Andy Gordon

CHAPTER XII.

MIKE HOGAN

In the summer season not a few of the desperate characters who, at other times, lurk in the lanes and alleys in our cities, start out on vagabond tramps through the country districts.

Mike Hogan was a fit representative of this class. He was a low-browed ruffian, with unkempt hair and a beard of a week’s growth, with a look in his eyes that inspired distrust.

He was physically strong, and abundantly able to work, but preferred to dispense with labor, and live on the credulity or the fears of his fellow men.

Mike had served a term at Sing Sing, but punishment in no way altered his way of life. If anything, it confirmed him in his opposition to the law and his worthless habits.

He had been on the tramp now for two weeks, and accident had brought him to the neighborhood of Hamilton a couple of days before.

Mike had already made two calls, though he had only been an hour in the village. The first was to the house of Mr. Ross, the lawyer.

The master of the house was not at home, but Herbert was in the front yard. In fact, he was sitting on the doorstep, whittling.

Mike’s experience taught him that children are generally less suspicious, and more easily moved to compassion, than their elders.

He therefore addressed himself with some confidence to Herbert, of whose disposition he knew nothing, or he would not have expected any help from him or through his influence.

“Young gentleman,” he said, in a whining voice, as he rested his elbows on the top of the front gate, “I am a poor man – ”

Herbert looked up, and surveyed the uncouth visitor with profound disdain. He always despised the poor, and made little discrimination between the deserving and the undeserving.

“You don’t look very rich,” he said, after a pause.

His tone was not particularly compassionate, but Mike did not detect the nature of his feelings.

“Indeed, young sir,” he continued, in the same whining tone, “I have been very unfortunate.”

“You have seen better days, I suppose,” said Herbert, who had not the slightest idea of giving Hogan anything, but meant to play with him as a cat does with a mouse before sending him away.

“Yes, I have,” said Hogan. “Once I was prosperous, but ill health and misfortune came, and swept away all my money, and now I have to travel around and ask a few pennies of kind strangers.”

“Why don’t you go to work? You look strong enough,” said Herbert.

And in this he was perfectly right.

“Why don’t I work? I ain’t able,” answered the tramp.

“You look strong enough.”

“You shouldn’t judge by looks, young gentleman. I have fever ’n’ ager awful, and the rheumatism is in all my joints. You look rich and generous. Can’t you spare a few pennies for a poor man?”

“You mustn’t judge by looks,” said Herbert, laughing at his own repartee. “My father’s rich, but he don’t give anything to tramps.”

Now the professional tramp, although quite aware of his own character, objects to being called a tramp. He does not care to see himself as others see him.

Mike Hogan answered shortly, and without his customary whine:

“I am not a tramp. I’m an honest, poor man.”

“Honest!” repeated Herbert. “I shouldn’t wonder if you had just come out of State’s prison.”

This remark Mike Hogan considered altogether too personal. The fact that it was true made it still more offensive. His tone completely changed now, and, instead of a whine, it became a growl, as he retorted:

“You’d better keep your tongue between your teeth, young whipper-snapper! You can’t insult me because I am a poor man.”

“You’d better look out,” said Herbert, angrily. “My father’s a lawyer, and a justice of the peace, and he’ll have you put in the lockup.”

“Come out here, and I’ll wring your neck, you young villain!” said Mike Hogan, whose evil temper was now fully aroused.

“I wish father was here,” said Herbert, indignantly.

“I’d lick you both, and make nothing of it!” exclaimed the tramp.

“I thought you were not strong enough to work,” sneered Herbert.

“I am strong enough to give you a beating,” growled Hogan.

“Go away from here! You have no business to lean on our gate!”

“I shall lean on it as long as I please!” said the tramp, defiantly. “Are you coming out here?”

If Mike Hogan had been a small boy, Herbert would not have been slow in accepting this invitation, but there was something in the sinister look and the strong, vigorous frame of Mike Hogan which taught him a lesson of prudence.

