CHAPTER XXVII.
“IT NEVER RAINS BUT IT POURS.”
A terrible blow to those at Break o’ Day was the misfortune which had fallen upon Tom and Jerry. This seemed but the precursor of even worse troubles to follow.
Aunt Vinnie was distracted, and the rest had all they could do to keep her from going to see “her boys,” as useless as would have been such a course.
Rob and Joe, the bravest of the little party, did all they could to soothe the sorrow of their friends, trying to solace them with the, to them, hopeless thought that it is always darkest just before dawn.
“Do not give up,” said Rob. “Larry and I are earning wages, and we will hope that Tom, Jerry and Mary will be set free when their trials come. Mrs. Cornhill only yesterday seemed very sorry that she had proceeded against Mary.”
“But, my boys, how can you save them? Ah, it was the sorriest day of my life when we left the city, with all its wickedness, for this friendless wilderness, where everybody is against us.”
“Not all of them, auntie,” said Joe. “Let us not give up.”
Deacon Cornhill’s affairs were rapidly growing worse, and the poor man seemed to be failing in strength, as if the ordeal was more than he could stand. Mrs. Cornhill grew fretful, and more than once she accused Rob of bringing the trouble upon them.
“It came with you,” she repeated. “If the deacon had not provoked ’Squire Hardy by bringing you and your friends to Break o’ Day, he would never have done what he has against us, and I firmly believe he is at the root of this evil.”
Rob would attempt no reply to this rather contradictory speech, but kept on at his work, resolving to be faithful to his benefactor, let the result be what it might.
About ten days after the arrest of Tom and Jerry, as Rob was down to the village on business for the deacon, he found that everybody there was wildly excited over a robbery that had been committed the night before, the store and post office having been broken into by burglars and considerable money and property stolen.
A crowd of men gathered on the piazza, among whom ’Squire Hardy was conspicuous, were arguing the matter pro and con as Rob drew near.
“Sam Sawyer is ready to swear on the witness stand,” the ’squire was saying, “that the man he discovered climbing out of the store window last night, and who was one of the burglars, if there was more than one, was the same man he met yesterday afternoon on the Hare road, and who inquired the way to Mount Riga, which was the name once given to Break o’ Day.”
“Didn’t Sam give the name of this stranger?” asked a bystander.
“He did; and that is the best part of it. He said he was one Gideon Bayne, and that he lived in town here when he was a small boy, but thought perhaps people had forgotten him now, as he had forgotten the country.”
“Bayne?” half queried, half exclaimed, another, as if the name was one that he vaguely recalled. “Wasn’t that old miser’s name Bayne, who lived and died at the old red house when such a flurry was raised hereabouts?”
“Just that—Timothy Bayne. Folks thought he was killed by his hired man, but neither could be found when they come to look for ’em. They were a hard crowd.”
“But old Tim Bayne had neither chick nor child, living all alone.”
“That does not hinder him from having thieving relatives, running around the country breaking into stores and post offices, does it?”
“But Tim Bayne owned all of that quarter of the town when he died, though I can’t say it was very valuable.”
“Just so; and there being no one to claim it when he died or disappeared—I never thought the man was dead—the Cornhills got the whole of it for a mere song. But it hasn’t done the deacon much good. Ill-gotten gains never do,” added the squire, aiming to be philosophical.
“I don’t quite recall any other Bayne in town them days,” declared an old resident, “though my memory doesn’t often go back on me.”
“That may be, but it doesn’t require much to recall the fag-end Bayne that we have with us now,” remarked ’Squire Hardy, who had just seen Rob, who had stopped at the outside of the party. “Say, youngster, wasn’t your father Gid Bayne?”
The question was so unexpected, the situation so ominous to him in its outcome, that Little Hickory had hard work to command his feelings. As it was, he feared a moment later that he had betrayed himself by his looks.
“I have just come, sir, and I do not know what you mean.”
“Calculate you’d know if you wanted to. There is no doubt you belong to the same breed of cats, for there was never but one family by that name. By ——! it is a mighty apt one, too! I don’t see why Stanyan don’t come. If I was sheriff, I’d manage to be on hand once in my life.”
