Brave Tom by Edward S. Ellis

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Tippo Sahib was uneasy for a brief while, and then succumbed to that
mysterious hypnotic influence which, in some cases, is equally potent
with persons. He became humble, meek, and, if the term can be allowed,
penitent.

Fully understanding his condition, the professor reached his hand behind
him, without removing his gaze from the beast.

"The rope!" he said in a low voice.

The next moment, to the amazement of Tom and his relatives, he stepped
gently forward, and fastened the rope around the unresisting neck of Tippo
Sahib, who was led outside like a thoroughly subdued dog. Tom gave him
plenty of room, and closely watched proceedings. While doing so, he
observed a slight scratch on the hip of the beast, barely sufficient to
break the skin; that was the path of the bullet fired by the lad the day
previous.

Other ropes were fastened about the tiger, who took it all as a matter of
course, and calmly followed when his guards moved in the direction of the
horses. These resented the approach of the huge cat, so the professor and
one of his men walked some distance behind the others, who took care of
the animals.

Before their departure, Professor De La Cordova told Tom to call at the
hotel between six and seven that evening, and he would be paid the hundred
dollars with the thanks of Mr. Jones and all connected with the menagerie
and circus.

"I wonder if they mean to cheat me out of it?" said the boy that
afternoon, when he looked at the clock and saw it was nearly time to
start.

"I hardly think so," replied his mother.

"Why didn't they give the money before they took the tiger away?"

"Probably they hadn't so much with them," suggested Aunt Cynthia, who
plainly felt some misgiving over matters; "most likely the money has to be
paid by some officer connected with the show."

"And he may say he never gave his men the right to make such an offer,"
remarked Tom.

"That may be," said the mother, thinking it wise to prepare her son for a
probable disappointment; "the circus is to exhibit at Boorman's to-night.
That is twenty miles off, and all may have gone thither. If those men
choose to disregard their word, I see no help for it."

"It will be awful mean in them," declared the boy, who had become quite
nervous; "I'll never catch any more tigers for them."

Tom loitered on his way to Briggsville, striving not to reach there before
the time named; but despite the effort, he was in town fully a quarter of
an hour too early.

A surprise awaited him. The news of the recapture of the runaway tiger had
preceded him; and, as was natural, the story was exaggerated to an absurd
degree. Jim Travers had told the wondering people that he saw Tom capture
Sipo Tahib, as he called him, by jumping on his back and bending his
forepaws over his neck. (Peter Parley's History, which Jim read at school,
contained a picture of the naturalist Chatterton thus navigating an
alligator, and Jim couldn't see why a tiger should not be handled the same
way. He preferred, however, that some other boy should be the one to make
the experiment.)

So it was that Tom found himself the hero of the hour. The boys and all
his acquaintances gathered round him, and he had to tell the story over
and over, until he became tired. When Jim Travers was reminded that Tom's
modest account did not agree with his flamboyant yarn, he said he feared
he had got things a little mixed, but that was the way he or Tom would
have conducted the recapture had the chance been given them.

"Are you the young man that caught the runaway tiger?" asked a pleasant
looking gentleman, somewhat loudly dressed, as he laid his hand on the
shoulder of Tom Gordon, while he was standing among a group of his friends
on the porch of the hotel.

"I didn't exactly capture him," replied the blushing lad; "but I shut the
door of the woodhouse, and he stayed there till the owners came and took
him away."

"It's all the same; you deserve as much credit as if you had brought him
here without help. I believe they promised you a hundred dollars reward,
didn't they?"

"Yes, sir; one of the men said if I would call here between six and seven
he would give me the money; but I don't see anything of him," added Tom,
looking around, in the hope of catching a glimpse of Professor De La
Cordova. "Has he gone away"

"Yes; he is to appear in the show to-night at Boorman's, and could not
wait. But I am Mr. Jones, the proprietor, and if you will step inside with
me, it won't take us long to fix it. I was only waiting to make sure you
were the right lad."

Tom delightedly followed the gentleman into an inner room, where the door
was closed and the transaction quickly completed.

Mr. Jones made some sympathetic inquiries of the youth, and when he
learned of his mother's moderate circumstances, expressed great pleasure
that the reward had fallen to him. Then he handed him ten bright, crisp
ten-dollar bills.

