This eBook was produced by Jim Weiler, xooqi.com



                             TRUE TO HIMSELF

 ROGER STRONG'S STRUGGLE FOR PLACE

 BY

EDWARD STRATEMEYER


  PREFACE

"True to himself," while a complete story in itself, forms the third
volume of the "Ship and Shore Series," tales of adventure on land and
sea, written for both boys and girls.

In this story we are introduced to Roger Strong, a typical American
country lad, and his sister Kate, who, by an unhappy combination of
events, are thrown upon their own resources and compelled to make
their own way in the world.

To make one's way in the world is, ordinarily, difficult enough; but
when one is handicapped by a cloud on the family name, the difficulty
becomes far greater. With his father thrown into prison on a serious
charge, Roger finds that few people will have anything to do with
either himself or his sister, and the jeers flung at him are at times
almost more than he can bear. But he is "true to himself" in the best
meaning of that saying, rising above those who would pull him down,
and, in the end, not only succeeds in making a place for himself in
the world, but also scores a worthy triumph over those who had caused
his parents' downfall.

When this story was first printed as a serial, the author has every
reason to believe it was well received by the boys and girls for whom
it was written. In its present revised form he hopes it will meet with
equal commendation.

                                                   Edward Stratemeyer.

     Newark, N.J.,
          April 15, 1900.
  _________________________________________________________________

  CHAPTER I

 THE TROUBLE IN THE ORCHARD

"Hi, there, Duncan Woodward!" I called out. "What are you doing in
Widow Canby's orchard?"

"None of your business, Roger Strong," replied the only son of the
wealthiest merchant in Darbyville.

"You are stealing her pears," I went on. "Your pockets are full of
them."

"See here, Roger Strong, just you mind your own business and leave me
alone."

"I am minding my business," I rejoined warmly.

"Indeed!" And Duncan put as much of a sneer as was possible in the
word.

"Yes, indeed. Widow Canby pays me for taking care of her orchard, and
that includes keeping an eye on these pear trees," and I approached
the tree upon the lowest branch of which Duncan was standing.

"Humph! You think you're mighty big!" he blustered, as he jumped to
the ground. "What right has a fellow like you to talk to me in this
manner? You are getting too big for your boots."

"I don't think so. I'm guarding this property, and I want you to hand
over what you've taken and leave the premises," I retorted, for I did
not fancy the style in which I was being addressed.

"Pooh! Do you expect me to pay any attention to that?"

"You had better, Duncan. If you don't you may get into trouble."

"I suppose you intend to tell the widow what I've done."

"I certainly shall; unless you do as I've told you to."

Duncan bit his lip. "How do you know but what the widow said I could
have the pears?" he ventured.

"If she did, it's all right," I returned, astonished, not so much over
the fact that Widow Canby had granted the permission, as that such a
high-toned young gentleman as Duncan Woodward should desire that
privilege.

"You've no business to jump at conclusions," he added sharply.

"If I judged you wrongly, I beg your pardon, Duncan. I'll speak to the
widow about it."

I began to move off toward the house. Duncan hurried after me and
caught me by the arm.

"You fool you, what do you mean?" he demanded.

"I'm going to find out if you are telling the truth."

"Isn't my word enough?"

"It will do no harm to ask," I replied evasively, not caring to pick a
quarrel, and yet morally sure that he was prevaricating.

"So you think I'm telling you a falsehood? I've a good mind to give
you a sound drubbing," he cried angrily.

Duncan Woodward had many of the traits of a bully about him. He was
the only son of a widower who nearly idolized him, and, lacking a
mother's guiding influence, he had grown up wayward in the extreme.

He was a tall, well-built fellow, strong from constant athletic
exercise, and given, on this account, to having his way among his
associates.

Yet I was not afraid of him. Indeed, to tell the truth, I was not
afraid of any one. For eight years I had been shoved in life from
pillar to post, until now threats had no terrors for me.

Both of my parents were dead to me. My mother died when I was but five
years old. She was of a delicate nature, and, strange as it may seem,
I am inclined to believe that it was for the best that her death
occurred when it did. The reason I believe this is, because she was
thus spared the disgrace that came upon our family several years
later.

At her death my father was employed as head clerk by the firm of
Holland & Mack, wholesale provision merchants of Newville, a thriving
city which was but a few miles from Darbyville, a pretty village
located on the Pass River.

We occupied a handsome house in the centre of the village. Our family,
besides my parents and myself, contained but one other member-- my
sister Kate, who was several years my senior.

When our beloved mother died, Kate took the management of our home
upon her shoulders, and as she had learned, during my mother's long
illness, how everything should be done, our domestic affairs ran
smoothly. All this time I attended the Darbyville school, and was
laying the foundation for a commercial education, intending at some
later day to follow in the footsteps of my father.

Two years passed, and then my father's manner changed. From being
bright and cheerful toward us he became moody and silent. What the
cause was I could not guess, and it did not help matters to be told by
Duncan Woodward, whose father was also employed by Holland & Mack,
that "some folks would soon learn what was what, and no mistake."

At length the thunderbolt fell. Returning from school one day, I found
Kate in tears.

"Oh, Roger!" she burst out. "They say father has stolen money from
Holland & Mack, and they have just arrested him for a thief!"

The blow was a terrible one. I was but a boy of fourteen, and the news
completely bewildered me. I put on my cap, and together with Kate,
took the first horse car to Newville to find out what it all meant.

