"I shouldn't know how to dispose of the bond, if I did take one."

"Oh, I would manage that for you! That is the only thing there would be any risk about; but you are a friend of mine."

"Yes, I know you are a good friend," said foolish Philip, who, it is needless to say, could hardly have had a worse enemy than the one who offered him such bad advice.

"So I am, but I don't take any credit for that," answered wily Congreve. "People are apt to deceive themselves about such things, you know, as a son's appropriating what really belongs to him; but I know the world better than you, and understand how to look at things."

"It may be as you say," said Philip, growing nervous at the idea of robbing his father, "but I don't think I like the plan."

"Oh, very well; I only suggested it for your good," said Congreve, preparing to draw the net around his victim.

"If you have any other way of paying me the twenty-three dollars you owe me, it's all the same to me."

"But I thought," said Philip, in alarm, "that you were in no hurry about it. You said I might win it back."

"So you may, and probably will; but if you don't you ought to pay it."

"I will, sometime."

"I really should be glad if I could wait till then, but, as it happens, I have pressing need of the money."

"But if I can't pay it?"

"Then I shall feel obliged to call on your father, and ask him to pay me."

"You wouldn't do that!" said Philip, panic-stricken.

"I shall feel obliged to. It is only a trifle, and he will probably pay it, giving you a little lecture, perhaps, but nothing worse."

"You don't know him," said Philip, uncomfortably. "He will be awful mad. He had a cousin who was a gambler, and he has often warned me against gambling."

"I don't approve of gambling myself," said Congreve; "but there is a difference between that and a little stake on a game of cards to make it interesting."

"I don't think father would see any difference," suggested Philip, who did not himself understand what difference there could be.

It is hardly necessary to say to my young readers that common sense is the best teacher in such matters, and that no difference appears to common sense between gambling at cards and gambling in any other form.

"Oh, well, you know best about that. Then it would be better that I shouldn't say anything to the old man?"

"No; don't say anything to him about it," said Philip, eagerly.

"I won't—that is, if you pay me the money in three days."

"But how can I do it?" asked Philip, in fresh dismay.

"Put a bond in my hands, then, and I will dispose of it and give you the balance. You only owe me twenty-three dollars, and a fifty-dollar bond would leave you a handsome surplus. If it were a hundred-dollar bond it would be all the better. Think of having seventy-five dollars or more at your command."

The prospect was tantalizing, but Philip still felt afraid to appropriate one of his father's bonds. If it had been a fear of doing wrong, I should be glad to say so, but it was more a fear of consequences.

"After all," he said, "perhaps I may win it back, and then there won't be any need of raising money. You said you would give me the chance."

"So I will. You can come to my room now, if you like, and try your luck."

So Philip went, like a fly into the spider's parlor, and the natural result followed.

When he left the hotel he had increased his debt to forty dollars, and the prospect looked darker than ever.

As he walked home, it is doubtful if he did not feel more uncomfortable than our unfortunate hero, whom we left, bound hand and foot, in Pegan Hill Wood.



CHAPTER XVI

BOUND HAND AND FOOT

Though Harry was a courageous boy, his heart sank within him when he found himself left alone in the wood, bound hand and foot.

Pegan Hill Woods were of considerable extent. In length they extended about three miles, while in width they ranged from a mile and a half to two miles.

Probably the party had penetrated nearly a mile into the wood, and the tree against which Harry was leaning was not far from the center of the wood. The constrained position in which he was sitting became, after a while, somewhat painful. The cords, too, chafed his flesh.

Of course, Harry thought of the possibility of escape. If he could only unloose the cords he could readily find his way home, reaching there before anxiety or alarm was excited by his absence.

He set to work upon his task, but found, to his disappointment, that he had been too securely bound to make this attempt feasible.

The cord was tied again and again in so hard a knot that, even if he had had the use of both of his hands, he would have found it a work of time to undo them. But when, in addition, his hands were tied, it became well-nigh impossible.

He worked until he was tired, and rested, feeling that thus far he had really accomplished nothing.

"Philip is about the meanest boy I know of," he thought to himself, bitterly. "I suppose he is triumphing over me, as he has a right to do, for he has got me into a very awkward scrape."

This consideration was not likely to make him any less uncomfortable, for Harry had his share of human nature. From Philip his mind reverted to James Congreve. The more he thought of Congreve, the less he could understand him. He was certainly a much more gentlemanly boy—or, rather, young man—than Philip, and our hero disliked him less, though it was Congreve who had tied him.

"He told Philip to his face that he was a bully, and as much as said that I had served him right in doing what I did in defense of the two children. I don't see how he can be a friend of Philip."

Harry had not much knowledge of the world, however, and would have been surprised to hear that Congreve was more dangerous and unscrupulous, and altogether bad, than Philip himself, in spite of the latter's unamiable traits.

After a while Harry made another attempt to loosen the cords; but the second time proved as unsuccessful as the first.

Considerable time had passed—how much he did not know—but, from the direction in which the sun glanced in the wood, he concluded that it was as late as six o'clock, and by this time he was almost always at home.

Indeed, supper must now be ready, and his mother and their boarder, Uncle Obed, were probably ready to sit down to the table, and only waiting for him. It was certainly very tantalizing to be lying there helpless, knowing that his mother would soon be anxious and troubled about him.

"If I could only use my knife," thought Harry. "I would make short work of these cords."

He had a knife in his pocket. If a boy has only twenty-five cents in his pocket, he is sure to spend it for some kind of a knife, or he must be very different from the average boy.

So, of course, Harry was provided with a knife—a good, strong jackknife—but, for all the good it was likely to do him, it might as well have been at home. His hands being tied, of course, he could not get the knife out of his pocket; and, even if he had done so, how could he make use of it?

"I never knew twine was so strong before," thought poor Harry, ruefully, after a third unsuccessful attempt to get free.

He lay a while longer, getting more and more hopeless of an early release. By this time his appetite began to assert itself. He had not eaten a very hearty dinner, and naturally felt all the more hungry now.

He began to think wistfully of the good bread and butter and slices of cold meat and pie which his mother was wont to provide for the evening meal, and some twinges of excusable envy were felt, as he pictured James Congreve and Philip, who had brought this trouble upon him, sitting down at a well-covered supper table, eating as heartily as if they had not left a victim in the woods, helpless and hungry.

"I suppose I shall have to stay here all night," thought poor Harry, despondently.

In the morning he was confident of being released. James Congreve had promised that he would come and release him, and Harry felt confident that he would do so. Had it depended upon Philip, there would be small chance of it; but it was easy to see that Philip and Congreve were not alike. Of course, this gave him hope, but it was not pleasant to think of a night passed in the dark wood; not that Harry was timid or superstitious—he was neither—but it is hard not to be somewhat affected by gloomy surroundings.

While Harry was occupied with these reflections, suddenly a peculiar sound came to his ears, and, looking up, he was startled by the sight of a blacksnake, at least four feet long, which, with head erect, was gazing intently at him.

Whatever may be the cause of the repulsion that exists between the human race and the snake, it is, at all events, genuine, and Harry shared it.

With distended eyes he gazed at this sleek foe of humankind, and felt a strong desire to throw something at it, or crush it under foot. But, alas! he was able to do neither.

Suppose it should advance upon him, helpless and unable to defend himself, and strike its fangs into his flesh, or curl, with slippery fold, about him! What could he do? The perspiration came out upon his brow, and he made a tremendous effort to get away.

Apparently conscious of his helplessness, the snake remained quietly looking at him, and began, after a pause, to slowly glide toward him.

Harry uttered a shrill cry of alarm, which, I am sure, under the circumstances, was not discreditable to his courage, and his soul was filled with horror and repulsion.

It was a fortunate cry, for it brought help. The sound of flying feet was heard, and an instant later a boy of about his own age came rushing up.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

"Look there!" said Harry, hastily.

"By Jehosophat!" exclaimed the boy, and, advancing toward the snake, he aimed a blow at his crest with a rough, stout stick which he held in his hand.

The blow fell with good effect. The snake had not yet seen his new adversary, and was taken unawares. The jagged stick tore his skin, and his head dropped forward, maimed and writhing.

"Follow it up!" cried Harry, in excitement. "Kill him!"

"I'll do it!" said the boy, and he sprang forward to renew his attack.

He found a rock, or, rather, a large stone, close at hand, with which he bruised the serpent's head and killed him.

"Ugh, you ugly beast!" he said, in a tone of disgust, miscalling his victim. But, then, a country boy is hardly expected to be well up in natural history.

"Thank you," said Harry, breathing a sigh of relief.

"Why didn't you kill him yourself?" asked the boy. Then, for the first time, noticing in the indistinct light Harry's condition, he said, in surprise: "What's the matter with you?"

"You see I'm tied."

"Who tied you?"

"That's a long story. Just untie me, there's a good fellow, and I'll tell you."

