CHAPTER XXIV
PHILIP IN A TIGHT PLACE
Ralph Temple was still at his cottage, or, more properly, hut, waitingimpatiently for Vernon to reappear, that he might obtain his share ofthe contents of the tin box.
He had led a lawless life, and more than once been engaged in dishonesttransactions, but never in one of such magnitude as the present. Hecalculated that, even if they surrendered the box in consideration of areward, he would not receive less than a thousand dollars, and he wasplanning how he would dispose of this sum.
This was the project which he fixed upon: For years he had been desirousof visiting California, in the hope that chances of getting rich, honestly or dishonestly, might be met with in a State whose very namewas suggestive of gold. With a thousand dollars he would feel justifiedin going. Moreover, there would be an advantage in leaving a part of thecountry where he was an object of suspicion to the authorities, and wasliable at any time to be arrested for complicity in more than onequestionable transaction.
In his lonely hut he knew nothing of the developments in the lastrobbery – whether any reward had been offered as yet. This wasnecessarily left in the hands of Vernon, while he remained to guard thehidden treasure.
A state of suspense is all the harder to bear when a man has nothingelse to divert his thoughts, and this was the case with Temple.
"What if the box should be discovered?" was the thought that hauntedhim.
Finally, though he had once before visited the hiding-place of the tinbox, he decided to go again, and started at such a time that he arrivedabout an hour after Harry and the detectives had unearthed and removedit.
Meanwhile, it becomes necessary to state that Philip Ross, whosecuriosity was excited by the continued absence of Harry, made up hismind once more to visit the wood to see if he could discover any tracesof his victim.
"He's hiding in the wood so as to make an excitement," thought Philip.
"He'll make a great fuss about what we did to him."
In fact, Philip was getting a little anxious about the results of hishigh-handed treatment of Harry. He was not sure but Harry might have himarrested, and this excited his fears. He admitted to himself, reluctantly, that tying a boy hand and foot, and leaving him all nightin the forest, was rather more than a joke.
He called at the hotel for Congreve, but was told that he had gone toride.
After a little hesitation, he decided to go to the wood alone, carryingwith him, by way of precaution, a stout cane which belonged to hisfather, to defend himself with in case Harry should be lying in wait andmake an attack upon him.
On his way he had occasion to pass by the locality of the hiddentreasure, though, of course, he knew nothing about this.
Just at the spot he heard a tramping in the fallen leaves, and, lookingup hastily, saw Ralph Temple approaching.
Now, Temple, as we know, was a man of questionable reputation, and, moreover, once already he and Congreve had had an angry altercation withhim. It is not much wonder, therefore, that Philip's heart beat withfear at the prospect of meeting this man alone, so far from help.
He could not get away without attracting attention, and, therefore, asthe best thing under the circumstances, hid himself behind the broadtrunk of a stately oak tree, and in fear and trembling waited for theunwelcome intruder to depart.
Ralph came along, with a quick, swinging gait. He was a tall man, ofstrong frame, and an unprepossessing countenance appropriate enough tohis character and reputation.
His first glance was directed toward the spot where he had helped burythe box upon which his future plans depended.
There was something that startled him in the evident displacement of theleaves, as if there had been others there since the morning.
"Can it have been taken?" he asked himself, with a thrill of anxiety.
He strode forward hurriedly, and, removing the leaves, discovered signsof recent disturbance. Most suspicious of all, he found one of thestakes, the end soiled with dirt, which had been used by thedetectives.
With a beating heart and a muttered imprecation, he began to dig down toascertain whether his apprehensions were justified.
Philip, peering from behind the tree, was very much alarmed by thisincomprehensible proceeding.
What could the man be doing? Was he insane? He blamed his folly inseeking again this dangerous neighborhood after the encounter of themorning.
"Oh, if I were only safe at home," he mentally ejaculated; "or, if
Congreve were with me. If he discovers me he may kill me."
He thought of running away, but in the silence of the forest his stepswould undoubtedly be heard, and he would be pursued. So it seemed mostprudent to stay where he was. In fear and trembling he continued towatch the dreadful outlaw.
