CHAPTER XVIII

TELLS OF AN ADVENTURE IN A HUT

Tom scrambled to his feet, Barry retreated, still barking and growling furiously, with the hair on his neck and along his back standing straight up, and the newcomer stumbled through the doorway, wiping his face, and peering nervously about in the half-light.

“Who’s here?” he muttered. “Mind your dog, can’t yer? Think I want to be bit?”

There was no answer. The boys were looking at each other with wide eyes. Then, quietly, Bob stole to the door and pulled it to. Dan seized Barry in his arms.

“A wet night,” observed Dan politely.

“_Wet!_” muttered the new arrival angrily. He was rubbing the water from his eyes, and striving to get a look at the other occupants of the hut. “I’m nigh drowned, I am! Wet, says you!”

“Come up to the fire,” continued Nelson, drawing back into the shadows as though to make room. Then Dan handed the dog to Tom and edged around the other side of the stove. Bob had left the door, and now, as the newcomer shuffled toward the stove, casting wary, suspicious glances into the shadows where the boys hovered, he crept around back of him. As noiselessly as he moved, however, the other heard, and started to turn. But he was too late. Bob made a diving tackle that pinioned the man’s arms to his sides, and together they crashed to the floor, Bob uppermost. In a twinkle Nelson and Dan were beside him, and the man underneath might well have cried “Down!” Barry, gurgling and yelping, struggled and fought in Tom’s arms, and the noise was deafening for a moment, the captive contributing not a little to the sum of it. Then,

“Hand me a couple of towels, Tom,” called Bob, and Tom, dropping Barry, fished the desired articles from his crowded pockets. They weren’t very generous towels, but they served their present purpose. The man was flopped, fighting hard, over on to his face, and his hands were tied securely behind him. Then Dan arose gingerly from his struggling legs, and the second towel was applied neatly at his ankles.

“Now another towel, Tommy, or--hold on! A pair of socks’ll do just as well,” said Bob.

Tom fished a pair from another pocket, and Bob jammed them into the man’s mouth, silencing at last the flood of unpleasant language. Meanwhile Nelson was kept busy fighting Barry off, for the terrier’s fighting blood was roused, and he was aching to take part in the proceedings. Then they rolled the captive over on to his back and stood up, panting.

“There, my friend,” said Bob, brushing his clothes. “That’ll hold you for a while, I guess. You’ve encountered us about once too often. It’s a pretty good idea to have a look at your host before you accept hospitality.”

The man, the same ugly-faced individual who had been “treed” by Barry in the hotel at Barrington, and subsequently brought to earth by Nelson on the stairs, moved not an eyelash, but if looks could have killed, it would have been all up with Bob.

“Now, what’ll we do with him?” asked Nelson, reaching for his tie, which had worked around under his left ear during the fracas.

“Search him first of all,” answered Bob.

The captive’s eyelids flickered. Dan whistled.

“By Jove!” he said. “I hadn’t thought of that!”

“Do you suppose he’s got anything left?” asked Nelson.

“I don’t know, but I propose to find out,” answered Bob. “Lend a hand, you fellows, and look carefully.”

“Bu-bu-bu-bet you he’s spent the money,” stammered Tom, whose duty at the moment was to refrain Barry from doing murder.

“Maybe,” said Bob. He moved over to the thief. “Now, my friend, you stole about sixty-nine dollars from us, and two watches.”

The head shook vehemently.

“Oh, yes, you did,” answered Bob. “Although if you hadn’t been fool enough to leave a message behind you we wouldn’t have known it was you, and you wouldn’t be in your present fix. It ought to be a lesson to you not to rush into print--or writing, either. You’re not the first man who’s got into trouble through writing a letter. Now then!”

They ripped open his ragged coat, and went through the pockets, but the only things to reward their search were a sandwich wrapped in a piece of newspaper, a piece of lead pipe, about four inches long, with a short length of rope run through it for a handle, some tobacco and a corncob pipe, a ragged red bandanna handkerchief, and a handsome new clasp knife.

“Shows where some of the money went,” commented Dan.

Then they searched his trousers. From a hip pocket came a half-filled, yellow glass bottle. Bob sniffed it, and threw it across the hut.

“Whisky, I guess,” he muttered. “Smells bad enough.”

At that moment Nelson gave a shout, and held up his gold watch.

“Bully!” cried Dan.

“Fine!” said Bob. “You don’t happen to find mine, do you?”