The boy whipped out a knife from his pocket and quickly cut the cord. Harry sprang up and stretched his arms and legs.

"It seems good to be free once more," he said. "But who tied you?"

"Two boys that had a spite against me. At least, one had, and the other was his friend."

"How long have you been lying there?"

"Several hours—I can't tell how long."

"It's a mean trick, anyway."

"So it is; I should have had to stay here all night if you hadn't come along."

"Or if the snake hadn't swallowed you!" Harry shuddered at the mention of the snake.

"That was the worst of it," he said.



CHAPTER XVII.

WHAT HARRY SAW IN THE WOOD

"What is your name?" asked Harry. "I don't remember seeing you before."

"I live on the other side of the wood. My name is Reuben Richardson."

"Richardson?"

"Yes; we only moved here two months since, and I haven't had a chance to get acquainted much. What is your name?"

"Harry Gilbert."

"I suppose you live in the village?"

"Yes. It's lucky for me you came along. There isn't much traveling through the wood. How did you happen to be here?"

"I was exploring a little. I was on my way home when I heard you shout. I guess I must be going now. I have to get up early in the morning, and so I go to bed early."

"Well, good-night, Reuben. Come and see me some day. Anybody will tell you where I live."

"Thank you. If you ever come our way, stop at the farm and see me."

"So I will."

The two boys parted, with friendly good-nights.

"Reuben seems a nice sort of boy," said Harry to himself, as he threaded his way through the woods in a homeward direction. "I don't know what would have happened to me if he hadn't come along."

The moon was already up, though it was still early, and cast a mild radiance through the branches of the trees. The effect was fine, but Harry had no time for enjoying it, as he was in a hurry to get home and relieve his mother's anxiety.

He had gone perhaps a quarter of a mile, when he heard voices, indistinct as yet, of men, who seemed to be approaching.

Ordinarily he would have kept right on, without fear or suspicion, but it might have been the experience through which he had just passed that made him more cautious.

At any rate, he began to look around to see where he could best conceal himself till the newcomers passed.

He caught sight of a tree that seemed easy to climb, and he swung himself up at once, ascending from limb to limb till he was probably twenty-five feet above the ground, concealed by the foliage and the obscurity of night.

He had not long to wait.

Presently there emerged from the thicker recesses of the wood two men, one of whom carried in his hand a tin box of considerable size.

Harry scrutinized them both, but he only recognized one. That one was a man named Ralph Temple, generally considered a ne'er-do-well and a vagabond, who lived in a tumble-down shanty in the edge of the wood.

"This is the place I was thinking of," said Temple, halting about twenty feet from the tree in which Harry was concealed.

"It seems a lonely, out-of-the-way place," said his companion.

"Yes; no one is likely to see the box here. No one ever comes here. There is a path through the wood, which is always used by those who pass through it."

"And this is off from the path?"

"Yes."

"Where do you think it best to hide the box?"

"Under that tree will be a good place; say ten feet from it, in an easterly direction."

"East and west are all alike to me here; I can't tell the difference."

"I can; and so could you, with a compass."

"Shall you know the place again?"

"Yes; do you notice that mark on the bark of the tree? It was struck by lightning once, but that was all the harm done to it."

"Good! That will serve to identify it. But why couldn't we have concealed it nearer your cabin?"

"I don't want to fall under suspicion," said Temple, shaking his head.

"Why should you?"

Ralph Temple laughed a harsh, unpleasant laugh.

"The good people round here haven't a very good opinion of me," he said. "They would be very apt to suspect me, if suspicion came this way. No; it's better to hide the box here."

"I wish we could sell the bonds at once."

"Nearly all are registered, and probably the old man has a record of the rest, so that if we tried to sell them we would be brought up with a round turn. No; as I told you, the only way is to wait till a reward is offered, and then open negotiations for their return. Not immediately, you know. We will keep them long enough to make the owner feel anxious, and willing to get them back at any cost."

"I guess you're right. We must be prudent. If we could only get away with the whole sum it would make us comfortable for a year or two."

"How much is there?"

"Well, there are eight thousand dollars in government bonds, and five Union Pacific bonds of a thousand dollars each. They're safe as governments."

"Thirteen thousand dollars!" said Temple, in a tone of gratification.

"Yes, and more, for the bonds are all at premium. However, we must lay back for a reward. It won't do to negotiate them."

While this conversation had been going on Temple indicated the spot which he thought suitable, and, with a spade which he carried, had commenced excavating a hole sufficiently large for the purpose.

He dug to a depth of about eighteen inches, the box being eight inches in height, and carefully deposited it in the cavity.

Then both replaced a part of the earth, and carried away the remainder to the distance of a hundred feet or so. Finally they brought a quantity of leaves and covered the spot.

"There," said Temple, with a look of satisfaction; "it's safe enough now. It'll take a smart detective to find it, I reckon."

"You're right there, Ralph," said his companion. "It would be a bad sort of joke if we couldn't find it ourselves," he added, after a pause.

"I can find it, never you fear!" said Temple. "I know these woods as well as anybody, and shan't forget the spot."

"All the same, I wish I had some of that money now. I'm almost dead broke."

"So am I; but I can let you have enough to get back to the city."

"And suppose," said Vernon, with an uneasy look, "you should take a fancy to remove that box while I am away?"

"Don't be afraid. Ralph Temple isn't that kind of a man. He'll stand by his pard and treat him fair."

"It would be a rough trick to play on me, Ralph," said Vernon, apparently not quite free from uneasiness.

"So it would; but there is no danger. Even if I did couldn't you expose the whole thing, and have me arrested?"

"So I could," returned Vernon, more reassured by this consideration than by his faith in Temple's fair dealing.

"Well, if you're all ready, we may as well vanish. You can stay with me to-night, and go to the city in the morning. Watch the papers, and see if there is anything that promises advantage to us."

"All right."

The two men moved off, much to Harry's relief. He was in momentary dread of a sneeze, and this would betray his whereabouts to Temple and his partner.

What these two desperate men would have done to him, had they discovered him, it was not easy to guess; but, under the influence of vexation and alarm, they might have brought upon him worse trouble than any he had yet experienced.

Such, indeed, was likely, from what he knew of Ralph Temple. He was generally considered a disreputable character, and the villagers were ignorant as to how he made his living.

From time to time he came to the village store provided with money; but where it came from no one knew, as he was not known to do anything, except to roam the fields and woods with his gun. Sometimes he disappeared for a week or a fortnight at a time, but where he went, unless to the city, no one knew.

Harry conjectured, from what he had just seen, that Temple was in league with wicked men in the city, with whom he was engaged in violations of the law, and in this surmise he was correct.

He understood a little better now Ralph Temple's object in selecting as his abode this lonely and out-of-the-way place.

Harry did not venture to descend from his elevated perch until the two men had ample time to get beyond sight and hearing.

When he touched the ground, he first scanned the tree and its vicinity carefully, so as to make sure he could find it again, and then hurried home.



CHAPTER XVIII

HARRY'S COMMISSION

It may be well imagined that Harry was in a thrill of excitement as he walked home. He had just witnessed what was undoubtedly an attempt to conceal the proceeds of a burglary. He, and he alone, outside of the guilty parties, knew where the booty was deposited, and he asked himself what was his duty under the circumstances.

Of course he had no sympathy with Temple and Vernon. They had made themselves the enemies of society, and he was in duty bound to defeat their criminal plans, if possible, and restore the property to its legal owner or owners.

Here a difficulty stared him in the face. He didn't know to whom the tin box and its contents belonged, for not a word had been dropped by the two thieves which could inform him. They had made up their minds, however, to wait till a reward should be offered, and then come forward and claim it, or, at any rate, open negotiations through others looking to that result.

Why could not Harry learn, in like manner, who had been robbed, and communicate with them? This seemed to him the most sensible course.

Here, again, there was another difficulty. In the little country village he was not in a position to see any such notice, for they took no daily paper, and, though Mr. Mead did, his inquiry for it would excite curiosity and lead to questionings. It seemed necessary for him to go to New York.

"Shall I tell mother, or not?" he asked himself.

On the whole, he thought it better not to do so. So far as he was concerned, his mother was timid, and she would be anxious lest he should incur the hostility of the two lawless men of whose crime he had come into the knowledge. Yet he wanted to consult somebody, for he felt that the matter was one of no little importance, and that he needed a man's counsel.

"I'll speak to Uncle Obed about it," he said to himself. "He isn't used to cities, to be sure, but he has had a long life, and must have considerable experience. At any rate, he will be better qualified than I to know what ought to be done."

He had scarcely come to this conclusion before he reached the cottage.

His mother, with a troubled expression of countenance, was sitting at the table, not sewing or mending, as usual, but with her hands clasped in her lap, while near her sat Uncle Obed, also looking sober.

