
and says he, 'Mother Shannon, no one is a pauper
who works for his bread. I work for all I get in this
house, and I work hard, too.' That's what he said.
There's impudence for you! I could hardly keep
my hands off of him. But I snatched that paper
away from him pretty quick, I tell you, and I kept
my young gentleman busy at that churnin' till it was
time to go to the field."

"But, Jane," replied the farmer, "it is too hard
on the boy to do a man's work in the field and a
woman's work at the house, too."

"And so, John Shannon," replied the woman,
"I'm to slave my life out of me that your fine pau-
per brat may sit and read his newspaper! That's
just like you, though. You think of everybody be-
fore you do of your poor wife."

"Jane, you are unreasonable," replied her hus-
band. "You know well enough that I have fre-
quently offered to hire a girl to help you in your
work, and you have always refused. Why will you
not let me do so now?"

"Hire a girl, indeed!" cried the irate woman.
"John Shannon, do you want us to go to the poor
house in our old days? No, I'll not have it. You
shall not throw money away just to favor that lazy
rascal. I can't understand why you think so much
of him as all that; you must have some reason that
you will not tell me. It would be just like you,
John Shannon."

"Don't be silly, Jane," answered the farmer with
a sigh. "You know the poor boy was brought from
New York, with a great many others, by a charitable
society. They were given out to persons who agreed
to pay their railroad fare, to furnish them homes, and
to educate them. But here comes the boy; don't
wound his feelings any more. See how sorrowful
the poor fellow looks." And the kindly eye of the
farmer dwelt with genuine pity on the poor orphan
boy.

"His feelings!" cried the woman. "Yes, every-
body has feelings but your wife. Little you think of
her feelings. I tell you I will say what I please, and
if your young gentleman doesn't like it he may lump
it; that's all."

John Shannon made no reply, and there entered
upon the scene the boy who had been the innocent
cause of all this contention and bickering. He was
a pale, delicate youth, with dark hair, regular and
handsome features, which some would have pro-
nounced too effeminate. His eyes were large, black
and bright, and with a rather dreamy expression, yet
to a close observer they contained a light which only
waited the opportunity to kindle into the fire of hero-
ism. His hands were small and well-formed, but
browned by labor in the sun. He set the two pails
of water that he had just brought from the spring
upon the bench beside the kitchen door, and turned
toward Mrs. Shannon a look which said, "What
next?"

"Now go and split the stove wood for to-morrow's
baking," said the woman.

The boy turned to obey.

"Hold on, Harry," said John Shannon, rising, "I'll
split the wood, boy. Sit down and rest."

Mrs. Shannon bit her lips and frowned, but said
nothing. The boy went to the porch in front of the
house and sat down on the bench, but not to read.
He gazed dreamily out across the fields that lay be-
fore him. The woods beyond were growing indis-
tinct in the twilight gloom that moved slowly on
from the east, and into the soul of the boy crept the
shadows of the past — a past, brief, it is true, but full
of sorrows that had darkened his young life, as the
evening shades darkened the landscape.

Dim as the outline of the distant wood rose a half-
remembered scene before his mental vision. A cot-
tage in the suburbs of a great city. A fair-haired,
blue-eyed woman, at whose feet he sat, or about
whose knees he clung with childish affection, or who
bent tenderly above him at night to press fond kisses
upon his sleepy lids until he sank into sweet forget-
fulness. Then there came memories of a dark-haired,
dark whiskered man whom he used to follow with tot-
tering steps to the gate in the morning and meet at
the same place in the evening with glad shouts of
"papa, papa," and who used to snatch him up in his
stalwart arms and press him fondly to his heart, then
set him astride his shoulder and prance like a boy
up the gravel walk to meet the blue-eyed woman,
whom he clasped with the child tenderly in his arms.
The vision faded out, and was replaced by another,
in which that stalwart man lay stretched, pallid and
helpless, upon the bed, and there were light steps and
whispered words by strange people, who came steal-
ing in and out, until at last there were tears and sobs,
and the blue-eyed woman clasped him convulsively
to her bosom and called him her poor fatherless boy.

Then the little cottage and its surroundings faded
away, and another scene arose somewhat more dis-
tinctly. This was of a little room at the top of a high
house, amid the noise and bustle of the great city,
and of his pale, sad-eyed mamma toiling wearily with
her needle for bread. There were days and days of
this monotonous scene, but at last came again the
pallid form on the bed — the fair-haired woman this
time — but there was no gentle stealing about the
room by kind neighbors, no low whispered words of
sympathy, but once in a great while a little, dark,
quick-stepping man came and looked at his mamma
and left something in a little bottle which she had
hardly strength to reach from the chair at the bed-
side, and went away without a word. And the poor
woman would draw the child's head against her bo-
som and say, 'Father in heaven, befriend my poor
orphan boy."

At last came the memory of a time when he grew
hungry, oh so hungry, and he called to his mamma,
but she did not answer him, and he thought she was
asleep. He took her thin, pale hand that had fallen
over the edge of the bed, and tried to wake her, but
she lay so still, and her hand was so cold, that he was
chilled with a fear he could not understand, and stole
away into the corner of the room and sobbed himself
asleep. When he awoke his mamma was gone, and
a great rough man came and carried him away, very
tenderly though, and so kindly that he was not afraid,
but lay in his arms and cried for his mamma.

The next scene that arose through the fast deep-
ening shadows was of a large house on a place sur-
rounded by water. This house was filled with chil-
dren of all ages, who used to sleep in little cots set
in a row along the wall, and eat at a long, bare table
in a great hall. How long he remained here he
could not remember, but the next change came
when he and hundreds of other children journeyed
westward on the cars, stopping at various towns,
where people came to examine them as they might
inspect sheep offered at the market, and to select
and purchase such as suited their fancy. Then he
remembered that they came to the town of Ayre, in
Indiana, as he afterward learned, where he was
chosen by John Shannon, his present master, and
taken home, six miles into the country, in a great.
jolting wagon. He recalled the first night in the
little close room, which was assigned to him in the
farmer's house, and which he had occupied through
all the long ten years that he had been sheltered by
the farmer, and scolded and beaten by the farmer's
wife. Tears stole down the cheeks of the boy as
his mind flitted to that dimly-remembered past, but
he brushed them away, shut out the sweet but sor-
rowful recollection, and sat pondering upon his pres-
ent situation. He loved and honored the farmer, for
he had been a kind master to him; but he hated the
farmer's wife with all his boyish ardor, for she had
made his life a torment. There could be no reason
for the woman's conduct, except a naturally petulant
and tyrannical disposition, which exercised itself
upon the defenseless boy as being the object most
available for the purpose. John Shannon had en-
deavored to do his duty by the poor orphan lad who
had fallen to his care. He fed him well, clothed
him as well as his wife would permit, and sent him
to school three months every winter. His school-
days were days of comparative happiness to the boy.
Naturally intelligent and ambitious, he won the favor
of the various teachers under whom he studied from
time to time, and who encouraged him in the acqui-
sition of knowledge, and he soon made himself mas-
ter of all the branches taught in the country school
which he attended. And he even progressed beyond
this by the aid of books borrowed from the masters,
and under such instruction as they willingly gave him
before and after school hours. The study of these
books at home was one source of complaint for Mrs
Shannon. Almost entirely uneducated herself, she
could not appreciate the yearning desire of the boy
for knowledge, nor understand that ambition to rise
to better things which burned in his soul and gave
shape to all his actions. Like the goose in the fable,
she had a young eagle for a nestling, and wondered
that he should long to exercise his growing pinions
in flight. His boyish spirit rebelled against her petty
tyranny. He had no antipathy to labor. For John
Shannon he would do anything that a boy of his age
could do. He worked from morning till night, side
by side with the farmer in the field, besides doing in-
numerable "chores" about the house, both morning
and evening. It was liot the work. It was the per-
petual fault-finding, the cruel taunts of poverty and
dependence, that stung his soul, until at last his
heart grew sick of such a life, and, as he sat there in
the twilight, his whole being thrilled with the sad
memories of his early childhood, he resolved to end
his bondage — to run away.

drivingtrain

With Harry Lawson, to resolve was to act. He
stopped not to consider where he should go, nor
what he should do to earn his living. Anywhere to
escape the persecutions of his mistress; anything to
eat without torment the bread of honest labor.

Yet he thought of the kind-hearted farmer with
regret. He, at least, would miss him, and perhaps
think him ungrateful. He would like to bid him
good-bye, and thank him for his kindness, but to do
so would only defeat his object. No, he would
write and leave the letter in his room. They would
find it in the morning, but he would then be beyond
pursuit. While he sat planning thus the night stole
on unheeded, and the first intimation he had of the
lateness of the hour was the sharp voice of Mrs.
Shannon —

"Harry Lawson, are you going to stay up all
night? Get off to bed with you; I want to shut up
the house. And see that you don't lay snoozing in
bed in the morning, when you ought to be out milk-
ing the cows. To-morrow's baking day, and I want
none of your laziness, I tell you."

Harry arose without a word, and retired to his lit-
tle room in the loft, but not to sleep. He sat down
on the side of the bed till all was still in the house,
then, from a nook under the rafters, he took a little
piece of candle that he had hidden to enable him to
study at night when he wished to do so, and lighting
it, sat down on the floor beside the box in which he
kept his clothes, to write his letter. And this is
what John Shannon found on the bed next morning,
when, after calling the boy several times and getting
no answer, he ascended to his room:

Mr. Shannon: — My second father, for as such I will always
think of you, I am going to do what you will think very wrong.
I am going to run away. I can not stand this life any longer.
You have always been kind to me, and I thank you. I hope that
my labor has paid you for the expense you have been to on my ac-
count. I do not know where I shall go nor what I shall do, but do not be uneasy on my account, for I will get along some way. I
will take my clothes, and I hope you think I have paid for
them. Good-bye, and don't think hard of me. Good-bye, Mother
Shannon; you might have made the poor motherless boy love you,
but you have chosen to hate him. I know you will be glad to get
rid of me. Harry Lawson.

He made a little bundle of the clothes he was wont
to wear to church on Sunday, and stole silently out
into the darkness.

John Shannon read Harry's letter to his wife, and
with a great sobbing sigh walked out to the barn
with his head bowed upon his breast. Mrs. Shan-
non stood for a moment like one dazed with sudden
terror, and then sat down and cried as though her
heart would break. If Harry could have seen her
then he would scarcely have believed the evidence of
his senses.

Such paradoxes are there in human nature.

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CHAPTER II. (17-31)

TRAMPS.

It has been truly said that but a small part of the
actual evils of war center about the battle-field. It
might be as truthfully said that but a small part of
those evils cease with the war itself. This is espe-
cially so in a country whose armies are made up al-
most entirely of volunteer citizens. Of this we have
a striking example in our own country. The armies
of our great civil war were composed principally of
volunteers from the manufacturing and producing
classes, who, when the war closed, returned to their
previous occupations as good citizens as they were
before they donned the knapsack and the cartridge-
box. But among these, especially toward the close
of the struggle, were many from a lower grade of
society, from the slums of the cities and towns, and
even from the jails and penitentiaries, who, tempted
by the large bounties then offered and the chances
of plunder, became soldiers in name, though few of
them were ever really soldiers in fact. From this
class came the "bummers" and camp-followers of the
army, the "bounty-jumpers" and deadbeats gener-
ally. When the combat ended the avocation of these
men, such as it was, ceased, and they were thrown
idle upon the community. The reckless, free life of
the army had given them a taste for wandering and a
distaste for every species of labor, and following their
natural instincts, directed by their acquired habits,
they became professional tramps. For a considera-
ble time they pursued their course with but little
comment by the citizens, for their numbers were not
so great, when scattered over the entire country, as
to attract particular attention. They were always
ostensibly on the hunt for work, always bound for
some special destination, and people believed their
well-told stories. But about this nucleus, small at
first, began to congregate others, who, profiting by
their example, desired to live like them a life of idle-
ness, and tramping spread like a contagion. The
return of the army overcrowded the labor market,
and as the country began to feel the natural reaction
following the inflation of war times, many who hon-
estly desired to labor were thrown out of employ-
ment, or were compelled to travel in search of it. A
large majority of these, perhaps, found occupation in
time, but many, once having tasted of the fountain
of indolence, lost all wish to labor, and continued
their pretended search indefinitely. Every great
misfortune in any part of the country was seized
upon as an excuse for vagrancy, and the land was
filled with Kansas sufferers who never saw Kansas,
and pretended victims of the great Chicago fire told
pitiful tales of loss and suffering, that brought them
sympathy and food. The people of both the coun-
try and the town, naturally charitable and kind-
hearted, only increased the rapidly-growing evil by
their well-meant but indiscriminate charity, and this
class of persons learned that there was an easier way
of getting their bread than by the sweat of their
brows. And even after it was well-known that nine-
tenths of those asking aid were unworthy, people
dreaded to refuse for fear of turning away the tenth
man to suffer. In this indiscriminate charity people
are always more or less selfish. It is not so much
the distress of others which causes them to give, as
it is their own pain at beholding misery, and a desire
to relieve their own feelings by contributing aid to
all who claim to be suffering. So the tramp was
well fed, and grew, and multiplied in the land.

Had the evil stopped here, it might have been only
a nuisance, like the lazzaroni of Italy, but upon this
prolific stock was soon grafted the dangerous com-
munism of France. Vicious agitators, who had
tasted of the intoxication of anarchy and bloodshed,
when driven from France found a refuge here. With
all the natural instincts of the American tramp, com-
bined with the treachery of the serpent and the fero-
city of the tiger, they carried with them a prestige
and a power which soon made itself felt. Then the
tramp ceased to be merely a nuisance; he became a
terror. Then followed scenes of riot and bloodshed
that made the nation grow pale. The pernicious
doctrines that had convulsed France, and dyed her
rivers red with blood, were openly preached upon
the streets of our cities, and gained many followers
among those who either had not the intelligence or
the inclination to see to what terrible scenes of mis-
ery and devastation they tended.

Then the tramp became a power in the land. His
influence was felt in politics, and in nearly all the so-
cial relations. Always on the watch for every con-
vulsion in society, he turned it to his own advantage.
Honest laborers, thinking to better their condition,
struck for higher wages or for the redress of griev-
ances; as soon as the thing was done, it passed into
the hands of the tramp, who, having nothing to lose,
could afford to take great risks. Riots were inaugu-
rated by them that they might gratify their desire for
destruction and for plunder, and under the name of
workingmen they brought reproach upon the name
of labor. The true laboring man saw the evil genius
he had invoked take the affair out of his hands, and
in his name do deeds that sent a thrill of horror
through the land.