“Not yet,” answered Nelson, slipping his own watch into his pocket. “Wonder what he did with it.”

“Well, it isn’t here,” said Dan. “Let’s ask the scoundrel.”

Bob drew the gag out of the man’s mouth.

“Where’s the other watch?” he demanded.

“Where you won’t get it,” was the sullen answer.

“What did you do with it?”

There was a flood of blasphemy for reply.

“Oh, shut him up again,” said Dan in disgust. “If you’ll let me take those towels off so he can stand up, I’ll knock the tar out of him!”

Bob replaced the gag after a struggle, and the search went on. But there was no sign of any money save six coppers which Nelson fished out of a trousers pocket.

“Well, I’m glad you got your watch,” said Bob, as they stopped work for want of any further recesses to search.

“Wish I had my twenty-six dollars,” said Tom longingly.

“I suppose he blew it in somewhere,” said Dan.

“He’s only had five days to do it,” said Nelson thoughtfully. “It’s more likely he’s hidden it somewhere.”

“We might make a bargain with him,” said Bob.

“What sort of a bargain?”

“Tell him we’ll let him go if he’ll tell us where the money is.”

“I wouldn’t believe him,” answered Dan.

“And I don’t know that we’ve got any right to let him go,” said Nelson. “He’s a thief and ought to be in jail.”

“Well, we’ve got the right,” answered Bob. “We gave the police a fair chance to catch him, and I don’t believe they ever tried. And now we’ve caught him ourselves, without their help, and we’ve got a right to do what we want with him.”

“Sure,” agreed Tom.

“Shall I give him the chance?” Bob asked. The others hesitated a moment. Then Dan nodded, and,

“All right,” said Nelson.

“Well, what do you say?” asked Bob, turning to the thief. “If you’ll tell us truthfully where you’ve hidden the money, we’ll let you go--after we’ve found it.”

There was no sign from the captive.

“What do you say?” asked Bob impatiently.

The captive wriggled his head.

“He can’t talk with the gag in his mouth,” said Dan. “Here!”

He stooped down and removed it.

“Well?” said Bob again.

“I spent ther money,” growled the man. “I’m sorry. ’Twon’t do you fellers no good to put me in jail. Lemme go an’ I’ll clear out o’ here and stay.”

“You’re wrong,” answered Bob grimly. “It’ll do us a heap of good to put you in jail. And that’s what we’re going to do. Stuff the socks back, Dan.”

“Hold on a minute!” said the captive. “How do I know you’ll lemme go?”

“You’ll have to trust us, I guess,” answered Bob.

“Swear yer’ll do it?”

“No,” answered Bob sharply. “But we _tell_ you so; and that’ll have to be enough.”

The thief stared up at them in silence for a minute. Then,

“All right,” he muttered at last. “It’s in my left boot--all that’s left of it.”

Nelson was tugging at the wet lacings before he had finished speaking.

“Give me that knife a minute, Dan,” he said. Dan handed him the captive’s clasp knife, and Nelson cut the soaking strings, and drew off the boot. In the heel, a damp bundle, lay some bills. Nelson, followed by the others, moved to the light of the stove and counted them.

“Thirty-five dollars,” he announced finally.

“About half,” said Bob. “Well, that’s not so bad. It’ll pay for our night’s lodging.”

Nelson stuffed the money in his pocket.

“Let’s try the other,” he said.

“Other what?” asked Dan.

“Boot, you idiot!”

“There’s nothin’ in the other one,” said the man eagerly. “Give yer my word!”

“Don’t want it, thanks,” answered Nelson as he cut the laces. The captive began to swear again, and Dan promptly stuffed Tom’s socks into place again. Nelson drew off the second wet boot and extracted another wad of bills.

“Twenty-two,” he said. “That makes fifty-seven in all. That’s not so bad, fellows. I guess we can afford to call quits with our friend there. He’s welcome to what he got away with, I guess.”

“He hasn’t got any more boots, has he?” asked Tom.

“Untie him now,” said Nelson, “and let him put his boots on again, and get out of here as soon as he knows how. He deserves to go to jail, but we promised to let him off.”

“When we let him go,” suggested Tom, “let’s let Barry go too! What do you say?”

“I say no,” answered Dan. “Barry might bite him.”

“It would serve him right,” said Tom.

“Maybe; but I don’t want Barry poisoned,” replied Dan with a grin.

They untied the man’s hands, and stood back while he unloosed his ankles and drew the sodden boots on. He said no word during the operation, but the sullen, hopeless look on his pinched face made even Tom uncomfortable. Tom had seized the broken pick when they had untied the thief as though resolved to sell his life dearly.

