View source for The Man Who Tramps: A Story of To-Day

<meta
  author="Harris, Lee O."
  year_of_publication="1878"
additional_information="https://www.loc.gov/resource/gdcmassbookdig.manwhotrampsstor00harr/?st=list"
  genre="Fiction"
  journal="The Man Who Tramps: A Story of To-Day"
  page_range="5-295"
/>
<annotations>
<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
</poem>
</paragraph>


=== CHAPTER I. (5-16) ===
<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
THE RUNAWAY. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
Scene, a farm house a few miles from the town 
of Ayre, in Indiana. Time, the evening of July 18, 
1876. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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.  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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."  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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."  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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."  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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?"  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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.  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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?" 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Now go and split the stove wood for to-morrow's 
baking," said the woman. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
The boy turned to obey. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Hold on, Harry," said John Shannon, rising, "I'll 
split the wood, boy. Sit down and rest." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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."  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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.  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="driving, train">
<poem>
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.  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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 — 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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: 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
He made a little bundle of the clothes he was wont 
to wear to church on Sunday, and stole silently out 
into the darkness. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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.  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
Such paradoxes are there in human nature.
</poem>
</paragraph>


</annotations>

/><annotations>
<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
</poem>
</paragraph>


=== CHAPTER II. (17-31) ===
<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
TRAMPS.  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="highway">
<poem>
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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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."  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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.  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Have you been to supper, boss?" asked one of 
the tramps, after the first greetings were over.  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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."  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
The tramps laughed. They assembled about this 
man — this tramp who talked like a scholar — and 
waited for him to continue.  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Do you know why I have caused you to assem- 
ble here?" he asked.  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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.  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"How long have you been on this beat, Sandy?" 
asked Flynn. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"'Bout a month." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
" Can you vouch for all here?" 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Every man of 'em," replied Sandy, casting his 
eyes over the crowd. "They're all right, boss." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Well, then, let us to business," said Black Flynn. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="train">
<poem>
"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?"
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Well, boss, we'll do as you say," replied Sandy,   
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"But this is the third time we've gone off on a wild- 
goose chase, and it amounted to nothin'" 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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."  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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."
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"How much money is tare?" asked Toney. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"'Leven hundred and fifty dollars." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Mon Dieu! Veil, how you gets him?" 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Mon Dieu!" exclaimed the Frenchman again. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
The matter appeared to be settled for the present 
for the men soon followed the example of their fel- 
lows and went to sleep.
</poem>
</paragraph>


</annotations>/><annotations>
<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
</poem>
</paragraph>


=== CHAPTER III. (32-50) ===
<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
ON THE ROAD. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="road, road condition">
<poem>
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.  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="road side, road">
<poem>
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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
Here was a chance for our runaway, and he made 
up his mind in a moment. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Hello! Want some help?" he called briskly, 
throwing his bundle down by the side of the fence. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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."  
</poem>
</paragraph>