"I am sure something has happened to Harry," she had just been saying. "I never knew him to stay out so long without telling me."

"Boys will be boys," answered the old man, not knowing what else to say. "He's gone off on some lark with some of his playmates."

"But he never does that without telling me, Mr. Wilkins. He's always so considerate."

"He'll be coming home safe and sound, depend upon it," said Uncle Obed, with a confidence greater than he actually felt.

"Perhaps he has fallen from a tree—he was always fond of climbing—and broken his leg," suggested Mrs. Gilbert, dolefully.

"He's too smart for that," said Uncle Obed.

"What should I do if he never came home?" exclaimed the poor woman, with a shudder.

Mr. Wilkins was hardly prepared to answer this question, and, luckily, it was not necessary, for just then the latch was lifted and Harry walked in.

"Didn't I tell you so?" said Uncle Obed, triumphantly.

"Oh, Harry, I'm so glad to see you! Where have you been so long?"

"It's lucky you came just as you did," said Mr. Wilkins. "Your mother had made up her mind that you had met with an accident."

"I wanted to come home, but I couldn't," answered Harry. "I was in the woods."

"Lost your way?" asked Uncle Obed.

"Not exactly. Two boys played a trick upon me."

Of course Harry had to explain what sort of a trick it was. Mrs. Gilbert was very indignant, and denounced Philip and his confederate in no sparing terms.

"You ought to go and complain to Colonel Ross," she said. "Philip ought not to be allowed to do such things."

Harry smiled. He had no idea of following this advice. It would have been an acknowledgment of weakness, and he felt able to defend himself against Philip Ross and his machinations.

"Mother," he said, "I've got very particular reasons for not doing this, and for not even mentioning that I was in the wood. Now, I want you to promise me not to say a word about it, for a week at least."

"But if I see Philip," said his mother, "I can't keep silent."

"You must, for my sake, mother. You don't know how much depends upon it."

"I don't understand," said Mrs. Gilbert, thoroughly bewildered.

"No, I suppose not; but I have a strong reason that I can't mention just yet."

"I hope there's nothing wrong going on," said his mother, alarmed.

"If there is, it isn't anything that I'm to blame for. Only there's a secret that I can't tell just yet. You'll know it in good time. I want to consult Uncle Obed to-night about it, and you won't mind if I don't tell you just yet?"

"Give the boy his way, ma'am," said Mr. Wilkins. "If there is anything very bad about it he wouldn't tell me."

His mother was somewhat reassured, and left the two to themselves. Then Harry began and told his story. Mr. Wilkins listened with attention, and not without surprise.

"Really, Harry, it's quite an adventure, I call it," he said. "Do you know this man Temple?"

"I know that he's a sort of tramp. I didn't suppose he was a thief before."

"You never saw this other man before?"

"No; never heard of him."

"They're a pair of rascals, I reckon. Now, what have you thought of doing?"

"Of going to New York to-morrow to find out what I can about the burglary, or whatever else it was. If I can find out who has been robbed, I'll go and tell them about it, and where the bonds are hid."

Uncle Obed nodded approvingly.

"That's a good idea," he said.

"What puzzles me," continued Harry, "is how to explain to mother why I go to the city. I can't tell her, and she'll feel nervous."

"I can manage that," said Mr. Wilkins. "I'll tell her you have gone on business for me."

"But will it be true?" asked Harry.

"Yes; I've got some cowpons"—that's the way the old man pronounced the word—"that you can get the money for."

"Shall I have any difficulty about it, Uncle Obed?"

"No; you can go to a broker, and he'll give you the money for it, taking out his commission. How much does it cost to go to New York?"

"The price of an excursion ticket is a dollar."

The old man took from his pocket a two-dollar bill.

"There," said he; "that'll pay your ticket and get you some dinner."

"But, Uncle Obed, you ought not to pay my expenses."

"Why not? Ain't you going on my business?"

"I'm going principally on my own," said Harry.

"Well," replied the old man, smiling, "then you must take it because I am your uncle."

"I know I call you so."

"You seem a good deal more kin to me than Philip. He's ashamed of his old uncle, and so is his mother; but you are not.

"No, no, Harry; it's all right. I ain't exactly poor, but I'd rather my niece would think so. So don't you say anything to them about the cowpons."

"I'm not likely to, Uncle Obed."

The old man went up to his room and brought down ninety dollars' worth of government coupons, which, as gold was then ruling at a dollar and twenty, would bring about a hundred and eight dollars in currency.

Mrs. Gilbert was much surprised when Harry told her that he intended to go to New York the next day on business for Uncle Obed; but, of course, had no idea that he had still more important business of his own.



CHAPTER XIX

SECOND VISIT TO THE WOOD

There was an early train from the neighboring village of Crampton to New York. Harry got up early, and walked the first part of the way through the fields to a point where the footpath struck the main road, three-quarters of a mile from the village.

In this way it happened that he was not seen by any of his companions, and his day's expedition was kept a secret.

Just after breakfast James Congreve received a call at the hotel from Philip.

"Our friend in the wood must be hungry by this time," said James.

"Ho, ho!" laughed Philip, in evident enjoyment. "It's a splendid joke."

"I fancy he doesn't think so," said Congreve, shrugging his shoulders.

"Of course he doesn't. He must have been fully scared, staying there all night."

"He doesn't strike me as a boy who would easily be frightened,"

"At any rate, he must be hungry," said Philip, in a tone of satisfaction. "I guess he'll find it doesn't pay to insult me."

"Well, he's had enough of it; we'll go and release him."

"What for?"

"You don't want him to stay there all day, do you?" demanded Congreve.

"It wouldn't do him any harm," muttered Philip.

"What a mean fellow you are, Philip! You ought to be satisfied with keeping him there all night."

"I wish you wouldn't call me names," said Philip, pettishly.

"Don't deserve them, then. Well, are you coming with me?'

"I don't know; it's a good ways," said Philip, hesitating.

"Just as you like. I am going. I told the boy I would, and I mean to keep my promise."

And James Congreve stepped off the piazza and started.

"Oh, well, I'll go, too. I want to see how he looks," said Philip, and began to laugh.

"Take care how you laugh at him there, Phil, or he may pitch into you."

"You won't let him, will you, James?" said Philip, apprehensively.

"I thought you were a match for him," said Congreve, with an amused smile.

"So I am, but he might take me unawares. He'll be so mad, you know."

"I'll protect you," said Congreve. "Come along."

Both boys would have liked to learn whether Harry had been missed at home, and what was thought of his disappearance; but there seemed to be no one to ask, and, for obvious reasons, they did not care to show any curiosity on the subject.

"I'd like to meet Mr. Wilkins," said Philip. "He boards there, you know, and he might say something about it."

"Mr. Wilkins is your uncle, isn't he?"

"He's a distant relation of ma's," said Philip, reluctantly. "We don't know much about him."

"I suppose he's poor?" suggested Congreve, drily.

"Oh, dear, yes! He was a farmer or something out in Illinois. He probably pays a dollar or two a week board at Gilberts'. They're dreadfully poor, you know. I shouldn't be surprised if all hands were in the poorhouse before the year is out."

"Your uncle and all?"

"He isn't my uncle!" said Philip, snappishly.

"Relative, then. You wouldn't want a relative in the poorhouse?"

"Pa offered to pay his expenses back to Illinois, but the old fellow was obstinate and wouldn't go. I expect he's hanging round here in hopes of getting something out of pa and ma; but it's no use, as he'll find out sooner or later."

"Strange he went to board with the Gilberts, isn't it?"

"Oh, it's a good enough place for a rusty old chap like him. He ain't used to living in any style. Ma says he's half crazy."

By this time they had reached the borders of the wood, and soon they came to the place where Harry had been left bound.

"Why, he isn't here!" exclaimed Philip, in surprise and disappointment.

"So it appears."

"How could he have got away?"

James Congreve, bending over, searched carefully, and at length got some light on the subject.

"Somebody cut the cords," he said. "Look here—and here!" and he pointed out fragments of the strong cord with which the captive had been bound.

"That's so. Do you think he did it himself?" asked Philip, disappointed.

"No; he was too securely tied. I took care of that. Somebody came along and released him."

"I hope he had to stay all night, at any rate," said Philip.

"That we cannot discover at present. One thing is certain—he's free."

"I'm sorry I came," muttered Philip. "I have had this long walk for nothing."

"You haven't had the satisfaction of releasing him, I suppose, you mean?"

"No, I don't. I wanted to see how he looked. It's too bad he got away."

"There's nothing for it but to go back," said Congreve. "You'd better look out for him. He may want to pay you off."

"He'd better not try it," said Philip, but he seemed uneasy at the thought.

On their way back they passed, unconsciously, near the place where the tin box was concealed.

Hovering near the spot was Ralph Temple, uneasy for the safety of the buried treasure.

