Edward Ellis - The Campers Out - or, The Right Path and the Wrong

“So you did; I jotted it down in my notebook, but seein’ as how you didn’t give me the percise date, I couldn’t be on hand to wish you good-bye; but what are you doin’ here ?”

“We’ve had bad luck,” was the disconsolate reply; “we’ve been robbed of all our money.”

“And are goin’ to hoof it back?”

“That’s what we’ll have to do, but we mean to take a new start.”

“How did this unfortinit misfortune come to overtake ye?”

Tommy gave the history of their mishap, the two tramps listening with much interest.

“This is my friend, Ragged Jim,” said Sam, when the narrative was finished, “and he’s true blue.”

Ragged Jim nodded his head and grunted, without taking the black clay pipe from between his teeth, while Snakeroot Sam munched his sandwich at intervals.

“So you’ve no money with you?”

“Not a dollar,” replied Tommy.

“How ’bout your shootin’ irons?”

“They’re all right; we’ve got a good revolver.”

“Let me look at ’em; I’d like to be sure that they’re the right kind to plug redskins with.”

The boys promptly produced their weapons, and passed them over to Sam, who examined each in turn, and then handed a couple to his companion.

“I obsarve a watch-chain onto ye,” continued Sam; “I hope you aint so dishonorable es to carry a chain without a watch at t’other end to sorter balance it.”

“I’ve got my father’s time-piece with me,” replied Tommy, producing the fine chronometer, and passing it to the tramp, who extended his hand for it.

Sam turned it over in his hand with the same attentive interest he had shown in the case of the revolvers. The single weapon he had shoved in his hip-pocket. He held the timepiece to his ear, listened to its ticking, surveyed the face, and then deliberately slipped it into his trousers pocket, catching the chain in the hole through which he had previously run a ten-penny nail to give his garments the right fit.

“How does that look on me?” he asked, with a grin, of his friend.

“It fits you bootiful,” replied Ragged Jim, “which the same is the case with these weapons and myself.”

“Good-day, sonnies,” said Snakeroot Sam, doffing his dilapidated hat with mock courtesy.

“But,” said the dismayed Tommy, “that’s my watch.”

“Why, sonny, you shouldn’t tell a story; that’s wicked.”

“But it is mine; I want it.”

“Didn’t you just tell me it was your father’s?”

“Yes – but I want it.”

“Give my lovin’ respects to your governor, and tell him when I come his way I’ll stop and pass it over to him.”

With tears in his eyes, Tommy rushed forward as the tramp began moving off, and caught his arm.

“Sam, you must let me have that!”

“What! are you goin’ to commit highway robbery?” he demanded, as if frightened: “do you want it bad?”

“Of course I do, and I mean to get it.”

“All right.”

Snakeroot Sam turned about, seized the boy by the nape of his coat, and delivered a kick which sent sent him several paces and caused him to fall on his face. Then he wheeled as if to serve Jimmy and Billy in the same manner, but they eluded him by running out of the woods to the highway. Ragged Jim stood laughing at the scene, and Sam made again for Tommy; but he had leaped to his feet and hurried after his companions.

“By-by,” called Sam; “when you get that money call on me again and I’ll take charge of it.”

When the three came together in the road, each was crying. Tommy suffered from the pain of his ill-usage, while all were in despair. Neither could say a word to comfort the others, and they tramped wearily along, beginning to feel for the first time that their good fortune had deserted them at last.

Not one would confess it, but he would have given anything at command could he have been safely at home at that moment, with the deeds of the past few days wiped out and undone forever.

The sky, which had been sunshiny in the morning, was now overcast, and they had not gone far when drops of rain began falling.

“We’re going to get wet,” ventured Billy Waylett.

“I don’t care,” replied Tommy, “I can’t feel any worse than I do now.”

A few minutes later a drizzling rain began falling, but, although they passed a house near the road, they did not stop, and kept on until their clothing was saturated. They were cold, chilly, and hungry, for noon had gone and all ate lightly in the morning.

“I’m tired out,” said Billy, at last; “let’s stop yonder and warm ourselves; maybe the folks will give us something to eat.”

The dwelling stood a little way from the road, with which it communicated by means of a lane lined on both sides with tall trees. No one was visible around it, but they turned through the broad gate and hurried through the rain, which was still falling, with its cold, dismal patter, every drop of which seemed to force its way through the clothing to their bodies.

About half the distance was passed when Tommy, who was slightly in advance of his companions, wheeled about and dashed for the highway again.

“There’s a dog coming!” was his exclamation.

The others heard the threatening growl, and descried an immense canine coming down the lane like a runaway steam engine.

Nothing but a hurried flight was left to them, and they ran with the desperation of despair. Billy, being the younger and shorter, was unable to keep up with the others. His dumpy legs worked fast, but he fell behind, and his terrified yells a moment later announced that the dog had overtaken him and was attending to business.

His horrified companions stopped to give what help they could, but the dog, having extracted a goodly piece from Billy’s garments, was satisfied to turn about and trot back to the house to receive the commendation of his master, who was standing on the porch and viewing the proceedings with much complacency.

An examination of Billy, who was still crying, showed that the skin had only been scratched, though his trousers had suffered frightfully. All had received such a scare that they determined to apply to no more houses for relief, even if the rain descended in torrents and they were starving.

And so they tramped wearily onward through the mud and wet, hungry and utterly miserable. It seemed to them that their homes were a thousand miles distant and they would never see them again.

They could not help picturing their warm, comfortable firesides, where their kind parents denied them nothing, and where they had spent so many happy days, with no thought of what they owed those loving ones whom they were treating with such ingratitude.

Tears were in the eyes of all three, and, though they grew so weary that they could hardly drag one foot after the other, they plodded along until the gathering darkness told them night was closing in.

They had met wagons, horsemen, and several persons on foot. From some of the last they made inquiries and learned that, although they had passed through several towns, they were yet south of Rahway. Their hunger became so gnawing that Tommy spent all their money in buying a lot of cakes, which they devoured with the avidity of savages, and felt hungry when none was left to eat.

To the inquiries made of them they returned evasive answers, and when they reached any one of the numerous towns and villages between New Brunswick and the Hudson, they hurried through them and into the open country, where the people viewed them with less curiosity.

When the darkness became so deep that they could not very well see their way, it was necessary to decide where and how they were to spend the night. The drizzling rain was still falling; they were chilled to the bone, and so tired that they could hardly walk.