CHAPTER II
THE DUGANS TO THE RESCUE

It was a situation which no boy would care to confront, and as Joe and Harry looked from one brutal face to another, their hearts sank within them. They could see at a glance that the tramps were among the worst of their class and would hesitate at little or nothing to accomplish their ends.

To one side of the barn, where the flooring had rotted away, a fire was burning, the smoke drifting forth through a broken-out window and the numerous holes in the roof. Beside the fire lay the remains of two chickens, which the tramps had probably stolen from some farmer’s hen-roost. Three soda water bottles were also on the floor, but there was no telling what they had contained, since all were empty. But as the breath of each tramp smelt strongly of liquor, it is safe to say that the bottles had contained – at least one of them – something stronger than a temperance drink.

“See here, you haven’t any right to treat us in this fashion,” said Joe, as soon as he could recover from the attack which had been made upon him.

“You ain’t got no right to call us thieves,” was the answer, and the speaker leered in a knowing manner at his fellows.

“That’s it,” spoke up another of the tramps. “It’s a downright insult to honest men like us.”

“Thet’s wot it is,” came from the third tramp. “Boys, yer ought to ’polergize.”

“I want you to let us go,” went on Joe.

“Right away,” put in Harry. “If you don’t – ”

“If we don’t, – what?” demanded the tramp who stood guard with the club.

“It may be the worse for you, that’s all.”

At this all three of the tramps set up a low laugh. Then the fellow at the doorway called one of the others to his side and whispered something in his ear.

“Dat’s all right, Noxy; but I don’t care to go until I see wot we strike,” answered the man addressed.

“Oh, you’ll get your fair share, Stump,” was the answer, but Stump refused to leave even when urged a second time.

“Say, just you tell us wot time it is,” put in the other tramp, who went by the name of Muley. He had noticed that Joe carried a watch – a silver affair, given to him by his father on his last birthday.

“It’s time you let us go,” answered Joe. He understood perfectly well what the fellow was after.

He had scarcely spoken when Muley stepped forward and grabbed the watch chain. The watch came with it, and despite Joe’s clutch for his property it was quickly transferred to the tramp’s possession.

“Give me that watch!”

“They are nothing but robbers!” burst out Harry. “Joe, let us get out right away!”

Unable to pass the tramp at the doorway, Harry made for one of the barn windows, and feeling it would be useless to argue just then about the timepiece, Joe followed his brother.

“Hi, stop ’em!” roared Stump. “Don’t let ’em get away!”

Instantly all three of the tramps went after the two lads. Muley was the quickest of the number and in a trice he had placed himself in front of the window.

“Not so fast!” he sang out. “We want what you have in your pockets first!”

Cut off from escape by the window, the two boys turned around. They now saw that the doorway was unguarded, and ran for the opening with all speed. Harry reached the door first and tumbled it aside, and both ran into the open.

“Stop!” yelled Noxy. “Stop, or we’ll fix ye!” And then, his foot catching in a loose board of the flooring, he pitched headlong, and Stump and Muley came down on top of him.

“Run, Harry, run, or they’ll catch us sure!” cried Joe.

Harry needed no urging, and in a minute the two lads were on the roadway once again and running harder than they had ever done in any footrace. For the moment they forgot how tired they had been, and fear possibly gave them additional strength.

“Ar – are the – they coming?” panted Harry, after quarter of a mile had been covered.

“I don’t – don’t know!” puffed his brother. “Do – don’t se – see anything of ’em.”

“What mean rascals, Joe!”

“Yes, they ought to be in jail!”

The boys continued to run, but as nobody appeared to be following they gradually slackened their pace and at length came to a halt.

“Joe, I’m almost ready to drop.”

“So am I, but we had better not stop here. Let us keep on until we reach some farmhouse. I’m going to get back my watch and chain if I can.”

“And the nuts. Think of losing them after all the trouble we had in gathering them.”

“Yes, Harry, but the watch and chain are worth more than the nuts. If you’ll remember, they were my birthday present from father.”

“Oh, we’ve got to get back the watch and chain. Come on – the sooner we find a farmhouse and get assistance the better. More than likely those tramps won’t stay at the barn very long.”

Scarcely able to drag one foot after the other, the two Westmore boys continued on their way. The snow had now stopped coming down, yet the keen fall wind was as sharp as ever. But presently the wind shifted and then they made better progress.

“I see a farmhouse!” cried Harry, a little later.

“Not much of a place,” returned his brother. “Yet we may get help there, – who knows?”

When the cottage – it was no more than that – was reached, Joe knocked loudly on the door.

“Who is there?” came in a shrill voice from inside.

“Two boys,” answered Joe. “We want help, for some tramps have robbed us.”

“I can’t help you. The tramps robbed me, too – stole two of my best chickens. I’m an old man and I must watch my property. You go to Neighbor Dugan’s – he’ll help you, maybe.”

“Where is Dugan’s place?”

“Down the road a spell. Keep right on an’ you can’t miss it.” And that was all the boys could get out of the occupant of the cottage.

“He must be a crabbed old chap,” was Harry’s comment, as they resumed their weary tramp.

“Well, an old man can’t do much, especially if he is living all alone. I suppose he’s afraid to leave his place for fear the tramps will visit it during his absence,” and in this surmise Joe was correct.