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


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
The man laughed. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Well, that's nothing more than fair," he said, and 
handing Harry the fork, the latter began to toss up 
the sheaves.  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Tramping?" asked the man at length.  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Traveling," said Harry, without pausing in his 
work.  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Hunting work?" 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"No, only to pay for my breakfast."  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Well, that's better than most of them," laughed 
the farmer. "They generally hunt the breakfast, and 
then forget the work." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Who?" asked Harry. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Who? why the tramps of course." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Yes, I've seen some of them," replied the boy. 
"But I am no tramp." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"What are you then?*' 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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?"
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
Harry hesitated and did not reply at once. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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?"
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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: 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Never fear, sir," replied Harry. "I will remem- 
ber your advice." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="road">
<poem>
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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="road side">
<poem>
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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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: 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Hello, boy! which way?" 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="road">
<poem>
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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Not going through to-night?" laughed the man. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"No; certainly not," answered Harry. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Where are you going to bunk?" 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Eh!" 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Where are you going to sleep?" 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"In any place that suits me," said Harry, walking 
on. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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: 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"No, thank you," said Harry. "I have eaten. 
I am not hungry."  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"You have not told me where you are going to 
stop to-night," said the tramp. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"I do not know," replied Harry. Then with a 
sudden thought, " I think I will walk to-night." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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: 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"This will do. Pile down." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"What is your name, boy?" he asked. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Harry Lawson." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Well, I'm Jesse Flynn. Black Flynn, they call 
me," said the tramp. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
His next question startled Harry. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Have you any money?" 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"No, not a cent," said Harry, quickly. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Where did you come from?" 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"From near Ayre." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"When?" 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Last night." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Where are you going?" 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"To Cincinnati." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"What for?" 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"To hunt work." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Work ? Where's the use?" said the tramp. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"I must eat," said Harry, "and I can't beg nor 
steal." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"What do you do then ? " asked Harry. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Live like a nabob. A gentleman of leisure." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"What do you do when you are hungry?" 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"I eat." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"How do you get food?" 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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: 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"And to what end?" asked Harry, interested in 
spite of himself. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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?" 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"But did not these men purchase their land, and 
does not that give them a right to it?" said Harry. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Suppose they did purchase it?" replied the 
tramp. "Whose money bought it?"  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Why, their own, I suppose," replied Harry.  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"But will all people be able to live without work 
under this new order of things?" asked Harry. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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."
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="infrastructure, train">
<poem>
"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?" 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
This question was so unexpectedly put that Harry 
could not answer at once. At length he said: 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"I am an orphan, and I did not like my home; so 
I left it." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Ran away, eh?" 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Yes." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"What are you going to work at in Cincinnati?" 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"I don't know." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"What can you do?" 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"I have always worked on a farm." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Well, they don't farm in Cincinnati." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"I know that," said Harry. "I thought I would 
like to learn a trade." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"What trade?" 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"I don't know." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"But, certainly, beggary is not independence," said 
Harry. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"It is not beggary," replied the tramp, fiercely. 
"I tell you the world owes me a living, and I but 
take my own." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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?" 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"The jails!" 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"But suppose you get sick?" said Harry.  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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?" 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Why do you wish me to go with you?" asked 
Harry. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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?" 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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: 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Let me study on it until morning and I will tell 
you. I am sleepy now." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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.
</poem>
</paragraph>


</annotations>

/><annotations>
<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
</poem>
</paragraph>


=== CHAPTER IV. (51-59) ===
<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
COMMUNISM. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="metaphor, train, engine">
<poem>
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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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? 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="technology, infrastructure">
<poem>
"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 <i>Herald</i>) 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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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?  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="train, infrastructure">
<poem>
"But the government owns all the land, railroads, 
shops, markets, factories and everything. They will 
support it. There will be no need of taxes." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Indeed ! And who is to patronize the railroads, 
shops, etc.?"
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"The people, of course!"  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Where will they get their money?"  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"From the government." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"And where will the government get its money?" 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"From the people." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Oh, yes! I see. A kind of boomerang arrange- 
ment. But if no one has any private property no 
one will have any money."  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"But each man will be allowed to accumulate a 
certain amount of property." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Thank you! For the especial purpose of pay- 
ing the government, I suppose. But how much?" 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Oh, the law will regulate that." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"But when this is all gone, as it will soon be in 
hundreds of cases, what then? Divide again?" 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Oh, no; the government will see to that?"
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"But every citizen would be willing to fight for his 
country." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
But this chapter has already gone beyond the limits 
I intended, and I will drop the subject for the present. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="road">
<poem>
Then the history of the world would be re-enacted, 
with all the disadvantages of four thousand years of 
retrogradation.
</poem>
</paragraph>


</annotations>

/><annotations>
<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
</poem>
</paragraph>