These tramps, although combined in one great or-
ganization, were of many grades and degrees. The
tramp proper, the original tramp was nothing but an
easy-going, indolent vagrant, beating his way through
the world with no ambition but to live without labor.
He had the slouching, filthy habits and pitiful whine
of the professional beggar, and was simply a great
nuisance. There was another grade, composed of
criminals, who ascended in degrees of crime from
robbing a hen-roost to highway robbery, and even to
murder. He made his home principally in the great
cities, and only occasionally resorted to the country,
and then only for purposes of plunder or to escape
the vigilance of the law. The third class might be
denominated the political tramps, led by the men of
whom I have before spoken. They were cunning
and ambitious, and prided themselves on being phi-
losophers. They talked and taught their inflam-
mable doctrines on all occasions, and were arijogant
and insolent as well as vicious. The first class could
be endured; the second suppressed by the strong
arm of the law; but the last carried with them a pes-
tilence which permeated society, and threatened the
very life of the nation.

highway

Perhaps in no other country in the world, France
not excepted, could these men have found a more
congenial soil in which to scatter the seeds of their
terrible doctrines. In a society so mixed; a popula-
tion made up of all nationalities; of refugees from
all the despotisms of the world; men who understood
nothing and cared less about our government and
our institutions; whose ideas of liberty and of license
were synonymous — in such a society the specious
doctrines of the commune soon took root, and began
at once to bear fruit.

But I anticipate. On the night of July 18, 1876,
while Harry Lawson was preparing for his flight, a
scene was enacting between thirty and forty miles
from farmer Shannon's to which I wish the reader to
accompany me. On an elevated piece of ground, or
rather a heavily wooded island, surrounded by a large
swamp, also covered with timber, and in turn encir-
cled by a forest of considerable extent, were assem-
bled some fifteen or twenty tramps. A bright fire
was burning, which threw a vivid glare upward upon
the dark green foliage of the trees, and brought into
bold relief their trunks for a circle of twenty yards.
Beyond this all was darkness, weird and intense.
Even above appeared to arch a dome of blackness,
resting upon the tree-tops, for the night was cloudy
and no star was visible. About this fire were
grouped several of the tramps, busily engaged in
cooking. It seemed to be an occasion of more than
ordinary importance, and the preparations were ap-
parently for a feast. Spitted upon sharp sticks were
chickens roasting, which some careful farm-wife would
miss in the morning, and charge the "varmints "
with the theft. There were crocks of milk and jars
of butter, stolen from some spring-house, where they
had been set to cool, eggs from the farmer's barn,
and potatoes from his garden, and roasting ears from
his field. There was even a slaughtered pig sus-
pended from the limb of a tree steaks from which
were broiling on the coals. There were apples, and
peaches, and melons; in short all the requisites for a
grand feast Oh, your tramp is a great forager. He
will come to your door hungry-looking and appar-
ently tired almost to death, and beg for a mouthful
of food. He has eaten nothing all day. Would you
be so kind as to give him a bite to eat. He may
even offer to work if he feels morally sure that you
have nothing for him to do. This is a risk, however,
which few of them are willing to take. They are
nearly always of some occupation not followed in
your vicinity. In the country they are iron-puddlers
or machinists; in the city they are farm-hands. Your
eye dwells with compassion on his woe-begone ap-
pearance, while his takes in the surroundings of your
hen-house or your pantry. You give him food.
Who could refuse that pleading look and mournful
voice? He carries it away with him, and if it suits
his epicurean palate he eats it, or if he is seeking a
rendezvous of tramps he takes it with him to swell
the general contribution; but if it is not to his taste
he throws it away as soon as he is out of your sight.
Afterwards, should occasion demand, and the prospect
seem favorable, he will return in the silent watches
of the night, that he may not disturb your rest, and
your chickens or your provisions disappear, you
know not how or where. Yes, your tramp is a skill-
ful forager. If you are particularly kind and pitiful
you will be surprised at the number of starving men
who come your way. You will wonder why all the
tramps pass neighbor A.'s or neighbor B.'s and come
to you. My dear sir, or madam, this will continue
until you are tired of it and kick the next one out of
the house, or, if you are a woman, until you set the
dog on him or drive him off with the poker. Then
it may cease. Do you wonder at this? I will let
you into the secret. Your house is advertised —
marked upon the fence, the gate or in some other
place, so that the wayfaring man, who is not a fool,
may read, "Here is sympathy for indolence. Here
is food for idleness. Enter and partake thereof, and
laugh at the foolish people who pay a premium for
vagrancy."

If some of the charitable persons who had allowed
their sympathy to get the better of their judgment
could have seen this assembly, the next tramp who
called on them would doubtless have gone away a
disappointed man. During the preparation of the
meal the tramps kept coming in, all from one direc-
tion, one and two at a time. This seemed to indi-
cate that there was but one entrance to the island.
This was by means of fallen trees which, although
making a circuitous route, made a dry one across the
swamp. By the time the cooking was done there
were near fifty men assembled about the fire. They
now fell to eating like a pack of ravenous wolves,
and for a time all were too busy to think of talking,
but after the first keen edge of their appetite was
somewhat blunted the joke, the laugh and the story
began to go round, and before their supper was
ended they had grown quite boisterous.

At this juncture a newcomer appeared upon the
scene, entering, as the others had done, from the
same swamp. This was a man about forty years old,
a little above the medium height, with a very dark
complexion, dark enough for a mulatto, but with
long, straight black hair, and small, restless black
eyes, sparkling beneath his projecting brows. His
cheek-bones were prominent and his lips were thin
and straight, giving to his features a look of firmness
and resolution. The tramps ceased talking as soon
as this man appeared. He was evidently expected,
and was known to many there, for a whisper ran
through the crowd, "That's him. That's Black
Flynn;" and several of the men advanced to meet
him.

"Have you been to supper, boss?" asked one of
the tramps, after the first greetings were over.

"Yes, I have eaten," was the reply. "Feasted
like a gentleman on all the delicacies of the season.
I called at a house where there was no one at home
except a woman. I do not know whether to give
fear or pity the credit, but she set before me the best
in the house. I see that you also have eaten, and I
suspect from the looks of things here that neither
pity nor fear are responsible for your feast. The
credit is doubtless due to your own exertions."

The tramps laughed. They assembled about this
man — this tramp who talked like a scholar — and
waited for him to continue.

"Do you know why I have caused you to assem-
ble here?" he asked.

"We don't know nothin' about it, only we was
ordered to come," replied one who took upon him-
self the office of spokesman, and addressed the new-
comer in a peculiarly deep bass voice. As this man
plays a prominent part in the drama to be hereafter
enacted, I will endeavor to describe him. Perhaps
the shortest and most comprehensive description
would be to call him a great, burly, red-headed ruf-
fian. His eyes were small and piggish; his nose was
flat, and his mouth was large and sensual. His com-
plexion was exceedingly florid, and he had that ap-
pearance of filthy dilapidation common to the worst
class of tramps. But his most striking peculiarity
was his voice. This was deep as the sub bass of an
organ, and seemed to proceed from his chest rather
than from his mouth. It was a voice that, once
heard, could never be forgotten. This man was
known to the fraternity of tramps as "Sandy." His
real name was Sanford Hines.

"I was at Calusa with Toney Bazin here," con-
tinued Sandy, "when we met a cove what guv us
the sign, and told us to come to the big swamp to-
night. That's all I know."

"How long have you been on this beat, Sandy?"
asked Flynn.

"'Bout a month."

" Can you vouch for all here?"

"Every man of 'em," replied Sandy, casting his
eyes over the crowd. "They're all right, boss."

"Well, then, let us to business," said Black Flynn.

"Some of you know me personally and some do not.
You have all heard of me, and know that I am boss,
or master, of this district, and that all members of
our fraternity entering my jurisdiction are, for the
time, under my orders. That is one of the beauties
of our system. A man is free to come and go when
and where he pleases, but he is subject to the orders
of the 'boss' of the district in which he finds himself.
Now, those who know me can vouch for me to those
who do not, and I will tell you why, obeying the
orders of my superiors, I have called you together at
this time. The coal miners in the eastern part of
Pennsylvania are about to strike, so it is hoped, and
if they do it will be pretty general throughout the
State. It will be our business to make it so. Not
that we hope to accomplish much for the great cause
yet. The time is not ripe. But the more we can
stir up this strife between capital and labor, the
sooner will the time come to strike to some purpose.
There is nothing doing here, nor is there likely to be
for some time to come. The orders are to assemble
in the neighborhood of the mines and watch the pro-
gress of events. Go in twos, or threes at most.
Steal your way upon the cars, or any way to get
there in the shortest possible time, and there wait
for orders. Do you understand?"

train

"Well, boss, we'll do as you say," replied Sandy,

"But this is the third time we've gone off on a wild-
goose chase, and it amounted to nothin'"

"Well," replied Black Flynn, "you may have to
go four, five or a dozen times yet and accomplish
nothing. But all countries are alike to men of our
profession, and the time will come at last, rest as-
sured, when your services will be needed."

"But, boss, we don't all know what this thing
means" said Sandy. "You was just braggin' about
the tramp bein' so free that he could go anywhere
he wanted to, and here we're ordered away off into
the mountains of Pennsylvany, when some of us
would rather stay here. How's that for freedom?
D — n such freedom, I say. I'm gettin' tired of this
thing. It looks to me like we ought to have some
say about it ourselves."

"Do you refuse to obey?" said Black Flynn, with
a frown. "Have a care, Sandy Hines. The frater-
nity can better do without you than you without
them. Have you forgotten what it has already done
for you? Who, by furnishing witnesses to prove an
alibi, saved your bull neck from stretching hemp for
a certain ugly affair at St. Louis? Who opened the
doors of the station-house for you at Cincinnati,
when you were good for ten years at hard labor?
Who could hang you now, Sandy Hines, if you
should play them false? Hold your tongue and
obey, and you will be wise."

"Who talks of throwin' off on the fraternity, I'd
like to know?" said Sandy. "Didn't I say I was a
goin'? But, boss, it's nothin' but fair to let a feller
know somethin' about this great thing that's goin' to
happen after while. I don't half understand it."

"You will know all in good time," replied Black
Flynn. "In the meantime do as you are bid, and
wait. By day after to-morrow you should all be on
the way. Others are already moving in that direc-
tion, and we must not be the last;" and with these
words he turned and disappeared in the direction
from which he came.

The tramps conversed for a time upon this new
topic, and then lay down to sleep, all except two.
These were Sandy Hines and Toney Bazin, who sat
together at some distance from the others.

"Well, I for one ain't goin' without finishin' up
that job about old Cartright's money," said Sandy.
"To-morrow's the day he 's to draw the stamps out
of the bank, for I heard him tell the man so when I
was hid behind the hedge. He promised to pay it
over day after to-morrow."

"How much money is tare?" asked Toney.

"'Leven hundred and fifty dollars."

"Mon Dieu! Veil, how you gets him?"

"Why, if there's no chance to tap him over when
he comes through the woods from town, he'll have
to keep it one night in the house, and then we'll lift
it, sure. A feller 'd be party well heeled with 'leven
hundred and fifty dollars."

"Mon Dieu!" exclaimed the Frenchman again.

The matter appeared to be settled for the present
for the men soon followed the example of their fel-
lows and went to sleep.

/>

CHAPTER III. (32-50)

ON THE ROAD.

Harry Lawson turned his face to the east and
walked on all night. When morning dawned he
found himself on a strange road, tired and hungry,
and without a cent in his pocket. He sat down and
thought with dismay of his unpleasant situation.

roadroad condition

"What shall I do?" he asked himself. "I must
eat or I can not walk. I can neither beg nor steal.
Well, I will rest awhile, and then walk on again.
Something may happen to let me out of my diffi-
culty. Surely no one need either suffer or beg in a
country so laden with grain as this."

In a quarter of an hour he resumed his journey.
He had proceeded but a few miles when, on turning
a bend in the road, he came upon a man engaged in
hauling wheat from a field near by. In crossing a
ditch at the side of the road a part of the load had
fallen off, and, as Harry approached, the man sat on
the wagon looking ruefully at the sheaves lying in a
tangled heap on the ground.

road sideroad

Here was a chance for our runaway, and he made
up his mind in a moment.

"Hello! Want some help?" he called briskly,
throwing his bundle down by the side of the fence.

"Yes!" replied the farmer, eagerly. "It's too far
to where the men are at work to make them hear, if
I call. I will be obliged to you if you will pitch up
my load for me, while I build it on again."

"All right," said Harry ; "I'll pitch up your load,
and then you can give me my breakfast. That will
make us even."

The man laughed.

"Well, that's nothing more than fair," he said, and
handing Harry the fork, the latter began to toss up
the sheaves.

"Tramping?" asked the man at length.

"Traveling," said Harry, without pausing in his
work.

"Hunting work?"

"No, only to pay for my breakfast."

"Well, that's better than most of them," laughed
the farmer. "They generally hunt the breakfast, and
then forget the work."

"Who?" asked Harry.

"Who? why the tramps of course."

"Yes, I've seen some of them," replied the boy.
"But I am no tramp."

"What are you then?*'

"I told you I was a traveler" was the reply. "A
tramp is a beggar. I shall ask for nothing but what
I shall pay for, either in work or money."

"That is right, my boy," answered the farmer. "I
like your independence. That is the spirit which suc-
ceeds. But you are young to be traveling in this way.
May I ask where you came from?"

Harry hesitated and did not reply at once.

"I suppose it's none of my business, my boy," said
the farmer. "But the country is full of young men
and boys, even younger than you appear to be, who
leave comfortable homes for some fancied slight or
trouble, or sometimes from a mere restlessness which
causes them to seek for what they call adventures, and,
nine times out of ten, they become worthless tramps.
There never was a time in the history of this country
when it was so dangerous for boys to be away from
the care of their friends. I have no right to ask you
to betray your secret, if you have one, but shall I
give you a word of advice?"

"I shall be glad to receive it," said Harry. The
load was now replaced, and the boy climbed up beside
the farmer to ride to the house, which could be seen
at no great distance. The man continued:

"My advice is to beware of the tramps. Avoid
them, whatever you do. Preserve that honest inde-
pendence which induces you to pay, in some way, for
all you receive. If you travel far you will meet them
frequently. Have nothing to do with them, or they
will make you a vagabond like themselves."

"Never fear, sir," replied Harry. "I will remem-
ber your advice."

"And, my boy," continued the farmer. "What-
ever may be the troubles at home, it is generally
better to bear them than to throw yourself upon the
world, without resources, to depend upon charity or
chance for your support. Quit this tramping, for it
is little better, call it what you may, as soon as you
can. If you have a home, return to it at once. If
not, get into some employment, however humble, at
the very first opportunity. Do not wait for work
to suit you, but make yourself suit the work.
Many an unemployed man becomes a tramp before
he is aware, by refusing work that offers because it
does not happen to suit his taste, and this tramping
habit has so many fascinations, so much of change
and adventure, that, when once formed, there is
scarcely a hope of shaking it off. But here we are
at my house, and I suspect you need a breakfast, just
now, worse than a lecture. Come in."