Herbert had never before wished so earnestly that he were strong and muscular. It would have done him good to seize the intruder, and make him bellow for mercy, but his wish was fruitless, and Mike remained master of the situation.

At this moment, however, he was re-enforced by his dog, Prince, who came round from behind the house.

“Bite him, Prince!” exclaimed Herbert, triumphantly.

Prince needed no second invitation. Like the majority of dogs of respectable connections, he had a deep distrust and hatred of any person looking like a beggar or a tramp, and he sprang for the rough-looking visitor, barking furiously.

If Herbert expected the tramp to take flight it was because he did not know the courage and ferocity of Mike Hogan. Some dogs, doubtless, would have made him quail, but Prince was a small-sized dog, weighing not over fifty pounds, and, as the animal rushed to attack him, Mike gave a derisive laugh.

“Why don’t you send a rat or a kitten?” he exclaimed, scornfully.

Prince was so accustomed to inspire fear that he did not stop to take the measure of his human adversary, but sprang over the fence and made for the tramp, intending to fasten his teeth in the leg of the latter.

But Mike Hogan was on the alert. He bent over, and, as the dog approached, dexterously seized him, threw him over on his back, and then commenced powerfully compressing his throat and choking him.

Poor Prince seemed utterly powerless in his vigorous grasp. His tongue protruded from his mouth, his eyes seemed starting from their sockets, and death by strangulation seemed imminent.

Herbert Ross surveyed this unexpected sight with mingled surprise and dismay.

“Let him go! Don’t kill him!” he screamed.

“What made you set him on me?” demanded the tramp, savagely.

“Let him go, and he shan’t bite you!” said Herbert.

“I will take care of that myself,” said Hogan. “When I get through with him, you’ll have to bury him.”

“Let him go, and I’ll give you a quarter,” said Herbert, in the extremity of his alarm.

“That sounds better,” said Mike Hogan, moderating his grip. “Where’s the quarter?”

Herbert hurried to the fence and handed over the coin.

Mike took it, and, with a laugh, tossed the almost senseless dog into the yard, where he lay gasping for breath.

“If you’ve got any more dogs, bring ’em on,” he said, with a laugh. “Next time, you’ll know how to treat a gentleman.”

Herbert had a retort on the end of his tongue, but did not dare to utter it. He had been too much impressed and terrified by the tramp’s extraordinary display of strength to venture to provoke him further.

“Well,” thought Hogan, chuckling, “I made the boy come down with something, after all. I paid him well for his impudence.”

Continuing on his way he stopped at a house where he was offered some cold meat, but no money. Being hungry, he accepted, and again continued his march.

In passing Mrs. Gordon’s house his attention was attracted by the sound of voices. Thinking it possible that he might hear something which he could turn to advantage, he placed himself in a position where he could overhear what was said.

His eyes sparkled when he heard Miss Sally speak of the large sum of money she had in the house.

“Ho, ho!” said he, to himself, “I’m in luck. You won’t need to carry that money to the bank, my lady. I’ll take care of it for you. As for this boy who is to guard it, I’ll scare him out of his wits!”

When Sally Peabody left the cottage of Mrs. Gordon she was not aware that her steps were tracked by one of the most reckless and desperate criminals in the State.

He followed her far enough to learn where she lived and then concealed himself in the woods until the time should come for active operations.

CHAPTER XIII.

ANDY ON GUARD

The Peabody girls, as people in Hamilton were accustomed to call them, though they were over fifty years of age, lived in an old-fashioned house, consisting of a main part and an L.

It was a prim-looking house, and everything about it looked prim; but nothing could be more neat and orderly. The front yard was in perfect order. Not a stick or a stone was out of place.

In the fall, when the leaves fell from the trees, they were carefully gathered every morning and carried away, for even nature was not allowed to make a litter on the old maids’ premises.

