Harry was soon on his way home. It was already getting dark, and he felt a little anxious lest he should lose his way.
He had gone about two miles, when he came to a place where two roads met. There was no guide-board, and he could not remember by which he had come. Luckily, as he thought, he descried a man a little ahead. He stopped the horse and hailed him.
``Can you tell me which road to take to Pentland?'' he asked.
The man addressed turned his head, and, to his surprise, our hero, recognized his table companion at the inn.
``Oh, it's you, my young friend!'' he said.
``Yes, sir. Can you tell me the right road to Pentland? I have never been this way before today, and I have forgotten how I came.''
``I'm thinking of going to Pentland myself,'' said the other. ``My sister lives there. If you don't mind giving me a lift, I will jump in with you, and guide you.''
``Jump in, sir,'' he said. ``There is plenty of room.''
The stranger was speedily seated at his side.
``Take the left-hand road,'' he said.
Harry turned to the left.
``It's rather a blind road,'' observed the stranger.
``I
don't remember this road,'' said Harry, anxiously. ``Are you sure we are right?''
``Yes, yes, we are right. Don't trouble yourself.''
``The road didn't seem so lonely when I came over it this afternoon.''
``Oh, that's the effect of sunshine. Nothing seems lonely in the daytime. Turn down that lane.''
``What for?'' asked Harry, in surprise. ``That can't be the road to Pentland.''
``Never mind that. Turn, I tell you.''
His companion spoke fiercely, and Harry's mind began to conceive alarming suspicions as to his character. But he was brave, and not easily daunted.
``The horse and carriage are mine, or, at least, are under my direction,'' he said, firmly, ``and you have no control over them. I shall not turn.''
``Won't you?'' retorted the stranger, with an oath, and drew from his pocket a pistol.
``Won't you?''
``I
will not,'' said Harry, pale, but determined.
``Then I will save you the trouble,'' and his companion snatched the reins from him, and turned the horse himself. Resistance was, of course, useless, and our hero was compelled to submit.
``Produce your pocketbook.''
Harry had two pocketbooks. The one contained his own money -- about forty dollars the other the money of his employer. The first was in the side pocket of his coat, the second in the pocket of his pants. The latter, as was stated in the preceding chanter Harry heartily repented not having left it behind, but it was too late for repentance. He could only hope that the robber would be satisfied with one pocketbook, and not suspect the existence of the other. There seemed but little hope of saving his own money. However, he detrmined{sic} to do it, if possible.
``Hurry up,'' said the stranger, impatiently. ``You needn't pretend you have no money.
I know better than that. I saw you pay the landlord.''
``Then he saw the professor's pocketbook,'' thought Harry, uneasily.
``I
hope you will leave me some of the money,'' said Harry, producing the pocketbook. ``It is all I have.''
``How much is there?''
``About forty dollars.''
``Humph! that isn't much.''
``Can't you leave me five dollars?''
``No, I
can't. Forty dollars are little enough to serve my turn.''
So saying, he coolly deposited the pocketbook in the pocket of his pants.
``Will you let me go now, sir?''
``I
have not got through my business yet. That's a nice overcoat of yours.''
``I am a small person,'' proceeded the man with black whiskers, ``scarcely any larger than you. I think it'll be a good fit.''
``You've got an overcoat of your own, sir,'' he said. ``You don't need mine.''
``Oh, I
wouldn't rob you of yours, on any account. A fair exchange is no robbery. I am going to give mine in exchange for yours.''
The stranger's coat was rough and well worn, and, at its best, had been inferior to Harry's coat.
``I
should think you might be satisfied with the pocketbook,'' he said. ``I hope you will leave me my coat.''
``Off with the coat, youngster!'' was the sole reply. ``First get out of the buggy.
We can make the exchange better outside.
As opposition would be unavailing, Harry obeyed. The robber took from him the handsome overcoat, the possession of which had afforded him so much satisfaction, and handed him his own ``Fit you as if it was made for you,'' said the stranger, with a short laugh. ``Yours is a trifle slow for me, but I can make it go. No, don't be in such a hurry.''
He seized Harry by the arm as he was about to jump into the carriage.
He produced a ball of cord from a pocket of his inside coat, and with a knife severed a portion.
``Do you know what this is for?'' he asked, jeeringly.
``No.''
``Say `No, sir.' It's more respectful. Well, I'll gratify your laudable curiosity.
It's to tie your hands and feet.''
``I
won't submit to it,'' said Harry, angrily.
``Won't you?'' asked the other, coolly. ``This is a very pretty pistol, isn't it? Ihope I shan't have to use it.''
``What do you want to tie my hands for?'' asked Harry.
``For obvious reasons, my young friend.''
``I
can't drive if my hands are tied.''
``Correct, my son. I don't intend you to drive tonight. Give me your hands.''
Harry considered whether it would be advisable to resist. The stranger was not much larger than himself. He was a man, however, and naturally stronger. Besides, he had a pistol. He decided that it was necessary to submit.
``Now,''
said the stranger, setting him up against the stone wall, which bordered the lane, ``I will bid you good-night. I might take your horse, but, on the whole, I don't want it. I will fasten it to this tree, where it will be all ready for you in the morning. That's considerate in me. Good-night. I hope you are comfortable.''
He disappeared in the darkness, and Harry was left alone.