He eyed the two young fellows with suspicion. They had no guns in their hands, and he could not understand what object they had in coming to this out-of-the-way place so early in the morning.

"What are you about here?" he demanded, roughly.

Philip was frightened and turned pale; but James Congreve only surveyed the man curiously, and said:

"Is that any business of yours, my friend?"

"You'll find out whether it's any business of mine," returned Temple, angrily.

"That's precisely what I would like to find out," said Congreve, coolly. "You accost us as if you were the owner of the wood, which, I take it, you are not."

"Do you want me to wring your neck, young man?" said Temple, with a growl.

"Oh, don't make him angry, James!" begged Philip, nervously, laying his hand on Congreve's arm.

James—who certainly was not a coward—surveyed his companion contemptuously.

"Much obliged to you for your kind offer," said he, addressing Temple, "but I must decline it."

"You've got too long a tongue, young man!" said Temple, provoked by the other's coolness. "I've a mind to teach you a lesson."

"When I want one I will let you know," said Congreve, changing his tone and manner and regarding the other scornfully.

"Meanwhile, my man, I advise you not to drink so early in the morning. It doesn't improve your naturally bad manners."

With a muttered exclamation Ralph Temple sprang forward, prepared to handle Congreve roughly, as he was quite able to do, being much his superior in size and strength, but, with his hand nearly touching the shoulder of the young man, recoiled, as Congreve drew out a revolver and pointed it at him.

"One step further and I fire!" he said, in a calm, collected tone, while Philip stood by, as pale as a sheet.

"Confusion!" exclaimed the ruffian, in mingled amazement and dismay. "Who are you, anyway?"

"My name is James Congreve, at your service," said the owner of that name, bowing. "I regret that I haven't a card about me."

"You're a cool customer!" muttered Temple, surveying Congreve curiously.

"So people tell me. You'll find me at the hotel in the village, if you have any further business with me."

Congreve nodded carelessly and left the spot—Phil, in a very nervous condition, keeping himself somewhat in advance.

"He's a cool chap," muttered the ruffian. "But it's clear he knows nothing of our affair. I was a fool to make a fuss. It might lead to suspicion."

"What a dreadful man!" said Philip, as the two were walking away.

"Do you know him?"

"His name is Ralph Temple. He's a kind of tramp."

"He's an impertinent fellow, at any rate. It's well I had my revolver with me."

They walked back to the village, momentarily expecting to see or hear something of Harry Gilbert; but neither then nor later in the day was their curiosity gratified.



CHAPTER XX

ON THE WAY TO NEW YORK

Harry stepped on board the train without seeing any one whom he knew, and took a seat on the right-hand side. Just in front of him was an elderly farmer, with a face well browned by exposure to the sun and wind. He had a kindly face, and looked sociable. It was not long before he addressed our young hero.

"Going to New York?" he asked.

"Yes, sir."

"Are you acquainted there?"

"No, sir; not much."

"Nor I. I was thinking you might be able to direct me to a place where I could get money for some cowpons."

"Government coupons?" inquired Harry, becoming interested.

"Yes. You see, my wife's uncle died not long ago, and left Sarah a government bond of a thousand dollars, drawing six per cent interest. There's thirty dollars due the first of this month, and I told Sarah that I'd go and collect it for her."

"I've got some business of that same kind," said Harry. "I was told there were brokers' offices in Wall Street, where I could collect the money without any trouble."

"I'll go with you," said the farmer, in a tone of satisfaction. "If he'll buy yours, he'll buy mine."

"I shall be glad to have your company," said Harry, politely.

It flattered his vanity that a man old enough to be his grandfather was disposed to be guided by him in a matter of such importance.

Just then a smooth voice was heard from the seat behind.

"Gentlemen," said a young man, showily dressed and with a profusion of rings on his fingers, "excuse my interrupting you, but I may be able to save you some trouble."

They naturally waited for an explanation of these words.

"I overheard you saying that you had some coupons to dispose of."

"Yes," replied the farmer, eagerly.

"I am myself a banker and broker, and deal in government securities. If the amount is not too large, I will buy your coupons and pay for them at once."

"That will be handy," said the farmer. "I've got thirty dollars in cowpons."

"And you, my young friend?" said the so-called broker, addressing Harry.

"I have rather more than that," said Harry, in a reserved tone.

Somehow, he was suspicious of the plausible stranger.

"I will pay you a higher price than most houses, besides saving you all the trouble," said the broker, insinuatingly, as he drew out a capacious wallet, and, opening it, exhibited a pile of bills.

The farmer immediately drew out his coupon.

"Let me see," said the broker; "thirty dollars, gold at the present premium comes to thirty-six dollars."

"Thirty-six dollars!" repeated the farmer, complacently. "Sarah'll feel rich when she gets that money."

"Here's your money," said the broker, producing three ten-dollar bills, a five and a one. "The bills are new, you perceive."

The farmer put away the bills in his old wallet, and the stranger slipped the coupon carelessly into his vest pocket.

"Now, my young friend, I am ready to attend to your matter," he said, turning to Harry.

"I won't trouble you," said Harry, coldly; "I prefer to dispose of the coupons in the city."

"Just as you like; but you would do better to deal with me."

"Why?" asked Harry.

"In the city they will allow you but a hundred and nineteen for gold."

"How is it you can afford to do better by me?" asked Harry, shrewdly.

"Our house makes a point of dealing liberally with their customers," said the broker.

"What is the name of your firm?"

"Chase & Atkins," answered the other glibly. "I am a relative of Salmon Chase, ex-secretary of the treasury, and, since, chief justice of the Supreme Court."

"You don't say!" ejaculated the farmer. "Salmon Chase is a great man."

"So he is. Thank you, sir, for your appreciation of my distinguished relative. Of course, it doesn't make me any better to be related to that great man, but I am naturally proud of it."

"Hadn't you better sell your coupons to him?" asked the farmer, who was quite prepossessed in favor of the gentlemanly stranger.

"No, sir; I was instructed to sell in Wall Street, and I prefer to do so."

"Oh, just as you please," said Mr. Chase. "You will lose by it, but that's your affair. Good-morning, gentlemen. I have a friend in the next car."

So saying, he bowed, and left the car.

"Well, my business was easily done," said the farmer.

"Will you allow me to look at the bills he gave you?" asked Harry.

"Sartain! Why?" and the farmer drew out his wallet.

Harry took one of the bills in his hand and examined it carefully, but he was not an expert, and could not judge whether it was good or not.

"Don't you think it's good?" asked the farmer, uneasily.

"I presume it is; but I didn't like the looks of the man you had dealings with."

"He is of good family," said the farmer.

"He says he is," responded Harry, significantly, "and I hope it's all right. We'll wait till the conductor comes along, and ask him about the bills."

Fifteen minutes elapsed, however, before that official made his rounds, and during that time the train stopped at two stations. At one of these Harry's suspicions were increased by seeing that Mr. Chase got out.

At last the conductor appeared, and Harry passed him the bill.

"Is that bill good?" he asked.

The conductor held it up to the light, and shook his head.

"No," he said; "it's one of a quantity of counterfeits that has lately made its appearance. Where did you get it?"

"It belongs to me," said the farmer, his honest countenance exhibiting much distress. "I took it in payment for some cowpons."

"Who gave it to you?"

An explanation was given.

"I noticed the man," said the conductor. "He is a well-known swindler. Have you got any more?"

The others were exhibited. Out of them all the conductor declared that only the one-dollar bill was genuine.

Probably it had not been thought worth while to counterfeit a bill of so low a denomination.

"Oh, what'll Sarah say?" ejaculated the distressed farmer. "What a tarnal fool I've been! She wanted me to buy her a nice dress out of it, and I've only got a dollar left!"

"Perhaps the man may be caught," suggested Harry.

"I don't believe it. Simon Jones, you ain't fit to go around alone. You're as green as—as—a gooseberry!"

Harry pitied him, but was unable to offer any adequate consolation.

"Will you give me your name and address?" he said. "And, if I can hear anything of your coupons, or the man that swindled you, I'll write and let you know."

"Will you? I'm obleeged to you," said the farmer, who had formed quite a high idea of our hero's sagacity from his declining the trap into which he himself had fallen. "My name is Simon Jones, of Crabtree Hollow, Connecticut."

Harry entered it in a little memorandum book which he carried.

At length the great city was reached, and the crowd of passengers dispersed in different directions.

It was over a year since Harry had been in the city, and he was not very familiar with it, but he had a modest confidence in his ability to get along.

"Shine yer boots, guv'nor?" asked a ragged bootblack.

"How much?" Harry asked. "Seein' it's you, I'll only ask ten cents," returned the street boy.

"Thank you. I blacked my own boots before I left home."

"Do you call that a shine?" said the boy, contemptuously, as his glance rested on Harry's shoes, which certainly did not vie in polish with those operated upon by city bootblacks.

