Читать книгу Ben Bruce: Scenes in the Life of a Bowery Newsboy - Horatio Jr. Alger - Страница 6

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From their place of concealment the two boys watched attentively. They were rather mystified as to Mr. Winter’s intentions. It occurred to them, however, that he might have in his pocket some gold coins to add to the hoard underneath.

At any rate he began to dig, occasionally pausing to rest, for he was not very robust, and the labor of digging affected his back.

At last he reached the box, and getting down on his knees, pulled it out of the hole.

He raised the cover and began to count the contents. These contents consisted entirely of gold pieces.

In a low voice, which, however, was audible to the boys, he counted “Ninety-six, ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine.”

Then in an alarmed tone he added: “There’s one short. There ought to be a hundred, making five hundred dollars—can any one have found the box and taken one out? I’ll count again.”

Once more he counted, and this time he made full number, much to his relief.

Then from his vest-pocket he drew out two more gold pieces and added them to the pile.

“That makes a hundred and two,” he said in a tone of satisfaction.

He was preparing to replace the box in its place of concealment when something unexpected happened.

An ill-looking fellow, a tramp in appearance, who had crept up without being observed either by Mr. Winter or the boys, suddenly sprang out from behind a large tree, and throwing himself upon the old farmer tried to pull the box from him.

“Gimme that money, old man!” he cried in a hoarse voice, “or I’ll kill ye!”

Jacob Winter uttered a cry of dismay, but he clung to the box.

“Go away!” he gasped. “It’s my money. I’ll have yer arrested.”

“Go ahead and do it, but I’ll take the money first.”

The fellow’s fierce face was distinctly seen by the boys. He was a man of about thirty, with a coarse sensual look and blotched skin, the result, doubtless, of intemperate habits.

An ill-looking fellow suddenly sprang out from behind a tree and throwing himself upon the old farmer, tried to pull the box from him.—Page 22.

Ben Bruce.

“Go away, you robber!” ejaculated the farmer, clinging to his treasure with the energy of despair. He was evidently more afraid of losing that than of receiving bodily injury, though the wicked eyes of his assailant might well have inspired physical apprehension.

The conflict was unequal. Mr. Winter was probably sixty years of age, while his assailant was only half that, and was a larger man in every way.

“Look here, old man,” said the tramp, angered by the farmer’s resistance, “you’d better give up your money or you’ll get hurt!”

“I’ll send you to jail!” shrieked Jacob Winter.

“Maybe you will, if I don’t get away too quick,” laughed the tramp.

“Aren’t you ashamed to rob a poor old man?”

“Oh, I guess you’ve got some more money. You won’t die in the poorhouse.”

By this time the man had got the box into his hands, and now prepared to walk off with it.

“Help! help!” shrieked the farmer.

The tramp laughed.

“There ain’t no help near,” he said. “Go home and go to bed, and thank your lucky stars I didn’t brain ye.”

The two boys had listened in a fever of excitement. Neither liked Jacob Winter, but all their sympathies were with him. There was something coarse and repulsive about the tramp, and they could not bear to have him succeed.

“Are we going to stand this, Albert?” whispered Ben.

“No.”

“Stand by me, and I’ll do what I can.”

Ben had already espied the spade, and had made up his mind what he would do with it.

He sprang out from behind the tree, dashed forward and seized the implement without being heard by the tramp. With a look toward Albert, whose help he expected to need, he made another rush forward and fetched the unsuspecting robber a blow upon the back of his head.

Though it was a boy’s blow it was a heavy one, and with a cry of dismay the tramp dropped the box and raised his hand to the injured spot. Albert ran up, seized the box, and darted back.

“Wha—what’s all this?” exclaimed the tramp, turning back.

Knowing nothing of the presence of the boys he was under the impression that the old man had made the attack. He saw Jacob Winter looking as much amazed as he felt himself. Then observing the two boys, he quickly comprehended what had taken place.

“Why you young cubs!” he cried, his face looking fiercer and more threatening, “you must be crazy. I’ll kill ye both.”

He sprang towards Albert Graham, for it was Albert who held the box of treasure, and was about to make an attack upon him. But he failed to take account of Ben, who was still armed with the dangerous spade.

Now Ben’s blood was up, and he was ready to carry on hostilities. He had no intention of deserting his young comrade.

He rushed up and dealt the tramp another blow, heavier than the first, that literally laid him out. He sank to the ground stunned, and temporarily lost consciousness.

“Now, Mr. Winter,” said Ben, who seemed naturally to take command, “take the box and go to the house as quick as you can. I have stunned the robber, but he’ll come to in a short time and then we shall be in danger. Albert, come with us.”

Jacob Winter said nothing, but it was clear that he considered the advice good. He grasped the box and started for home on a half run, followed by the two boys. Not a word was said till they reached the farmyard.

Then as he stopped to wipe the perspiration from his face, he ejaculated, “Boys, this is terrible.”

“So it is,” said Ben, “but we’ve saved the money.”

“Do you think you—you killed him?” asked Jacob, with a shudder.

“No, I only stunned him. If I hadn’t we’d have all been in danger.”

“He’s an awful man—looks as if he’d escaped from State’s prison.”

“If he hasn’t he’s likely to go there. It’s lucky we were there or you’d have lost your money.”

“How did you happen to be there?” asked the farmer, beginning to be curious.

“You see Albert and I were taking a walk. He was going to see me part way home.”

“You weren’t spying on me, were you?” asked Jacob in a tone of suspicion. “It kind of looks like that.”

“No matter what it looks like, Mr. Winter, it was lucky for you that we were around. That’s all I’ve got to say.”

“Well, mebbe it was; mebbe it was.”

“But, Mr. Winter, don’t you think it’s risky putting your money in such a place? Some one would be sure to find it sooner or later.”

“I won’t put it there again,” muttered Jacob. “Do you—see anythin’ of that man? Your eyes are better than mine.”

“No, I don’t see him. I don’t believe he would dare to follow us as far as the house.”

“I’ll go and report him to the constable first thing to-morrow mornin’. I don’t feel safe with such a man ’round. It’s gettin’ late, Ben. We’d better be gettin’ to bed.”

“Albert, won’t you sleep with me to-night? I don’t like to have you go home alone. You might meet the tramp.”

“Yes, I guess I’ll stay, Ben. Mother won’t be frightened. She’ll know I stayed with you.”

“Yes, Albert, you can stay,” said Jacob with unusual complaisance. “If—if that terrible man comes in the night there’ll be three of us to meet him.”

Usually Mr. Winter did not make any effort to be agreeable to Ben’s friends, and under ordinary circumstances he would have objected to Ben’s having a boy stay with him, but fear had softened his asperities and made him more amiable than usual.

“Mr. Winter, will you let me take the gun up to my room?” asked Ben.

“Do you know how to fire it?”

“Yes, sir.”

On several occasions when Mr. Winter was away from home Ben had gone out gunning, and in this way had learned how to manage firearms. The farmer, however, did not ask any uncomfortable or disagreeable questions, but asked, “What do you want with the gun, Ben?”

“I thought the robber might come here in the middle of the night, and I could fire at him out of the window.”

“I don’t know as it’s prudent, Ben.”

“If you would rather fire at him yourself, Mr. Winter, of course I won’t ask for the gun.”

“No, no,” said Jacob hastily, “you can take it if you want to. But be keerful, be keerful!”

So Ben took the gun and carried it up to the attic chamber where he and Albert were to sleep.

“Is it loaded, Ben?” asked Albert.

“Yes, it’s loaded with bird shot. I don’t want to kill the man, but I’ll give him a scare.”