We found my father in jail, where he had been placed to await the
action of the grand jury. It was with difficulty that we obtained
permission to see him, and ascertained the facts of the case.

The charge against him was for raising money upon forged cheeks, eight
in number, the total amount being nearly twelve thousand dollars. The
name of the firm had been forged, and the money collected in New York
and Brooklyn. I was not old enough to understand the particulars.

My father protested his innocence, but it was of no avail. The forgery
was declared to be his work, and, though it was said that he must have
had an accomplice to obtain the money, he was adjudged the guilty
party.

"Ten years in the State's prison." That was the penalty. My father
grew deadly white, while as for me, my very heart seemed to stop
beating. Kate fainted, and two days later the doctor announced that
she had an attack of brain fever.

Two months dragged slowly by. Then my sister was declared to be out of
danger. Next the house was sold over our heads, and we were turned out
upon the world, branded as the children of a thief, to get a living as
best we could.

Both of us would willingly have left Darbyville, but where should we
go? The only relation we had was an uncle,-- Captain Enos Moss,-- and
he was on an extended trip to South America, and when he would return
no one knew.

All the friends we had had before deserted us. The girls "turned up
their noses" at Kate,-- which made my blood boil,-- and the boys
fought shy of me.

I tried to find work, but without success. Even in places where help
was wanted excuses were made to me-- trivial excuses that meant but
one thing-- that they did not desire any one in their employ who had a
stain upon his name.

Kate was equally unsuccessful; and we might have starved but for a
lucky incident that happened just as we were ready to give up in
despair.

Walking along the road one day, I saw Farmer Tilford's bull tearing
across the field toward a gate which had been accidentally left open.
The Widow Canby, absorbed in thought and quite unconscious of the
danger that threatened her, was just passing this gate, when I darted
forward and closed it just a second before the bull reached it. I did
not consider my act an heroic one, but the Widow Canby declared it
otherwise.

"You are a brave boy," she said. "Who are you?"

I told her, coloring as I spoke. But she laid a kindly hand upon my
shoulder.

"Even if your father was guilty, you are not to blame," she said, and
she made me tell her all about myself, and about Kate, and the hard
luck we were having.

The Widow Canby lived in an old-fashioned house, surrounded on three
sides by orchards several acres in extent. She was well to do, but
made no pretence to style. Many thought her extremely eccentric but
that was only because they did not know her.

The day I came to her assistance she made me stay to supper, and when
I left it was under promise to call the next day and bring my sister
along.

This I did, and a long conversation took place, which resulted in Kate
and myself going to live with the widow-- I to take care of the garden
and the orchards, and my sister to help with the housekeeping, for
which we received our board and joint wages of fifteen dollars per
month.

We could not have fallen into better hands. Mrs. Canby was as
considerate as one would wish, and had it not been for the cloud upon
our name we would have been content.

But the stain upon our family was a source of unpleasantness to us. I
fully believed my father innocent, and I wondered if the time would
ever come when his character would be cleared.

My duties around Widow Canby's place were not onerous, and I had
plenty of chance for self-improvement. I had finished my course at the
village school in spite of the calumny that was cast upon me, and now
I continued my studies in private whenever the opportunity offered.

I was looked down upon by nearly every one in the village. To
strangers I was pointed out as the convict's son, and people reckoned
that the "Widder Canby wasn't right sharp when she took in them as
wasn't to be trusted."

I was not over-sensitive, but these remarks, which generally reached
my ears sooner or later, made me very angry. What right had people to
look down on my sister and myself? It was not fair to Kate and me, and
I proposed to stand it no longer.

It was a lovely morning in September, but I was in no mood to enjoy
the bright sunshine and clear air that flooded the orchard. I had just
come from the depot with the mail for Mrs. Canby, and down there I had
heard two men pass opinions on my father's case that were not only
uncharitable but unjust.

I was therefore in no frame of mind to put up with Duncan Woodward's
actions, and when he spoke of giving me a good drubbing I prepared to
defend myself.

"Two can play at that game, Duncan," I replied.

"Ho! ho! Do you mean to say you can stand up against me?" he asked
derisively.

"I can try," I returned stoutly. "I'm sure now that you have no
business here."

"Why, you miserable little thief--"

"Stop that! I'm no thief, if you please."

"Well, you're the son of one, and that's the same thing."

"My father is innocent, and I won't allow any one, big or little, to
call him a thief," I burst out. "Some day he will be cleared."

"Not much!" laughed Duncan. "My father knows all about the case. I can
tell you that."

"Then perhaps he knows where the money went to," I replied quickly. "I
know he was very intimate with my father at that time."

Had I stopped to think I would not have spoken as I did. My remark
made the young man furious, and I had hardly spoken before Duncan hit
me a stinging blow on the forehead, and, springing upon me, bore me to
the ground.

  CHAPTER II

 AN ASSAULT ON THE ROAD

I knew Duncan Woodward would not hesitate to attack me. He was a much
larger fellow than myself, and always ready to fight any one he
thought he could whip.

Yet I was not prepared for the sudden onslaught that had been made.
Had I been, I might have parried his blow.

But I did not intend to be subdued as easily as he imagined. The blow
on my forehead pained not a little, and it made me mad "clear
through."

"Get off of me!" I cried, as Duncan brought his full weight down upon
my chest.

"Not much! Not until you promise to keep quiet about this affair," he
replied.

"If you don't get off, you'll be mighty sorry;" was my reply, as I
squirmed around in an effort to throw him aside.