Harry received a good breakfast, after which the
farmer's wife, pleased with the look and manners of
the boy, gave him a package of provisions, enough to
last him for the day. He at first demurred, but the
farmer insisted that the service he had rendered was
fully worth all he had received. On this Harry took
the provisions with thanks, and pursued his journey.
During the day he saw a great many tramps. Some
were traveling upon the road, some were begging at
the houses which he passed, and others lay asleep
under the trees and hedges. Occasionally one would
try to enter into conversation with him, but he left
him as quickly as possible and avoided his questions.

road

Some were careless and indifferent, some were sullen
and morose, even vicious looking, while others were
quite waggish and merry, and seemed to enjoy their
vagabond life immensely. Some carried bundles, and
a few tools of various trades — these, however, were,
in some cases, honest tradesmen seeking employment
— but the majority had nothing but the clothes on
their backs. There were men of nearly all national-
ities and colors, and of all ages, from the robust youth,
just entering into manhood, to the poor decrepit old
man, begging his way to the grave. Many were
truly objects of pity, but by far the largest number
were hearty, able-bodied men. He passed one poor
cripple, stumping along on a wooden leg, carrying a
bundle over his shoulder. Looking back, he saw this
man stop at a house, and his sympathies went out
toward him, and he hoped that he might not be turned
away. But a short time after, as he sat at the road-
side eating his dinner, whom should he see, stalking
by, but this same cripple, a cripple no longer, but
with his wooden leg only half concealed in his bundle,
and striding along on two as good legs as ever bore a
tramp. Having fortified himself with a good dinner,
he thought it useless to keep up his little farce, but of
course held himself in readiness to renew it when oc-
casion should require. Afterwards, Harry learned
that this trick was performed by bending the leg upon
the thigh, and securing it there by tying. This, with
the addition of wide-legged trowsers and the wooden
stump, completed the preparations, and cheated
many a tender heart out of unmerited sympathy.

road side

Once during the day he passed a group of three
tramps, who had just come from a house near by,
and who were cursing terribly at having been refused
food, and threatening the inmates with their ven-
geance. They ceased talking as he approached, but
did not molest him. He stopped occasionally at a
house for a drink of water, and always found himself
regarded with suspicion, and children would run in-
doors hurriedly, with the whispered exclamation,
"Here comes a tramp! " All this was very galling
to the proud spirits of the boy, and he finally ceased
stopping at the houses, and drank at the running
streams.

"Well, what am I better than a tramp?" he said
to himself, as he walked along. "I have no home;
I am traveling almost aimlessly through the country,
without money to pay for lodging or food. I shall
be compelled to sleep out of doors by the hedges, or
under the trees. I am a tramp to that extent, but I
am not a beggar, nor will I ever be one. I will stop
this aimless wandering as soon as I get fully beyond
the reach of pursuit, and will earn money to pay my
way. One is not a tramp simply because he travels
afoot, and yet everybody seems to think so."

When evening overtook Harry he was many miles
from the scene of his morning's adventure. The
provisions given him by the farmer's kind-hearted
wife had served him for both dinner and supper, and
he now began to look for a place in which to spend
the night. The weather was pleasant, and he deter-
mined to sleep in the open air. All he required was
shelter from the dew. While walking along very
slowly, for he was now quite tired out with his long
journey, he was startled by a voice which cried out:

"Hello, boy! which way?"

Harry looked in the direction of the sound, and
saw a tramp seated in the corner of the fence, eating
some food which he had evidently procured at a
large house which stood a little way back from the
road.

road

"Which way?" repeated the stranger.
"I am going to Cincinnati," said Harry, for dur-
ing the day he had decided to go to that city.

"Not going through to-night?" laughed the man.

"No; certainly not," answered Harry.

"Where are you going to bunk?"

"Eh!"

"Where are you going to sleep?"

"In any place that suits me," said Harry, walking
on.

The tramp came into the road and walked by his
side. The boy saw that he was a man of more than
medium height, with very black hair and eyes, and a
very dark complexion. He came to the conclusion,
from the general appearance of the man, that he had
fallen in with a veritable tramp, and that, too, at a
time when he most wished to avoid such characters.
Yet there was something in the look of this man
which commanded a sort of respect, despite his di-
lapidated appearance and beggarly occupation. He
quickened his steps. So did the tramp. He walked
slowly. The tramp regulated his pace to suit. For a
moment the boy was tempted to turn back and seek
shelter at the house, but then he thought of his pen-
niless condition, and walked on. The tramp had
been watching him closely, and read his fears aright.
At length he said, with a sort of rough kindness in
his tone:

"Don't be afraid, boy. I am a tramp, and my
business is to beat the world out of a living, but I
take from those who are able to give. From your
looks I should say you are the next thing to a tramp
yourself. Are you hungry? Here!" And he of-
fered a share of his food to the boy.

"No, thank you," said Harry. "I have eaten.
I am not hungry."

"You have not told me where you are going to
stop to-night," said the tramp.

"I do not know," replied Harry. Then with a
sudden thought, " I think I will walk to-night."

"Walk! Nonsense! I tell you, boy, you have
nothing to fear from me. You are already worn out
with walking, to judge from your looks. Let us find
a place to sleep and stay together. Then if you do
not like my company in the morning we can part.
But if you go on to-night I will go with you."

Finding that there was no chance of getting rid of
the fellow without going to a house for protection,
which he did not wish to do, Harry said no more,
but walked on in silence. At length they came to a
place where a hedge ran down to the road.

"Here," said the tramp, "we will find a place to
sleep. Let us go up the hedge a piece, where we will
not be disturbed."

After walking about a hundred yards from where
they turned aside they came to a place which seemed
to suit the tramp, for he said:

"This will do. Pile down."

Harry sat down on the soft grass under the shelter
of the hedge, and the tramp stretched himself at full
length near by. It was not yet quite dark and nei-
ther felt disposed to sleep at once. It was anxiety
which made Harry wakeful, however, for as he had
walked all night the night before he was in need of
rest. The tramp seemed inclined to talk.

"What is your name, boy?" he asked.

"Harry Lawson."

"Well, I'm Jesse Flynn. Black Flynn, they call
me," said the tramp.

His next question startled Harry.

"Have you any money?"

"No, not a cent," said Harry, quickly.

"Where did you come from?"

"From near Ayre."

"When?"

"Last night."

"Where are you going?"

"To Cincinnati."

"What for?"

"To hunt work."

"Work ? Where's the use?" said the tramp.

"I must eat," said Harry, "and I can't beg nor
steal."

"That's nonsense," said the tramp. "Look at
me. I live; I eat like a gentleman. Haven't done
a lick of work since the war."

"What do you do then ? " asked Harry.

"Live like a nabob. A gentleman of leisure."

"What do you do when you are hungry?"

"I eat."

"How do you get food?"

"Like any other gentleman; I order it. What
does your fine gentleman do more? I eat, I sleep,
I go where I please, do as I please. The whole
country is my estate, my park. I stroll sometimes
in one part, sometimes in another. When I am
weary I rest, when I am sleepy I sleep. You saw
the farmers at work as you came along, toiling and
broiling and sweating in the hot sun? Well, they
are working in my fields, preparing food for me and
others like me, who are wise enough to live without
work. Where's the use of work, when you can live
as well without it? The farm hand labors for his
master, and gets his board and clothes. The farmer
labors for the mechanic, the doctor, the merchant,
the banker, and gets his board and clothes. They in
their turn labor for others and get no more. The
fine gentleman spends his money and gets noth-
ing in the end but what he eats, drinks and wears.
Then comes the class to which I belong — the most
sensible, the most philosophical class of all — who
begin where the others leave off after years of labor,
and are content with what they eat and wear, with-
out troubling themselves about the source from which
it comes. The tramp is the true philosopher, my
boy, after all."

Harry, although not prepared to receive the doc-
trine taught by his strange companion, was neverthe-
less surprised to hear one of his class use such lan-
guage. His ideal of a tramp was a low, brutal fel-
low, with no education, and no thought but to beg
or steal, yet here was a man who used good lan-
guage — as good at least as he was accustomed to
hear — who called himself a tramp and who claimed
to be a philosopher. He could make no reply, and
the tramp went on:

"But this is not all. People who kick and curse
the tramps do not know them. They call them vag-
abonds, and so they are, but they are more. They
are the beginning of the new order of things, and the
time will come when they will be no longer vagrants,
but rulers in this land. Then out of this will grow
the equality of all men in all things. The world
is just beginning to wake to true philosophy — this
part of the world at least. It has been taught in
France for a hundred years. Voltaire taught it;
Jussieu taught it; Rousseau taught it; but the strong
arm of despotism crushed it out. But here, in this
free country, as they call it, where the laws are weak
and slow to act, it has taken root, and will grow and
gather strength until all the dreams of its early advo-
cates will be realized. I spoke of the easy life of the
tramp. I was then only speaking of the present.
The tramp has a mission to perform, and when the
time comes he will be ready. Perhaps three-fourths
of those called tramps are just such easy-going vaga-
bonds as I have described; I am so myself half the
time. But I am only waiting; yes, there is a philos-
ophy in this thing which will convulse the world."

"And to what end?" asked Harry, interested in
spite of himself.

"To the end that all men may be equal, I tell
you," replied the tramp. "The earth was created
for the habitation of man, and one man has as good
a right to possess it as another. Because I was born
after all this land was taken up, is that a reason why
those in possession should deny me my share? No,
I tell you, the land belongs to all the people, and no
man has a right to monopolize any part of it. The
wealth of the world is the common property of all
its inhabitants, and no set of men have a right to
claim it for their peculiar possession. Shall I be
cheated out of my share, and be forced to wear out
my life in useless labor because some one happened
to be here before me? There's the man who claims
to own this field. He holds what he calls a deed for
it according to law. Whose law? yours, or mine?
No, his law. Made by him and men like him who
claim a monopoly of God's fair earth. Made to suit
themselves without consulting you or me. This law
was made before we were born, and this land was all
apportioned out years ago. Now what is to become
of you, and me, and all who are so unfortunate as to
be born poor, as they call it?"

"But did not these men purchase their land, and
does not that give them a right to it?" said Harry.

"Suppose they did purchase it?" replied the
tramp. "Whose money bought it?"

"Why, their own, I suppose," replied Harry.

"No, sir" said the tramp. "It was your money,
my money, everybody's money. Where did it come
from? It came from the soil that belongs to the peo-
ple in common, from the mines which are the prop-
erty of all mankind. It was wrung from the labor of
the poor fools who still acknowledge the right of these
usurpers. It is only the same thing in another shape.
Let fools work for what is theirs by right; I shall get
my share in the easiest way I can, until the time
comes to right this thing, and then let them beware."

"But will all people be able to live without work
under this new order of things?" asked Harry.

"No," replied the tramp, "but every man will
then get the reward of his labor. Besides nine-
tenths of the work now done in the world is done to
feed and pamper the rich — to gratify their expensive
tastes and satisfy their inordinate ambition. The
new arrangement will do away with all that. Each
man will labor as his necessities require and no
more."

"But would not this stop all improvement?" asked
Harry, now thoroughly interested and wishing to
hear more of this strange doctrine, of which he had
never dreamed before.

"If by improvement you mean the great monopo-
lies that are grinding the life out of the poor, yes,"
replied the tramp. "But it would not stop the
wheels of progress, for then all would have a com-
mon interest in the improvement of the country. All
the great railroad and telegraph lines, and canals, and
manufactories, would be the common property of the
people, directed by their representatives, or, as some
think they should be, by the government. I tell you,
boy, the time is sure to come, and sooner than most
people think, too. In the meantime, as I said be-
fore, I shall do no labor for these harpies. I can live
without it, and if you are wise you will do the same
thing. What made you leave home?"

infrastructuretrain

This question was so unexpectedly put that Harry
could not answer at once. At length he said:

"I am an orphan, and I did not like my home; so
I left it."

"Ran away, eh?"

"Yes."

"What are you going to work at in Cincinnati?"

"I don't know."

"What can you do?"

"I have always worked on a farm."

"Well, they don't farm in Cincinnati."

"I know that," said Harry. "I thought I would
like to learn a trade."

"What trade?"

"I don't know."

"Boy, stay with me. I will teach you the best
trade in the world — that of independence. While
we are waiting for the change, I will show you the
world. You shall have nothing to do but roam at
your will, stop when and where you please, and
laugh at the fools who wear out their lives slaving
for their masters, the rich."

"But, certainly, beggary is not independence," said
Harry.

"It is not beggary," replied the tramp, fiercely.
"I tell you the world owes me a living, and I but
take my own."

"But" said Harry, "it seems to me you have for-
gotten some things. This kind of life might do very
well in this pleasant weather. But in the winter?"

"Take a lesson from the birds, my boy," said the
tramp. "Turn your back on the winter and go
south. Or, if you wish, you can do as many others
do. Go to the station houses or the jails."

"The jails!"

"Yes, why not? I've known a man spend the
winter in jail, and live like a lord, while these same
farmers were toiling in the ice and snow to feed those
who had learned to do without work — though I con-
fess that the jail is little to my taste, and I try to
avoid it. I love my liberty at all times. But, if one
wishes, it is very simple. The cold weather comes
on and it is too disagreeable to travel. Well,
pick up any little article, not too valuable, get caught
at it, and your winter lodgings are ready provided for
you — paid for by the country."

"But suppose you get sick?" said Harry.

"Well," said the tramp, "let us suppose that you
go to work as you intend, and you get sick. What
then? Will you be any better off than I am? Not
a bit. We both go to the hospital, or the poor-
house. It amounts to the same thing in the end.
Come, boy, will you go with me and lead the free
and easy life of a tramp, or will you continue to toil
that others may reap the fruits of your labors?"

"Why do you wish me to go with you?" asked
Harry.

"I will tell you," said the tramp. "You are
young and handsome, and the women will give you
always the best in the house, if you play your cards
well. I am strong and know the country, and can
lead you where we will fare the best, so that you see
we will each help the other. Is that plain enough ?
Come, what do you say?"

Harry scarcely knew what to answer. He feared
to speak his mind, for he was alone with one whom
he knew to be a bold, desperate man, a thief by his
own confession, and it might be worse. So he said:

"Let me study on it until morning and I will tell
you. I am sleepy now."

"All right," said the tramp. "Go to sleep, but
make up your mind in the morning. I have taken a
fancy to you, and do not care to part with you."

Harry lay down and pretended to sleep, but his
anxiety was too great to permit him to close his eyes.
His thoughts were too intently bent upon getting
away from his dangerous companion to give much
attention to analyzing the sophistry he had just
heard.