"That is quite a sum of money for a lad like you to have about him," added
Mr. Jones. "You must be careful not to lose it."

"I am very thankful to you, and shall take good care of it," replied Tom.

"Where are you going to carry it?"

"In my inside coat pocket; then I will button my coat over it."

"That's right; and don't unbutton the coat till you reach your own home."

The money was put away as Tom indicated, and, thanking his kind friend
again, Tom bade him good-by and withdrew.

Chapter VI.

Tom Gordon could not be blamed for failing to note several suggestive
occurrences during this memorable visit to Briggsville.

Seated on the porch of the hotel, while he was talking to the group of
young persons and acquaintances, were two strangers, whose dilapidated
dress, frowzy heads, and surly faces, showed they belonged to that
pestiferous class of vagrants known as tramps. They sat apart, after
taking a drink in the bar-room, and with scowling but interested looks
listened to the chatter going on around them. It did not take them long to
catch the drift of matters. They talked together in low tones, with
furtive glances at the young hero, and kept their places, with a few
muttered remarks that no one else could catch, while Tom was inside.

When the smiling lad reappeared, his friends besieged him with inquiries.

"Did he give you the money, Tom? How much is it?"

Being a sturdy boy, Tom naturally did not wish to appear too much elated
over his good fortune.

"Yes," he replied, with an assumption of indifference; "he paid me the
hundred dollars like a gentleman, and I've got it in my pocket."

"What are you going to do with so much money?" asked a mischievous
acquaintance; "buy a farm, or go in partnership with Vanderbilt?"

"I'm going to give every cent of it to my mother," replied Tom, with a
compression of his fine lips and a flash of his eye.

"That's right!" commented an elderly gentleman; "you couldn't put it into
safer hands, and I mean that for all of you youngsters."

It was at this juncture that the two tramps rose to their feet, and
slouched down the road in the direction of Tom Gordon's home. In the
flurry of the moment no one noticed their departure, which indeed might
not have attracted attention at any time.

"You've got a loaded gun in your house?" was the inquiring remark of the
same gentleman.

"Yes, sir; we always keep one. I fired at the tiger with it, but I didn't
hurt him much," remarked Tom with a laugh.

"Well, tigers aren't the only creatures you've got to look out for in
these times. There are plenty of people that would break into your house
and murder you and your mother and aunt for the sake of that money."

Tom blanched a little at these words, and one of the bystanders said,--

"I don't think we have such people about here, Uncle Jed."

"I hope not, but you can't be too careful; I've been robbed myself when I
hadn't any more thought of it than that boy there."

Had Tom Gordon been a few years older or younger he would have acted
differently; that is to say he would have returned home without delay. But
he did not wish to appear frightened by the words of the old gentleman;
and, though he was eager to hurry home to his mother and aunt with the
good news, he remained talking with his friends and trying to act as
though he had forgotten about his great fortune, until the long summer day
ended and twilight began closing in. Then when he started, he looked
around to see whether any one was going in the same direction. He would
have been glad of company, but it so happened that he set out alone in the
gathering gloom to walk the mile that must be passed before he could reach
his home.

"I wish Uncle Jed hadn't said what he did," he mused, when fairly beyond
the town, "it makes me feel kind of pokerish; why didn't I think to bring
my gun along? If the folks he talks about would rob our house they would
stop me on the road and take the money from me."

He walked faster as the darkness increased, for the moon would not rise
for some time to come, glanced often behind him, and essayed a timid
whistle. He soon ceased this, however, for it only increased his
uneasiness. Every minute or two he pressed one of his hands against his
breast to make sure the precious package was there. Then he glanced back
again in the gloom, and started when he fancied he saw a man following
him. But it was only fancy, and he increased his pace, wondering why the
mile seemed longer than he had ever known it before.

The rattle of a wagon caused him almost to leap from his feet.

"That's lucky!" he exclaimed; "I will get the man to let me ride, and then
no one will dare disturb me."

But it proved that the wagon was coming from the direction of his home, so
it could not be turned to account. He watched it as it came nearer. An old
gentleman sat on the front seat of the open vehicle which was jolting
along at an easy rate. It was too dark to see the driver's features
plainly, but Tom believed he knew him and called out a greeting. The
response showed he was right as to the identity of the individual.