Rob thought it good policy for him to withdraw from the company, but he had not taken half a dozen steps before the ’squire thundered to him:
“You stop where you are, Rob Bayne. We are going up to your place as soon as the sheriff gets here, and we want you to go with us.”
“What errand can you have to our home, sir?” demanded Little Hickory, with flashing eyes, having recovered his usual self-possession.
“Your stupid head is thicker than I thought for, if you do not know already. If you do not know it may save you a short time of the bitter dose you are going to take. Here comes Stanyan, and there is no need to delay longer.”
The sheriff was indeed driving up to the place, and the ’squire immediately ordered his team brought in front of the store.
“Here is the chip-of-the-old-block Bayne,” declared Hardy, waving his hand toward Rob. “I thought it would be a good thing to take him right along.”
“A capital idea,” replied the officer. “Jump in here with me, young man, and, mind you, no monkeying about this!”
Rob’s first thought was to refuse to go, but, fortunately, a wiser thought decided him, and he entered the sheriff’s wagon, saying:
“I do not understand what you want of me, but I am willing to go, for I have done no wrong.”
“That remains to be seen,” retorted the officer, sharply, and a moment later he started in the direction of Break o’ Day, with the ’squire close behind him, while as many as a dozen teams followed the latter.
Rob’s mind was deeply impressed that evil was about to fall upon him and his friends, but he could not see clearly its nature. He could not realize that his father, after all the years he had been away, had appeared in this country town, making his coming more tragical by being concerned in the recent robbery. As yet he could not believe his father had sunk so low as to become a common housebreaker.
As they came in sight of his home Rob caught sight of his mother at one of the windows, but she quickly disappeared.
“Look out sharp for the youngster, Hardy,” called out the sheriff. “I will look after our man inside, while the rest of you”—addressing his companions—“surround the house and see that the dog does not escape. Remember, you will be justified in shooting him if he offers resistance.”
Having given this command, Mr. Stanyan started toward the door.
It was opened by Mrs. Little, who asked:
“What is wanted?”
“We want him!” exclaimed the officer. “I am the sheriff, so stand aside for the law.”
“There is nobody here that you can want, sir. We are honest——”
“We are after Gid Bayne, and we know he is hiding here. If he’ll give up peaceably we’ll not hurt the rest of you.”
“Who said he was here?” asked the frightened woman, and through that question the hopes of Rob fell like lead. His father was there!
“I do!” thundered the sheriff, and Mrs. Little retreated before his terrific appearance.
How Little Hickory chafed at his own helplessness, and catching sight of his mother at that moment, he cried to her:
“Do not let them frighten you, mother. They cannot harm you.”
“What do you accuse my husband of now?” she demanded of the officer, bravely facing the other.
“Of breaking and entering the store and post office of Basinburg.”
“He is innocent, sir!”
“Bah! who heeds the words of such as you? It will prove a sweet job for him when we catch him. Where is he?”
“That remains for you to say, and not me, sir. I am only a defenceless woman, but it will be a sorry hour if you harm me.”
With these spirited words, she stepped aside, allowing the officer and his followers to enter.
A furious search followed, when the old house was ransacked from cellar to garret. Every corner and niche imaginable was searched, the sheriff sparing neither time nor the building, but, look where and how he would, he could find no trace of the fugitive.
Finally, his dark features livid with rage, he joined ’Squire Hardy, giving expression to words unfit to repeat here.
“He must have got word of our coming and run away,” declared the ’squire. “But, if so, we can and must find him, Stanyan.”
“You can bet your bottom dollar I will find him if I have to move heaven and earth to do it,” replied the sheriff. “More than that, I will take the boy here with us, and if he doesn’t get a place to hang his hat for the next ten years I’ll resign my office.”
Then the party prepared to drive away, with Little Hickory a prisoner among them.
Seeing what was being done, Mrs. Bayne rushed out of the house, crying, in her despair:
“Oh, sir! do not take my boy. He has done nothing but what is right. His father had rather——”
“Stop, mother!” cried Little Hickory, sternly. “Say nothing you may repent of later. I go without resistance, and you must keep up good courage here until I get back.”
’Squire Hardy looked back with a mocking laugh at the weeping spectators they were leaving behind.