But, while he is waiting for his companion to fall
asleep, the reader will pardon me if I offend his in-
telligence by replying to some of it, for there are
many otherwise sensible men who pretend to believe
this doctrine.

/>

CHAPTER IV. (51-59)

COMMUNISM.

The doctrines advanced by our tramp are held by
two distinct classes of persons. To the tramping
fraternity there is one all-sufficient answer. If all
things were to be equalized to-day, in less than a
twelve-month these gentry would be back at their
old occupation, eating the substance of better men.
The other class, being honest in their belief, however
mistaken in their conclusions, merit, perhaps, a more
extended reply.

The world has been rushing on over the railroad
of progress like a train drawn by a mighty engine.
There has been no pause or stay for those who have
been so unfortunate as to be too late for the train,
and all their envy of the more fortunate will not
reverse the engine or bring it back to them; yet
that is what many hope to do. The world has gone
off and left them, and they think it should pause
until they catch up. They attribute all their griev-
ances to the fortunate achievements of others rather
than to their own misfortunes — I will not say faults,
for, in very many cases, to do them justice, it is no
fault of theirs.

metaphortrainengine

The race, according to these persons, has been un-
fair. We will not count this time, and will try it
again. The time-piece of human progress must be
regulated. We will lengthen the pendulum, and set
back the hands. We will give the world a few thou-
sand backward revolutions, just to equalize things.
Communism is the power that is to accomplish this.
This is the Archimidean force which is to move the
world, and only lacks the fulcrum upon which to rest
the lever.

Well, let us go back. Let us throw all things to-
gether, and shake them up, and make an equal dis-
tribution. Let us close our eyes to the reign of ter-
ror that must ensue before this is done. Let us bury
our dead from our sight, and wipe up the blood, and
sweep up the ashes. Let us close our ears to the
wail of tortured innocence and the brutal laugh of
rapine and sensuality. Let us teach ourselves to
gaze unmoved upon ruined homes and depopulated
cities; upon a land torn with dissensions, and sacked
by pillage; upon a government dismembered and
prostrate beneath the heel of anarchy; upon a country
shunned by the nations of the world and execrated
by its own citizens; upon the destruction of law and
order and the rule of that worst of despotisms, the
despotism of the mob. Have you done it? Well,
now we are ready to begin our equalization. We
are now where society began thousands of years ago.
What will you have?

"We want the land, machinery, railroads, tele-
graphs, canals, to be made the common property of
the whole people, through the government; to abol-
ish the wages system and substitute in its stead co-
operative production, with a just distribution of its
rewards. Society shall hold all things in common.
Factories, railroads, banks, insurance, shops, markets
— all will be run for the benefit of the people, as the
post-office is now. No man shall have a monopoly
of these things. Houses and lands all shall be regu-
lated by the people through the government." (See
interview in New York Herald) This, I believe,
embraces the general idea of the doctrine of commu-
nism as taught in the United States. It is laughed
at and treated lightly by the majority of the intelli-
gent people of our country. Even the newspapers,
those great educators of the people, scarcely deign
to do more than mention the dangerous doctrines of
these agitators. Yet, when we remember that in
countries where they had less hope of success than
in ours they succeeded in overthrowing the estab-
lished order of things, and in deluging the land in
blood, is it wise to thus trifle with the perpetuity of
our institutions? The tiger of the Indian jungle is
more merciful than this monster of the commune.
There is but one hope for a country when the virus
of this dogma has once poisoned its veins, and that
is in the education of the people — not through the
schools, for the process is too slow; but through
that speedier and more effective means, the press.
Communism in all its branches dreads this calcium
light, which has the power to turn its counterfeit
gold into its original brass, and its boasted jewels
into paste. Let the press throw its light upon the
scene, and show its specious pretences in their true
colors. Not one in ten of those who profess to be-
lieve this doctrine would adhere to it could they be
brought to clearly see the end. But let the storm
once break upon the country, and the maddening
passions of anarchy will sweep the land with the be-
som of destruction.

technologyinfrastructure

But to return to this doctrine as taught by our
American communists. The predominant idea ap-
pears to be that all things shall be in common, regu-
lated through the government. But how is this gov-
ernment to be supported ? By taxation. But there
is nothing to tax. A. owns nothing ; B. owns noth-
ing, and experience has taught us that none are pat-
riotic enough to pay what they can avoid. Will not
your government find itself in a dilemma? There is
no responsible party but the government. Shall it
assess its own property, and pay itself the tax for its
support?

"But the government owns all the land, railroads,
shops, markets, factories and everything. They will
support it. There will be no need of taxes."

traininfrastructure

"Indeed ! And who is to patronize the railroads,
shops, etc.?"

"The people, of course!"

"Where will they get their money?"

"From the government."

"And where will the government get its money?"

"From the people."

"Oh, yes! I see. A kind of boomerang arrange-
ment. But if no one has any private property no
one will have any money."

"But each man will be allowed to accumulate a
certain amount of property."

"Thank you! For the especial purpose of pay-
ing the government, I suppose. But how much?"

"Oh, the law will regulate that."

"But when this is all gone, as it will soon be in
hundreds of cases, what then? Divide again?"

"Oh, no; the government will see to that?"

"But, my dear sir, do you not see that this is but
jumping from the frying-pan into the fire? To avoid
a few individual monopolies, you give yourself, body
and soul, into the hands of the greatest monopoly of
which the mind of man ever conceived. What as-
surance have you that you can direct this govern-
ment after you have instituted it? Do you not com-
plain now that you have no voice in the administra-
tion of affairs? Well, what hope have you of doing
better under the new order of things, unless, indeed,
you intend to kill off all those who differ from you in
opinion? You can not now agree among yourselves,
except in the matter of destruction. For building
up again you have as many plans as you have indi-
viduals, and the more adherents you gain the more
plans you will have. How will you decide the mat-
ter? By majorities? You are not willing to submit
to that arbitration now. Will you be then? Your
government, at best, could be no more than a gigan-
tic haberdasher's shop, without power, without dig-
nity, without stability, and would be but the step-
ping-stone to a despotism worse than that of Tur-
key."

I hope that those of my readers who have been
able to see at once the absurdity of this doctrine will
pardon me for this, to you, unnecessary chapter. It
is not written for you, and you may as well skip it.
But there are more than you think who are misled by
the specious sophistry of these agitators, and to them
this is especially addressed.

Under the new order of things which these men
would inaugurate no man would labor more than was
absolutely necessary for a mere support, for he would
labor without hope. Even were it possible to accu-
mulate money or property, he would at once become
a bloated monopolist, and would be compelled to dis-
gorge and divide with his less fortunate or more in-
dolent neighbors. The country would be completely
at the mercy of every invader, for there would be no
means of defense. Even the king of the Cannibal
Islands, being more civilized and consequently more
powerful than we, might, if he took it into his head
to equalize things by annexing the United States,
"make a just distribution of rewards" by handing
us all over to his royal cooks.

"But every citizen would be willing to fight for his
country."

"My dear sir, he would have no country. He
would have no interest anywhere. The people hav-
ing no ambition, no hope of advancement, would be-
come as indolent as the Hottentots of Africa. It is
the hope of accumulating property that drives the
wheels of progress. There is one grand old song, the
sweetest in our language, which you must blot from
the memory of the people before you begin your equal-
ization: 'Home, Sweet Home.' It was this hope
that, standing at the prow of the Mayflower while she
battled with the Atlantic waves, pointed toward the
promised land. It was this that gave the western
pioneer strength and courage to combat wild animals
and wilder Indians, and his ringing ax kept time to
the music of that sweet song as progress beat her con-
quering march across the continent from ocean to
ocean — the hope of establishing for themselves homes
that they could call their own — not to be the property
of a commune, held as a part of the common property
of all mankind, but absolutely their own, where they
could live and love and rear their children, and trans-
mit to them the just rewards of a life of labor and
economy. And what is offered as a substitute for
these desecrated homes? A dwelling-place regulated
by law — a law subject to the caprice of the rabble.
A home in which all tastes are made subservient to
the will of a mob. What would such a home be to
an intelligent, thinking man or woman? Have not
the paupers better homes to-day in the poor-houses?
Better in that they have hopes of still advancing to
better things, whereas the pauper of the commune
has no power to change his condition."

But this chapter has already gone beyond the limits
I intended, and I will drop the subject for the present.

There is, however, another thing that you will have
to suppress before you inaugurate your commune,
and that is intelligence. Intelligence is ambitious,
and ambition accumulates property. Allow no man
to be wiser than another, lest he repine at his lot,
and instead of rendering him happy you force him to
lead a life of wretchedness. First contrive some plan
to regulate all mankind by your own standard of in-
tellect, and you may hope to succeed. I doubt it
even then; for in a year there would be strife among
you, as there was among the herdsmen of old, and
you would be ready to say, as Abraham said to Lot,
"Separate thyself from me, I pray thee. If thou
wilt take the left hand, then I will go to the right; or
if thou depart to the right hand, then I will go to the
left."

Then the history of the world would be re-enacted,
with all the disadvantages of four thousand years of
retrogradation.

road

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CHAPTER VI. (70-79)

CAPTURE OF THE TRAMPS.

On the morning following the night of the murder,
two men crept from under a haystack which stood in
a small meadow about three miles from the scene of
the tragedy. These were Sandy Hines and Toney
Bazin. The place of their concealment was admir-
ably adapted to that purpose. The meadow was
far from any house, surrounded on the east, north
and west by woods, and on the south by a large
corn field. To this place they had fled as soon as the
deed was committed. It had not been the intention
of the tramp to kill the old man, but, hearing the ap-
proach of the doctor's carriage, and meeting more
resistance than he expected, for the old man fought
hard for his money, he had shot his victim, dragged
him from the carriage and tore the pocket-book from
his breast pocket, where his companion had informed
him he had seen it placed when the money was
drawn from the bank. The two robbers then sprang
into the woods, and, by the time Dr. Blair and
Harry came on the scene they were beyond sight
and hearing.

After crawling from their hiding-place they sat
down to count the money. Sandy did this, while
the Frenchman looked over his shoulder.

"One, two, three," counted Sandy, as he turned
over the bills; " four, five, six, seven"

The Frenchman's eyes sparkled like fire, and his
hands trembled as he half reached toward the notes.

"Eight, nine, ten, 'leven and a fifty," counted
Sandy. "There it is. 'Leven hundred-dollar bills
and a fifty."

The Frenchman reached out his hand without a
word. Sandy moved his farther away.

"No," he said, "we can't divide it now. They're
after us hot, somewhere, not far off, you bet, and we'll
have to hide it till this thing blows over a little.
That's what I stopped here for. If we try to git away
now, we'll be taken, sure, for they're watchin' all the
roads, and them infernal telegraphs will head us off.
And if we're cotched and we've got this money, don't
you see it will stretch our necks? But if they don't
find anything on us, what can they do? Nobody
saw us but the old man, and he's too dead to skin.
No, we're agoin' to plant this money somewhere,
where we can find it agin', and then we'll lay 'round
here till they give the thing up, then we'll dig it up
and skip out."

roadlaw

"Well, I don't know," said Toney. "You gifs me
my moneys, and I takes care of him."

"It can't be did," said Sandy, decidedly. "I'm
not agoin' to risk my neck with lettin' you be took
with any of this money. For don't you see, they'll
want to know who's got the other half, and I won't
take no chances. We've got to stick together in this
thing. D'ye see?"

The Frenchman was evidently dissatisfied, but he
said nothing, and the two left the meadow and en-
tered the woods. No sooner had they disappeared
than a man rose from behind a fence near by, and
stole silently after them. It was Black Flynn. The
robbers hunted some time before they found a spot
which appeared to suit their purpose. At last they
paused at the foot of a large oak which grew in a
dense thicket. While they were busily engaged in
digging a hole and hiding the money, Flynn crawled
cautiously and silently as a serpent through the
bushes until he had reached a spot from which he
could watch their actions. When the money was
hidden and the grass and leaves replaced above the
spot to give all things a natural appearance, Sandy
and Toney arose and departed. Flynn lay still until
the sound of their footsteps had died away in the
distance, and then he stole to the root of the tree, un-
earthed the treasure, replaced the dirt and the grass
and leaves, and walked off in the opposite direction.
At the distance of about a mile from this place, he, in
his turn, hid the money, marking the spot in such a
way as to know it again, and then proceeded boldly
toward the scene of the murder.

In an hour after he was arrested, but was released
again, as we have already seen.

Sandy and the Frenchman returned to their hiding
place, all unconscious that their blood-bought prize
had disappeared. Here they remained until about
the middle of the afternoon, when hunger drove them
forth in search of food. This was close at hand.
The corn field before mentioned was full of roasting
ears, that luxury which, in its season, is ever ready
and ever welcome to the hungry tramp. Having
listened attentively a moment to assure themselves
that no one was near them, they carried about a
dozen of these into the woods and built a fire. This
they allowed to burn into a bed of coals, and then,
without removing the husks, they covered the corn
up in the embers. In about half an hour their sup-
per was ready, and they dispatched it with the eager-
ness of men always in a chronic state of hunger; for
the tramp lives to eat, while others eat to live. His
tastes are not always gratified, it is true, but there is
no greater glutton, naturally, than your professional
tramp.

Scarcely had they finished eating, however, when
they heard the barking of a dog, and then a loud
shout in the direction of their former place of con-
cealment. They sprang to their feet and listened.
They heard an answering call to the left of them,
and then shouts and loud talking to their rear.
They were surrounded.

"D — n them" said Sandy, springing upon a log
and looking hurriedly about him, "they have tracked
us with dogs. Into the corn field, Toney, quick!
If we can dodge them till night we'll give them
the slip yet."

If the tramps had been wise they would not have
run away. The chances of their capture were almost
certain, and flight would be one of the surest evi-
dences of their guilt; whereas, should they allow
themselves to be quietly taken, the worst that could be
definitely charged to them would be stealing the corn.
But guilt is timid as a hare, and sometimes equally as
foolish. So, obeying the first promptings of a guilty
conscience, they sprang into the corn field and began
to make their way through it. The tall stalks hid
them from view, but the ground was soft and be-
trayed their steps. The tramps saw this at a glance,
but it was now too late; so they ran on. Presently
they heard a shout at the spot they had just left.
Their pursuers had found the fire.

"To the corn field" cried a voice. "They will
take to the corn field!"

The Frenchman turned pale, and Sandy set his
teeth hard.

"Quick," he said. "Let's make to the south.
Maybe they're not on that side yet."

Then again a voice came, striking terror to their
hearts, "They're in the corn field. Here's where
they went in. Look out! Close up around the
corn field."