Suddenly he caught me by the ear, and gave that member a twist that
caused me to cry out with pain.

"Now will you do as I say?" he demanded.

"No"

Again he caught my ear. But now I was ready for him. It was useless to
try to shake him off. He was too heavy and powerful for that. So I
brought a small, but effective weapon into play. The weapon was
nothing more than a pin that held together a rent in my trousers made
the day previous. Without hesitation I pulled it out and ran it a good
half-inch into his leg.

The yell be gave would have done credit to a wild Indian, and he
bounded a distance of several feet. I was not slow to take advantage
of this movement, and in an instant I was on my feet and several yards
away.

Duncan's rage knew no bounds. He was mad enough to "chew me up," and
with a loud exclamation he sprang after me, aiming a blow at my head
as he did so.

I dodged his arm, and then, gathering myself together, landed my fist
fairly and squarely upon the tip of his nose, a blow that knocked him
off his feet and sent him rolling to the ground.

To say that I was astonished at what I had done would not express my
entire feelings. I was amazed, and could hardly credit my own
eyesight. Yet there he lay, the blood flowing from the end of his
nasal organ. He was completely knocked out, and I had done the deed. I
did not fear for consequences. I felt justified in what I had done.
But I wondered how Duncan would stand the punishment.

With a look of intense bitterness on his face he rose slowly to his
feet. The blood was running down his chin, and there were several
stains upon his white collar and his shirt front. If a look could have
crushed me I would have been instantly annihilated.

"I'll fix you for that!" he roared. "Roger Strong, I'll get even with
you, if it takes ten years!"

"Do what you please, Duncan Woodward," I rejoined. "I don't fear you.
Only beware how you address me in the future. You will get yourself
into trouble."

"I imagine you will be the one to get into trouble," he returned
insinuatingly.

"I'm not afraid. But-- hold up there!" I added, for Duncan had begun
to move off toward the fence.

"What for?"

"I want you to hand over the pears you picked."

"I won't."

"Very well. Then I'll report the case to Mrs. Canby."

Duncan grew white.

"Take your confounded fruit," he howled, throwing a dozen or more of
the luscious pears at my feet. "If I don't get even with you, my name
isn't Duncan Woodward!"

And with this parting threat he turned to the fence, jumped over, and
strode down the road.

In spite of the seriousness of the affair I could not help but laugh.
Duncan had no doubt thought it a great lark to rob the widow's
orchard, never dreaming of the wrong he was doing or of the injury to
the trees. Now his nose was swollen, his clothes soiled, and he had
suffered defeat in every way.

I had no doubt that he would do all in his power to get even with me.
He hated me and always had. At school I had surpassed him in our
studies, and on the ball field I had proved myself a superior player.
I do not wish to brag about what I did, but it is necessary to show
why Duncan disliked me.

Nor was there much love lost on my side, though I always treated him
fairly. The reason for this was plain.

As I have stated, his father, Aaron Woodward, was at one tune a
fellow-clerk with my father. At the time my father was arrested,
Woodward was one of his principal accusers. Duncan had, of course,
taken up the matter. Since then Mr. Woodward had received a large
legacy from a dead relative in Chicago, or its suburbs, and started
the finest general store in Darbyville. But his bitterness toward us
still continued.

That the man knew something about the money that had been stolen I did
not doubt, but how to prove it was a difficult problem that I had
pondered many times without arriving at any satisfactory conclusion.

I watched Duncan out of sight and then turned and walked slowly toward
the house.

"Roger!"

It was Mrs. Canby who called me. She stood on the side porch with a
letter in her hand.

"You want me?"

"Yes, I have quite important news," she continued. "My sister in
Norfolk is very ill, and I must go to her at once. I have spoken to
Kate about it. Do you think you can get along while I am gone?"

"Yes, ma'am. How long do you expect to be away?"

"If she is not seriously ill I shall be back by day after to-morrow.
You can hitch up Jerry at once. The train leaves in an hour."

"I'll have him at the door in five minutes."

"And, Roger, you and Kate must take good care of things while I am
gone. There are several hundred dollars locked up in my desk. I would
take the money to the bank in Newville, only I hate to lose the time."

"I reckon it will be safe," I replied; "I'll keep good watch against
burglars."

"Do you think you can handle a pistol?" she went on.

"I think I could," I replied, with all the interest of the average
American boy in firearms.

"There is a pistol upstairs in my bureau that belonged to Mr. Canby. I
will let you have that, though of course I trust you won't need it."

"Is it loaded?"

"Yes; I loaded it last week. I will lay it out before I go. Be very
careful with it."

"I will," I promised her.

I hurried down to the barn, and in a few moments had Jerry hooked up
to the family turnout. As I was about to jump in and drive to the
house, a man confronted me.

He was a stranger, about forty years of age, with black hair and
shaggy beard and eyebrows. He was seedily dressed, and altogether
looked to be a disreputable character.

"Say, young man, can you help a fellow as is down on his luck?" he
asked in a hoarse tone.

"Who are you?" I responded.

"I'm a moulder from Factoryville. The shop's shut down, and I'm out of
money and out of work."

"How long have you been out?"

"Two weeks."

"And you haven't found work anywhere?"

"Not a stroke."

"Been to Newville?"

"All through it, and everything full."

I thought this was queer. I had glanced at the Want column of a
Newville newspaper and had noted that moulders were wanted in several
places.

The man's appearance did not strike me favorably, and when he came
closer to me I noted that his breath smelt strongly of liquor.