"It'll do for me," answered Harry, good-naturedly.

"Mornin' papers—Herald, Times, Tribune, World!" called a newsboy.

"Give me a Herald," said Harry, who suddenly bethought himself of the tin box, and was anxious to find out whether any allusion was made to the theft in the morning papers.

He opened the paper, and his eyes ran hastily over the crowded columns.



CHAPTER XXI

A REWARD OFFERED

Harry looked over the news columns in vain for an account of the robbery, or some allusion to the tin box which he had seen concealed in the wood.

"There may have been something about it in yesterday's paper," he said to himself. "I must go to the office of publication and buy a copy."

It occurred to him, however, that there might be an advertisement offering a reward for its recovery, and he began to search, with this object in view.

Presently his eye lighted on the following:

"Two Hundred and Fifty Dollars Reward.

"On the fifteenth instant, a Tin Box, containing a considerable sum in Five-Twenty Government and Union Pacific Bonds, was stolen from the office of the subscriber. The above sum will be paid for the discovery of the thief, or for information leading to the recovery of all, or the larger part, of the bonds. JAMES P. WHEELER,

"No. 265 Broadway, Room 10."

I do not claim to have given the correct number, for obvious reasons. Of course, the address given in the advertisement was accurate.

Naturally, Harry was much pleased at his easy success. He had only to go to the office mentioned and communicate what he knew, and leave Mr. Wheeler to take the necessary steps for the recovery of the property.

Should he attend first to that, or to the sale of the coupons? On the whole, he decided to go to Mr. Wheeler's office first, as the tin box might be removed at any time, if the suspicions of Vernon or Temple should be excited.

It was, of course, perfectly easy to find any address on Broadway, and not many minutes elapsed before Harry found himself before the door of office No. 10.

Entering—for the door was ajar—he saw a large, handsomely fitted-up office, with a small room partitioned off at one corner.

In this room sat a man of middle age, with a keen face and a brisk air, which indicated that he was a trained man of business.

Outside, at a desk, sat a young man, evidently a clerk, who was busily engaged in writing. It was he who looked up when Harry entered and looked hesitatingly about.

"Well, Johnny, what can I do for you?" said the young man, patronizingly.

"Is Mr. Wheeler in the office?"

"Yes; but he is busy."

"He will see me," said Harry, with quiet confidence.

"Will he?" asked the young man, surveying our hero with some curiosity. "Who do you come from?"

"From no one. I have business of my own with Mr. Wheeler."

"Who is it?" asked an imperative voice.

"A boy to see you, sir," answered the clerk, respectfully.

"Bring him in, then, and don't waste his time and your own in unnecessary talk."

"Waste his time, indeed," muttered the clerk, who evidently did not regard Harry's time as particularly valuable.

"Well, young man," said the lawyer—for such was his business—as Harry entered his presence. "What is it?"

"I should like a private interview, sir," said Harry, glancing at the clerk, who was hovering near.

"Shut the door, and resume your writing, Richard," said Mr. Wheeler.

Shrugging his shoulders, with a disappointed look, Richard obeyed.

"I came to see you about the advertisement," said Harry, coming to the point at once.

The lawyer started, and eyed Harry keenly. Could the boy be one of the thieves, or was he merely acting as a go-between?

"Do you know anything about the box of bonds?" asked Mr. Wheeler, quickly.

"Yes, sir; I know where it is concealed."

"Ha, that is important. Do you come from the parties that took them?"

Harry colored, and looked indignant.

"No, sir," he answered, with emphasis.

Mr. Wheeler smiled.

"I was bringing no charge against you," he said. "I thought the guilty parties might have employed you as their agent—their innocent agent. Now, tell me how you come to know anything about the matter."

This Harry proceeded to do. As the story is already familiar to the reader, he shall be spared a repetition of it. It is needless to say that the lawyer listened with earnest attention.

"This is a curious story," he said, "but I see no reason to question its accuracy. I certainly hope it is true."

"It is true, sir."

"Of course, I imply no doubt of your word. Now, tell me, did you see distinctly the faces of the two men who were employed in concealing the box?"

"Yes, sir."

"Should you know them again?"

"I should."

"Did you recognize either?"

"Yes, sir."

"Indeed!" exclaimed the lawyer, who did not expect an affirmative answer. "Who was it?"

"Ralph Temple."

"How did you know him?"

"He lives in a poor cabin just on the outskirts of the wood."

"How long has he lived there?"

"About two years."

"What is his reputation?"

"Very poor. No one knows how he makes his living, though at times he seems to have plenty of money."

"Is he absent a part of his time?"

"Yes, sir; he is sometimes away for a month at a time."

"Probably he is in league with some criminals in the city, and may have an object in living where he does."

"I thought of that, sir."

"Did you recognize the other man?" the lawyer next asked.

"No, sir. It was no one I ever saw before; but I noticed his face well, and should know him again."

"So far, so good. Can you find or lead others to the place in the wood where the box was concealed?"

"Yes, sir; but I don't think they will leave it there long. Something ought to be done soon."

"Something shall be done. By the way, have you mentioned what you saw to any person?"

"To only one—an old gentleman boarding at my mother's house."

The lawyer looked annoyed.

"I am sorry for that. It may be all over the village before you get back, and, in that case, your information may do no good."

"Don't be afraid, sir. Obed Wilkins can keep a secret."

"Obed Wilkins! Does he come from Illinois?"

"Yes, sir."

"I know him," said the lawyer, smiling. "In fact, he is a client of mine. As you say, he can keep a secret. My boy—by the way, what is your name?"

"Harry Gilbert."

"Very well, Harry, your chance of earning the reward offered is very good."

"I did not come here with any thought of the reward."

"Perhaps not; but the owner can very well afford to pay it, and I advise you to accept it if your information leads to the recovery of the box."

"Doesn't it belong to you, sir?"

"Oh, no. It belongs to one of my clients. It disappeared from my office two days since. The owner is not yet aware of his loss, but I felt authorized to offer the reward. May I count on your further help?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then I shall send you at once with a note to a police officer, requesting two detectives to accompany you back. I shall give them instructions, and they will probably go back with you to the country."

"Very well, sir."

Mr. Wheeler dashed off a few lines, properly addressed them, and handed them to Harry.

"Use all dispatch," he said.

"I will," answered our hero, promptly.

As he left the inner office, the clerk outside regarded him curiously. He was surprised at the long interview accorded him, and wondered what could be his errand.

As Harry descended the stairs, he jostled a man who was ascending, and naturally was led to look at him. Harry came near dropping with sheer surprise. The man he recognized at once as Vernon, one of the men whom he had seen in the wood.



CHAPTER XXII

BROUGHT TO BAY

Harry felt that matters were getting exciting, and a crisis seemed imminent.

"I will hurry as fast as I can," he said. "I suppose he has come about the tin box, too. I hope he will stay till I get back."

Vernon, little dreaming that he was recognized by the office boy—as he took him to be—who had just jostled against him, kept on his way upstairs. His appearance was that of a well-dressed man, not much over thirty, who might be filling a responsible business position in the city. When, therefore, he said to the clerk, "Is Mr. Wheeler in?" he received a more polite reply than had been accorded to Harry fifteen minutes before.

"Mr. Wheeler?" he asked.

"Yes," said the lawyer, with his usual scrutinizing look.

"I should like to speak to you in private, sir."

"Another claimant for the reward," thought the lawyer.

"Very well," he said. "Have the kindness to close the door."

Vernon did so.

"Now," said the lawyer, abruptly, desiring to get through with his interview before Harry's return from his mission.

"You advertised for the recovery of a tin box of valuables?" said Vernon.

"Yes."

"I may be able to assist you in the matter," said Vernon.

"Indeed! Then you know where it is?" said the lawyer, eying him keenly.

"I didn't say that, did I?" asked Vernon, smiling craftily.

"No; but you probably know—that is, if your information is of any value."

"That isn't at all necessary," said Vernon, coolly. "I may say as much as this, however that I am employed by those who do know the whereabouts of the box."

"Then there was more than one connected with the robbery?"

"Yes," said Vernon, hesitating.

He saw that every word was noted, and afforded a basis for inferences.

"What do your employers authorize you to say?" asked the lawyer, sitting back in his chair.

"That they can lay their hands on the bonds at short notice, and are ready to return them, if it is made worth their while."

"I suppose you have read my advertisement, Mr.——"

"Precisely," answered Vernon, not taking the hint and announcing his name.

He might do so soon, but resolved not to be precipitate.

"Then you know what reward we offer."

"It isn't enough," said Vernon, briefly.

"Why not? It seems to me that two hundred and fifty dollars is a very respectable sum of money."

"I shall charge my clients as much as that for my agency," said Vernon, "and they naturally want something for their trouble and risk."