=== CHAPTER VI. (70-79) ===
<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
CAPTURE OF THE TRAMPS. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
After crawling from their hiding-place they sat 
down to count the money. Sandy did this, while 
the Frenchman looked over his shoulder. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"One, two, three," counted Sandy, as he turned 
over the bills; " four, five, six, seven" 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
The Frenchman's eyes sparkled like fire, and his 
hands trembled as he half reached toward the notes. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Eight, nine, ten, 'leven and a fifty," counted 
Sandy. "There it is. 'Leven hundred-dollar bills 
and a fifty." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
The Frenchman reached out his hand without a 
word. Sandy moved his farther away.  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="road, law">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Well, I don't know," said Toney. "You gifs me 
my moneys, and I takes care of him." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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?" 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
In an hour after he was arrested, but was released 
again, as we have already seen.  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"To the corn field" cried a voice. "They will 
take to the corn field!" 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
The Frenchman turned pale, and Sandy set his 
teeth hard. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Quick," he said. "Let's make to the south. 
Maybe they're not on that side yet." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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? 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Now, Toney," panted Sandy, as he climbed the 
fence, "we'd better separate."  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"No, we keeps together this time, too," said the 
Frenchman. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Very well, then; come on!" was the reply, as he 
sprang into the field. "If you ever ran, now's your 
time." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"There they go! There they go! Across the 
stubble field!" 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
Bang! Bang! went a revolver, but at too great a 
distance to do any hurt. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
Then they heard the clatter of horses' feet. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Throw down the fence! Let me into the field!" 
cried a voice. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="driving, animal, dust, speed, weapon, sound, affect, train, air, speed, law">
<poem>
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: 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Drop your pistols and throw up your hands, or I 
will shoot you! " 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"What does all this mean?" asked Sandy, with a 
great assumption of indignation. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"You'll find out pretty quick what it means," said 
one. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"To the woods with them; string them up!" cried 
another. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Yes, that's the talk. Let's make short work of 
it. They'll never kill another man," was answered 
from the crowd. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Search them!" cried one. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
The men appeared disappointed. Sandy observed 
this, and it gave him courage. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Well, can't you tell a feller what all this means?" 
he said. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"You'll find that out when you get to Calusa," 
was the reply.  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="road">
<poem>
"You've no right to arrest a man in this way. 
Where's your warrant?"
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
So the tramps were captured, and that night lodged 
in the jail at Calusa.
</poem>
</paragraph>


</annotations>

/><annotations>
<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
</poem>
</paragraph>


=== CHAPTER VII. (80-88) ===
<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
THE JUSTICE'S COURT. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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.  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Yes, sir," replied the boy, thinking the doctor 
referred to some work that he was to do. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Have you any other clothing in that bundle you 
have with you?" 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Yes, sir; that is my Sunday suit." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Put it on, then, for we must go to the trial." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"The trial, sir," exclaimed Harry. "Have they 
caught the murderers? " 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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?" 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Well, it is worth a trial," said Dr. Blair. "Let 
us go." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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.  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
The justice had just begun the examination when 
Dr. Blair and Harry entered. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"What is your name?" he asked of the larger of 
the two prisoners. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
Harry started, and seized the doctor by the arm 
when he heard this man speak. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"You recognize the voice?" whispered the doctor.
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"I do," answered Harry, in the same tone. "If 
the other talks in broken English, they are certainly 
the men who committed the crime." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"What is your occupation?" asked the justice. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"I am an iron puddler."  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Where did you work last?" 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"At Pittsburg." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"When?" 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Three years ago."
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"What have you been doing since? " 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Traveling.** 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Tramping, you mean." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Well, it's all the same."  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
A few more questions of the same nature were 
asked, and then the justice turned to the other man: 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"What is your name?" he asked. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Toney Bazin," was the reply. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"What do you follow?"
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"I haf no trade, sair." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
Dr. Blair looked at Harry. The latter nodded. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"How do you earn your living?" continued the 
justice. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"I vorks zometimes at ze one ting, zometimes at 
ze ozer."  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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?"  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Not guilty," said Sandy. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Not guilty, sair," said the Frenchman. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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."
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
Harry was asked if he recognized the prisoners.  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Only by their voices." was the answer. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Can you describe those voices?" asked the jus- 
tice. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"One was a very deep, hoarse voice," said Harry, 
and the other was that of a Frenchman, or some 
one who talked broken English." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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.  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Were the voices like those of these men?" asked 
the justice. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"They were the same voices, I am confident," said 
Harry. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="night, danger">
<poem>
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.  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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.  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
The confusion outside increased, and cries of 
"Bring ropes! Let's string them up!" were heard. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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.
</poem>
</paragraph>


</annotations>

/><annotations>
<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
</poem>
</paragraph>