And now began an exciting chase. The fugitives
heard the sound of their pursuers crashing through
the corn on every side of them, and were obliged to
dodge about and double on their tracks like hunted
rabbits. They had this advantage, however, they
ran silently and avoided shaking the corn, while their
pursuers, taking no pains to conceal their movements,
made a great deal of noise, and thus enabled their
prey to elude them; besides, they frequently mistook
each other for the game they were hunting, and were
thus delayed in their pursuit. "Here they go! here
they go!" would be shouted every few minutes, as
the tramps were discovered down the long rows of
corn, but before they could be reached they had dis-
appeared again. Oh! it was a gallant race. Fifty
infuriated men, maddened by the excitement of the
chase, cruel and indefatigable as blood-hounds, re-
morselessly pursuing their human prey, while the
flying tramps, pale with terror, their breasts heaving
with exertion, and great drops of sweat rolling down
their pallid cheeks, ran for their lives. To an unin-
terested spectator the whole scene would have borne
such an appearance of fiendish cruelty that his sym-
pathies would have gone out to the terror-stricken
fugitives, and he would almost have prayed for their
escape. But such deeds of brutality had been com-
mitted, time and again, by the tramps, that now, they
had culminated in a cold-blooded, unprovoked mur-
der, was it any wonder that the self-constituted aveng-
ers of these crimes should be as remorseless as death
in their pursuit of the villains?

After what appeared to the frightened men as an
age of misery they came to a fence. Beyond this
was a large open field. To cross this was their only
chance, for to retrace their steps, or to remain where
they were, was certain capture.

"Now, Toney," panted Sandy, as he climbed the
fence, "we'd better separate."

"No, we keeps together this time, too," said the
Frenchman.

"Very well, then; come on!" was the reply, as he
sprang into the field. "If you ever ran, now's your
time."

Toney followed close at his heels. Beyond the
Open field was another corn field. For this they ran.
They had reached the middle of the open space
they were crossing when they heard again the loud
shouts of their pursuers.

"There they go! There they go! Across the
stubble field!"

Bang! Bang! went a revolver, but at too great a
distance to do any hurt.

"Keep along the fence! Head them off! They're
making for the other corn field!" were cries which
reached the ears of the terrified tramps.

Then they heard the clatter of horses' feet.

"Throw down the fence! Let me into the field!"
cried a voice.

The sound of falling rails was heard, and the thun-
der of hoofs. The tramps looked back over their
shoulders as they ran, and their hearts sank with de-
spair. A man was riding furiously toward them,
surrounded by a cloud of dust, which trailed behind
him like the smoke from a running locomotive. He
gained at every stride, and as he came near, Sandy
stopped and drew a revolver. His first impulse was
to fire, but on second thought he saw that it would
be madness. Even if he killed this man his capture
was certain, and then conviction would surely follow,
if not immediate execution at the nearest tree. The
man saw the pistol, and, presenting his own, shouted
as he rode toward them:

drivinganimaldustspeedweaponsoundaffecttrainairspeedlaw

"Drop your pistols and throw up your hands, or I
will shoot you! "

The tramps obeyed, and the man kept them cov-
ered with his pistol until several of his companions
came up, when the fugitives were seized and bound.

"What does all this mean?" asked Sandy, with a
great assumption of indignation.

"You'll find out pretty quick what it means," said
one.

"To the woods with them; string them up!" cried
another.

"Yes, that's the talk. Let's make short work of
it. They'll never kill another man," was answered
from the crowd.

"No," said the man who had first overtaken them;
don't let us be hasty. We've got no positive evi-
dence yet. We will take them to jail."

This cooler counsel prevailed, for in fact they had
no direct evidence against them. All was yet sus-
picion, although this was rendered almost a certainty
to the minds of their captors by their attempt to
escape.

"Search them!" cried one.

This was done. A dozen ready hands soon per-
formed the work, but nothing was found to criminate
them. There were no visible signs of blood on their
clothing, and nothing to prove that they were the
parties guilty of the murder.

The men appeared disappointed. Sandy observed
this, and it gave him courage.

"Well, can't you tell a feller what all this means?"
he said.

"You'll find that out when you get to Calusa,"
was the reply.

"You've no right to arrest a man in this way.
Where's your warrant?"

road

"Oh, that 's all right. There's one in the crowd
somewhere. Come on, men; let's be off with them.
It'll soon be night."

So the tramps were captured, and that night lodged
in the jail at Calusa.

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CHAPTER VII. (80-88)

THE JUSTICE'S COURT.

Harry was so worn out with his unusual exertions
and loss of sleep, that he did not awake until after
daylight the next morning, and not even then, until
the doctor came to call him to breakfast.

"Well, Harry," said Dr. Blair, after the meal was
over, "you have had a good rest, and, I suppose, are
ready for business this morning."

"Yes, sir," replied the boy, thinking the doctor
referred to some work that he was to do.

"Have you any other clothing in that bundle you
have with you?"

"Yes, sir; that is my Sunday suit."

"Put it on, then, for we must go to the trial."

"The trial, sir," exclaimed Harry. "Have they
caught the murderers? "

"They have caught two men who may turn out to
be the right ones. There is no evidence, as yet, how-
ever, except that they had been seen lurking about
the neighborhood for several days, and one of them
was seen in Calusa on the day preceding the murder.
The teller of the bank where the old man drew the
money noticed a man who looked like a tramp, hang-
ing about the door while the old man was getting his
money, and thinks he can recognize him again.
The strongest evidence, so far, however, appears to
be the desperate efforts which they made to escape
capture when they were found in the woods. The
trial is to take place before the justice at Calusa. It
is probable that you can throw some light upon the
affair. What do you think?"

"I think," said Harry, "that I could recognize the
voice of one of them. It was a peculiar voice, and
made a deep impression on my mind at the time. I
am not certain, though, sir."

"Well, it is worth a trial," said Dr. Blair. "Let
us go."

The town of Calusa was situated about five miles
from the little village near which the doctor lived.
On arriving at the town they found a great crowd
about the justice's office. Everybody appeared to be
excited, and there was much loud talk and some
threats of lynching the prisoners. The people had
already condemned them in their own minds, and it
would have taken little to turn that excited assembly
into a mob.

This impulsive vehemence appears to be almost
characteristic of our western people. Quick in im-
pulse, they decide in their own minds the guilt or in-
nocence of the accused persons, and, too frequently,
arrogate to themselves the prerogatives of judge, jury
and executioner.

Yet I have known men, convicted and sentenced
for the crime of murder, who were pardoned in less
than a year at the earnest petition of the very men
whom nothing but the vigilance and courage of the
officers of the law prevented from summarily execut-
ing them on their first arrest for the crime; and that,
too, before they had even a preliminary examination.
I have seen these same men walk free upon the
streets, and clasp in friendly greeting the hands of
the very men before whom they trembled when noth-
ing intervened between the self-constituted avenger
and his victim but the revolvers of the sheriff and his
assistants. Truly, the passions of man are hard to
understand.

Dr. Blair and Harry passed through the crowd and
entered the room where the trial was to be held, and
where the constables had the prisoners in charge.
These it is unneccessary to describe, as the reader
has already formed their acquaintance.

The justice had just begun the examination when
Dr. Blair and Harry entered.

"What is your name?" he asked of the larger of
the two prisoners.

"Sanford Hines; called Sandy for short," an-
swered the prisoner, with an insolent air, for the
fact that there appeared to be but little evidence
against them had given them courage, and both ap-
peared defiant.

Harry started, and seized the doctor by the arm
when he heard this man speak.

"You recognize the voice?" whispered the doctor.

"I do," answered Harry, in the same tone. "If
the other talks in broken English, they are certainly
the men who committed the crime."

"What is your occupation?" asked the justice.

"I am an iron puddler."

"Where did you work last?"

"At Pittsburg."

"When?"

"Three years ago."

"What have you been doing since? "

"Traveling.**

"Tramping, you mean."

"Well, it's all the same."

A few more questions of the same nature were
asked, and then the justice turned to the other man:

"What is your name?" he asked.

"Toney Bazin," was the reply.

"What do you follow?"

"I haf no trade, sair."

Dr. Blair looked at Harry. The latter nodded.

"How do you earn your living?" continued the
justice.

"I vorks zometimes at ze one ting, zometimes at
ze ozer."

"Sanford Hines and Toney Bazin," said the jus-
tice, "you are charged with the murder and robbery
of one Enoch Cartwright, a farmer of this township,
on the night of July 19th, of this year. What have
you to say to the charge? Are you guilty or not
guilty?"

"Not guilty," said Sandy.

"Not guilty, sair," said the Frenchman.

The witnesses for the prosecution were then called.
Harry told his story in a straightforward way, which
carried with it a conviction of its truth. When the
prisoners heard for the first time that their conversa-
tion had been overheard, they looked at each other
and changed countenance. Sandy glanced hurri-
edly toward the door. Harry's eyes followed the
look, and there, pressing among the crowd, but half
a head above them, stood Black Flynn. The boy
whispered to the doctor, who in turn held a hurried
conversation with the justice in a low tone, but when
they again glanced in that direction the man was
gone.

"He should have been held when he was first ar-
rested," said the doctor. "His presence here proves
that he is in some way connected with these men."

Harry was asked if he recognized the prisoners.

"Only by their voices." was the answer.

"Can you describe those voices?" asked the jus-
tice.

"One was a very deep, hoarse voice," said Harry,
and the other was that of a Frenchman, or some
one who talked broken English."

Sandy turned pale, and grasped the back of his
chair, as if he would crush the wood with his hercu-
lean hand, and the Frenchman set his teeth together
with a vicious snap.

"Were the voices like those of these men?" asked
the justice.

"They were the same voices, I am confident," said
Harry.

The hopeless look that came, for a moment, into
the faces of the two men, was pitiable to see. As
soon, however, as they saw the eyes of the crowd
turned toward them, they tried to shake off their ter-
ror, and again assumed a look of dogged insolence.
The murmurs about the door grew louder, and the
constable had to call for order before the trial could
proceed. The bank teller now gave his evidence.
He thought that he recognized in the Frenchman the
man whom he saw hanging about the bank when the
old man drew his money, but was not quite certain.

The keeper of a hotel in the suburbs of the town
testified that Mr. Cartwright stopped at his house
about sundown, and stated that he was waitin' for a
man with whom he had some business. That, while
the deceased sat in the room, a man came to the
door and looked in. He did not see him fairly, but
thought that the man who called himself Toney Ba-
zin was the person. He might, however, be mis-
taken. Soon after, the gentleman for whom Mr.
Cartwright had been waiting came in, and they were
in close conversation until it was quite late.

This man came forward voluntarily and stated that
his business with Mr. Cartwright was with reference
to the purchase of some property which the latter
owned in the town. He said that when they parted
the deceased had mentioned that he did not like to
ride home alone in the night, as he had a consider-
able amount of money with him.

nightdanger

The toll-gate keeper stated that he was still up
when Mr. Cartwright passed through the gate. It
was quite late — well on toward midnight. He re-
membered that a man had passed through on foot,
perhaps an hour before the deceased, but he did not
notice him. Could not say whether it was one of the
prisoners.

Dr. Blair gave his evidence as to the finding of the
body, corroborating, in part, Harry's story. The ev-
idence before the coroner's jury was also introduced,
but it added little to that now given.

The prisoners were then asked what they had to
say in their defense. They still asserted their inno-
cence, and said that, if time and opportunity were
given them, they would be able to prove an alibi.
As they made no effort in this direction, however,
although every opportunity was offered them, the
justice remanded them to jail, to await the action of
the grand jury, and the court adjourned.

The confusion outside increased, and cries of
"Bring ropes! Let's string them up!" were heard.

The prisoners by this time had lost all their
bravado, and trembled with fear. The justice, how-
ever, whispered a few words to the constables and
then pressed his way through the crowd in the house,
and began to talk to the mob outside. He counseled
prudence and order; told them that the men were
committed to jail; that the grand jury would meet
shortly, and that, no doubt, a true bill would be found
against the murderers, and they would be held for
trial at the next term of court. He assured them
that justice would be done, and begged them, in the
name of law and order and decency, to disperse.

In the meantime the constables had taken the pris-
oners away by another door, opening into an adjoin-
ing apartment, and before the mob were aware of the
state of the case, the tramps were safe in jail, though
still pale and trembling from the effects of their fright.
It was now more than ever necessary that Harry
should remain as a witness, and Dr. Blair entered
into bond for his appearance when wanted, and then
went home, taking Harry with him.

/>

CHAPTER VIII. (89-101)

A PLOT.

Months passed on. The grand jury found a true
bill against the two men for murder in the first degree,
and their trial was to come on in June. Meantime
Harry had become a valued and honored inmate of
the doctor's home. His duties consisted in taking
care of the doctor's horses and performing chores
about the house. He was active and intelligent, and
the more the doctor saw of him the better he liked
him. Dr. Blair's family consisted of his wife and a
daughter, a year younger than Harry.

Mrs. Blair treated Harry like a son, and her
daughter treated him like a brother. One day,
toward the last of May, Dr. Blair said to Harry:

"In two weeks the trial comes on. Have you
thought of what you will do when it is over?"

"I have not," replied the boy.

"I suppose," continued the doctor, "that you will
be for tramping again?"

"I shall never be a tramp," replied Harry. "If
you can not give me employment after the trial I
shall seek for it elsewhere, and find it as soon as
possible."

"Would you like to remain here?"

"Above all things, if you can give me work."

"I have been thinking, Harry," said Dr. Blair,
"that you are capable of better things than you
have been doing."

"Do not think me vain, sir," replied the boy,
"when I say that I have felt so myself, and I intend
in time to attempt better things."

"Why not now, Harry?"

"Show me the chance," answered the boy, "and
all that one of my age and limited attainments can
do, I will do."

"What have you thought of — a profession?"

"Perhaps so, in time, sir; but now all I desire is
some place to earn my living, while I watch for the
opportunity to better my condition."

"Watching will not do it, my boy," said the doc-
tor. "It is action that wins success."

" Oh! sir; you are so kind, so wise, show me how
to act."

"That I will, my boy, I will not hesitate to tell you
that I believe in your earnestness of purpose in this
thing. I like you. I have watched you closely since
you have been with me, and I think you have in you
that which, properly developed, will make you a use-
ful member of society. If you desire to stay with me
for the present, you can do so. I will give you a
chance to earn your living, since you have a very
proper pride in that direction. In the meantime you
can have access to my library. Read, my boy, read
and think. You need not read medicine. You are
not prepared for that yet, even though you should
choose to follow my profession. But read history;
read biography; read the works of the great think-
ers, and you will find that your inclination and talent
will soon shape your course for you. In September
our academy opens again; you shall attend school
and if you are what I think you, Harry, I will find
that my help has not been thrown away."