"Do you know how much the box contains?"

"Yes; my clients have told me."

"Do they realize that, if they refuse my offer, they will find considerable trouble in negotiating the bonds?"

"Yes; but they can do it. There are parties who will advance them much more than the reward, and take the risk, holding them till such time as the affair is forgotten."

"What parties?"

"Do you suppose I will tell you that, sir?" asked Vernon, cunningly.

Mr. Wheeler did not, but he was only filling up the time. He had made up his mind that the man before him was something more than the agent of the thieves, and he now wished to protract the interview till Harry should have had time to return with the two detectives.

"No," he replied, "I can hardly expect you to answer that question. I should like to ask you, however, whether you have had any conversation with your clients about the sum they would consider sufficient to repay them for their 'trouble'?"

"Yes, sir; that subject has come up between us."

"Well?"

"I think, sir, you will have to multiply the reward you offer by ten."

"Whew!" exclaimed the lawyer, who was not at all surprised, however. "This is a large sum."

"It is only about one-sixth the market value of the bonds."

"I don't think my client would consent to pay so large a sum as that."

"Then your client must be prepared to lose the whole amount."

"It appears to me that a thousand dollars would be an adequate, not to say a handsome, reward."

"What would it amount to divided among four persons, after paying me my commission?"

"Then there were four persons engaged in the theft?"

"Better say in the removal of the deposits. It sounds better."

"Call it so, if you like. Doesn't it occur to you that it hardly required as many as four persons to remove the tin box, weighing with its contents, not over two pounds?"

"I suppose one could have lifted it," said Vernon, smiling.

"True; but do you know it is my theory that two persons were engaged?"

Vernon started, and scanned his companion's face anxiously. Did he know anything? That was what he asked himself.

"You can form any theories you please," he said, with a forced smile. "They won't alter facts."

"You are right, Mr.——"

"You may call me Thompson."

"Very well, Mr. Thompson."

By this time a foot was heard upon the stairs. The door opened, and Harry Gilbert entered.

He came forward, not appearing to notice the visitor, and placed in Mr. Wheeler's hand a scrap of paper, on which he had written in pencil:

"The man with you is one of the robbers. I can identify him. I met him as I was going out. The two detectives are in the entry. I thought it best not to bring them in till I had a chance to tell you this."

Mr. Wheeler's eyes lighted up as he read this scrap, and he looked approvingly at Harry.

"Quite right," he said. Then, turning to Vernon, he continued: "I don't think we can come to terms. I have reason to doubt whether you can carry out your promise and deliver the property."

"I suppose this is a bluff game, intended to deceive me," said Vernon, showing symptoms of anger. "I can assure you that it will do you no good."

"I may find out elsewhere the location of the box."

"Impossible! I, and I alone—that is, outside of the men who employ me—can give you this information. They will follow my advice, whatever it is, and I shall advise them not to surrender the box until they receive an adequate reward."

"Such as the sum you name?"

"Yes."

"Wouldn't two thousand dollars tempt you?" asked the lawyer.

"I think not. Still, I will consult them. I might advise them to accept that sum."

"My dear sir, I don't want to deceive you. I attach very little importance to your information, or your power in this matter. In fact, I have a theory as to the place where the box is concealed."

"Indeed, sir," said Vernon, with a sneer. "May I ask what is your theory?"

"Certainly. I think it is concealed near some country town, in a secluded spot in a wood."

Vernon jumped to his feet in dismay. He was convinced that his confederate had got the start of him and made a bargain with the lawyer, thus anticipating his own treachery, for he had promised Temple that he would suffer some time to elapse before communicating with anyone on the subject.

"Who has been here?" he asked.

"One who saw you and your confederate bury the box," answered the lawyer, sternly.

Without a word, Vernon dashed from the office, only to be seized by the two detectives, who had come provided with handcuffs.

"This is an infamous conspiracy!" declared Vernon, furiously. "If Ralph Temple has betrayed me——

"Harry," said the lawyer, "do you recognize this man?"

Vernon stared in surprise at the supposed office boy.

"Yes, sir."

"Where did you see him last?"

"In Pegan Hill Wood, in the town of Waybridge."

"What was he doing?"

"Burying a tin box in a hole which he dug for the purpose."

"Who was with him?"

"A man named Ralph Temple."

"What do you say to this, Mr. Thompson?" asked the lawyer.

Vernon turned to Harry.

"Where were you at the time?" he asked.

"In a tree just overhead," answered Harry, undauntedly.

"I was a fool not to look more carefully about me," he said. "What is your name?"

"Harry Gilbert."

"Then, Mr. Harry Gilbert, I owe you a debt which, sooner or later, I shall manage to pay."

"Take him away," said the lawyer to the detectives, "and then come back to me for instructions."



CHAPTER XXIII

FINDING THE BOX

"My boy," said the lawyer, turning to Harry, "you have done yourself credit. A grown man could not have shown more judgment."

"Thank you, sir," said Harry, pleased at the compliment.

"But your work is not yet done. As soon as the detectives have returned, you must go back at once to Waybridge with them, and lead them to the place where the box is concealed."

"I am ready, sir," replied Harry. "But," he added, with a sudden thought of one of his errands, "will there be time for me to go to Wall Street first?"

"Why do you want to go to Wall Street?"

"I have some coupons which I am to sell for Mr. Wilkins."

"To what amount?"

"Ninety dollars gold."

"I will myself give you the money for them, as that will save time. Should the search for the box be successful, I will take upon me to pay you the reward as soon as you desire it."

"Thank you, sir."

Harry might have declined the reward, but he felt, justly, that he had rendered a valuable service to the unknown owner of the bonds, and was entitled to it.

Presently the detectives came back.

"Well," said the lawyer.

"He is safe under lock and key," promptly answered one of them.

"How did he appear?"

"Sullen and despondent. He vows vengeance against this boy."

"Probably he will not be in a position for some years to harm him. And now I have some instructions to give you."

Half an hour later Harry and the two detectives were passengers on a train bound for a town not far from Waybridge. It was a different railroad, however, from the one on which Harry had come. The choice was made from a desire to avoid suspicion.

From a point four miles distant they took a carriage, hired from a stable, which left them on the opposite side of the wood from the one by which Harry had previously entered.

Of course, they could not penetrate the wood with a vehicle, and the question came up:

"Who can be got to look after it?"

Just then Harry saw in a field near-by Reuben Richardson—the boy who had released him from his bonds.

"Reuben!" he called out

Reuben approached, regarding Harry and his companions with surprise.

"Have you an hour to spare?" asked one of the detectives.

"Yes, sir."

"Then please look after this team, and I'll see that you don't lose your time."

"All right, sir."

Then, free from all anxiety, the three made their way into the forest. The way seemed blind enough to the two detectives, who were, of course, on unfamiliar ground.

"Are you sure you can find the place?" asked one of them, doubtfully, addressing himself to Harry.

"Sure," answered Harry, briefly.

"It seems blind."

"I know the wood well. I have played here from a boy."

"Where does this Temple live?" asked the second detective.

"In the edge of the wood."

"Near here?"

"No, on the other side of the wood."

"It is to be hoped he has not grown distrustful and removed the box."

"I don't think there is any danger of it, sir. Remember, it is only last night that it was concealed. Besides, he wouldn't dare to attempt it in the daytime, when he would be liable to be seen."

"Quite right. You are unusually considerate for a boy."

Harry did not disappoint his companions. He led the way to the place where, the night previous, he had seen the tin box secreted, and instantly pointed out the exact spot where it was concealed.

The two detectives lost no time in searching for it. They had brought no shovel with them, lest, being seen, their object might excite suspicion; but, by means of sticks which they sharpened into stakes with the help of sharp jackknives, they turned up the earth, and, in due time, revealed the box.

"There it is," said Harry, joyfully, for he was also helping, and it was his stake that struck it first.

"So it is," exclaimed the first detective, in a tone of satisfaction.

There was no loss of time in lifting the box from its place of concealment. Then it was thought best to replace the earth, and carefully to cover the place with leaves, so as to hide from the superficial observer the fact that it had been disturbed.

"Our errand is accomplished," said the second detective. "Now let us make all haste back to our wagon."

"I will guide you," said Harry.

"Do so, or there is no knowing when we shall get back, or whether we shall get back at all. I once lost my way in a wood, and was wandering about four good hours, and all within a radius of two miles, before I got out. It is difficult to keep your direction in a forest, unless you have a compass."

So Harry, who had expected it, served as a guide on the return, and conducted them safely to the wagon.

Reuben was paid for his service with a dollar bill, which he declared he should have considered satisfactory for a whole day's labor.

Harry was about to say good-by to his companions, but they advised him to ride back with them to a point on the road where he could make his way to Waybridge without the trouble of passing through the wood, besides having a less distance to go.

"What time is it?" he asked.

