Читать книгу Ben Bruce: Scenes in the Life of a Bowery Newsboy - Horatio Jr. Alger - Страница 8

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Ben hesitated whether to address the burglar or not before firing the gun. Certainly the intruder had no claim to a warning, but Ben decided to be generous and give him the chance to retire in good order.

Accordingly, half leaning out of the window, he called out: “What do you want here?”

The burglar was startled, but looking up and seeing only a boy, he took courage, and his native impudence asserted itself.

“Say, kid,” he responded, “where does the old man sleep?”

“That is none of your business,” answered Ben manfully.

“You’d better look out, or I’ll give you a lesson. I know well enough. He sleeps in that room.”

“What do you want with him?”

“I want that gold. I am sure it is in his chamber.”

“Go right down that ladder, or you’ll be sorry.”

“I’ll throw you out of that window when I get into the house.”

“I have given you warning. Will you go?”

“No, I won’t. What do you take me for? You’re the most impudent kid I ever met.”

Ben wasted no more words upon the intruder, but, thrusting the muzzle of the gun out of the window, fired.

The birdshot took effect in the burglar’s face and neck, and with a cry of surprise and dismay he lost his grip and dropped to the ground, upsetting the ladder in his fall.

At the sound of the discharge Albert awoke, as did also Jacob Winter in the room below.

“What’s up, Ben?” cried Albert in excitement, jumping out of bed.

“I am,” answered Ben coolly, “and now you appear to be.”

“I mean what has happened?”

“I’ve shot a burglar.”

Albert rushed to the window and looked down. So did Jacob Winter, who was frightened almost out of his wits.

In a tremor of curiosity and alarm he thrust his head out of the window, and asked, “Who’s there?”

It was an unfortunate movement for him. The burglar had risen from the ground, mad through and through, and eager for revenge.

He intended first to wreak his vengeance upon Ben, but seeing Mr. Winter’s protruding head, changed his mind. He picked up a stone and fired with only too accurate aim.

The stone hit Jacob Winter in the ear, and the unhappy farmer, with a terrified cry, fell back from the window and lay down on the floor.

“What’s the matter, Mr. Winter?” asked his wife.

“I’m killed!” answered the farmer in agonizing tones, clapping his hand to his injured organ. “The tramp has shot me.”

He was too bewildered to observe that the burglar had no weapon, and really believed for the moment that he had been shot.

Mrs. Winter hastily lit the kerosene lamp and went to the help of her husband.

“Where were you hit?” she asked.

“Here!” answered her husband in a hollow voice. “The bullet must have gone to my brain.”

“What’s this?” she asked, picking up a pebble. “This isn’t a bullet.”

“What is it?” he asked.

“Its only a pebble,” she answered. “You have been hit with a stone.”

“It almost killed me,” said Jacob, but he felt reassured.

“Who did it?”

“It’s that tramp, the man that tried to steal my gold.”

At this moment there was a knock at the door.

“There he is!” cried Jacob in fresh alarm. “He’s got into the house and is forcing his way into the chamber.”

“The door is bolted,” said his wife, “but I don’t think it can be the robber.”

But Jacob Winter could not so readily give up the idea.

“Go away, you, sir!” he called out in quavering tones. “Go away or I’ll have you arrested.”

“It’s only I, Mr. Winter,” said a young voice outside.

“It’s Ben.”

Feeling relieved, Mr. Winter himself opened the door.

“Did you fire the gun, Ben?” he asked.

“Yes, Mr. Winter. The robber had the ladder up against the house, and was going to get into your window.”

“Where is he now? This is terrible!” groaned the farmer.

“I peppered him with the gun, and I guess he’s gone off.”

“He fired a rock at me. He ought to have fired it at you. I wasn’t the one that shot him.”

“Is this the rock?” asked Ben, picking up the pebble with a smile.

“Yes.”

“It ain’t very large.”

“Neither is a bullet, but it hurts me awfully. Are you sure that man’s gone?”

“I’ll go to the window and see.”

Ben went to the open window and looked out. By the partial light he could see the baffled burglar in full retreat several hundred feet distant.

“He’s gone, Mr. Winter. That is, he’s going.”

“He may come back. Where is the ladder?”

“Outside on the ground where it fell.”

“He may come back and try to climb up again. You’d better go out and take it to the barn.”

“But the man might come back and hurt Ben,” said Mrs. Winter anxiously.

“Don’t be afraid, mother. I’ll take the gun with me, and Albert will come and help me.”

“Yes, yes, go, there’s a good boy!” said Jacob, who was afraid his wife might expect him to go himself. The very thought made him shudder.

Ben smiled a little at his stepfather’s evident alarm, but had no thought of refusing the service asked of him. Indeed he wanted to go out.

“Come down, Albert!” he called at the foot of the attic stairs. “I want you to help me take away the ladder.”

“I’ll be down in a jiffy,” said Albert.

The two boys descended the stairs and went out into the yard. They picked up the ladder and carried it to the barn, in which they placed it.

“This is a regular lark!” said Albert. “I wouldn’t have missed it for a dollar. How does Mr. Winter take it?”

“He’s scared out of his wits.”

“It’s lucky there were two able-bodied men on hand,” said Albert with a comical look, “or the house would have been robbed. Has Mr. Winter got the gold in his room?”

“Yes; I saw the box standing in one corner.”

“It’s lucky for us we ain’t rich. We needn’t be afraid of burglars.”

At the breakfast table Mrs. Winter said, “I do hope, Mr. Winter, you’ll take that gold to the bank. We don’t want any more midnight callers.”

“So I will,” answered her husband, with unwonted meekness, “but—but suppose the robber should stop me on the way.”

The savings bank was in the next town.

“Take me with you, Mr. Winter,” suggested Ben. “I guess you and I will be more than a match for the robber.”

“I don’t know but I will, Ben,” said Jacob, relieved at the suggestion. “Of course you are only a boy, but——”

“I can hold the horse while you are fighting the robber,” put in Ben, his eyes twinkling with suppressed fun.

“That’s so,” said Jacob, coughing, but he looked a little alarmed at the suggestion.

“Shall I take the gun with me?”

“Well, perhaps you may as well. What will you carry the gold in?”

“There’s an empty butter keg in the shed,” said Mrs. Winter.

“We’ll put the money in that, and people will think it’s a keg of butter,” remarked Ben.

“That’s a good plan. Be sure to load the gun before you set out.”

“I’ve attended to that already, Mr. Winter.”

Soon after breakfast the buggy came around to the door and Ben and his stepfather got in, the latter carrying the keg with its important contents.

They reached the next town, only five miles away, and drove at once to the savings bank.

“I don’t know as the bank is safe,” said Jacob Winter, “but it’s better to have my money here than where robbers can get at it.”

“I agree with you, Mr. Winter.”

The money was handed to the receiving teller of the savings bank, and Jacob received a bank book, which he put into his pocket with a sigh of relief. In the bank Ben picked up a copy of a Boston daily paper, and read the following paragraph:

The low price of tickets to New York since the last cut of the steamboat lines has greatly increased the volume of travel. There are few who cannot afford the journey, now that the fare has been reduced to one dollar.

“Only one dollar to New York!” thought Ben. “Now is my time to go, if ever!”