Two-thirds of the way home came the most trying ordeal. The lad was
obliged to follow quite a stretch of road where there was woods on both
sides. This deepened the gloom, for the highway was so narrow that it was
completely shadowed.

"If any robbers are waiting for me," he mused, "it will be in them woods."

He hesitated on the border of the shadows, meditating whether he could
not reach home by some other course; but the forest, originally one that
covered several hundred acres, was bisected by the highway, and the detour
would be long. Still he decided to try it, for, somehow or other, the
conviction was strong with him that danger lurked among the shadows. He
turned about to retrace his steps for a short way, before leaving the
road, when he stopped short, hardly repressing a gasp of affright.

He saw the unmistakable outlines of a man in the gloom, only a short
distance behind him. Afraid to meet him face to face, Tom turned back and
resumed his walk along the highway.

"When I get along a little farther," was his thought, "I'll slip over the
fence among the trees and dodge him."

He began walking fast, continually glancing over his shoulder. His alarm
increased upon discovering that the man had also quickened his footsteps,
so that instead of holding his place, the pursuer, as he may be
considered, was gaining.

The fact that not the slightest sound disturbed the stillness added to the
oppression of the situation. The lad was on the point of breaking into a
run, when the man, who was one of the tramps before referred to, called
out,--

"Hold on there, sonny! don't be in such a hurry."

This salutation was not calculated to soothe Tom's agitation, and without
any reply he started on a loping trot, still keeping his attention to the
rear, and prepared to break into a dead run the moment it became
necessary. He was fleet of foot, and believed he could make the fellow
hustle.

"Didn't you hear me, sonny? If you don't want to get shot, stop!"

Tom had no wish to be shot, nor did he mean to have the company of the
rascal who was bent on intruding upon him.

"Catch me if you can," he muttered, breaking into a swifter pace; "I'm
glad it's night so I'll have a chance to hide from you"--

"Hold on there! what's your hurry, younker?"

The boy almost sank to the ground, for this startling hail came not from
the rear, but from the front. Stopping short, he saw a burly fellow,
standing within ten feet of him in the middle of the road, so nigh indeed,
that, despite the darkness, Tom had no earthly chance of eluding him, as
he might have done had he detected his presence a moment sooner.

Rallying with a supreme effort, he addressed the one nearest him.

"What do you want, that you stop me this way?"

"What do I want?" repeated the tramp with a chuckle, "that's good; why I
want to make the acquaintance of a purty young man like you. What's your
name?"

"Tom Gordon," promptly replied the boy, seeing nothing to be gained by
hiding his identity.

"I'm Count De Buffer, travelling incog. just now, 'cause you see I don't
want the Americans to make so much fuss over me; I have enough of that at
home, where they're not such tuft hunters as here. Glad to know you, Tom,"
added the tramp, extending his hand.

The boy with some hesitation accepted the grimy palm which almost crushed
his own.

"This is my friend Duke De Sassy," said the "count," as the other came up;
"him and me have got tired of the frivolities of court life, and are
making a tower through America studying its institutions, and doing the
country."

"This ere young man didn't seem to care for my company," remarked the last
arrival; "for I called to him two or three times, but then, he couldn't
have knowed that it was a real live dook he was treating that way, so I
forgive him."

"The truth is," added the count, "we're down on our luck just now, and
would like you to accommodate us with a trifle of a loan."

The tramps placed themselves while talking so as to forestall any attempt
on the part of the lad to break away.

"I haven't any money to lend you," sturdily answered Tom.

"Do you mean to say you have no funds in your exchequer?" continued the
count; "'cause if you haven't, of course we don't want anything to do with
you."

It flashed upon Tom that he had only to speak an untruth to free himself
of the presence of these miscreants. Would it be a sin for him to say he
had no money with him?

Only for an instant did the temptation linger. His mother had taught him
that a lie was never justifiable under any circumstances.

"I did not say I had no money," he said, "but that I had none to lend
you."

"Ah, that's a different matter. I'm afeard, Duke," he continued,
addressing his companion, "that we shall be under the necessity of making
a forced loan; how does the proposition strike you?"