A brass knocker projected from the outer door. The Misses Peabody had not yet adopted the modern innovation of bells. On either side of the front door was a square room – one serving as a parlor, the other as a sitting-room. In the rear of the latter was a kitchen, and in the rear of that was a woodshed. The last two rooms were in the L part. This L part consisted of a single story, surmounted by a gently-sloping roof. From the chamber over the sitting-room one could look out upon the roof of the L part.

This the reader will please to remember.

When Andy knocked at the door at five o’clock, it was opened by Miss Sally Peabody in person.

“I am so glad you have come, Andy,” she said, “and so is sister Susan. I never said anything to her about inviting you, but she thought it a capital idea. We shall feel ever so much safer.”

Of course Andy felt flattered by the importance assigned to his presence. What boy of his age would not?

“I don’t know whether I can do any good, Miss Sally,” he said, “but I am very glad to come.”

“You shan’t be sorry for it,” assured Miss Susan, nodding significantly.

Probably this referred to her promise to pay Andy for his trouble. Our hero would never have asked anything for his service. Still, as the Peabodys were rich – that is, for a country village – he had no objection to receive anything which they might voluntarily offer.

“Come right in, Andy,” said Miss Sally.

She preceded our hero into the sitting-room, where her sister Susan was setting the table for tea.

“Here he is, Susan – here is Andy,” said Sally.

Andy received a cordial welcome from the elder of the two sisters.

“And how is your mother, Andy?” she asked.

“Pretty well, thank you, Miss Susan,” answered Andy, surveying with interest the nice plate of hot biscuit which Miss Susan was placing on the tea table.

He was a healthy boy, and was growing fast, so that he may be pardoned for appreciating a good table.

“We don’t always have hot biscuits, Andy,” said the simple-minded old maid, “but we thought you would like them, and so I told sister Sally that I would make some.”

“I hope you haven’t put yourself out any on my account, Miss Susan,” Andy said.

“It isn’t often we have company,” said Susan, with a smile, “and we ought to have something a little better than common.”

“I am not used to luxurious living, you know,” said Andy.

“How is your mother getting along?” inquired his hostess, sympathetically.

“Very well, thank you!”

“My sister told me Mr. Starr was giving her some trouble.”

“That is true; but I guess it’ll turn out all right.”

“If it doesn’t,” said Sally, “remember what I told your mother. My sister quite agrees with me that we will advance the money to pay the note, if necessary.”

“You are very kind, Miss Sally, but you might never get it back.”

“We will trust your mother – and you, Andy,” said Sally Peabody, kindly. “It wouldn’t ruin us if we did lose the money – would it, Sister Susan?”

“No, indeed!” said Susan. “We shouldn’t borrow any trouble on that account. But supper is ready. I hope you have an appetite, Andy?”

“I generally have,” answered Andy, as he seated himself at the neat supper-table.

Our hero, whether he was in danger from burglars or not, was in danger of being made sick by the overflowing hospitality of the sisters. They so plied him with hot biscuits, cake, preserves and pie that our hero felt uncomfortable when he rose from the table. Even then his hospitable entertainers did not seem to think he had eaten enough.

“Why, you haven’t made a supper, Andy,” said Miss Sally.

“I don’t think I ever ate so much in my life before at a single meal,” answered Andy. “If you don’t mind, I’ll go out and walk a little.”

“Certainly, Andy, if you wish.”

Andy went out and walked about the place.

“How lucky the Peabodys are!” he said to himself. “They have plenty to live upon, and don’t have to earn a cent. I wonder how it would seem if mother and I were as well off? But they’re very kind ladies, and I don’t grudge them their good fortune, even if I am poor myself.”

In one respect Andy was mistaken. It is by no means a piece of good luck to be able to live without work? It takes away, in many cases, the healthy stimulus to action, and leaves life wearisome and monotonous.

More than one young man has been ruined by what the world called his good fortune.