"Oh, sir," cried Harry, "how can I thank you?
It has been the dream of my life to have such a chance.
When I lived with Mr. Shannon he sent me to school
three months in the year. I have no doubt that it
was all he could do. It was all that I could expect.
But the time was so short, and I was always looking
forward with dread to the time when school would
close. Mr. Shannon had no books, and out of school
it was nothing but drudge and drudge from morning
till night, with no chance of learning."

"You are wrong, my boy," said Dr. Blair. " Ed-
ucation is not all contained in books. Even in drudg-
ing, as you call it, there are many opportunities of
improving the mind; and the intelligent, thinking per-
son will soon rise above drudgery. Remember, boy,
that there is no disgrace in any kind of honest labor.
The disgrace is in neglecting opportunities to fit your-
self for a higher and more useful life. There are al-
ways enough of those who will not or can not, do
better, to fill the station of 'drudges,' as you call
them. Do you fit yourself for something else."

"I will do so," said Harry, his heart swelling and
his eyes flashing. "Only give me a chance."

"I will give you the start, boy; you must make your
own chances," said the doctor.

So it was settled. Harry was to remain an inmate
of Dr. Blair's family, paying for his board, as he had
been doing, by his labor, and to attend school in the
village. The doctor informed his wife and daughter
of this arrangement. Mrs. Blair spoke kindly and
encouragingly to the boy, and little Carrie, the doc-
tor's fair-haired, blue-eyed daughter, came and took
him by the hand and looked trustingly up into his face,
and said:

"I am so glad. Now you will be my brother, will
you not?"

"Yes, Carrie," said Harry, "I will be your
brother," and he turned away and stole to his
room with his heart full of gratitude and his eyes
swimming in tears.

The first thing the kind-hearted Mrs. Blair did was
to provide the boy with suitable clothes.

"You can pay me" she said laughing, "out of the
first money you earn in your new profession. So
don't be proud, Harry, and wound me by refusing
them."

Harry accepted. Somehow, it did not seem like
receiving charity to accept things from this kind-
hearted family. In his new, neatly fitting suit he
looked quite like a gentleman's son, and he felt all
the more satisfaction that his appearance would now
do no discredit to the kind doctor's family. Dr.
Blair, besides practicing his profession, was a farmer
in a small way; or, rather, he owned a small farm
on which his residence stood, and he superintended
its culture. The work was principally done by a
man who lived in another house on the place, but
during the busy season he sometimes hired extra
help. One day he announced that he had hired a
young man to assist Mr. Gwin, the man before al-
luded to, and that he would be an inmate of their
home for a few weeks. That evening this man ate at
the doctor's table, and Harry saw him for the first
time. He did not like his looks. He was about
twenty-two or twenty-three years of age, rather short
in stature and heavy set, with small, uneasy looking
eyes and a low, receding forehead. During the meal
Harry found that this man, who had given his name
as Perry Blake, was watching him narrowly at every
opportunity, when he thought himself unobserved,
but when the boy looked him squarely in the face
the man's eyes fell and he seemed confused. All
this impressed Harry unfavorably, yet he thought
that perhaps it was nothing more than awkwardness
or bashfulness, and tried to dismiss the subject from
his mind. After the meal was over and this man had
gone to his work about the barn, Mrs. Blair asked
her husband where he had found him. The doctor
confessed that he knew nothing about him. That he
came to him to solicit work, and Mr. Gwin happen-
ing to be in need of help at that time, he had employed
him.

"There is something in his appearance that I do
not like," said Mrs. Blair.

"Well, I can 't say that he is very prepossessing,"
said the doctor, laughing; "but good looks are not
absolutely essential to a farm hand, and so I suppose
we must forgive his lack of beauty if he performs his
work well, and time will decide that."

"Did you notice his eyes, mamma?" asked Carrie.
"He can't look you in the face."

"Oh ho! that's it, is it?" laughed the doctor.
"So my young lady prefers to be stared at, and be-
cause this poor fellow fails to pay her the homage she
expects, she does not like him. Is that it, puss?"

"Now pa, you know it isn't," said the young lady
decidedly. "I don't care, he looks just like the
tramps who come begging at the kitchen door. Be-
sides, I was not thinking of myself at all. I referred
to Harry. I saw the fellow look at him slyly from
under his lids, but when Harry looked at him his
eyes fell, and he could not look up. I don't like
him."

"And what do you think of him, Harry," asked
the doctor.

"I don't know," replied the boy, "perhaps he is
only bashful."

"Yes, that's it," replied Dr. Blair. "But this is
giving a great deal of importance to a very small
subject. Of course he is not here as an associate,
only as a farm hand. He can occupy the little room
at the end of the hall, beyond Harry's, and he will
not interfere with the peculiar tastes of these ladies,
I assure you." So he dismissed the subject.

But the doctor's wife and daughter were right.
There was something wrong, and if they could only
have understood it at once what trouble and sorrow
they all might have avoided.

Perry Blake performed his work well, and gave no
cause of complaint, and the prejudices against him
died out as the days passed on and they became
familiar with his presence about the house. Two or
three times he was absent all night, but as he stated
that he had been stopping with a friend at Calusa,
nothing was thought of the matter. Once Harry-
saw him in conversation with a man near the barn,
and, as he approached, the stranger walked rapidly
away. There was something in the movements
and general appearance of this man which seemed
familiar to the boy, but as it was in the dusk of the
evening he could not be certain; but he thought
to himself "that looks like Black Flynn." When,
however, he asked Blake who it was, the latter
replied that it was a friend from Calusa, and Harry-
did not pursue the subject.

Thus matters remained for two weeks. It lacked
but three days of the trial. In the evening the doc-
tor asked Harry to ride to Calusa and get his watch,
which he had left there with the watchmaker to be
repaired. He gave him an order for the watch, and
with a light heart the boy rode away. As he passed
the front of the house Mrs. Blair and Carrie were
standing on the porch. The doctor's wife nodded
kindly to him, and the daughter waved her handker-
chief gayly after him. Harry looked back at the
turn of the lane and raised his hat.

"Isn't he handsome?" said Carrie, with childish
unconsciousness.

"Do you think so?" said Mrs. Blair, looking at
her daughter with a smile.

"And honest, and brave, and good?" continued
the girl, not noticing her mother's smile.

"Take care, Carrie," said Mrs. Blair. "Young
ladies of your age must not think too much of brave
and handsome young gentlemen of seventeen."

"Pshaw! mamma," said the girl with a blush,
"isn't he my brother, or the same as a brother?"

"And yet, Carrie, you must remember the circum-
stances under which he came here, and that we have
not known him quite a year."

"What of that?" said the girl with some show of
spirit. "Don't we know that he is kind, and honest,
and true. You know he is."

"I hope so," replied the mother. "Indeed, I am
fully convinced of it. Poor boy, he has had a hard
life."

"But that is all over now," said Carrie; "since
papa has taken the matter in hand, I know that he
will become a great and good man."

"I hope so," said Mrs. Blair, thoughtfully.

"He is not like other boys of the village," con-
tinued the girl, gazing dreamily down the road where
the subject of this conversation had disappeared from
sight. "They are horrid teases, rough as bears, and
so rude. He has never said an unkind word since he
has been here. He is always patient, no matter how
much I tease him, always kind and ready to help me
with my flowers, and you know, mamma, he under-
stands nearly as much as I do about music, although
he told me that he never saw a piano until he came
here, and did not know one note of music from an-
other."

"He has certainly been a very apt pupil, and I fear
you are a very partial teacher. Be careful, Carrie,
that your interest in this boy does not grow into
something more than mere sisterly affection," said
Mrs. Blair, as she looked kindly down into her daugh-
ter's face for a moment, and then, turning, entered
the house.

Carrie was startled at her mother's words, and
although scarcely understanding them, she blushed
and sighed as she looked down the road over which
hung a thin cloud of dust, marking the way he had
gone.

roaddustanimalairvision

But while this conversation was going on between
mother and daughter, another scene was enacting in
a different part of the house, which was destined to
materially change the status of things at the doctor's
home.

Perry Blake heard the doctor give Harry directions
about getting the watch, and had they been noticing
him then, they would have seen a change come into
those uncertain looking eyes. They appeared to
fairly dance with delight. He was evidently pleased
from some cause. He stole away from the house and
went to the barn. Here he remained until he saw
Harry ride down the lane. The doctor had gone to
see Mr. Gwin, and the other occupants of the house
were standing on the porch, as we have said. Perry
Blake entered the house through the kitchen and
passed up stairs, as if to go to his room. But he
did not go so far. He stopped in front of Harry's
door. He listened. He could hear the voices of
Mrs. Blair and her daughter in conversation, and he
knew that he would not be disturbed in the work
he had now on hand. He entered the room. Harry's
clothes, the suit he had brought in his bundle to the
doctor's house, were hanging in a little closet. These
he made into a bundle, which he tied up in a handker-
chief, and, concealing it under his coat, stole softly
down the stairs. As he passed through the sitting
room he saw a valuable bracelet lying on a table.
He snatched it up and thrust it into his pocket, then
passing out of the house as he had entered it, he
went to the barn again and concealed his plunder
among some barrels in the granary, and proceeded
with his evening's work as if nothing had happened,
and when Dr. Blair returned there was no indication
that anything was wrong. But as soon as the doctor
entered the house, Blake stole away and walked rap-
idly in the direction of the great swamp before men-
tioned, taking his stolen goods with him. In little
more than half an hour's hard walking and running
he was there. There were but few of the tramps on
the island, but among those present was Black Flynn.
Although most of the tramps from this neighborhood
had gone east, as intimated in a previous chapter,
Flynn had remained, and many of his gang had re-
turned, the anticipated strike having proved a fail-
ure. Perry Blake held a hurried conversation with
Flynn, who in turn spoke a few rapid words to three
of his companions, and they at once left the island
by means of the bridge of fallen trees. After they
had departed, Flynn said:

"Now, Shorty, you must go back at once."

"What for?" asked Blake, or Shorty, as he had
been called. "Isn't my work done? I'm tired of
this thing. Here I've been mor'n two weeks, a workin'
like a nigger, while you fellers have been havin' a good
time loafin' round here. I tell you the thing's about
played."

"But you must go back until after the trial," said
Flynn. "If they miss you they will be sure to sus-
pect. Did you bring the boy's clothes?"

"Yes."

"Anything else?"

"Yes, this 'ere" said Blake, displaying the brace-
let.

"Well, keep it. It will pay you well for all this
work, I should think. But go at once, and be in bed
at your usual time. Keep your mouth shut, and
pretend to know nothing whatever about it, and the
thing will work out all right."

The man muttered something to himself, but made
no audible reply.

"By the way, do you think the boy will get back
to the woods before night?" asked Flynn, as Perry
started away.

"He can if he wants to," was the answer.

"Well, it doesn't matter much. The road is lonely
and there is not a house within a mile. It will be safe
enough," said Flynn. "Be on the watch, and bring
me word when you think there is anything I should
know. Always come in the night, if possible and
be careful."

road

Blake returned as he was bidden, and was at the
doctor's house again before he was missed.

/>

CHAPTER IX. (102-114)

IN THE HANDS OF THE TRAMPS.

In the meantime Harry had arrived at Calusa. He
called at the watchmaker's and presented his order,
but there were still some slight repairs unfinished and
he was forced to wait. It was sundown before he
got the watch. It was a valuable gold one, and the
watchmaker carefully inspected the signature to the
order, comparing it with some other writing which
he took from a drawer, before he gave it up, and
even then he looked sharply at Harry as if he sus-
pected all was not right. The boy observed all these
motions, and, interpreting them aright, he blushed,
half with anger, half with shame, at the suspicion
they hinted. The man was apparently satisfied at
last, and Harry left the shop. Twilight was coming
rapidly on, and he had five miles to go over a some-
what lonely road before he reached home. He
mounted his horse and rode rapidly away, fearing
that darkness would overtake him on the road. Nor
were his fears ungrounded. It was dark before he
had traversed half the distance. It was not danger
that he dreaded, however, but the inconvenience of
traveling in the dark. While entering a long, gloomy
strip of woods, about three miles from home, he
thought he saw the shadow of a man flit across the
road before him. Instinctively he drew the rein, but
then, laughing at himself for his sudden fear, he con-
tinued on his way. Just as he had reached the thick-
est and darkest part of the wood three men sprang
into the road at his side. One of them grasped the
horse by the bit while the other two seized Harry
and dragged him to the ground. Before he had time
to collect his wits enough to cry out, he was securely
bound and gagged. Then the men spoke for the first
time.

roadnightanimalspeedaffect

"Take the horse on to the first field and turn him
in," said one. "If he goes home without the boy
they will begin the search for him at once."

"Why not tie the boy on the horse and lead him
with us?" asked another.

"Don't be a fool!" said the first speaker. "We'd
have to keep the road if we led the horse, and I'm
not goin' to risk meetin' anybody. We must carry
the kid across the fields to the big swamp."

roadanimal

One of the men took the horse and turned him
into the nearest field, and on his return they seized
Harry and carried him away through the woods.

The boy tried to cry out, but he was too securely
gagged. An oval piece of wood had been forced into
his mouth, distending his jaws in a painful manner,
and was tied by a cord running back of his head so
tightly as to make his mouth bleed. The men took
turns in carrying the boy. Sometimes one would
throw him across his shoulder like a bag of grain and
carry him in that painful position for a time, and some-
times two of them would take him, one at his head
and one at his feet. Thus they went on across fields,
over fences, through woods, for what appeared to
Harry an age of agony. At last they entered a large
wood, and pressing their way through the thick under-
brush for a time, they came to the edge of a large
swamp. This they entered, walking on fallen trees
and projecting roots, until they reached the island
already described. Harry, who luckily had the use
of his eyes, as far as they could serve him in the
darkness, now saw the light of a fire shining through
the trees, and heard the sound of voices. In a few
minutes his captors bore him to the light, where he
beheld ten or fifteen tramps collected about the fire,
making such a scene as that described in a preceding
chapter. The tramps all ceased their occupation of
cooking and eating when those who bore Harry ap-
proached, and one of them came forward to meet
them.

"So" he said, "you've caught the young imp?"

"Yes," replied one of the new-comers. "It was
all cut and dried to our hand. Shorty told us he was
to go to town, and Black Flynn sent us to nab him
as he came back."

"Why didn't you blindfold him before
you brought him here?"

"Didn't think of it," replied the man. "But that
makes no difference. He'll not leave this camp till
we do."

"Still you ought to have tied the young chap's
eyes," replied the tramp. "Take the gag out of his
mouth."

One of the men removed the gag.

"Now, you young rascal, what do you think of
that?" asked the tramp, who was known among his
fellows as "Limpy Jim," and in whom Harry thought
he recognized the actor of the wooden-leg farce he
had seen played nearly a year before.