"I'm convinced we shall be reduced to that painful necessity. If I'm not
mistook, this young gentleman was paid a hundred dollars this afternoon
for his bravery in throwing a royal Bengal tiger over his shoulder and
bringing him back to the circus, from which erstwhile the animal strayed."

Poor Tom saw it was all up with him. These wretches must have known about
the reward from the moment he received it. They had planned the robbery,
and he had walked straight into the trap set for him.

"Yes, I have a hundred dollars given to me for helping to catch the tiger;
I was taking it home to my mother."

"That's a good boy," commented the count; "always think of your mother,
for the market isn't overstocked with first-class mothers. But bear in
mind, sonny, that we're only borering this for sixty days, and we'll give
you ten per cent interest--that's our style of doing bus'ness, eh, Duke?"

"Well, if I must, I must," said Tom hopelessly, making a move of his hand
as if to draw the money from his trousers pocket.

"That's right, allers take things philosophically, and be ready to extend
a helping hand to them as"--

The count had got thus far in his observations, when the boy darted to one
side, and made a desperate attempt to pass them and reach the fence on his
right.

He came very nigh succeeding too. In fact, he did get to the fence, and
was in the act of clambering over, when he was seized in the iron grip of
Count De Buffer, who was angered at the narrow escape of the youth making
off with the funds.

"If you try anything like that agin, I'll kill you!" he said, choking and
shaking the boy; "we mean bus'ness, young man, and don't you forget it!"

Tom still struggled furiously, and pulled so hard that all three moved
several paces along the highway. Nor did he cease his resistance until he
had been struck several cruel blows.

"Now fork over them funds!" commanded the count, when the panting lad was
exhausted.

"I sha'n't do it!" was the sturdy reply.

"Very well; then we'll do it for you."

The lad made no resistance, and the tramps searched him thoroughly from
head to foot. Not a penny was found on him.

"We ought to break your head for that trick," said the duke, "and if it
had done you any good we'd do so; but we understand it. You flung the
money away when you made a rush for the fence."

"If I did," was the defiant response of the boy, "all you've got to do is
to find it again."

"We'll soon do that; hold him fast till I get it, and then we'll settle
with him."

The tousled scamp shuffled off to the side of the highway to search for
the package, which he was convinced had been thrown there at the time
their prisoner made his dash for freedom.

"That'll prove bad bus'ness for you," growled the duke, who was the
custodian of Tom.

"Not any worse than if you had got it," replied the youth, who was
thoroughly roused by his brutal treatment. He had been struck several
times, but could not believe the ruffians would dare put him to death in
revenge for the loss of the money, that is, provided they did recover it.

"Haven't you found it, Dick?" called the duke, forgetting the title of his
comrade.

"No, confound it! I don't know where to look for it."

"Where did you fling it?" demanded the duke of his captive.

"I shall not tell you; you may kill me first."

"Very well; take that!"

But Tom managed to dodge the blow, and, by a quick leap, freed himself of
the grip of his captor. The next minute he was off like a deer.

Possibly the tramp might have overtaken him, had he made the effort; but
he chose to let him go while he joined his friend in hunting for the
money.

They kept up the search for hours, and were then, obliged to give it up.
Afraid that the boy, who must have reached home long before, would bring
friends back, the tramps took their departure while the opportunity was
theirs, and were seen no more.

Tom Gordon did a brave thing. The moment he discovered he was not pursued,
he hid himself at the side of the road, and waited till the scamps
departed. Then, when the moon had risen, he stole back again, and,
remembering quite well where he had thrown the package of money, found it
with little difficulty, and reaching home without further incident, told
his stirring experience to his mother and aunt.

Chapter VII.

It will be admitted that Tom Gordon and Jim Travers had met with a pretty
stirring experience, as a result of the visit of the circus and menagerie
to Briggsville. Tom had not been able to attend the performance; but it
may be said he was favored with a little "circus" of his own, in which he
played the part of star performer. But all's well that ends well, and he
had the pleasure of walking into his humble home and turning over to his
mother the handsome reward paid for the restoration of Tippo Sahib,
comparatively unharmed, to the owner. He was so well liked by teacher and
playmates that all congratulated him. There was no jealousy of his good
fortune, for there was none more deserving, and, it may be added, no more
in need of the material help given by that one hundred dollars.