"I don't think I can help you," said I. "I have nothing for you to
do."

"Give me a quarter, then, will you? I ain't had nothing to eat since
yesterday."

"But you've had something to drink," I could not help remark.

The man scowled, "How do you know?"

"I can smell it on you."

"I only had one glass,-- just to knock out a cold I caught. Come, make
it half a dollar. I'll pay you back when I get work."

"I don't care to lend."

"Make it ten cents."

"Not a cent."

"You're mighty independent about it," he sneered.

"I have to be when such fellows as you tackle me," I returned with
spirit.

"You're mighty high toned for a boy of your age."

"I'm too high toned to let you talk to me in this fashion. I want you
to leave at once."

The tramp-- for the man was nothing else-- scowled worse than before.

"I'll leave when I please," he returned coolly.

I was nonplussed. I was in a hurry to get away to drive Widow Canby to
the station. To leave the man hanging about the house with no one but
my sister Kate home was simply out of the question.

Suddenly an idea struck me. Like most people who live in the country,
Mrs. Canby kept a watch-dog-- a large and powerful mastiff called
Major. He was tied up near the back stoop out of sight, but could be
pressed into service on short notice.

"If you don't go at once, I'll set the dog on you."

"Huh! You can't fool me!"

"No fooling about it. Major! Major!" I called.

There was a rattling of chain as the animal tried to break away, and
then a loud barking. The noise seemed to strike terror to the tramp's
heart.

"I'll get even with you, young fellow!" he growled, and running to the
fence he scrambled over and out of sight. I did not wait to see in
what direction he went.

When I reached the porch I found Mrs. Canby bidding my sister good-by.
A moment more and she was on the seat. I touched up Jerry and we were
off.

"It took you a long time to hitch up," the widow remarked as we drove
along.

"It wasn't that," I replied, and told her about the tramp.

"You must be very careful of those men," she said anxiously. "Some of
them will not stop at anything."

"I'll be wide awake," I rejoined reassuringly.

It was not a long drive to the station. When we arrived there, Mrs.
Canby had over five minutes to spare, and this time was spent in
buying a ticket and giving me final instructions.

At length the train came along and she was off. I waited a few moments
longer and then drove away.

I had several purchases to make in the village-- a pruning-knife, a
bag of feed, and some groceries, and these took some time to buy, so
it was nearly noon when I started home.

Several times I imagined that a couple of the village young men
noticed me very closely, but I paid no attention and went on my way,
never dreaming of what was in store for me.

The road to the widow's house ran for half a mile or more through a
heavy belt of timber land. We were jogging along at a fair pace, and I
was looking over a newspaper I had picked up on the station platform.
Suddenly some one sprang out from the bushes and seized Jerry by the
bridle.

Astonished and alarmed, I sprang up to see what was the matter. As I
did so I received a stinging blow on the side of the head, and the
next instant was dragged rudely from the carriage.

  CHAPTER III

 THE MODELS

I had been taken completely off my guard, but by instinct I tried to
ward off my assailants. My effort was a useless one. In a trice I
found myself on the ground, surrounded by half a dozen of the fastest
young men to be found in Darbyville.

Prominent among them was Duncan Woodward, and I rightfully guessed
that it was he who had organized the attack.

"Take it easy, Strong," exclaimed a fellow named Moran, "unless you
want to be all broke up."

"What do you mean by treating me in this way?" I cried indignantly.

"You'll find out soon enough," said Phillips, another of the young
men. "Come, stop your struggling."

"I'll do nothing of the kind. You have no right to molest me."

"Pooh!" sniffed Duncan. "The Models have a right to do anything."

"The Models?" I queried, in perplexity. "Who are they?"

"The Models are a band of young gentlemen organized for the purpose of
social enjoyment and to teach cads lessons that they are not likely to
forget," replied Moran.

"I suppose you are the members," I said, surveying the half-dozen.

"We have that honor," rejoined a boy named Barton, who had not yet
spoken.

"And we intend to teach you a lesson," added Pultzer, a short, stout
chap, whose father had once been a butcher.

"What for?"

"For your unwarranted attack upon our illustrious president."

"Your president? You mean Duncan?"

"Mr. Woodward, if you please," interrupted Duncan, loftily. "I won't
have such a low-bred fellow as you calling me by my first name."

"I'm no lower bred than you are," I retorted.

"Come, none of that!"cried Moran. "We all know you well. We shall at
once proceed to teach you a lesson."

I could not help smile-- the whole affair seemed so ridiculous that
had it not been for the rough handling I had received when pulled from
the carriage, I would have considered it a joke.

"You'll find it no laughing matter," said Duncan, savagely, angry, no
doubt, because I did not show more signs of fear. "Just wait till we
are through with you. You'll grin on the other side of your face."

"What do you intend to do with me?"

"You'll see soon enough."

I began to think the affair might be more serious than I had imagined.
Six to one was heavy odds, and who could tell what these wild fellows
would not do?

"I want you to let me go at once," I said decidedly. "If you don't, it
will be the worse for you."

"Not a bit of it. We intend that you shall remember this occasion as
long as you live," returned Moran. "Come, march along with us."

"Where to?"

"Never mind. March!"

For reply I turned, and made a hasty jump for the carriage, intending
to utilize Jerry in a bold dash for liberty. I had just placed my foot
upon the step and called to the horse when Moran caught me by the
jacket and dragged me to the ground.

"No you don't!" he ejaculated roughly.

"There, Dunc, catch hold of him; and you too, Ellery. We mustn't let
him escape after we've watched two hours to catch him!"

In an instant, I was surrounded. Now that Duncan had his friends to
back him he was brave enough and held my arm in a grip of iron.

"Any one bring a rope?" went on Moran.

"Here's one," replied Ellery Blake.

"Hand it over. We had better bind his hands."

Knowing that it would be folly to resist, I allowed them to do as
Moran had advised. My wrists were knotted together behind my back, and
then the cord was drawn tightly about my waist.

"Now march!"

"How about the horse and carriage?"

"They'll be O. K."

There seemed to be no help for it, so I walked along with them. Had
there been the slightest chance offered to escape I would have taken
it, but warned by experience, all six kept close watch over me.

Away we went through the woods that lined the east side of the road.
It was bad walking, and with both my hands behind me I was several
times in danger of stumbling. Indeed, once I did go down, but the firm
grasp of my captors saved me from injury.

Presently we came to a long clearing, where it had once been the
intention of some capitalists to build a railroad. But the matter had
drifted into litigation, and nothing was done but to build a tool
house and cut away the trees and brush.

The building had often been the resort of tramps, and was in a
dilapidated condition. It was probably fifteen feet square, having a
door at one end and a window at the other. The roof was flat and full
of holes, but otherwise the building was fairly strong.

"Here we are, fellows," said Duncan, as we stopped in front of the
door. "Just let go of him."

The others did as he requested. But they formed a small circle around
me that I might not escape.

"Now that I have got you in a place free from interruption I intend to
square up accounts with you," continued the president of the Models.
"You hit me a foul blow this morning."

"You brought it on yourself, Duncan," I replied, as coolly as I could,
though I was keenly interested.

"Stop! How many times must I tell you not to call me by my first
name."

"Well, then, Woodward, if that suits you better."

"Mr. Woodward, if you please."

"Oh, come, Dunc, hurry up," interrupted Moran. "We don't want to stay
here all day."

"I'm only teaching this fellow a lesson in politeness."

"All right; only cut it short."

"See here, Moran, who's the president of this club?"

"You are."

"Well, then, I'll take my own time," replied Duncan, loftily.

"Go ahead then. But you'll have to do without me," rejoined Moran,
considerably provoked by the other's domineering tone.

"I will?"

"Yes. I've got other things to do besides standing here gassing all
day."

"Indeed!" sneered Duncan.

"Yes, indeed!"

I enjoyed the scene. It looked very much as if there would be lively
times without my aid.

"You're getting up on your dignity mighty quick, Dan Moran."

"I don't intend to play servant-in-waiting for any one, Duncan
Woodward."

"Who asked you to?"

" 'Actions speak louder than words.' "

"I'm the president of the Models, am I not?"

"Yes, but you're not a model president."

I could not help smiling at Moran's pun. He was not a bad chap, and
had he not been to a great extent under Duncan's influence he might
have been a first-rate fellow.

Of course, as is the fashion among men as well as boys, all the others
groaned at the pun; and then Ellery broke in:--

"Come, come, this will never do. Go ahead with Strong, Dunc."

"I intend to," was the president's rejoinder. "But you all promised to
stick by me, and I don't want any one to back out."

"I'm not backing out," put in Moran. "I only want to hurry matters
up."

There was a pause after this speech, then Duncan addressed me:--

"Perhaps you are anxious to know why I brought you here?"

"Not particularly," I returned coldly.

Duncan gave a sniff.

"I guess that's all put on."

"Not at all. What I am anxious to know is, what you intend to do with
me."

"Well, first of all I want you to get down on your knees and apologize
for your conduct toward me this morning."

"Not much!" I cried.

"You are in my power."

"I don't care. Go ahead and do your worst," I replied recklessly,
willing to suffer almost anything rather than apologize to such a chap
as Duncan Woodward.

Besides, what had I done to call for an apology? I had certainly
treated him no worse than he deserved. He was a spoilt boy and a
bully, and I would die rather than go down on my knees to him.

"You don't know what's in store for you," said Dunce, nonplussed by my
manner.

"As I said before, I'll risk it."

"Very well. Where is the rope, boys?"

"Here you are," answered Pultzer. "Plenty of it."

As he spoke he produced a stout clothes line, five or six yards in
length.

"We'll bind his hands a little tighter first," instructed Duncan, "and
then his legs. Be sure and make the knots strong, so they won't slip.
He must not escape us."

I tried to protest against these proceedings, but with my hands
already bound it was useless.

In five minutes the clothes line had been passed around my body from
head to feet, and I was almost as stiff as an Egyptian mummy.

"Now catch hold, and we'll carry him into the tool house," said
Duncan. "I guess after he has spent twenty-four hours in that place
without food or water he'll be mighty anxious to come to terms."

I was half dragged and half carried to the tool house and dropped upon
the floor. Then the door was closed upon me, and I was left to my
fate.

  CHAPTER IV

 THE TRAMP AGAIN

I am sure that all will admit that the prospect before me was not a
particularly bright one. I was bound hand and foot and left without
food or water.

Yet as I lay upon the hard floor of the tool house I was not so much
concerned about myself as I was about matters at Widow Canby's house.
It would be a hardship to pass the night where I was, to say nothing
of how I might be treated when Duncan Woodward and his followers
returned. But in the meantime, how would Kate fare?

I knew that my sister would be greatly alarmed at my continued
absence. She fully expected me to be home long before this. As near as
I could judge it was now an hour or so after noon, and she would have
dinner kept warm on the kitchen stove, expecting every minute to see
me drive up the lane.

Then again I was worried over the fact that the widow had left the
house and her money in my charge. To be sure, the latter was locked up
in her private secretary; but I felt it to be as much in my care as if
it had been placed in my shirt bosom or the bottom of my trunk.

I concluded that it was my duty, then, to free myself as quickly as
possible from the bonds which the members of the Model Club had placed
upon me. But this idea was more easily conceived than carried out.

In vain I tugged at the clothes line that held my arms and hands fast
to my body. Duncan and the others had done their work well, and the
only result of my efforts was to make the cord cut so deep into my
flesh that several times I was ready to cry out from pain.

In my attempts I tried to rise to my feet, but found it an
impossibility, and only succeeded in bumping my head severely against
the wall.

There was no use in calling for help, and though I halloed several
times I soon gave it up. I was fully three-quarters of a mile from any
house and half that distance from the road, and who would be likely to
hear me so far off?

The afternoon dragged slowly along, and finally the sun went down and
the evening shadows crept up. By this time I was quite hungry and
tremendously thirsty. But with nothing at hand to satisfy the one or
allay the other I resolutely put all thoughts of both out of my head.

In the old tool house there had been left several empty barrels,
behind which was a quantity of shavings that I found far more
comfortable to rest upon than the bare floor.

As the evening wore on I wondered if I would be able to sleep. There
was no use worrying about matters, as it would do no good, so I was
inclined to treat the affair philosophically and make the best of it.

An hour passed, and I was just dropping into a light doze when a noise
outside attracted my attention. I listened intently and heard a man's
footsteps.

I was inclined to call out, and, in fact, was on the point of so
doing, when the door of the tool house opened and in the dim light I
recognized the form of the tramp moulder who earlier in the day had so
impudently asked me for help.

I was not greatly surprised to see him, for, as mentioned before, the
old tool house was frequently used by men of his stamp. He had as much
right there as I had, and though I was chagrined to see him enter I
was in no position to protest.

On the contrary, I deemed it advisable to keep quiet. If he did not
see me, so much the better. If he did, who could tell what indignities
he might visit upon me?

So I crouched down behind the empty barrels, hardly daring to breathe.
The man stumbled into the building, leaving the door wide open.

By his manner I was certain that he had been drinking heavily, and his
rambling soliloquy proved it.

"The same old shebang," he mumbled to himself, as he swayed around in
the middle of the floor, "the same old shebang where Aaron Woodward
and I parted company four years ago. He's took care of his money, and
I've gone to the dogs," and he gave a yawn and sat down on top of a
barrel.

I was thoroughly surprised at his words. Was it possible that this
seedy-looking individual had once been intimate with Duncan Woodward's
father? It hardly seemed reasonable. I made a rapid calculation and
concluded that the meeting must have had something to do with the
proposed railroad in which I knew Mr. Woodward had held an interest.
Perhaps this tramp had once been a prosperous contractor.

"Great times them were. Plenty of money and nothing to do," continued
the man. "Wonder if any one in Darbyville would recognize-- hold up,
Stumpy, you mustn't repeat that name too often or you'll be mentioning
it in public when it ain't no interest for you to do it. Stumpy, John
Stumpy, is good enough for the likes of you."

And with great deliberation Mr. John Stumpy brought forth a short clay
pipe which he proceeded to fill and light with evident satisfaction.

During the brief period of lighting up I caught a good glance at his
face, and fancied that I saw beneath the surface of dirt and
dissipation a look of shrewdness and intelligence. Evidently he was
one of the unfortunates who allowed drink to make off with their
brains.

Mr. John Stumpy puffed on in silence for several minutes. I wondered
what he intended to do, and was not prepared for the surprises that
were to follow.

"Times are changed and no mistake," he went on. "Here I am, down at
the bottom, Nick Weaver dead, Woodward a rich man, and Carson Strong
in jail. Humph! but times do change!"

Carson Strong! My heart gave a bound. This man was speaking of my
father. What did it mean? What did the tramp know of the events of the
past? As I lay behind the barrels, I earnestly hoped he would go on
with his talk. I had heard just enough to arouse my curiosity.

I was certain that I had never, until that day, seen the man. What,
then, could he have in common with my father?

Instinctively I connected the man with the cause of my father's
imprisonment-- I will not say downfall, because I firmly believed him
innocent. Why I should do so I cannot to this day explain, but from
the instant he mentioned my parent's name the man was firmly fixed in
my memory.

In a few moments Mr. John Stumpy had puffed his pipe out, leaving the
place filled with a heavy and vile smoke which gave me all I could do
to keep from coughing. Then he slowly knocked the ashes from the bowl
and restored the pipe to his pocket.

"Now I reckon I'm in pretty good trim to go ahead," he muttered as he
arose. "No use of talking; there ain't anything like a good puff to
steady a man's nerves. Was a time when I didn't need it, but them
times are gone, and the least little job on hand upsets me. Wonder how
much that old woman left behind."

I nearly uttered an ejaculation of astonishment. Was this man speaking
of Mrs. Canby? What was the job that he contemplated?

Clearly there could be but one answer to that question. He knew the
widow had gone away, and in her absence he contemplated robbing her
house. Perhaps he had overheard her make mention of the money locked
up in her desk, and the temptation to obtain possession of it was too
strong to resist.

"I'll have to get rid of that boy and the dog, I suppose," he went on.
"If it wasn't for the noise I'd shoot the dog; but it won't do to
arouse the neighborhood. As for the lad, I reckon the sight of a
pistol will scare him to death."