“Put that thing down,” said Bob disgustedly.

“He may get tr-tr-troublesome!”

“Hope he does,” was the savage reply. “I only wish he’d give me an excuse to lick him! We’ve no business letting him loose on the--er----”

“Community,” assisted Dan.

But as the man tied the cut laces together and crawled to his feet they could not help feeling a sort of sneaking sympathy for him. He was a forlorn specimen of humanity, with a pale, drawn face and little, dull, blue eyes that just now were fixed almost affrightedly on the door against which the storm still dashed in torrents. He rubbed his chilled hands together, looked longingly at the stove and then at Dan. Dan nodded silently, and he shuffled to the warmth and held his hands out.

“Where are you going?” asked Dan.

“I dunno,” answered the thief. “What’s it to you? You got all’s comin’ to yer, ain’t yer?”

“We have what belongs to us,” answered Dan quietly. “Why don’t you go home and behave yourself?”

“Home!” said the other bitterly. “Fellers like me don’t have no homes, you fool!”

Dan was silent. The thief blinked at the red stove, coughing in the smoke. Then,

“You fellers ain’t treated me bad,” he said huskily. “I ain’t got nothin’ against yer. I s’pose yer think I’m pretty low down, but I got my principles, same as you have, only they ain’t the same, I s’pose. I ain’t never done mean to no friend, I ain’t. Nobody can’t say I don’t act square. That sounds funny to you fellers, maybe; we’re different; you’re gen’lemen; I never had no chance to be a gen’leman; I never had no chance to be anythin’ but what I am. I’m sorry I took yer dough, boys, ’cause you treated me fair, an’ it ain’t very often I gets treated fair; folks don’t think it’s worth while to act square with a feller like me. I’m just a hobo, an’ it’s fair game to kick a hobo when yer gets ther chance. We steals ’cause we has to; there ain’t nothin’ else we can do. Folks says why don’t you go to work? Who’d have us? The world ain’t treatin’ us fair, I tells yer that, boys! It keeps a blamed good watch on us when we’re growed up, but when we’re kids, an’ starvin’ and learnin’ to steal ’cause there ain’t no other way we can live, the world don’t bother about us. I know what I’m talkin’ about, I do. Look after ther kids if yer don’t want hobos, that’s the game. Well, I didn’t mean fer ter give yer no lecture, boys. I ain’t got no kick against yous; you’ve treated me all right, I guess.”

He buttoned his threadbare coat around his throat, thrust his hands in his pockets, and moved toward the door.

“Wait a minute,” said Nelson. He took the roll of bills from his pocket and selected one. “Take this,” he said. “It’ll keep you going for a while.”

The thief took it, looked at it, and thrust it into his pocket quickly as though fearing Nelson might change his mind.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

“Before you go,” said Bob, “I wish you’d tell me one thing, just to satisfy my curiosity. What became of the other watch, the silver one?”

“I give it away,” answered the other sullenly.

“Gave it away? Who to?”

“To a feller I met at Millford, a hobo like me. He was down on his luck, and I knowed he could get a couple of plunks fer it; so I give it to him. I’m sorry, I guess, if you wants it bad.”

“Never mind,” answered Bob. “I just wondered where it was.”

Bob moved to the door and pushed it open. A gust of rain dashed in and drenched the floor, sending the smoke whirling about the room. Outside a veritable wall of water showed in the glimmering light. The thief shivered, cast a backward glance at the stove, and plunged out into the darkness and the storm. Bob stood motionless for an instant. Then,

“Oh, thunder!” he growled, and sprang after the man. In a second he was back, pushing the thief before him. He looked at the others apologetically. “I can’t help it, fellows,” he said. “We can’t send even a dog out into a storm like that.” He turned to the man. “If we let you sleep here, will you behave yourself?” he demanded.

The thief turned on him almost savagely.

“Ain’t I told yer I acts white to my friends?” he cried with an oath. “Gimme a corner an’ I won’t trouble no one.”

Bob glanced at the others questioningly. They nodded one after another. Nelson stooped and busied himself putting fresh wood into the stove. The thief scraped some rubbish together in a corner of the room, and laid himself down upon it. The boys gathered around the fire and talked together in low voices for a while. Then they laid themselves down on the bare floor, and with their ponchos over them went to sleep, Barry nestling up to Dan with a final good-night growl at the silent form in the corner.