But what has been told was but an incident in the life of the two boys,
whose fortunes I have set out to tell. A remarkable train of circumstances
in due course involved the lads in a series of incidents which had an
important bearing on their future lives, and taught a lesson which young
lads cannot learn too often in this world.

Tom and Jim devoted themselves more closely than ever to their school
studies, and, as a result, became two of the best-informed pupils at that
crude institution of learning. They grew to be strong, sturdy youths, as
fond of athletic sports as they were of study, and with a promise of the
right sort of success in life. Neither dreamed of what the immediate
future had in store for them.

A year after the incident of the tiger, Tom's Aunt Cynthia peacefully
died, and a few month later, to his almost inconsolable grief, his beloved
mother passed away. Thus he was left an orphan, without brother or sister.
The blow was a crushing one, and for weeks he wished to die and join the
dear ones that had gone before. He grieved until his friends feared he was
falling into a decline, and became seriously concerned for him.

It has been truly said, however, that no person in the enjoyment of health
and vigor of body can long be crushed by affliction. He will rally sooner
or later. Thus it proved in the case of Tom Gordon. His former strength
and spirits gradually came back to him. There were moments and hours when
he was weighed down by his great loss; but it was gradually softened by
the passage of time, until the day came when his friends believed he had
fully recovered from the sorrow that had nearly driven the life from his
body and soul.

One sad feature of his affliction was that he was left almost penniless.
With all the thrift, frugality, and self-denial of mother and aunt, they
had been able to leave the youth hardly anything at all when they died.
The humble home, with all its belongings, was sold for less than the
mortgage, and Tom found himself with little besides the clothes he wore
and a few precious mementoes of those that had passed away.

In a community where he was so favorably known, it was impossible that he
should suffer actual want. More than one home was offered him, not only
until he could find some situation or engage in some trade, but as long as
he chose to avail himself of it.

Tom was forced to accept some one of these offers, and he went home with
Jim Travers until he could decide what to do. He knew he was welcome
there, and could stay as long as he wished, though he had no thought of
becoming a burden upon the kind friends that had opened their doors to
him.

Now, it was this change in the surroundings in the daily life of Tom
Gordon that led to the singular incidents I have set out to tell.

Jim Travers lived alone with his father, who was in fair circumstances.
His mother had died in his infancy; and his only sister, Maggie, was his
playmate for a few years longer, when she departed to join the loved one
that had preceded her. The husband and father became a lonely and bowed
man, whose years were far less than they seemed. Although a farmer in a
small way, he committed the sad error of engaging in stock speculations,
more with a view of diverting his mind from his gnawing grief than with
the hope of bettering his fortune. It is hardly necessary to relate what
followed. He was successful for a time, and improved his financial
standing. He gladly welcomed Tom Gordon beneath his roof, for he knew his
own boy could not have a playmate whose company would be more improving to
him. Then Mr. Travers dipped more deeply into speculation. With brighter
prospects than ever, there came the fateful hour in Wall Street, when
every penny was swept from him.

"I am a beggar!" he gasped, when the whole dreadful truth broke upon him;
"and I am too old to begin life again. It is better that I should die."

And die he did in the great city of New York. The shock was fatal; and his
body was brought back to Briggsville, and laid to rest beside the forms of
his wife and little Maggie, that had died long before. Jim was dazed by
the unexpected blow. It became the privilege of Tom Gordon to act as his
comforter, but it was a long time before the little fellow came out from
the valley of shadow into the life-giving sunlight again.

But here was the solemn situation: Tom Gordon and Jim Travers were
orphans, with no near relatives, and with only their own hands to earn
their daily bread. What was the best thing for them to do?

This was the grave question which the two boys sat down to answer in the
gloom of a wintry evening, when they were about fourteen years of age.
They had received plenty of counsel, and much of it was excellent. The
teacher, the minister, and numerous good neighbors had been as kind as
they could possibly be, and the youths knew no real hardship could come to
them as long as they stayed in or near the place where they were born.

But they were not satisfied to do so. They felt they ought to strike out
for themselves, and Briggsville was not the place to do it. The
opportunities were too few.

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