I was not so sure of that, and I grated my teeth at the thought of my
present helplessness. Had I been free, I am sure I could have escaped
easily, and perhaps have had the tramp arrested.

It was an alarming prospect. Kate was the only occupant of the house,
and the nearest neighbor lived a full five hundred feet away. If
attacked in the middle of the night, what would my sister do?

For a moment I felt like exposing myself, but then I reflected that
such a course would not liberate me, and he would know that he had
nothing to fear from me at the house, whereas, if I kept quiet, he
might, by some lucky incident, be kept at bay.

So I lay still, wondering when he would start on his criminal quest.

"Now, one more drink and then I'll be off," he continued, and,
producing a bottle, he took a deep draught. "Ha! That's the stuff to
brace a man's nerves! But you mustn't drink too much, John Stumpy, or
you'll be no good at all. If you'd only let liquor alone you might be
as rich as Aaron Woodward, remember that." He gave something like a
sigh. "Oh, well; let it pass. I'll get the tools and be on the way.
The money in my pocket, I'll take the first train in the morning for
the West." He paused a moment. "But no; I won't go until I've seen
Woodward. He owes me a little on the old score, and I'll not go until
he has settled up."

There was an interval of silence, during which Stumpy must have been
feeling around in his pockets for a match; for a moment later there
were several slight scratches, and then a tiny flame lit up the
interior of the tool house.

"Let's see, where did I leave them tools? Ah, yes; I remember now.
Behind those barrels."

And Stumpy moved over to where I was in hiding.

  CHAPTER V

 FOLLOWING JOHN STUMPY

I expected to be discovered. I could not see how it could possibly be
avoided. John Stumpy was but a few feet away. In a second more he
would be in full sight of me.

What the outcome of the discovery would be I could not imagine. I was
at the man's mercy, and I was inclined to think that, our interview of
the morning would not tend to soften his feelings toward me.

But at that instant a small, yet extremely lucky incident occurred. A
draught of wind came in at the partly open door and blew out the
match, leaving the place in darkness.

"Confound the luck!" ejaculated John Stumpy, in high irritation.
"There goes the light, and it's the last match I've got, too."

This bit of information was gratifying to me, and, without making any
noise, I rolled back into the corner as far as possible.

"Well, I'll have to find them tools in the dark, that's all." He
groped around for several seconds, during which I held my breath. "Ah,
here they are, just as I left 'em last night. Reckon no one visits
this shanty, and maybe it will be a good place to bring the booty,
especially if I happen to be closely pushed."

I sincerely hoped that he would be closely pushed, and in fact so
closely pushed that he would have no booty to bring. But if he did
succeed in his nefarious plans, I was glad that I would know where to
look for him.

No sooner had the man found the bag of tools,-- which was nothing more
nor less than a burglar's kit,-- than he quitted the place, and I was
left to my own reflections.

My thoughts alarmed me. Beyond a doubt John Stumpy intended to rob the
Widow Canby's house. The only one at home was Kate, and I groaned as I
thought of the alarm and terror that she might be called upon to
suffer. As it was, I was sure she was worried about my continued
absence. In my anguish I strove with all my might to burst asunder the
bonds that held me. At the end of five minutes' struggle I remained as
securely tied as ever.

What was to be done? It was a puzzling, but pertinent question. By
hook or by crook I must get free. At great risk of hurting my head I
rolled to the door of the tool house, which Stumpy had left wide open.
Outside, the stars were shining brightly, and in the southwest the
pale crescent of the new moon was falling behind the tree-tops,
casting ghostly shadows that would have made a timid person shiver.
But as the reader may by this time know, I was not of a timid nature,
and I gave the shadows scant attention until a sudden movement among
the trees attracted my notice. It was the figure of some person coming
rapidly toward me.

At first I judged it must be Stumpy returning, and I was on the point
of rolling back to my hiding-place when I saw that the newcomer was a
boy.

When he reached the edge of the clearing he paused, and approached
slowly.

"Roger Strong!" he called out. I instantly recognized the voice of
Dick Blair, one of the youngest members of the Models, who, during my
capture, had had little to say or do. He was the son of a wealthy
farmer who lived but a short distance down the road from the Widow
Canby's place.

I had always considered Dick a pretty good chap, and had been
disagreeably surprised to see him in company with Duncan Woodward's
crowd. How Duncan had ever taken up with him I could not imagine,
except it might have been on account of the money Dick's father
allowed him to have.

"Roger Strong!" he repeated. "Are you still here?"

I could, not imagine what had brought him to this place at such an
hour of the night. Yet I answered at once.

"Yes, I am, Dick Blair."

"I thought maybe you had managed to get away," he continued, as he
came closer.

"No; you fellows did your work pretty well," I replied as lightly as I
could, for I did not want to show the white feather.

"Precious little I had to do with it," he went on, as he struck a
match and lit a lantern that he carried.

"You were with the crowd."

"I know it; but I wouldn't have been if I'd known what they were up
to. I hope you will not think too badly of me, Roger."

"I thought it was strange you would go into anything of this kind,
Dick. What brings you back to-night?"

"I am ashamed of the whole thing," he answered earnestly, "and I came
to release you-- that is, on certain conditions."

My heart gave a bound. "What conditions, Dick?"

"I want you to promise that you won't tell who set you free," he
explained. "If Dunc or the rest heard of it, they would never forgive
me."