"Two o'clock," answered one of the detectives, consulting his watch.

"Only two o'clock!"

Harry could scarcely believe it, so much had happened since he got up in the morning, yet it was even so. It had taken very little time to do his business in the city, as we know, and almost half the day still lay before him.

Harry thought of what he had accomplished with pardonable pride and satisfaction. He had frustrated the plans of two daring thieves, caused the arrest of one of them, and the probable speedy arrest of the other, arranged for the restoration to the owner of a valuable property, and earned for himself the munificent sum of two hundred and fifty dollars.

Nothing particular happened on his homeward walk.

"Got home so soon, Harry?" asked Uncle Obed, as our hero entered the little cottage.

"Yes, sir; and here's the money for your coupons."

"How about that other matter, Harry?"

"It came out all right. Where's mother?"

"Gone to call on one of the neighbors."

"Then I'll tell you about it; but I don't want to say a word to mother till the whole thing is settled."



CHAPTER XXIV

PHILIP IN A TIGHT PLACE

Ralph Temple was still at his cottage, or, more properly, hut, waiting impatiently for Vernon to reappear, that he might obtain his share of the contents of the tin box.

He had led a lawless life, and more than once been engaged in dishonest transactions, but never in one of such magnitude as the present. He calculated that, even if they surrendered the box in consideration of a reward, he would not receive less than a thousand dollars, and he was planning how he would dispose of this sum.

This was the project which he fixed upon: For years he had been desirous of visiting California, in the hope that chances of getting rich, honestly or dishonestly, might be met with in a State whose very name was suggestive of gold. With a thousand dollars he would feel justified in going. Moreover, there would be an advantage in leaving a part of the country where he was an object of suspicion to the authorities, and was liable at any time to be arrested for complicity in more than one questionable transaction.

In his lonely hut he knew nothing of the developments in the last robbery—whether any reward had been offered as yet. This was necessarily left in the hands of Vernon, while he remained to guard the hidden treasure.

A state of suspense is all the harder to bear when a man has nothing else to divert his thoughts, and this was the case with Temple.

"What if the box should be discovered?" was the thought that haunted him.

Finally, though he had once before visited the hiding-place of the tin box, he decided to go again, and started at such a time that he arrived about an hour after Harry and the detectives had unearthed and removed it.

Meanwhile, it becomes necessary to state that Philip Ross, whose curiosity was excited by the continued absence of Harry, made up his mind once more to visit the wood to see if he could discover any traces of his victim.

"He's hiding in the wood so as to make an excitement," thought Philip. "He'll make a great fuss about what we did to him."

In fact, Philip was getting a little anxious about the results of his high-handed treatment of Harry. He was not sure but Harry might have him arrested, and this excited his fears. He admitted to himself, reluctantly, that tying a boy hand and foot, and leaving him all night in the forest, was rather more than a joke.

He called at the hotel for Congreve, but was told that he had gone to ride.

After a little hesitation, he decided to go to the wood alone, carrying with him, by way of precaution, a stout cane which belonged to his father, to defend himself with in case Harry should be lying in wait and make an attack upon him.

On his way he had occasion to pass by the locality of the hidden treasure, though, of course, he knew nothing about this.

Just at the spot he heard a tramping in the fallen leaves, and, looking up hastily, saw Ralph Temple approaching.

Now, Temple, as we know, was a man of questionable reputation, and, moreover, once already he and Congreve had had an angry altercation with him. It is not much wonder, therefore, that Philip's heart beat with fear at the prospect of meeting this man alone, so far from help.

He could not get away without attracting attention, and, therefore, as the best thing under the circumstances, hid himself behind the broad trunk of a stately oak tree, and in fear and trembling waited for the unwelcome intruder to depart.

Ralph came along, with a quick, swinging gait. He was a tall man, of strong frame, and an unprepossessing countenance appropriate enough to his character and reputation.

His first glance was directed toward the spot where he had helped bury the box upon which his future plans depended.

There was something that startled him in the evident displacement of the leaves, as if there had been others there since the morning.

"Can it have been taken?" he asked himself, with a thrill of anxiety.

He strode forward hurriedly, and, removing the leaves, discovered signs of recent disturbance. Most suspicious of all, he found one of the stakes, the end soiled with dirt, which had been used by the detectives.

With a beating heart and a muttered imprecation, he began to dig down to ascertain whether his apprehensions were justified.

Philip, peering from behind the tree, was very much alarmed by this incomprehensible proceeding.

What could the man be doing? Was he insane? He blamed his folly in seeking again this dangerous neighborhood after the encounter of the morning.

"Oh, if I were only safe at home," he mentally ejaculated; "or, if Congreve were with me. If he discovers me he may kill me."

He thought of running away, but in the silence of the forest his steps would undoubtedly be heard, and he would be pursued. So it seemed most prudent to stay where he was. In fear and trembling he continued to watch the dreadful outlaw.

It was not long before Temple made the unwelcome discovery, suspected from the first, that the box was gone. He desisted from his work and gave vent to such a volley of imprecations that Philip trembled as if he had an ague fit.

Could it be, Temple asked himself, that Vernon had proved false to him, and, returning, conveyed away the box for his own individual profit?

"If he has, I'll kill him," he muttered, in a deep, growling tone.

Philip heard him, and his heart beat fast with fear. Who did Temple want to kill? Was it himself or Congreve?

"I'd give a thousand dollars, if I had it, to be at home," thought the miserable boy.

As for Temple, he was no less miserable. All his hopes and anticipations were dashed. The disappearance of the tin box, whoever might have removed it, would render it impossible to carry out plans of Californian emigration with which he had been solacing himself all the morning. Such a big haul as the present might never be made again.

His first suspicion fell upon his partner, but he also thought of the two whom he had met in the forenoon in the wood. They had been suspiciously near the spot, and might be implicated in the loss. It didn't seem probable, but it was possible.

At this inauspicious moment Philip, yielding to a tickling in the throat which he couldn't overcome, coughed. It was not a loud cough, but Temple heard it.

He instantly started for the quarter from which the sound proceeded, and in a few seconds discovered and dragged Philip by the collar from behind the tree.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded, sternly.

"Nothing," answered Philip, trembling.

"Ha! You are one of the boys that I caught prowling round here this morning."

"I have as much right here as you," said Philip, plucking up a little courage.

"Have you? We'll see about that," snarled Temple. "Where's the other fellow?"

"He isn't here."

"Isn't here? I don't believe it. He's hiding somewhere near."

"Then you can find him," said Philip, sullenly.

"No matter! I've got you, you rascal!" And he shook Philip fiercely. "What villainous work have you been up to?"

"I don't know what you mean," said Philip, his teeth chattering. "I am the son of Colonel Ross, and he won't allow me to be treated this way."

"I'd treat him the same way if I caught him here," growled Temple, with a lack of reverence for the colonel's exalted position, which struck Philip with horror. "Now, tell me what you have done with the tin box, you young scoundrel!"

"The tin box!" ejaculated Philip, in genuine amazement.

"Yes, the tin box. You know well enough what I mean."

"I don't know anything of any tin box; indeed, I don't."

"Do you mean to say you didn't dig it up from the place where we put it?"

"No; indeed I didn't! I don't know anything about it. What was in it?"

Was this ignorance real or affected? Temple could not tell. What was certain was that the box was gone, and this boy was hovering about the spot. It would be folly to let him go.

"I don't believe you," he said, bluntly. "You must come with me."

And he began to drag Philip off in the direction of his hut.

"Oh, where are you taking me?" asked the frightened boy.

"You'll know soon enough. I'm going to keep you till the tin box is restored to me."

Poor Philip! As he was jerked along by his collar, in the stern grasp of the outlaw, he suffered a good deal more than Harry had in his recent captivity.



CHAPTER XXV

PHILIP BECOMES A PRISONER

"Please let me go, and I'll give you five dollars," said poor Philip, as he was dragged along the forest path by his captor.

"Humph!" said Temple, grimly, thinking he might as well take the money, though he had no intention of releasing Philip. "Have you got five dollars with you?"

"No."

"Then you are trying to fool me," exclaimed Temple, with an angry jerk at the boy's collar.

"No, I'm not," answered Philip, terrified. "I've got two dollars with me, and I'll bring you the rest before night.

"Where will you get it?"

"From my father."

"And I suppose you expect me to let you go home and get it?"

"If you please."

"But I don't please. You must think I'm a fool. Just as if you would come back if you had once got away!"

"But I will. I promise it on my word of honor."

"Your word of honor," repeated Temple, scornfully. "As if I didn't know what that amounts to."

Philip would have resented this imputation if he had dared, but there was a look of grim resolution about Temple's mouth which made him afraid to show any resentment.

"Besides," added Temple, "what do you think I care for five dollars? After you have stolen thousands of dollars from me, you dare to think I will let you off for five dollars."