=== CHAPTER VIII. (89-101) ===
<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
A PLOT. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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: 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"In two weeks the trial comes on. Have you 
thought of what you will do when it is over?"  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"I have not," replied the boy. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"I suppose," continued the doctor, "that you will 
be for tramping again?" 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Would you like to remain here?"  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Above all things, if you can give me work."  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"I have been thinking, Harry," said Dr. Blair, 
"that you are capable of better things than you 
have been doing." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Why not now, Harry?"   
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Show me the chance," answered the boy, "and 
all that one of my age and limited attainments can 
do, I will do."  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"What have you thought of — a profession?" 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Watching will not do it, my boy," said the doc- 
tor. "It is action that wins success." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
" Oh! sir; you are so kind, so wise, show me how 
to act." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"I will do so," said Harry, his heart swelling and 
his eyes flashing. "Only give me a chance." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"I will give you the start, boy; you must make your 
own chances," said the doctor. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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:  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"I am so glad. Now you will be my brother, will 
you not?"  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
The first thing the kind-hearted Mrs. Blair did was 
to provide the boy with suitable clothes. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"There is something in his appearance that I do 
not like," said Mrs. Blair. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Did you notice his eyes, mamma?" asked Carrie. 
"He can't look you in the face." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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?" 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"And what do you think of him, Harry," asked 
the doctor. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"I don't know," replied the boy, "perhaps he is 
only bashful." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Isn't he handsome?" said Carrie, with childish 
unconsciousness.   
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Do you think so?" said Mrs. Blair, looking at 
her daughter with a smile. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"And honest, and brave, and good?" continued 
the girl, not noticing her mother's smile. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Take care, Carrie," said Mrs. Blair. "Young 
ladies of your age must not think too much of brave 
and handsome young gentlemen of seventeen."
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Pshaw! mamma," said the girl with a blush, 
"isn't he my brother, or the same as a brother?" 
</poem>
</paragraph>


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


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"I hope so," replied the mother. "Indeed, I am 
fully convinced of it. Poor boy, he has had a hard 
life." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"I hope so," said Mrs. Blair, thoughtfully.  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="road, dust, animal, air, vision">
<poem>
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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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:  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Now, Shorty, you must go back at once."   
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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?"  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Yes." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Anything else?" 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Yes, this 'ere" said Blake, displaying the brace- 
let. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
The man muttered something to himself, but made 
no audible reply. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"By the way, do you think the boy will get back 
to the woods before night?" asked Flynn, as Perry 
started away. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"He can if he wants to," was the answer. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="road">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
Blake returned as he was bidden, and was at the 
doctor's house again before he was missed.
</poem>
</paragraph>


</annotations>/><annotations>
<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
</poem>
</paragraph>


=== CHAPTER IX. (102-114) ===
<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
IN THE HANDS OF THE TRAMPS. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="road, night, animal, speed, affect">
<poem>
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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Why not tie the boy on the horse and lead him 
with us?" asked another.  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="road, animal">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"So" he said, "you've caught the young imp?" 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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."  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Why didn't you blindfold him before 
you brought him here?" 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Didn't think of it," replied the man. "But that 
makes no difference. He'll not leave this camp till 
we do." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Still you ought to have tied the young chap's 
eyes," replied the tramp. "Take the gag out of his 
mouth."   
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
One of the men removed the gag. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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?" 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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."  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Search him," said Limpy Jim, who seemed to 
be a kind of leader among them. Busy hands soon 
emptied his pockets. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Hello!" cried one, "Here's a ticker. Gold, too, 
by! " he continued, as he held up the watch to 
the light." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
It was the doctor's watch. In the excitement and 
pain consequent upon his capture and abduction, 
Harry had forgotten all about it. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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.  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Will you not return it?" asked Harry. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Not much. Do you think we're all fools?" said 
Limpy Jim. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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."
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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: 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Hold on! Drop that!" and Black Flynn strode 
into the circle. The tramps fell back. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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?" 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="road, death">
<poem>
"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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"I will do anything consistent with honor to get 
it back," replied Harry. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Well, we'll talk of that another time," said Flynn. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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:  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"What do you think of tramp life now?" he said 
to the boy. "Are they not well fed? Do they not 
live like kings?" 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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."   
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"But this trade of yours is a terrible one," said 
Harry, "judging from what I have already seen of it. 
It deals in blood." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Have you a regular organization?" asked Harry. 
"Yes; regularly, organized and officered," an- 
swered Flynn. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Are you its chief?" 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"No, only one of them."
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Yet these men obey you as if they feared you?" 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"But you spoke of the object of your association. 
I do not fully understand it. What is it?"  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="road, death">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Is it revolution?" 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="road, dust">
<poem>
"That is nearer it. But I can not tell you more 
until you determine to join us." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"That will never be," said Harry firmly. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"We will see," replied Black Flynn.  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"But if you do not countenance robbery and mur- 
der, why do you allow such men in your associa- 
tion?" asked Harry.  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"They will be of use when the time comes." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"What! to murder?" 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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?" 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"No, I will not," replied Harry promptly. "I 
shall certainly escape if I can." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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."  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Yes."  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Well, if you escape I will keep the watch; that's 
all." And he rose and walked away. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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.
</poem>
</paragraph>