"What of it, Dick? Their opinion isn't worth anything."

"I know it-- now. But they could tell mighty mean stories about me if
they wanted to." And Dick Blair turned away and shuffled his foot on
the ground to hide his shame.

"Don't mind them, Dick. If they start any bad report about you, do as
I'm doing with the stain on our name-- live it down."

"I'll try it. But you'll promise, won't you?"

"If you wish it, yes."

"All right; I know I can trust you," said Dick. Producing his pocket
knife, he quickly cut the cords that bound me. Somewhat stiff from the
position in which I had been forced to remain, I rose slowly to my
feet.

"I don't know whether to thank you or not for what you've done for me,
Dick," I began. "But I appreciate your actions."

"I don't deserve any thanks. It was a mean trick, and I guess legally
I was as guilty as any one. Just keep quiet about it and don't think
too hard of me."

"I'll do both," I responded quickly.

"It's a mighty lonely place to spend the night in," he went on. "I'm
no coward, but I wouldn't care to do it, all alone."

"I haven't been alone."

"No." And Dick looked intensely surprised. "Who has been here?"

I hesitated. Should I tell him?

"A tramp," I began.

"Why didn't he untie you?"

"He didn't see me."

"Oh, I suppose you hid away. What did he want, I wonder?"

"He was after some tools."

"Tools! There are none here, any more."

"But there were."

"What kind of tools?"

I hesitated again. Should I tell Dick the secret? Perhaps he might
give me some timely assistance.

"Will you promise to keep silent if I tell?"

"Why, what do you mean, Roger?"

"It is very important."

"All right. Fire away."

"He came after some burglar's tools."

Dick stepped back in astonishment. "You surely don't mean it!" he
gasped "Who was he going to rob?"

"The widow's house. He knows she is away and has left considerable
money in her desk."

And in a rapid manner I told Dick of what I had overheard, omitting
the mentioning of my father's and Mr. Woodward's names. Of course he
was tremendously excited. What healthy country boy would not be?

"What are you going to do about it?" he questioned.

"Now I'm free I'm going to catch the fellow," I returned decidedly.
"He shall not rob Mrs. Canby's house if I can help it."

"Aren't you afraid?"

"I intend to be cautious."

"He may have a pistol."

"The widow left one in the house. Maybe I can secure it. Then we'll be
on an equal footing."

"I've got a pistol, Roger."

"You!"

"Yes, the Models all carry them. Dunc always insisted that it was the
proper thing."

As Dick spoke, he produced a highly polished nickel-plated
five-shooter.

"It looks like a good one," I said, after examining it. "Is it
loaded?"

"Oh, yes; and I've got a box of cartridges in my pocket besides."

"Lend it to me, Dick."

"If you don't mind I'll-- I'll go along with you, Roger," he returned.
"You won't find me such a terrible coward."

"All right. But we must hurry. That fellow has got a good start, and
he may even now be in the house."

"Hardly. He'll want to take a look around first."

Nevertheless, we lost no time in getting away from the tool house. We
walked side by side, I with the pistol in the pocket of my jacket, and
Dick with the lantern held aloft, that we might see to make rapid
progress over the unaccustomed road.

It was a good walk to the widow's, and once Dick stumbled down in a
heap, while the lantern rolled several yards away. But he picked
himself up without grumbling and went along faster than ever.

"If I'm not mistaken, I saw that tramp down at the depot this
morning," said he, as we drew near to the main road. "He was hanging
around, and I thought he looked like a suspicious character."

"Did you see him yesterday?"

"No."

"Did you ever hear of him before?"

"I guess not. He was near the baggage room when I saw him. Then Mr.
Woodward came up to see about a trunk, and the tramp made right off."

I was interested. John Stumpy had intimately that he intended to have
an interview with Duncan Woodward's father, and if this was so, why
had he not taken advantage of the opportunity thus offered?

I could arrive at but one conclusion. The tramp wished their meeting
to be a strictly private one. He did not care to be seen in Mr.
Woodward's presence, or else the wealthy merchant would not tolerate
such a thing.

If the meeting was to be of a private nature, it would no doubt be of
importance. Had my father's name not been mentioned I would not have
cared; but as it was, I was deeply interested.

Perhaps it would be better to merely scare the fellow off. If he was
captured, all chance of finding out his secrets might be lost.

By this time the reader may be aware that I thought John Stumpy's
secrets important. Such was a fact. Try as hard as I was able, I could
not but imagine that they concerned my father and his alleged
downfall.

In five minutes Dick and I came within sight of Widow Canby's house.
There was a light burning in the kitchen and another in the
dining-room.

"Everything seems to be all right," said Dick, as we stood near a
corner of the front fence. "I guess the fellow hasn't put in an
appearance yet."

"I don't know. See I the side porch door is open. We generally keep it
closed, and Kate would certainly have it shut if she was alone."

"What do you intend to do? Go into the house?"

"Guess we had better. I'd like to know where that fellow is," I
replied. "Likely as not he is prowling about here somewhere. If we can
only catch sight of him, we can-- Hark!"

As I uttered the last word, a shrill cry reached our ears. It was
Kate's voice; and with my heart jumping wildly I made a dash for the
house, with Dick Blair following me.

  CHAPTER VI

 A STRANGE ENVELOPE

I was sure that my sister's cry could mean but one thing-- that the
tramp had made a raid on the house. I was thoroughly alarmed, and ran
with all possible speed in the direction of the dining-room, from
whence the sound proceeded.