"I do not know what to think," he replied, pain-
fully, for his jaws had been distended so long that
he could scarcely talk. "What have I done that you
should treat me in this way?"

"What've you done?" said Jim. "I'll tell you
what you've done. You've tried to stretch two of
our friends. That's what you've done. But it's all
right now. They'll get no chinning out of you at
the trial now, don't you forget."

Harry understood it all now. He had been kid-
napped to prevent his appearance at the trial, which
was shortly to come on. Without his evidence the
prisoners would go free. Why had he not thought
of this in time, and been on his guard? But it was
too late now.

"Search him," said Limpy Jim, who seemed to
be a kind of leader among them. Busy hands soon
emptied his pockets.

"Hello!" cried one, "Here's a ticker. Gold, too,
by! " he continued, as he held up the watch to
the light."

It was the doctor's watch. In the excitement and
pain consequent upon his capture and abduction,
Harry had forgotten all about it.

"Oh, sir," he cried, "do not take that from me.
It is not mine. It belongs to Doctor Blair. Keep
me, sir, until after the trial if you wish, but send the
doctor his watch. He'll think I stole it and ran
away." And upon this view of the subject, which
just that instant occurred to him, he burst into tears.
The tramp laughed.

"That's just what we want," he said. "Let the
doctor think the young cub has sloped with his
watch, and they'll not look for him here, and they'll
not suspect us, neither."

"Will you not return it?" asked Harry.

"Not much. Do you think we're all fools?" said
Limpy Jim.

"Oh, sir," pleaded the boy, "do not ruin me.
Doctor Blair has given me a home. He has treated
me like his own son. He has promised to send me
to school, and give me a chance to rise in the world.
Do have pity on me, and do not blight all my pros-
pects just as they were so bright."

The only reply he received was a loud taunting
laugh in which all the tramps joined. When Harry
found that his petition was received with jeers, his
heart swelled with indignation, and, struggling to his
feet as best he could in his pinioned condition, he
raised his head, shook the tears from his eyes and
looked proudly and defiantly at his tormenters.

"You have the forms of men," he cried, "and yet
you are not men; you have not the kindness and
courtesy of brutes; you are a set of contemptible
cowards. Twenty of you capturing and torturing
one poor boy. Yet, I tell you what, boy as I am, I
will be even with you yet. My whole heart was set
on the bright career which this morning seemed to
open before me, and now by your cruel act you have
blighted it all. Do your worst, you cowardly dogs,
but, mark my words, I'll yet live to see some of you
hanged."

During this tirade the tramps had gradually pressed
about him, and Limpy Jim raised his arm to strike
the boy to the earth. But the blow did not fall. A
voice behind them cried out sharply:

"Hold on! Drop that!" and Black Flynn strode
into the circle. The tramps fell back.

"What does all this mean?" said Flynn, looking-
around upon the crowd. "I ordered you to capture
this boy and keep him until after the trial, but I da
not intend that he shall be abused. He has done
you no harm."

"No harm!" said he who was called Limpy Jim.
"Haint he put two of our best men in limbo, and if
he gets a chance won't he stretch their necks?"

"Well, keep him away from the trial, but don't
blame him. Let Sandy and Toney blame themselves.
Why did they turn our fraternity into a nest of high-
waymen and murderers? You all know that the
shedding of blood is forbidden us. We live off of
the country, for it is ours, but human life must be
held sacred, except in self-defense. Give me that
watch!" The tramp obeyed.

roaddeath

"Now, boy, I will keep this until after the trial;
then, if you will do as I wish, you can have it to re-
turn to the doctor."

"I will do anything consistent with honor to get
it back," replied Harry.

"Well, we'll talk of that another time," said Flynn.

Harry was now unbound, but closely watched.
The tramps renewed their occupation of getting sup-
per, and the boy beheld such a scene as has already
been described. He came to the conclusion that the
tramps were not such objects of pity as some people
supposed. Few of the farmers in the vicinity lived
as well as they did. Black Flynn brought Harry
some slices of broiled pork and some bread and but-
ter, but the boy could not eat. When their supper
was finished the tramps began to enjoy themselves
after their usual fashion. Stories were told and songs
sung, all more or less of what might be called a
"flash" order, until, at last, some one called for a
song from Black Flynn. The call was taken up and
repeated by all the tramps, until Flynn yielded to
their demand, and, without comment, sang in a clear,
musical voice the following:

SONG OF THE TRAMP.

Oh! jolly and free is the life of the tramp,

As he roams over valley and hill;
The sun is his fire and the moon is his lamp,

And 'tis nature that settles the bill

And he drinks at the fountain and rill;

For he comes and he goes at his will.
And under the hedges he hides from the damp.

When the winds of the evening are chill.


And when he grows hungry he's only to call.

And his food is prepared to his hand.
The fields and the gardens, the orchards and all.

Are awaiting his slightest demand;

For 'tis he that possesses the land,

And his tenants obey his command;
And the fullness of summer, the richness of fall.

Drop into his suppliant hand.

He lives at his ease, and he feasts like a lord,

And never a cent does he pay,
For fools will work on, and their labors afford

The means for his pleasure and play.

Then let them go toiling away.

In the dust and the heat of the day —
The tramp can lie down to his rest on the sward

While the farmer grows weary and gray.

Oh! where is the use to toil on till the cramp

Of old age have distorted the frame;
Till death in his mercy just puffs out the lamp

As he pities the wavering flame?

Then pride in its folly may blame,

And slaves wear a blush at the shame;
For me I will live, and I'll die like a tramp.

And be proud to acknowledge the name.

After the applause following this song had died
away the tramps disposed themselves, each after his
fashion, for sleep. Black Flynn, however, still sat
with Harry, a little way apart from the crowd.

"What do you think of tramp life now?" he said
to the boy. "Are they not well fed? Do they not
live like kings?"

"They certainly appear to have plenty to eat"
replied Harry, "and yet when they come begging for
food they look so hungry and forlorn it is almost
impossible to refuse them."

"A trick of the trade, my boy," said Flynn. "All
trades have their tricks. See the unctuous, oily
tradesman, rubbing his hands, bowing and smiling
to trap you with his wares. See the lordly banker
with his look of mighty importance and dignity as if
the weight of the financial world was on his shoul-
ders and its wealth in his coffers. A trick, my boy,
to cheat you of your confidence and rob you of your
money. See the wily politician with his bland smile
and hearty grasp of the hand, inquiring after your
family, whom he would not know from the children
of Israel, and pretending to interest himself in your
welfare when, perhaps, he does not even know your
occupation. A trick of his trade to gull the unwary
and secure votes. And even the saintly priest puts
on a heavenly smile to hide his sensual nature from
the innocent lambs of his flock whom he intends to-
make his prey. All, all tricks of trade, my boy."

"But this trade of yours is a terrible one," said
Harry, "judging from what I have already seen of it.
It deals in blood."

"No, no!" said Flynn quickly. "That has noth-
ing to do with it. There are not half the men who
belong to the fraternity of tramps who know the ob-
ject of our organization."

"Have you a regular organization?" asked Harry.
"Yes; regularly, organized and officered," an-
swered Flynn.

"Are you its chief?"

"No, only one of them."

"Yet these men obey you as if they feared you?"

"They dare not disobey. The whole thing is a
mystery to them, yet they know that should they
rebel against authority, it would not be a week before
they would be arrested for their crimes, and end their
lives in the penitentiary or on the scaffold."

"But you spoke of the object of your association.
I do not fully understand it. What is it?"

"That I can not reveal further than I have already
done" replied Flynn. "But when the proper time
comes, when we are strong enough, then the world
will know. This much I can tell you. It is not high-
way robbery and murder."

roaddeath

"Is it revolution?"

"That is nearer it. But I can not tell you more
until you determine to join us."

roaddust

"That will never be," said Harry firmly.

"We will see," replied Black Flynn.

"But if you do not countenance robbery and mur-
der, why do you allow such men in your associa-
tion?" asked Harry.

"They will be of use when the time comes."

"What! to murder?"

"No, no! But I can not tell you more. See, they
are looking this way. And now one word about
yourself. If I will vouch for you to these men, will
you give me your word that you will not try to es-
cape for three days?"

"No, I will not," replied Harry promptly. "I
shall certainly escape if I can."

"Well, so be it," answered Flynn. "But let me
tell you one thing, I have promised to release you at
the end of that time and to return to you the doctor's
watch."

"Yes."

"Well, if you escape I will keep the watch; that's
all." And he rose and walked away.

Harry soon found that three of the tramps were to
remain awake as a guard over him. If he had in-
dulged any hope of escape during the night he gave
it up. He lay down and tried to form his plans for
future action, but his mind ran less upon his own sit-
uation than upon the strange being into whose hands
he had fallen. This man was certainly an anomaly.
A tramp who taught philosophy; a thief who talked
of honesty; a scholar who herded with the lowest
and most ignorant class of humanity. The more he
thought the firmer he became in his conclusion that
the tramp was a bad, dangerous man, who had only
presented to him the less odious side of his character;
that his pretended friendship was for the purpose of
winning his confidence in order to bind him to him-
self by some act which would make him an outlaw.
Why Flynn was so anxious to secure him as a fol-
lower he could not fully understand. The reason as-
signed on a previous occasion did not satisfy him; but
he would be on his guard and avoid all the traps that
might be set for him. Firm in his purpose to resist
all the threats, blandishments and temptations of his
would-be associate he felt strong enough to defy him
and his companions in vagrancy and crime. He fell
asleep at last, reiterating to himself the resolution he
had formed. But he was in the hands of a wily foe
who was fully determined to bend him to his will.
How he succeeded those who pursue this narrative
will see.

/>

CHAPTER X. (115-133)

 

THE SEARCH FOR THE BOY.

In the meantime, how was it at the doctor's home?
Night came, and Harry was still absent. Dr. Blair
sat down to read and await his return. Bed time
came and no Harry. Mrs. Blair and Carrie retired,
and the doctor read on and on, and waited. Ten
o'clock! Eleven! Midnight! He threw down his
book with a start, and went to the door to listen.
No sound save the chirping of the crickets in the
meadow, or the hooting of an owl in the distant
wood.

"Wife," he called, "I am uneasy about that boy.
I must go and see what has happened."

Mrs. Blair tried to dissuade the doctor from his
purpose, but his anxiety was too great to permit him
to remain idle in this suspense, and, calling to Perry
Blake, he bade him saddle a horse and bring it to the
door. This the man did, grumbling at being dis-
turbed, and muttering to himself as he saw the doc-
tor ride away:

animal

"It'll not be long till I'll stop all this workin' and
slavin' and gettin' up in the night. I wish. Black
Flynn had to try it awhile hisself, and see how he'd
like it. ril not git into another sich a scrape soon,
you bet."

So, grumbling, he ascended to his room, and, lis-
tening from the window he heard the sound of the
horse's feet clattering far up the road, as the doctor
rode away in the night.

soundroadanimalnight

"He'll not find the boy, that's certain," he said
with a chuckle, as he crawled to bed. "He's at the
camp long afore this. I wish I was there, too."

Dr. Blair rode on, stopping every now and then to
listen; but he heard no sound of hoofs, save those
made by his own horse. He had ridden more than
half way to town without making any discovery, and
was debating in his mind whether he should proceed
to Calusa or return home and wait till morning, when
he heard the whinny of a horse at the road-side, and
thought he recognized the sound. His horse evi-
dently did recognize it, for he answered loudly and
eagerly. The doctor rode to the fence and found on
the inside of the field the horse that Harry had rid-
den, saddled and bridled as if its rider had just dis-
mounted. He was now thoroughly alarmed, and
called loudly on the boy by name, but there was no
answer, save the scream of a startled screech-owl
from the wood behind him He rode the entire length
of the fence, followed by the horse upon the inside,
and found at the corner a place where the rails evi-
dently had been thrown down and carelessly
replaced. Here was where Harry's horse had been
turned into the field. The doctor dismounted to ex-
amine the ground, but it was impossible to distin-
guish tracks by the pale light of the stars, which had
served him for his other discoveries. His first sus-
picion was that Harry had absconded with the watch.
"No," he said, after a moment's thought, "if he
had intended to run away he would have ridden off
on the horse. Even if he did not wish to steal the
animal, he would have taken that opportunity to get
as far away as possible while it was yet dark, and
would have turned the horse loose in the morning.
Some accident has befallen him. I will go on." He
remounted, and leaving the horse Harry had ridden
still in the field, rode toward the town, looking care-
fully in the road, as well as the darkness would per-
mit, expecting every minute to find the boy lying
helpless where he had been thrown. But he arrived
at Calusa without making any further discoveries, and
went directly to the watch-maker's. Arousing this
min, with some difficulty, he learned that Harry had
been there and taken the watch away.

road sideanimalsoundaccidentnightvisibilityroad

"It was all right, wasn't it?" asked the man anx-
iously.

"Yes, yes," replied Dr. Blair. "I sent him for it,
but he has not returned. I found the horse he rode,
in a field about half way home, but have seen nothing
of the boy."

"Are you sure he is honest?" asked the man.

"Sure? Yes. At least I believe so," was the re-
ply. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, I didn't know," said the watch-maker. "I
looked quite sharply at him, for I did not like to trust
so valuable a watch to a stranger, and he blushed and
looked queer, I thought, but I hope it's all right."

"Yes, I hope so," said the doctor, as he turned
and rode toward home.

Dr. Blair was in a study. At times he felt that he
could risk his life on Harry's honesty, and at others,
doubts would steal into his mind in spite of himself.
It was nearly morning when he reached home, no
wiser as to the fate of the boy than when he set out.
He did not go to bed. He told his wife of the dis-
covery he had made, and expressed a determination
to continue the search as soon as it was light enough
to do so with certainty.

Dr. Blair's household was astir at dawn. Suspi-
cion, having once gained a place in the doctor's mind,
kept growing until he began to pursuade himself that
Harry had deceived him. His first act in the morn-
ing was to visit the boy's room. His next to
look in the little closet where he kept his clothes.
They were gone. The doctor's suspicion had created
doubts in the mind of Mrs. Blair, and she also began
an investigation. She now remembered her careless-
ness in leaving the bracelet upon the table. She had
not thought of it the evening before, but now she en-
tered the room with a trembling step, dreading to have
her fears confirmed. It was gone. She sat down
and, burying her face in her hands, she sobbed aloud.
It was not the loss of the bauble. Willingly would
she have sacrificed a hundred such to know that
the boy, whom she had learned to love as a son,
was innocent. But this confirmation of the dreadful
suspicion almost broke her heart. "Poor boy, poor
boy!" she sobbed. "Why did we throw these
temptations in his way?" Dr. Blair and Carrie en-
tered the room at the same time.

"Well?" said Mrs. Blair, looking up through her
tears.

"His clothes are gone," said the doctor.