There was something in this speech which, despite Philip's terror, attracted his attention. Temple spoke of being robbed of thousands of dollars, yet he was generally considered a poor outlaw. How could he have come into possession of so large a sum?

"Thousands of dollars!" repeated Philip, in undisguised amazement.

"Yes; what have you got to say about it?" demanded Temple, sharply.

"I thought you were poor," Philip couldn't help saying.

Temple paused a moment. He knew that the possession of so much money would excite surprise in others besides Philip, and he regretted his imprudence in speaking of thousands of dollars. As it was done, he must give some kind of an explanation.

"So I was poor; but a rich cousin in New York died lately, and left me a large legacy. Not having any safe to put it in," he added, with a grim smile, "I concealed it in the wood, thinking it would be safe. When I saw you and that friend of yours prowling around this morning, it crossed my mind that it was in danger; but I didn't think you were thieves."

"We are not," said Philip. "We know nothing about your tin box."

"That's all very well to say. What were you doing in the wood just now?"

"I only went there for a walk."

"Of course," said Temple, with a sneer. "It's a pleasant place for a walk, and handy to your house."

"I hope to die if I ain't telling the truth!" said Philip, desperately.

"You'll die when your time comes, and it may come sooner than you think for," said Temple, taking a malicious pleasure in seeing Philip turn pale and tremble in his grasp.

"You wouldn't kill me?" faltered Philip.

"I don't know what I shall do. If you tell me where the box is, I shan't."

"But I don't know—hope to die if I do."

"Who was that fellow with you?" demanded Temple, abruptly.

"James Congreve."

"Where does he come from?"

"From New York."

"If you haven't stolen the box, he has. It lies between you."

"James wouldn't steal it. He is a gentleman."

"So gentlemen don't steal?" sneered Temple. "I am not sure about that. I know one thing. I've lost the box, and one of you has got it."

It occurred to Temple that it was more likely to be Congreve, who was older and bolder than the boy he had captured, but he was not disposed to let Philip go, nevertheless.

Again Philip denied the charge, but this time Temple did not answer.

At length they reached the hut, and entered.

Now came the critical moment. What was this bad man going to do with him? Philip asked himself.

He was dragged into the hut, and then, for the first time, his captor relaxed his grip.

"Sit down there," he said, pointing to a wooden chair, from which the paint had all worn off.

Philip sat down.

"Now, if you dare to stir or try to escape I'll kill you," said Temple, coolly.

"What a blood-thirsty ruffian!" Philip thought, trembling.

Temple opened the door of a closet, which was filled with a variety of articles, including a small supply of kitchen utensils.

He took out a case-knife, to the horror of poor Philip, who concluded he was to be butchered in cold blood. Still, he did not dare to leave his seat, lest his jailer's threat should be carried into execution. He was happily undeceived, however, for from the floor of the closet Temple lifted a portion of a clothesline, and with some difficulty, for the knife was dull, cut off a portion. Then he turned to Philip.

"I can't stay here to stand guard over you, boy," he said, "but I don't mean that you shall get away in a hurry. I think I have found a way to prevent your escaping."

He approached the boy, and said:

"Hold out your hands."

"What are you going to do to me, Mr. Temple?" asked Philip, nervously.

"Tie you," answered his captor, sententiously. "What do you suppose ropes are made for?"

"Please don't tie me," said Philip, in dismay. "I won't run away."

"No, I don't think you will. Hold out your hands."

There was no help for it. Philip, much against his will, held out his hands, and they were tied tightly around the wrists, so that the stricture was painful.

"It hurts me," he complained.

"It would hurt your neck worse," replied Temple.

Philip understood what he meant, and turned pale. But a ray of hope came to him in his despondency. Even if his hands were tied he might escape, and he resolved to do so as soon as Temple was at a safe distance.

His hands being tied would not prevent his walking or running, and once out of the wood he would feel comparatively safe.

He reckoned without his host, however; or, rather, he reckoned without knowing the intentions of his captor.

"There," said Temple, when the boy's hands were tied, "so far so good! Now for your feet!"

Hope died once more in Philip's breast. He might escape with his hands tied, but with his feet tied it was quite another matter. In vain he protested against this second indignity. His jailor was not to be moved.

"You may as well spare your breath, boy," he said. "I ain't quite a fool. I'm not going to leave you free to get away as soon as my back is turned."

So Philip's feet were tied, too, and he realized how utterly helpless he was.

"There, you can amuse yourself now as much as you like," said Temple, with a humor that Philip did not by any means appreciate. "You'll have a nice, easy time, with nothing to do."

He turned and left the hut, relieving Philip of his presence, which was one comfort, but did not go very far.

As my readers will conclude, Philip began to work his wrists up and down, vainly endeavoring to unloose the rope, but only succeeded in hurting himself. Next he tried his feet, but they, also, were securely confined.

It was a righteous retribution for the trick he had played on Harry Gilbert. He was being paid off in his own coin. Though his conscience was not particularly sensitive, it did occur to him that he was in precisely the same condition as the boy whom he and Congreve had left alone in the dark wood, fully expecting that he would have to remain all night.

But even then he could not be said to feel deep regret for his unworthy act. He was sensible of the inconvenience to which he was subjected by his constrained position, and began to chafe and fret under it.

"I wonder how long he's going to leave me here?" thought Philip, though, in truth, he hardly knew whether he wanted Temple to return or not.

"Just as soon as I get away, I'll ask pa to have him arrested. I wouldn't mind seeing him hung."

An hour passed—about the longest hour Philip had ever known. At length his eager ears discerned steps outside the hut. It might be a friend! At any rate, he would call, and perhaps the call would bring rescue.

"Hello, there!" he called out. "Come in; I need help!"



CHAPTER XXVI

PHILIP IS FORCED TO APOLOGIZE

There were two persons outside, one of whom was our hero, Harry Gilbert. The other, though dressed in citizen's clothes, was an officer, who had been sent to arrest Temple, on a charge of being implicated with Vernon in the robbery of the tin box.

Harry at once recognized the voice of Philip, and it is needless to say that he was filled with genuine surprise.

"That must be Philip Ross," he said, in a low voice, to the officer.

"Who is Philip Ross?"

Harry gave a few words of explanation. He did not, however, mention the mean trick which Philip had played on him.

"He is not a friend of Temple?" asked the officer.

"Oh, no! He must have got into some trouble with Temple. Please stay here, and let me go in and see what is the matter. I have a reason for wishing him to think I am alone, just at first."

"Just as you say," returned the officer. "I take it for granted Temple isn't here, or the boy wouldn't have called. Suppose the man comes back?"

"Let him come in, and you can follow. Between us, I guess we can make him a prisoner."

"You have plenty of courage," said the officer. "Are you not afraid to have him come in upon you?"

"Not while you are near to help me," answered Harry. "In that cabin we could pen him up."

"That's true. Well, go in to your friend."

"A queer sort of a friend Philip is," thought Harry, but he did not object to the title.

Opening the cabin door, which Temple had closed, Harry regarded Philip with amazement. He could hardly believe the testimony of his eyes when he saw his enemy, tied hand and foot, very much as he had been the night before.

"What's the matter, Philip?" he asked. "What has happened to you?"

"Can't you see for yourself," demanded Philip, querulously. "I'm tied so tight I can't move."

"Who did it?"

"That thief, Temple! I should like to wring his neck!" said Philip, spitefully.

Though Harry was not a vindictive boy, it did strike him as appropriate that Philip should have a chance to see for himself how it seemed to be bound. Deferring the gratification of his curiosity, he inquired:

"How do you like it?"

"How do I like it?" echoed Philip, furiously. "Don't ask such absurd questions, but come and untie me."

"Wait a minute," said Harry. "Perhaps you have forgotten that this is the way you and Congreve served me only last night. I suppose you thought it a good joke. Well, Ralph Temple has played the same joke on you."

"Joke!" repeated Philip. "He'll find out what kind of a joke it is when my father has him put in jail."

"Do you think he deserves to be put in jail just for that?"

"Yes, I do."

"Then it seems to me that you and your friend Congreve deserve the same punishment for what you did to me."

"It's entirely different; but stop talking and come and untie me."

"You didn't untie me. You left me to pass the night in the forest alone."

Philip eyed Harry attentively, and it struck him that perhaps it would be better to drop his haughty and domineering tone and temporize a little, if he wanted a rescue. He could afterward treat Harry as he pleased.

"I didn't think you'd make so much of a little matter like that," he said. "It was a mistake. I didn't mean you to stay all night. Congreve promised to go back and untie you. Didn't he do it?"

"No," answered Harry, dryly.

"Then he broke his promise. Just untie me, that's a good fellow, and I'll make it up to you. I've got two dollars in my pocket, and you may have them if you'll get me out of this scrape. Be quick, for Temple may be coming back, and he may kill us both."