It was not long before Temple made the unwelcome discovery, suspectedfrom the first, that the box was gone. He desisted from his work andgave vent to such a volley of imprecations that Philip trembled as if hehad an ague fit.
Could it be, Temple asked himself, that Vernon had proved false to him, and, returning, conveyed away the box for his own individual profit?
"If he has, I'll kill him," he muttered, in a deep, growling tone.
Philip heard him, and his heart beat fast with fear. Who did Temple wantto kill? Was it himself or Congreve?
"I'd give a thousand dollars, if I had it, to be at home," thought themiserable boy.
As for Temple, he was no less miserable. All his hopes and anticipationswere dashed. The disappearance of the tin box, whoever might haveremoved it, would render it impossible to carry out plans of Californianemigration with which he had been solacing himself all the morning. Sucha big haul as the present might never be made again.
His first suspicion fell upon his partner, but he also thought of thetwo whom he had met in the forenoon in the wood. They had beensuspiciously near the spot, and might be implicated in the loss. Itdidn't seem probable, but it was possible.
At this inauspicious moment Philip, yielding to a tickling in the throatwhich he couldn't overcome, coughed. It was not a loud cough, but Templeheard it.
He instantly started for the quarter from which the sound proceeded, andin a few seconds discovered and dragged Philip by the collar from behindthe tree.
"What are you doing here?" he demanded, sternly.
"Nothing," answered Philip, trembling.
"Ha! You are one of the boys that I caught prowling round here thismorning."
"I have as much right here as you," said Philip, plucking up a littlecourage.
"Have you? We'll see about that," snarled Temple. "Where's the otherfellow?"
"He isn't here."
"Isn't here? I don't believe it. He's hiding somewhere near."
"Then you can find him," said Philip, sullenly.
"No matter! I've got you, you rascal!" And he shook Philip fiercely.
"What villainous work have you been up to?"
"I don't know what you mean," said Philip, his teeth chattering. "I amthe son of Colonel Ross, and he won't allow me to be treated this way."
"I'd treat him the same way if I caught him here," growled Temple, witha lack of reverence for the colonel's exalted position, which struckPhilip with horror. "Now, tell me what you have done with the tin box, you young scoundrel!"
"The tin box!" ejaculated Philip, in genuine amazement.
"Yes, the tin box. You know well enough what I mean."
"I don't know anything of any tin box; indeed, I don't."
"Do you mean to say you didn't dig it up from the place where we putit?"
"No; indeed I didn't! I don't know anything about it. What was in it?"
Was this ignorance real or affected? Temple could not tell. What wascertain was that the box was gone, and this boy was hovering about thespot. It would be folly to let him go.
"I don't believe you," he said, bluntly. "You must come with me."
And he began to drag Philip off in the direction of his hut.
"Oh, where are you taking me?" asked the frightened boy.
"You'll know soon enough. I'm going to keep you till the tin box isrestored to me."
Poor Philip! As he was jerked along by his collar, in the stern grasp ofthe outlaw, he suffered a good deal more than Harry had in his recentcaptivity.
CHAPTER XXV
PHILIP BECOMES A PRISONER
"Please let me go, and I'll give you five dollars," said poor Philip, ashe was dragged along the forest path by his captor.
"Humph!" said Temple, grimly, thinking he might as well take the money, though he had no intention of releasing Philip. "Have you got fivedollars with you?"
"No."
"Then you are trying to fool me," exclaimed Temple, with an angry jerkat the boy's collar.
"No, I'm not," answered Philip, terrified. "I've got two dollars withme, and I'll bring you the rest before night.
"Where will you get it?"
"From my father."
"And I suppose you expect me to let you go home and get it?"
"If you please."
"But I don't please. You must think I'm a fool. Just as if you wouldcome back if you had once got away!"
"But I will. I promise it on my word of honor."
"Your word of honor," repeated Temple, scornfully. "As if I didn't knowwhat that amounts to."
Philip would have resented this imputation if he had dared, but therewas a look of grim resolution about Temple's mouth which made him afraidto show any resentment.
"Besides," added Temple, "what do you think I care for five dollars? After you have stolen thousands of dollars from me, you dare to think Iwill let you off for five dollars."