"And a valuable bracelet which I carelessly left
lying on the table last evening is also gone," said
Mrs. Blair.

"He is a thief," said the doctor, angrily.

Carrie had been standing in the center of the room
gazing from one to the other of her parents with a
frightened look. But when the doctor uttered the
last words her eyes blazed and her cheeks flushed
with indignation.

"He is not a thief, " she cried. "He is true as
steel!" And she flashed a look of defiance about
her like a beautiful little tigress at bay.

Dr. Blair and his wife looked at her with astonish-
ment. It was not so much the words as the manner
of the girl which struck them with sudden wonder.
Her manner had always been mild and her words
gentle; but now she seemed half a head taller in her
attitude of defiance, her eyes flashing with anger, her
head thrown forward and her neck curved, as she
stood like a beautiful snake ready to strike.

Mrs. Blair buried her face in her hands again and
the doctor turned away with a sigh. It was to him
a revelation — terrible now that the boy he had loved
and trusted had so cruelly deceived him. Then in-
dignation overcame his grief, and, turning to his
daughter, he said:

"Carrie, you forget yourself. You must look at
this thing in its true light. We have all acted very
foolishly. We took this boy into our home, know-
ing nothing of his antecedents further than he saw fit
to reveal them to us. He came to us a tramp, and
we trusted him like a son and brother. Now, when
it is too late, we see the result of our mistaken char-
ity. A temptation, terrible no doubt to him, has
overcome his new-born resolutions of honesty — for I
can not doubt that he was at times sincere — and he
has gone back to his old occupation, betraying our
confidence and wounding our hearts. However much
it may give us pain, Carrie, we must not close our
eyes to the truth. He is a thief."

"He is not," cried Carrie. "If there is a thief
about this house, there he goes, sneaking away from
that door, where he has been listening to us."

Dr. Blair turned quickly, and caught a glimpse of
Perry Blake as he disappeared in the hall.

"I tell you if the bracelet is stolen he is the thief,"
she continued, fiercely.

"But the watch? His clothes?" said the doctor.

"I don't care," cried the girl. "Poor Harry is not
a thief, and some day you will be sorry for turning
against him at the first sign of suspicion. If you
want to find the thief, watch Perry Blake."

"But, Carrie, Perry Blake couldn't take the
watch," said the doctor.

The girl was silent.

"Come, Carrie," said Mrs. Blair, now advancing
to the side of her daughter. "Let us reserve our
opinion until this thing is investigated farther. Time
will tell who is right. God grant that he be, as you
say, true as steel." She put her arm tenderly about
the waist of her child, and led her sobbing from the
room.

After a hurried breakfast, at which Carrie did not
appear, Dr. Blair again set off for town. This time
he rode rapidly at once to the field in which he had
found the horse. From this point he began a careful
examination. Luckily no vehicle had yet passed to
obliterate any tracks that might have been left in the
dust. On reaching the gap in the fence, he found the
tracks of a man leaving the road and returning to it
again. Whoever had turned the horse into the field
it was evidently not Harry, for the tracks were much
larger than his. From here he traced the man back-
wards to the center of the wood, where he saw un-
mistakable signs of a struggle, and the print where
some one had lain in the dust. These marks, it is
true, were partially obliterated by the tracks of his
own horse the night before, yet enough remained to
convince him that some one had fallen in the road at
this point. He was filled with anxiety for the boy,
and forgetting his suspicions, he rode at a gallop
toward the town.

roaddustspeedanimalaffect

His first call here was made on Mr. Rickard, the
constable, to whom he stated the case and related his
discoveries. Mr. Rickard was somewhat of a detect-
ive in his way, and as soon as he learned the state of
things he cried :

"I see it all. It's as plain as the nose on a man's
face."

"Well, what do you make of it?" asked the doctor,
"They have carried him away to prevent him from
appearing at the trial."

"Carried him away? Who?"

"Why, the tramps," replied the constable. "My
dear sir, I have had dealings enough with that gentry
to know that they hang together like other thieves.
You will find in the end that this is the true state of
the case."

"Well, what is to be done?" asked the doctor.

"That I can not tell until I have looked over the
ground," answered the constable. "I will be ready
in twenty minutes."

In less than half an hour the men were on the
road. When they reached the scene of the struggle,
the constable dismounted and examined the ground.
He traced the man to where the horse had been
turned into the field and back again, pointed out to
the doctor where Harry's captors had entered the
wood, and, by careful watching, was enabled to trace
the tracks for a little distance, but the ground was
dry and hard, and the marks soon became indistinct,
and they were compelled to give up the search.

"I will go home with you," said Mr. Rickard,
"and perhaps we can find some clue there."

On the way he questioned Dr. Blair about the in-
mates of his house.

"Besides my own family, there are three inmates,"
said the doctor, "or, rather, there were three," he
added, "before the disappearance of this boy. There
now remain a servant girl and a man named Perry
Blake, who assists on the farm."

"Who is this Perry Blake?"

"I know nothing of him, except that he came to
me for work, and as I happened to need help at the
time, I engaged him."

"Does he have access to the room from which the
bracelet was taken?"

"He could enter it if he wished."

"Could he enter the boy's room?"

"He could."

"Was he at home last night?"

roaddust

"Yes."

"Had he any opportunity to be absent for a time
without your knowing it?"

"I think not for any great length of time."

"Still he might have had a confederate."

"True; I had not thought of that."

"Well, I must see this man."

"Nothing will be easier," replied the doctor. "Re-
main at my house for dinner. He will doubtless be
at the table, and you can observe him at your leisure."

When they arrived at the doctor's house Perry
Blake was at work in the fields. Mr. Rickard exam-
ined the premises and carefully inspected Blake's
room, but found nothing suspicious.

"I didn't expect it. If he has taken the bracelet
he has hidden it securely before this time," he said,
as he returned to the room where Mrs. Blair and
Carrie were sitting.

"You talk as if you thought he was the guilty
party," said the doctor.

"Well, I do think so," said Mr. Rickard bluntly.

Mrs. Blair looked startled, while Carrie's face fairly
blazed with triumphant delight, and she flashed upon
him a look full of gratitude.

"But how do you account for the boy's clothes be-
ing missing?" asked the doctor.

"The easiest thing in the world," said Mr. Rickard.
"That is just the very thing they would do. Don't
you see that if the clothes are missing, and he is miss-
ing, without further light on the affair, the natural in-
ference would be that they disappeared together? I
tell you I see it all. It is a very commonplace plot.
Now let us see how this thing stands. Here is a boy,
who must be got rid of before the trial comes on.
The parties concerned contrive to get a man whom
they control introduced here to give them informa-
tion of the boy's coming and going. This journey to
Calusa is made known to his confederates, and the
plot is hastily laid. The boy's clothing is taken to
lead you to think that he has run away. He is way-
laid upon the road and carried off to some place of
concealment, and your watch goes with him, to still
further increase your suspicion. Do you see it now?"

"It looks reasonable," said the doctor. "But the
bracelet?"

"That, no doubt, was an after-thought,"said the
constable. "The man who stole the clothes saw the
bracelet as he passed the open door, and appropriated
it on his own account."

"But why does he still remain here if he is the
thief, as you suspect?"

"To turn suspicion upon the boy. Suppose that
this man had also disappeared? Would not your sus-
picions naturally have fallen upon him?"

"True!" replied the doctor. "You have con-
vinced me. This man shall be arrested at once."

"Not so fast," answered the constable. "Remem-
ber you have no positive evidence yet. Besides, if
you wish to find the boy you must keep the run of
this man. On second thought, I will not remain to
dinner. It will be best for him not to see me. You
must hire another hand for a day or two. I will re-
turn at once and send you the man you want. Perry
Blake does not know him. He is my wife's brother,
who is visiting us for a few days. He is a detective
policeman, and well up to this kind of thing, and will
follow this man if he attempts to communicate with
his confederates, which he will doubtless do. Find
him something to do to cover suspicion — something
not too hard, for Jack is not partial to hard work -
and let him occupy the boy's room. If anything is
done it must be done at once, for the day after to-
morrow is the trial."

"Well, Mr. Rickard, I will leave the matter in
your hands, and do as you wish," said Dr. Blair.
"A great weight has been removed from my mind
since I have heard your solution of this thing, I was
loth to believe that the boy, whom I loved and
trusted, could so cruelly betray my confidence, and I
have no doubt these ladies are very grateful to you"

Mrs. Blair pressed the constable's hand kindly, and
Carrie beamed on him a look of gratitude so joyful
and bright that he gazed upon her with wonder and
admiration, and thought to himself as he took his de-
parture: "That girl has more than a sister's inter-
est in this affair, or I am much mistaken."

Shortly after Dr. Blair and his wife heard Carrie at
the piano, singing, to a kind of triumphant melody
the following

SONG.

The diamond may sparkle, the ruby may glow,
The sapphire may burn and the emerald shine;

Their glitter is cold as the sunlight on snow,

For they bear in them ever the chill of the mine.

But fair is the spirit whose radiance shines
To light up the eye as the morn on the dew;

And richer than jewels that hide in the mines,
The wealth of a heart that is honest and true.

Oh! ships never bore, on the wings of the wind,
A treasure more precious from over the waves;

And madrepores, circling the shores of the Ind,
Never hide such a jewel away in their caves.

Then welcome the world to its silver and gold,
Its jewels and gems; I will choose for my due

What wealth never bought and what greed never sold —
The love of a heart that is honest and true.

That evening a new farm hand was domiciled in the
doctor's house, to the surprise of Mr. Gwin and the
chagrin and discomfort of Perry Blake, who, however,
was entirely unsuspicious of the cause.

Night came and the doctor's family retired to rest.
The new man, who had given the name of Brown,
was shown to Harry's room. Perry Blake had al-
ready gone to bed. Brown closed his door and
turned the key loudly in the lock, and then turned
it softly back again. He then removed his heavy
cowhide boots and drew from under the bed, where
they had been previously placed, a pair of rubber-
soled shoes, which he put on, and threw him-
self upon the bed to await the progress of events.
Nothing, however, transpired, and toward morning
he gave up his watching and went to sleep. The
next day he labored in the field with Blake and tried
to ingratiate himself into his confidence, but the lat-
ter was morose and taciturn, and the detective learned
nothing. The next night came, the last before the
trial. Brown repeated his formula of the night be-
fore, but with better success. About ten o'clock he
heard Blake moving softly about in his room. Pres-
ently he opened his door and passed through the hall
and down the stairs. The detective stole softly after
him. Blake passed through the kitchen, the door of
which he unlocked from the inside, and passed out.
The detective waited a moment, and then followed.
The tramp had disappeared, but, listening intently, he
heard his steps down the lane and stole after him,
keeping in the shadow of the fence. Thus the two
continued down the lane, across the fields, and
through the woods, Blake suspecting nothing, and
scarcely ever looking back, and Brown walking
silently behind, just close enough to keep him in
sight through the gloom of the night. The tramp
took the route over which the reader has followed
him before, and, after what appeared to his pursuer
a weary time, they arrived at the swamp. The
glimmer of a fire could be distinctly seen upon the
tree tops far toward the heart of the swamp, and the
detective did not doubt that he had discovered the
rendezvous of the tramps. He marked the spot at
which Blake disappeared, but did not attempt to fol-
low him. He hid and waited, for he did not duobt
that the tramp would return in a short time. Nor
was he mistaken. After half an hour's waiting, dur-
ing which he could occasionally catch the sound of
voices from the distance, Blake returned and walked
rapidly back toward the doctor's house. Brown,
however, did not follow him. As soon as Blake was
entirely out of sight and hearing the detective en-
tered the swamp, found the bridge of trees, and
crossed to the island. Pausing to reconnoitre, he saw
before him the camp of the tramps. Fires were burn-
ing, or rather smoking, in all directions, arranged ev-
idently to keep off the insects, which infested the
swamp in myriads. Occasionally one of these fires
would burst into a flame and light up the scene, and
at such times he saw the tramps lying asleep in
groups or singly, while two or three, evidently
guards, were moving about or smothering out the
blazing fires with damp wood and decayed leaves.
He saw also the object of his search — the boy, whom,
from the descripton he had received, he recognized
as Harry Lawson, lying upon the ground, while at
his side sat a tramp keeping guard over the prisoner.
This was all he desired to know at this time. Steal-
ing quietly back over the logs, he walked rapidly
toward Dr. Blair's. On arriving at the kitchen door
he found it locked. Blake had fastened it from the
inside as he had found it. This was something he
had not calculated on, and for a moment he was non-
plussed. He was quick-witted, however, and decided
in a moment what to do. Going to the front door,
he knocked loudly for admittance. Dr. Blair an-
swered the summons from his window, asking what
was wanted.

"I want you to see a sick man," answered Brown
in a loud tone, disguising his voice; then, in a whis-
per, just loud enough to reach the doctor's ears:
"Come down. It's I — Brown."

"I will be down in a moment," said the doctor
loudly, for he understood that Brown had an object
in deceiving some one, although he could only sus-
pect whom.

When he came to the door the detective hurriedly
related his discoveries.

"Well, what is to be done? " asked the doctor in a
low tone.

"One of us must proceed at once to the village
near here and procure a warrant and a constable, and
arrest these men and release the boy. Is there not a
justice at the village?"

"There is," replied the doctor, "and a constable,
too."

"Well, it will be best for you to go, since you are
acquainted. It will save time. Procure your war-
rant and arrest this Perry Blake at once. We can
then proceed to their camp. Let there be plenty of
help. We may need it. I will stay here and watch
lest our game take the hint and give us the slip."

Dr. Blair proceeded on his mission to the village,
and Brown entered the house by the front door and
passed to his room, the door of which he found partly
open.

"Hello! What does this mean?" he thought.
"I am sure I closed this door when I left the room."
Then a sudden thought seemed to strike him, and
he stepped lightly to Blake's door. That, too, was
open, and the room empty. He ran quickly down
stairs to the kitchen door. It stood ajar. The bird
had flown.

"Hang the luck," he muttered, "he is smarter
than I gave him credit for. He has overheard our
conversation, and has gone to warn his confederates.
Well, it's no use to follow him now. I could never
overtake him. The only thing is to wait until the
constable and posse arrive. I guess I've made a mess
of this thing after all. I hope they won't find it out
at headquarters, or I'd never hear the last of it. Out-
witted by a tramp. Ugh!"

It was two hours before Dr. Blair returned with
the constable and six men. He was much chagrined
to learn of the escape of Blake, for now the tramps
had doubtless left the camp and taken the boy with
them. Such, in fact, proved to be the case, for on ar-
riving at the island they found it deserted, and noth-
ing but the smoldering fires remained to show that
they had congregated there. The only thing to be
done now was to wait for daylight, which by this time
was slowly breaking, and then to scour the country
in pursuit of the fugitives.