In the corner of a small stable, Andy found a musket. Like most boys, he was attracted by a gun.

“I wonder whether it’s loaded?” he said to himself.

He raised it to his shoulder and pulled the trigger.

Instantly there was a deafening report, and the two old maids ran to the door in dire dismay.

“What’s the matter?” they cried, simultaneously, peeping through a crack of the door.

“I was trying this gun,” said Andy, a little ashamed.

“A gun! Where did it come from?”

“Isn’t it yours?”

“No; we wouldn’t dare to keep a gun about. Why, where did you find it?”

Andy told them, and they concluded it had been left by a neighbor, who had recently done a little work around the place.

Andy was struck by an idea.

“May I take it into the house,” he asked, “and keep it in the chamber where I am to sleep?”

“I shouldn’t dare to have a gun in the house,” said Susan.

“But it isn’t loaded.”

“I think there is no objection,” said Sally, who was not quite so timid as her sister. “We are going to put you into the chamber over the sitting-room,” she added.

“All right!” said Andy.

“The money is in a little trunk under your bed. You won’t be afraid to have it there, will you?”

“I am never afraid of money,” said Andy, smiling.

Andy went to bed at an early hour – at about quarter after nine. It was the custom of the sisters to go to bed early, and he did not wish to interfere with their household arrangements.

The gun he placed in the corner of the room, close to his bed.

He did not know how long he had been asleep, when, all at once, he awoke suddenly. The moonlight was streaming into the room, and by the help of it he saw a villainous-looking face jammed against the pane of the window overlooking the shed.

“A burglar!” thought he, and sprang from the bed.

CHAPTER XIV.

ANDY IS BESIEGED

My readers will admit that to awaken from sleep, and see a man looking in at the window, is sufficient to startle a brave man. When it is added that the face bore the unmistakable mark of bad passions and a lawless life, it will be understood that Andy might well have been excused for momentary terror.

He was, however, partly prepared for the visit by the knowledge that there was money in the house, which he was especially commissioned to guard. Still, he had not really supposed there was any danger of a burglar coming to so quiet a village as Hamilton in pursuit of money.

Besides, no one but himself, so he supposed, knew that the maiden ladies had a large sum of money in their dwelling.

I will not deny that Andy was startled – I will not admit that he was frightened, for this is inconsistent with his conduct.

He certainly had not awakened any too soon. There was not a minute to lose. The burglar was trying to raise the window, preparatory to entering the room.

In this, however, he met with a difficulty. The window was fastened at the middle, and he could not raise it.

“Curse the bolt!” exclaimed the disappointed burglar. “I shall have to smash it in!”

Just then, however, Andy sprang from the bed, and, under the circumstances, Hogan felt glad. He could frighten the boy into turning the fastening, and admitting him.

As Andy rose, he grasped the old musket, and, not without a thrill of excitement, faced the scoundrel.

If the gun had been loaded, he would have felt safe, but he knew very well that he could do no harm with it.

Mike Hogan saw the gun, but he was not a coward, and he felt convinced that Andy would not dare to use it, though he supposed it to be loaded.

“What do you want?” called out Andy, in a firm voice.

“Open this window!” cried Hogan, in a tone of command.

He was not afraid of being heard by other parties, on account of the isolated position of the house.

As he spoke, he tugged at the frame of the window; but, of course, without success.

“Why should I?” returned Andy, who wanted time to think.

“Never mind, you young jackanapes. Do as I tell you!” said Hogan, fiercely.

As he spoke, overcome by his irritation at being foiled when close upon the treasure he coveted, he smashed a pane with his fist, but not without cutting his hand and drawing blood.

Through the fractured pane Andy could hear him more distinctly.

“What do you want?” repeated Andy.

“I want that five hundred dollars you are guarding, and I mean to have it!” returned Hogan.

“What five hundred dollars?” asked Andy, but he could not help being startled by the accurate information of the burglar.