There was something in this speech which, despite Philip's terror, attracted his attention. Temple spoke of being robbed of thousands ofdollars, yet he was generally considered a poor outlaw. How could hehave come into possession of so large a sum?
"Thousands of dollars!" repeated Philip, in undisguised amazement.
"Yes; what have you got to say about it?" demanded Temple, sharply.
"I thought you were poor," Philip couldn't help saying.
Temple paused a moment. He knew that the possession of so much moneywould excite surprise in others besides Philip, and he regretted hisimprudence in speaking of thousands of dollars. As it was done, he mustgive some kind of an explanation.
"So I was poor; but a rich cousin in New York died lately, and left me alarge legacy. Not having any safe to put it in," he added, with a grimsmile, "I concealed it in the wood, thinking it would be safe. When Isaw you and that friend of yours prowling around this morning, itcrossed my mind that it was in danger; but I didn't think you werethieves."
"We are not," said Philip. "We know nothing about your tin box."
"That's all very well to say. What were you doing in the wood justnow?"
"I only went there for a walk."
"Of course," said Temple, with a sneer. "It's a pleasant place for awalk, and handy to your house."
"I hope to die if I ain't telling the truth!" said Philip, desperately.
"You'll die when your time comes, and it may come sooner than you thinkfor," said Temple, taking a malicious pleasure in seeing Philip turnpale and tremble in his grasp.
"You wouldn't kill me?" faltered Philip.
"I don't know what I shall do. If you tell me where the box is, Ishan't."
"But I don't know – hope to die if I do."
"Who was that fellow with you?" demanded Temple, abruptly.
"James Congreve."
"Where does he come from?"
"From New York."
"If you haven't stolen the box, he has. It lies between you."
"James wouldn't steal it. He is a gentleman."
"So gentlemen don't steal?" sneered Temple. "I am not sure about that. Iknow one thing. I've lost the box, and one of you has got it."
It occurred to Temple that it was more likely to be Congreve, who wasolder and bolder than the boy he had captured, but he was not disposedto let Philip go, nevertheless.
Again Philip denied the charge, but this time Temple did not answer.
At length they reached the hut, and entered.
Now came the critical moment. What was this bad man going to do withhim? Philip asked himself.
He was dragged into the hut, and then, for the first time, his captorrelaxed his grip.
"Sit down there," he said, pointing to a wooden chair, from which thepaint had all worn off.
Philip sat down.
"Now, if you dare to stir or try to escape I'll kill you," said Temple, coolly.
"What a blood-thirsty ruffian!" Philip thought, trembling.
Temple opened the door of a closet, which was filled with a variety ofarticles, including a small supply of kitchen utensils.
He took out a case-knife, to the horror of poor Philip, who concluded hewas to be butchered in cold blood. Still, he did not dare to leave hisseat, lest his jailer's threat should be carried into execution. He washappily undeceived, however, for from the floor of the closet Templelifted a portion of a clothesline, and with some difficulty, for theknife was dull, cut off a portion. Then he turned to Philip.
"I can't stay here to stand guard over you, boy," he said, "but I don'tmean that you shall get away in a hurry. I think I have found a way toprevent your escaping."
He approached the boy, and said:
"Hold out your hands."
"What are you going to do to me, Mr. Temple?" asked Philip, nervously.
"Tie you," answered his captor, sententiously. "What do you supposeropes are made for?"
"Please don't tie me," said Philip, in dismay. "I won't run away."
"No, I don't think you will. Hold out your hands."
There was no help for it. Philip, much against his will, held out hishands, and they were tied tightly around the wrists, so that thestricture was painful.
"It hurts me," he complained.
"It would hurt your neck worse," replied Temple.
Philip understood what he meant, and turned pale. But a ray of hope cameto him in his despondency. Even if his hands were tied he might escape, and he resolved to do so as soon as Temple was at a safe distance.
His hands being tied would not prevent his walking or running, and onceout of the wood he would feel comparatively safe.
He reckoned without his host, however; or, rather, he reckoned withoutknowing the intentions of his captor.
"There," said Temple, when the boy's hands were tied, "so far so good!
Now for your feet!"
Hope died once more in Philip's breast. He might escape with his handstied, but with his feet tied it was quite another matter. In vain heprotested against this second indignity. His jailor was not to bemoved.
"You may as well spare your breath, boy," he said. "I ain't quite afool. I'm not going to leave you free to get away as soon as my back isturned."
So Philip's feet were tied, too, and he realized how utterly helpless hewas.
"There, you can amuse yourself now as much as you like," said Temple, with a humor that Philip did not by any means appreciate. "You'll have anice, easy time, with nothing to do."
He turned and left the hut, relieving Philip of his presence, which wasone comfort, but did not go very far.
As my readers will conclude, Philip began to work his wrists up anddown, vainly endeavoring to unloose the rope, but only succeeded inhurting himself. Next he tried his feet, but they, also, were securelyconfined.
It was a righteous retribution for the trick he had played on HarryGilbert. He was being paid off in his own coin. Though his consciencewas not particularly sensitive, it did occur to him that he was inprecisely the same condition as the boy whom he and Congreve had leftalone in the dark wood, fully expecting that he would have to remain allnight.
But even then he could not be said to feel deep regret for his unworthyact. He was sensible of the inconvenience to which he was subjected byhis constrained position, and began to chafe and fret under it.
"I wonder how long he's going to leave me here?" thought Philip, though, in truth, he hardly knew whether he wanted Temple to return or not.
"Just as soon as I get away, I'll ask pa to have him arrested. Iwouldn't mind seeing him hung."
An hour passed – about the longest hour Philip had ever known. At lengthhis eager ears discerned steps outside the hut. It might be a friend! Atany rate, he would call, and perhaps the call would bring rescue.
"Hello, there!" he called out. "Come in; I need help!"
CHAPTER XXVI
PHILIP IS FORCED TO APOLOGIZE
There were two persons outside, one of whom was our hero, Harry Gilbert. The other, though dressed in citizen's clothes, was an officer, who hadbeen sent to arrest Temple, on a charge of being implicated with Vernonin the robbery of the tin box.
Harry at once recognized the voice of Philip, and it is needless to saythat he was filled with genuine surprise.
"That must be Philip Ross," he said, in a low voice, to the officer.
"Who is Philip Ross?"
Harry gave a few words of explanation. He did not, however, mention themean trick which Philip had played on him.
"He is not a friend of Temple?" asked the officer.
"Oh, no! He must have got into some trouble with Temple. Please stayhere, and let me go in and see what is the matter. I have a reason forwishing him to think I am alone, just at first."
"Just as you say," returned the officer. "I take it for granted Templeisn't here, or the boy wouldn't have called. Suppose the man comesback?"
"Let him come in, and you can follow. Between us, I guess we can makehim a prisoner."
"You have plenty of courage," said the officer. "Are you not afraid tohave him come in upon you?"
"Not while you are near to help me," answered Harry. "In that cabin wecould pen him up."
"That's true. Well, go in to your friend."
"A queer sort of a friend Philip is," thought Harry, but he did notobject to the title.
Opening the cabin door, which Temple had closed, Harry regarded Philipwith amazement. He could hardly believe the testimony of his eyes whenhe saw his enemy, tied hand and foot, very much as he had been the nightbefore.
"What's the matter, Philip?" he asked. "What has happened to you?"
"Can't you see for yourself," demanded Philip, querulously. "I'm tied sotight I can't move."
"Who did it?"
"That thief, Temple! I should like to wring his neck!" said Philip, spitefully.
Though Harry was not a vindictive boy, it did strike him as appropriatethat Philip should have a chance to see for himself how it seemed to bebound. Deferring the gratification of his curiosity, he inquired:
"How do you like it?"
"How do I like it?" echoed Philip, furiously. "Don't ask such absurdquestions, but come and untie me."
"Wait a minute," said Harry. "Perhaps you have forgotten that this isthe way you and Congreve served me only last night. I suppose youthought it a good joke. Well, Ralph Temple has played the same joke onyou."
"Joke!" repeated Philip. "He'll find out what kind of a joke it is whenmy father has him put in jail."
"Do you think he deserves to be put in jail just for that?"