Fortunately the farm belonging to Andy Dugan was not far distant. The farmer was a whole-souled Irishman and both boys had met him on more than one occasion at Mr. Westmore’s store.

“Sure, an’ where did you b’ys spring from?” said Dugan, on opening the door. “’Tis a likely walk ye are from town.”

“We’ve been out for some nuts, over to Glasby’s Hill,” answered Harry.

“Ah now, so ye’ve got there before me, eh? I didn’t know ’twas known there was nuts there.”

“Mr. Dugan, we want your help,” put in Joe, quickly.

“Phat for, Joe – to help carry home the nuts? Where’s the bags?”

“We met some tramps, and – ”

“Tramps? On this road ag’in?” Andy Dugan was all attention and his face grew sober. “Tell me about thim at onct!”

The boys entered the farmhouse, where were collected the Dugan family, consisting of Mrs. Dugan, who weighed about two hundred and fifty pounds, and seven children, including three half-grown sons. All listened with close attention to what the Westmore boys had to relate.

“Th’ schamps!” cried Andy Dugan. “Sure an’ they should be in the town jail! An’ was the watch an’ chain worth much?”

“Twelve or fifteen dollars. And a birthday present, too.”

“I’ll go after thim, that I will. Pat, git me gun, and you go an’ take yer own gun, too – an’, Teddy, git the pistol, an’ see if it’s after bein’ loaded. We’ll tache thim scallywags a lisson, so we will!”

“That’s the talk, Mr. Dugan!” said Joe, brightening. “But you’ll have to hurry, or they’ll be gone.”

“I’ll hurry all I can, lad. But phat about you? You’re too tired to walk back, ain’t ye?”

“Lit thim roide the mare, Andy,” came from Mrs. Dugan. “Th’ mare wants exercise annyway.”

“So they shall, Caddy,” answered the husband, and one of the smaller boys of the family was sent to bring the mare forth.

In less than ten minutes the party was ready to set out, Andy Dugan and his son Pat with guns, Teddy, who boasted of a face that was nothing but a mass of freckles, with the pistol, and Joe and Harry, on the mare’s back, with clubs.

The mare was rather a frisky creature, and both boys had all they could do to make her walk along as they wished.

“She’s been in the sthable too long,” explained Andy Dugan. “She wants a run av a couple o’ miles to take the dancin’ out av her heels.”

“Well, she mustn’t run now,” said Harry, who had no desire to reach the old barn before the others could come up.

The wind was gradually going down, so journeying along the road was more agreeable than it had been. When they passed the little cottage they saw the old man peeping from behind a window shutter at them.

“He’s a quare sthick, so he is,” said Andy Dugan. “But, as he is afther lavin’ us alone, we lave him alone.”

The party advanced upon the barn boldly and when they were within a hundred yards of the structure, Joe and Harry urged the mare ahead. Up flew the rear hoofs of the steed and away she went pell-mell along the road.

“Whoa! whoa!” roared Joe. “Whoa, I say!”

But the mare did not intend to whoa, and reaching the barn, she flew by like a meteor, much to the combined chagrin of the riders. Joe was in front, holding the reins, and Harry in the rear, with his arms about his brother’s waist. Both kept bouncing up and down like twin rubber balls.

“Do stop her, Joe!”

“Whoa!” repeated Joe. “Whoa! Confound the mare, she won’t listen to me!”

“She is running away with us!”

“Well, if she is, I can’t help it.”

“Pull in on the reins.”

“That’s what I am doing – just as hard as I can.”

“Hi! hi!” came in Andy Dugan’s voice. “Phy don’t ye sthop? Ain’t this the barn ye was afther spakin’ about?”

“Yes!” yelled back Joe. “But your mare won’t stop!”

“Hit her on th’ head wid yer fist!” screamed Pat Dugan.

“I don’t believe that will stop her,” said Harry.

“Perhaps it will, if she’s used to it,” said his brother, and an instant later landed a blow straight between the mare’s ears.

Up went the creature’s hind quarters in a twinkling and over her head shot the two boys, to land in the snow and brushwood beside the roadway. Then the mare shied to one side and pranced down the road, and soon a turn hid her from view.

CHAPTER III
A FRUITLESS SEARCH

“B’ys! b’ys! Are ye after bein’ hurted?”

It was Andy Dugan who asked the question, as he came rushing to Joe and Harry’s assistance and helped to set them on their feet.

“I – I guess I’m all right, Mr. Dugan,” panted Harry. “But I – I thought my neck was broken at first!”

“So did I,” put in Joe. His left hand was scratched but otherwise he was unharmed.

“Oh, father, the mare’s run away!” chimed in Teddy Dugan. “We won’t never git her back anymore!”

“Hould yer tongue!” answered the parent. “She’ll come back as soon as it’s feedin’ time, don’t worry.”

“Oh, father, are you sure?”

“To be course I am. Didn’t she run away twice before, an’ come back that same way, Teddy? Come on after thim tramps an’ let the mare take care av hersilf.”

“We’ve made noise enough to bring the tramps out – if they’re still in the barn,” was Joe’s comment. “I believe they’ve gone.”

“Exactly my opinion,” answered Harry.

Advancing boldly to the doorway of the barn, Andy Dugan pointed his gun and cried: