Tom Gordon could not be blamed for failing to note several suggestive occurrences during this memorable visit to Briggsville.

Seated on the porch of the hotel, while he was talking to the group of young persons and acquaintances, were two strangers, whose dilapidated dress, frowzy heads, and surly faces, showed they belonged to that pestiferous class of vagrants known as tramps.  They sat apart, after taking a drink in the bar-room, and with scowling but interested looks listened to the chatter going on around them.  It did not take them long to catch the drift of matters.  They talked together in low tones, with furtive glances at the young hero, and kept their places, with a few muttered remarks that no one else could catch, while Tom was inside.

When the smiling lad reappeared, his friends besieged him with inquiries.

“Did he give you the money, Tom?  How much is it?”

Being a sturdy boy, Tom naturally did not wish to appear too much elated over his good fortune.

“Yes,” he replied, with an assumption of indifference; “he paid me the hundred dollars like a gentleman, and I’ve got it in my pocket.”

“What are you going to do with so much money?” asked a mischievous acquaintance; “buy a farm, or go in partnership with Vanderbilt?”

“I’m going to give every cent of it to my mother,” replied Tom, with a compression of his fine lips and a flash of his eye.

“That’s right!” commented an elderly gentleman; “you couldn’t put it into safer hands, and I mean that for all of you youngsters.”

It was at this juncture that the two tramps rose to their feet, and slouched down the road in the direction of Tom Gordon’s home.  In the flurry of the moment no one noticed their departure, which indeed might not have attracted attention at any time.

“You’ve got a loaded gun in your house?” was the inquiring remark of the same gentleman.

“Yes, sir; we always keep one.  I fired at the tiger with it, but I didn’t hurt him much,” remarked Tom with a laugh.

“Well, tigers aren’t the only creatures you’ve got to look out for in these times.  There are plenty of people that would break into your house and murder you and your mother and aunt for the sake of that money.”

Tom blanched a little at these words, and one of the bystanders said, ­

“I don’t think we have such people about here, Uncle Jed.”

“I hope not, but you can’t be too careful; I’ve been robbed myself when I hadn’t any more thought of it than that boy there.”

Had Tom Gordon been a few years older or younger he would have acted differently; that is to say he would have returned home without delay.  But he did not wish to appear frightened by the words of the old gentleman; and, though he was eager to hurry home to his mother and aunt with the good news, he remained talking with his friends and trying to act as though he had forgotten about his great fortune, until the long summer day ended and twilight began closing in.  Then when he started, he looked around to see whether any one was going in the same direction.  He would have been glad of company, but it so happened that he set out alone in the gathering gloom to walk the mile that must be passed before he could reach his home.

“I wish Uncle Jed hadn’t said what he did,” he mused, when fairly beyond the town, “it makes me feel kind of pokerish; why didn’t I think to bring my gun along?  If the folks he talks about would rob our house they would stop me on the road and take the money from me.”

He walked faster as the darkness increased, for the moon would not rise for some time to come, glanced often behind him, and essayed a timid whistle.  He soon ceased this, however, for it only increased his uneasiness.  Every minute or two he pressed one of his hands against his breast to make sure the precious package was there.  Then he glanced back again in the gloom, and started when he fancied he saw a man following him.  But it was only fancy, and he increased his pace, wondering why the mile seemed longer than he had ever known it before.

The rattle of a wagon caused him almost to leap from his feet.

“That’s lucky!” he exclaimed; “I will get the man to let me ride, and then no one will dare disturb me.”

But it proved that the wagon was coming from the direction of his home, so it could not be turned to account.  He watched it as it came nearer.  An old gentleman sat on the front seat of the open vehicle which was jolting along at an easy rate.  It was too dark to see the driver’s features plainly, but Tom believed he knew him and called out a greeting.  The response showed he was right as to the identity of the individual.

Two-thirds of the way home came the most trying ordeal.  The lad was obliged to follow quite a stretch of road where there was woods on both sides.  This deepened the gloom, for the highway was so narrow that it was completely shadowed.

“If any robbers are waiting for me,” he mused, “it will be in them woods.”

He hesitated on the border of the shadows, meditating whether he could not reach home by some other course; but the forest, originally one that covered several hundred acres, was bisected by the highway, and the detour would be long.  Still he decided to try it, for, somehow or other, the conviction was strong with him that danger lurked among the shadows.  He turned about to retrace his steps for a short way, before leaving the road, when he stopped short, hardly repressing a gasp of affright.

He saw the unmistakable outlines of a man in the gloom, only a short distance behind him.  Afraid to meet him face to face, Tom turned back and resumed his walk along the highway.

“When I get along a little farther,” was his thought, “I’ll slip over the fence among the trees and dodge him.”

He began walking fast, continually glancing over his shoulder.  His alarm increased upon discovering that the man had also quickened his footsteps, so that instead of holding his place, the pursuer, as he may be considered, was gaining.

The fact that not the slightest sound disturbed the stillness added to the oppression of the situation.  The lad was on the point of breaking into a run, when the man, who was one of the tramps before referred to, called out, ­

“Hold on there, sonny! don’t be in such a hurry.”

This salutation was not calculated to soothe Tom’s agitation, and without any reply he started on a loping trot, still keeping his attention to the rear, and prepared to break into a dead run the moment it became necessary.  He was fleet of foot, and believed he could make the fellow hustle.

“Didn’t you hear me, sonny?  If you don’t want to get shot, stop!”

Tom had no wish to be shot, nor did he mean to have the company of the rascal who was bent on intruding upon him.

“Catch me if you can,” he muttered, breaking into a swifter pace; “I’m glad it’s night so I’ll have a chance to hide from you” ­

“Hold on there! what’s your hurry, younker?”