"Yes, I do."
"Then it seems to me that you and your friend Congreve deserve the samepunishment for what you did to me."
"It's entirely different; but stop talking and come and untie me."
"You didn't untie me. You left me to pass the night in the forestalone."
Philip eyed Harry attentively, and it struck him that perhaps it wouldbe better to drop his haughty and domineering tone and temporize alittle, if he wanted a rescue. He could afterward treat Harry as hepleased.
"I didn't think you'd make so much of a little matter like that," hesaid. "It was a mistake. I didn't mean you to stay all night. Congrevepromised to go back and untie you. Didn't he do it?"
"No," answered Harry, dryly.
"Then he broke his promise. Just untie me, that's a good fellow, andI'll make it up to you. I've got two dollars in my pocket, and you mayhave them if you'll get me out of this scrape. Be quick, for Temple maybe coming back, and he may kill us both."
"I don't want your two dollars, Philip," said Harry. "I am ready torelease you without that – "
"Quick, then; that's a good fellow."
"Hear me out. I was going to say, on one condition."
"What is it?" asked Philip, impatiently.
"That you will beg my pardon for the trick you played on me," said
Harry, quietly.
"What! I beg your pardon?" exclaimed Philip, haughtily.
"That is what I said."
"Do you think I would demean myself by asking anybody's pardon?" demanded Philip, his pride getting the better of his prudence.
"That is exactly what I expect, Philip Ross. If I had played such a meantrick on any one, I should think it no more than right to do just thatthing."
"No," said Philip, stubbornly; "I won't do that, but I will give you thetwo dollars."
"I don't want your two dollars," returned Harry, contemptuously.
Two dollars was not so large a sum in his eyes as it would have been theday previous, for in the last twenty-four hours he had earned, and wasconfident of receiving, a reward of two hundred and fifty dollars. Still, even if this had not been the case, he would have disdained tosell his assistance to Philip.
"The money will do you a great deal more good than my asking yourpardon," argued Philip.
"No, it won't. I am not very much in need of money, but I won't help aboy who has acted toward me as you have, unless you will apologize."
"Don't be a fool! Come and help me, and the money will be yours."
"It is no use, Philip; my mind is made up. Will you apologize?"
"No."
"Then, good-day! Give my respects to Mr. Temple when he returns."
So saying, Harry turned to leave the cabin, and Philip's heart sank indismay as he saw the only one from whom he could hope for help leavinghis presence.
"Hold on!" he called out. "I'll give you five dollars! I haven't got itwith me, but I can get it from my father. I'll hand it to youto-morrow."
Philip hated to humble his pride, and he would rather have paid fivedollars, even if it came out of his own pocket, than submit to such ahumiliation.
"Good-by, Philip," said Harry, resolutely.
"Are you really going to leave me? That's mean."
"You know the condition on which I'll help you."
"I'll give you ten dollars!" exclaimed Philip, desperately.
"Not a cent! I won't take a cent from you! Either I will help you orleave you here, but no money shall pass between us."
There was a calm resolution in Harry's tone which at last convinced
Philip that he was in earnest.
"What do you want me to say?" he asked, sullenly.
"That you are sorry for the mean trick you played on me, and ask mypardon."
"All right. Now untie me."
"You haven't said it."
"It's the same thing."
"I don't consider it so."
"Well, tell me what you want, then," said Philip, querulously.
"Repeat after me: 'I am sorry for the mean trick I played on you, and Ibeg your pardon.'"
Philip was perforce obliged to do as Harry required, and he repeated thewords, though with a very bad grace.
"That will do," said Harry. "Now I am satisfied."
He felt for his knife, but did not have it with him.
He therefore knelt down, and set to work to untie the knots in therope.
He succeeded at last, but not without considerable difficulty and theexpenditure of not a little time. At last he loosened the last knot, andsaid:
"Now you are free."
Philip jumped to his feet – for these were the last to be released – withan exclamation of satisfaction.
"Thank goodness!" he cried; "now I am free, and can leave this miserablehut!"
He looked up, and his hopefulness was succeeded by quick dismay.
There, in the doorway, scowling at the two boys, was the master of thecabin.