“Oh, you needn’t play ignorant!” said Hogan, impatiently. “The lady who lives here sent for you to take care of it. She might as well have engaged a baby,” he added, contemptuously.

“You will find I am something more than a baby!” said Andy, stoutly.

“Open this window, I tell you once again.”

“I won’t!” said Andy, shortly.

“You won’t, hey? Do you know what I will do with you when I get in?” demanded Hogan, furiously.

“No, I don’t.”

“I’ll beat you black and blue.”

“You’ll have to get in first,” said our hero, undaunted.

“Do you think I can’t?”

Hogan spoke with assumed confidence, but he realized that it would not be easy if Andy held out. He had already had a severe experience in breaking one pane of glass, and shrank from trying another.

“I know you can’t,” said Andy, and he raised the gun significantly to his shoulder and held it pointed toward the burglar.

“Put down that gun!” shouted Hogan.

“Then leave the window.”

“Just wait till I get at you,” said Hogan, grinding his teeth.

He realized that Andy was not as easily scared as he anticipated. To be balked by a mere boy was galling to him. If he only had a pistol himself; but he had none. He had had one when he left New York, but he had sold it for two dollars, fifty miles away. He was positively helpless, while Andy had him at a disadvantage. Should he give up his intended robbery? That would be a bitter disappointment, for he was penniless, and five hundred dollars would be a great windfall for him. An idea came to him.

“Put down your gun,” he said, in a milder tone. “I have something to propose to you.”

In some surprise, Andy complied with his request.

“There are five hundred dollars in this house.”

“You say so,” said Andy, non-committally.

“Pooh! I know there are. That is a large sum of money.”

“I suppose it is,” said Andy, who did not understand his drift.

“So is half of it. Two hundred and fifty dollars would be a big sum for a boy like you.”

“What have I to do with it?” asked Andy, puzzled.

“Open this window and let me in, and I’ll share the money with you.”

“Oh, that’s what you mean, is it?”

“Yes. No one need know that you have part of the money. It will be thought that I have made off with all of it.”

“Then you think I am a thief, like yourself?” exclaimed Andy, indignantly. “You are very much mistaken. Even if this money were in the house, I wouldn’t take a cent of it.”

“Oh, you’re mighty honest! And I’m a thief, am I?” sneered Hogan, surveying our hero with an ugly look.

“Yes,” answered Andy.

“You’ll repent your impudence,” said Hogan, with a vindictive scowl.

As he spoke, he enlarged the hole in the pane, and, putting in his hand, attempted, by thrusting it upward, to unlock the fastening.

Had he succeeded in doing this, he could have raised the window easily, and, once in the chamber, our young hero would have been no match for him.

Andy realized this, and saw that he must act instantly.

He brought down the butt end of the musket on the intruding hand with all his strength, the result being a howl of pain from the burglar.

“You’d better give that up,” said Andy, his eyes flashing with excitement.

Somehow all his timidity had vanished, and he was firmly resolved to defend the property, intrusted to his charge as long as his strength or shrewdness enabled him to do so.

“Your life shall pay for this,” exclaimed the injured burglar, with a terrible oath.

Andy realized that he would fare badly if he should fall into the clutches of the villain, whose face was actually distorted by rage and pain. The extremity of his danger, however, only nerved him for continued resistance.

“Once more, will you open the window?” demanded Hogan, who would not have parleyed so long if he had known any way to get in without Andy’s help.

“No, I won’t!” answered Andy with resolution.

Mike Hogan surveyed the window, and considered whether it would be feasible to throw his burly frame against it, and so crush it in. Undoubtedly he could have done it had he been on the same level, but it was about three feet higher than he, and so the feat would be more difficult. Besides, it would be a work of time, and Andy, in whom he found much more boldness than he anticipated, might shoot him.

A thought came to him, and he began to descend the sloping roof.