The boy almost sank to the ground, for this startling hail came not from the rear, but from the front.  Stopping short, he saw a burly fellow, standing within ten feet of him in the middle of the road, so nigh indeed, that, despite the darkness, Tom had no earthly chance of eluding him, as he might have done had he detected his presence a moment sooner.

Rallying with a supreme effort, he addressed the one nearest him.

“What do you want, that you stop me this way?”

“What do I want?” repeated the tramp with a chuckle, “that’s good; why I want to make the acquaintance of a purty young man like you.  What’s your name?”

“Tom Gordon,” promptly replied the boy, seeing nothing to be gained by hiding his identity.

“I’m Count De Buffer, travelling incog. just now, ’cause you see I don’t want the Americans to make so much fuss over me; I have enough of that at home, where they’re not such tuft hunters as here.  Glad to know you, Tom,” added the tramp, extending his hand.

The boy with some hesitation accepted the grimy palm which almost crushed his own.

“This is my friend Duke De Sassy,” said the “count,” as the other came up; “him and me have got tired of the frivolities of court life, and are making a tower through America studying its institutions, and doing the country.”

“This ere young man didn’t seem to care for my company,” remarked the last arrival; “for I called to him two or three times, but then, he couldn’t have knowed that it was a real live dook he was treating that way, so I forgive him.”

“The truth is,” added the count, “we’re down on our luck just now, and would like you to accommodate us with a trifle of a loan.”

The tramps placed themselves while talking so as to forestall any attempt on the part of the lad to break away.

“I haven’t any money to lend you,” sturdily answered Tom.

“Do you mean to say you have no funds in your exchequer?” continued the count; “’cause if you haven’t, of course we don’t want anything to do with you.”

It flashed upon Tom that he had only to speak an untruth to free himself of the presence of these miscreants.  Would it be a sin for him to say he had no money with him?

Only for an instant did the temptation linger.  His mother had taught him that a lie was never justifiable under any circumstances.

“I did not say I had no money,” he said, “but that I had none to lend you.”

“Ah, that’s a different matter.  I’m afeard, Duke,” he continued, addressing his companion, “that we shall be under the necessity of making a forced loan; how does the proposition strike you?”

“I’m convinced we shall be reduced to that painful necessity.  If I’m not mistook, this young gentleman was paid a hundred dollars this afternoon for his bravery in throwing a royal Bengal tiger over his shoulder and bringing him back to the circus, from which erstwhile the animal strayed.”

Poor Tom saw it was all up with him.  These wretches must have known about the reward from the moment he received it.  They had planned the robbery, and he had walked straight into the trap set for him.

“Yes, I have a hundred dollars given to me for helping to catch the tiger; I was taking it home to my mother.”

“That’s a good boy,” commented the count; “always think of your mother, for the market isn’t overstocked with first-class mothers.  But bear in mind, sonny, that we’re only borering this for sixty days, and we’ll give you ten per cent interest ­that’s our style of doing bus’ness, eh, Duke?”

“Well, if I must, I must,” said Tom hopelessly, making a move of his hand as if to draw the money from his trousers pocket.

“That’s right, allers take things philosophically, and be ready to extend a helping hand to them as” ­

The count had got thus far in his observations, when the boy darted to one side, and made a desperate attempt to pass them and reach the fence on his right.

He came very nigh succeeding too.  In fact, he did get to the fence, and was in the act of clambering over, when he was seized in the iron grip of Count De Buffer, who was angered at the narrow escape of the youth making off with the funds.

“If you try anything like that agin, I’ll kill you!” he said, choking and shaking the boy; “we mean bus’ness, young man, and don’t you forget it!”

Tom still struggled furiously, and pulled so hard that all three moved several paces along the highway.  Nor did he cease his resistance until he had been struck several cruel blows.

“Now fork over them funds!” commanded the count, when the panting lad was exhausted.

“I sha’n’t do it!” was the sturdy reply.

“Very well; then we’ll do it for you.”

The lad made no resistance, and the tramps searched him thoroughly from head to foot.  Not a penny was found on him.

“We ought to break your head for that trick,” said the duke, “and if it had done you any good we’d do so; but we understand it.  You flung the money away when you made a rush for the fence.”

“If I did,” was the defiant response of the boy, “all you’ve got to do is to find it again.”

“We’ll soon do that; hold him fast till I get it, and then we’ll settle with him.”

The tousled scamp shuffled off to the side of the highway to search for the package, which he was convinced had been thrown there at the time their prisoner made his dash for freedom.

“That’ll prove bad bus’ness for you,” growled the duke, who was the custodian of Tom.

“Not any worse than if you had got it,” replied the youth, who was thoroughly roused by his brutal treatment.  He had been struck several times, but could not believe the ruffians would dare put him to death in revenge for the loss of the money, that is, provided they did recover it.

“Haven’t you found it, Dick?” called the duke, forgetting the title of his comrade.

“No, confound it!  I don’t know where to look for it.”

“Where did you fling it?” demanded the duke of his captive.

“I shall not tell you; you may kill me first.”

“Very well; take that!”

But Tom managed to dodge the blow, and, by a quick leap, freed himself of the grip of his captor.  The next minute he was off like a deer.

Possibly the tramp might have overtaken him, had he made the effort; but he chose to let him go while he joined his friend in hunting for the money.

They kept up the search for hours, and were then, obliged to give it up.  Afraid that the boy, who must have reached home long before, would bring friends back, the tramps took their departure while the opportunity was theirs, and were seen no more.

Tom Gordon did a brave thing.  The moment he discovered he was not pursued, he hid himself at the side of the road, and waited till the scamps departed.  Then, when the moon had risen, he stole back again, and, remembering quite well where he had thrown the package of money, found it with little difficulty, and reaching home without further incident, told his stirring experience to his mother and aunt.