</annotations>/><annotations>
<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
</poem>
</paragraph>


=== CHAPTER X. (115-133) ===
<paragraph keywords="">
<poem> 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
THE SEARCH FOR THE BOY. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Wife," he called, "I am uneasy about that boy. 
I must go and see what has happened." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="animal">
<poem>
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:  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="sound, road, animal, night">
<poem>
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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="road side, animal, sound, accident, night, visibility, road">
<poem>
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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"It was all right, wasn't it?" asked the man anx- 
iously. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Are you sure he is honest?" asked the man.  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Sure? Yes. At least I believe so," was the re- 
ply. "Why do you ask?" 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Yes, I hope so," said the doctor, as he turned 
and rode toward home.  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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.  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Well?" said Mrs. Blair, looking up through her 
tears. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"His clothes are gone," said the doctor. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"And a valuable bracelet which I carelessly left 
lying on the table last evening is also gone," said 
Mrs. Blair. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"He is a thief," said the doctor, angrily.
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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.  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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: 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
Dr. Blair turned quickly, and caught a glimpse of 
Perry Blake as he disappeared in the hall. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"I tell you if the bracelet is stolen he is the thief," 
she continued, fiercely.  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"But the watch? His clothes?" said the doctor. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"But, Carrie, Perry Blake couldn't take the 
watch," said the doctor. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
The girl was silent. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="road, dust, speed, animal, affect">
<poem>
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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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 : 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"I see it all. It's as plain as the nose on a man's 
face."  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Well, what do you make of it?" asked the doctor, 
"They have carried him away to prevent him from 
appearing at the trial." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Carried him away? Who?"
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Well, what is to be done?" asked the doctor.   
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"That I can not tell until I have looked over the 
ground," answered the constable. "I will be ready 
in twenty minutes." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"I will go home with you," said Mr. Rickard, 
"and perhaps we can find some clue there."  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
On the way he questioned Dr. Blair about the in- 
mates of his house. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Who is this Perry Blake?" 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Does he have access to the room from which the 
bracelet was taken?" 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"He could enter it if he wished."  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Could he enter the boy's room?" 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"He could." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="road, dust">
<poem>
"Was he at home last night?" 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Yes." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Had he any opportunity to be absent for a time 
without your knowing it?" 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"I think not for any great length of time."  
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Still he might have had a confederate." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"True; I had not thought of that." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Well, I must see this man." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"You talk as if you thought he was the guilty 
party," said the doctor. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Well, I do think so," said Mr. Rickard bluntly. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
Mrs. Blair looked startled, while Carrie's face fairly 
blazed with triumphant delight, and she flashed upon 
him a look full of gratitude. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"But how do you account for the boy's clothes be- 
ing missing?" asked the doctor. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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?" 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"It looks reasonable," said the doctor. "But the 
bracelet?" 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"But why does he still remain here if he is the 
thief, as you suspect?" 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"To turn suspicion upon the boy. Suppose that 
this man had also disappeared? Would not your sus- 
picions naturally have fallen upon him?" 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"True!" replied the doctor. "You have con- 
vinced me. This man shall be arrested at once." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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."
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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" 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
Shortly after Dr. Blair and his wife heard Carrie at 
the piano, singing, to a kind of triumphant melody 
the following 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
When he came to the door the detective hurriedly 
related his discoveries. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"Well, what is to be done? " asked the doctor in a 
low tone. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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?" 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"There is," replied the doctor, "and a constable, 
too." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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." 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"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!" 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
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.
</poem>
</paragraph>


</annotations>