The Campers Out: or, The Right Path and the Wrong. Ellis Edward Sylvester

were reached without mishap, they would conclude that all danger of being stopped was over, and from that point would travel openly and without fear.

      The little party chatted and discussed their plans, sometimes speaking so loud in their ardor that the gentleman sitting just across the aisle overhead their words and looked curiously at them more than once, over the top of his paper.

      Just before reaching the long trestle-work which spans the Raritan, Billy said:

      “We must be pretty near New Brunswick, Tom, and I guess you had better give me enough money to buy a ticket: how much will it be?”

      “I don’t know; I s’pose two or three dollars; you ought to travel on half fare, but it aint worth bothering about; we’ll gather in all the funds we want in Chicago.”

      “It strikes me,” remarked McGovern, “that we might as well divide up the money, so that if any one loses his share, we won’t be in a bad fix.”

      “I guess that would be a good plan,” replied Tommy, who reached in his trousers pocket for the roll of bills which he had placed there.

      He started and turned pale the next moment, and hurriedly ran his hand in his other pocket. Then he sprang to his feet and frantically searched the pockets of his coat and vest.

      “What’s the matter?” asked Jimmy, with a sinking of the heart.

      “The money is gone!” was the alarming answer.

      “No; that can’t be!” faintly exclaimed Billy; “it must be somewhere about you.”

      “I put the roll in that, pocket,” replied Tommy, who kept up his search, through all the receptacles, again and again. Then he stooped down, and hunted under the seats with a nervous distress which was fully shared by his companions.

      Finally he straightened up and said, despairingly:

      “My pocket has been picked, and we haven’t a dollar among us.”

      He spoke the truth.

      CHAPTER V – THE WAY OF THE TRANSGRESSOR

      Three more miserable lads could not be imagined than our young friends when the train stopped at the station in New Brunswick, and they knew that the total amount of their joint funds was less than a dollar.

      No one spoke, but they sat pale, woebegone and staring helplessly at each other, undecided what to do.

      The conductor, who was an alert official, said to Billy:

      “This is where you get off; come, step lively.”

      The lad rose to his feet without a word, and started down the aisle for the door. His companions glanced at him, and, feeling that it would not do for them to separate, also rose by common impulse and followed him out on the platform, where they stood silent and wretched until the train left.

      Jimmy McGovern was the first to speak, and it was with the deepest sigh he ever drew:

      “Well, boys, what’s to be done?”

      “Let’s go back home,” said Billy, “and get the jewelry under the stump, sell that and start over again; I guess we’ll know enough to take care of our money next time.”

      “But we haven’t enough to pay our fare,” remarked Tommy.

      “We can walk to Jersey City; we’ve got a little money, and we’ll sell a revolver there: that will take one of us to Ashton, and he can get the jewelry.”

      It was a most repellent course, and they spent a half-hour in discussing it; but it really seemed that nothing else was possible, and the proceeding was agreed upon.

      Few words were spoken as they walked down the slope from the station, made their way to the bridge a short distance below the trestle-work, and walked across to the other side. Inquiry showed them that they had almost thirty miles to walk to Jersey City, and since the forenoon was well advanced, they could not expect to reach their destination before the morrow.

      But it was the spring of the year, the weather was mild, and they concluded they could beg something to eat. If the farmers refused them permission to sleep in their houses, they could take refuge in some barn, after the manner of ordinary tramps.

      But an unexpected series of adventures was before them.

      After crossing the Raritan and walking a short distance, they turned into a stretch of woods, where they sat down to discuss further what ought to be done. With the elastic spirits of childhood, all had rallied somewhat from the extreme depression following the discovery of the loss of their funds. The leader was especially hopeful.

      “I don’t know but what it is best this happened,” said he, “for we hadn’t enough money to see us through, and one of us might have to come back after we got to Chicago, and that would have been bad.”

      “But we expected to get money there,” said Jimmy.

      “I don’t believe it would be as easy as we thought; now I will leave you two in New York, after we reach there, go back to Ashton, get the jewelry and bring it with me. We can sell it for two or three thousand dollars, and we’ll be fixed.”

      The others caught the infection of hope and rose to their feet, eager to reach the metropolis as soon as possible.

      They were about to resume their journey, when they heard voices near them. Looking around, two frowzy men were observed walking slowly toward them. One was munching a sandwich, while the other had a short black pipe between his teeth.

      The reader may not know that the woods, on the northern bank of the Raritan, is the spot where the numerous tramps of New Jersey have their general rendezvous. Several hundred of these nuisances are sometimes gathered there, and they are held in great dread by the neighbors, for they are lazy, thievish, and lawless, and have perpetrated so many outrages that more than one descent has been made upon their camp by the authorities, while the law-abiding citizens have been on the point, at times, of taking severe measure against them.

      Unsuspicious of the fact, the boys had approached close to the camp of the tramps.

      The two tousled specimens caught sight of the boys at the same moment that the latter discovered them. The one munching a sandwich stopped, stared a second, and then, speaking as well as he could, with his mouth full of food, exclaimed:

      “Well, I’ll be shot if this doesn’t beat the bugs!”

      “Why, Snakeroot Sam!” called the delighted Tommy Wagstaff, “if this isn’t the luckiest thing that could happen!”

      “Where did you come from?” asked that worthy, swallowing what was in his mouth, and indulging in a grin which disclosed a double row of large black teeth. His companion pulled his pipe and looked on in silence.

      “Why, didn’t I tell you we was going to start for the West about this time?” asked the happy leader of the little party.

      “So you did; I jotted it down in my notebook, but seein’ as how you didn’t give me the percise date, I couldn’t be on hand to wish you good-bye; but what are you doin’ here?”

      “We’ve had bad luck,” was the disconsolate reply; “we’ve been robbed of all our money.”

      “And are goin’ to hoof it back?”

      “That’s what we’ll have to do, but we mean to take a new start.”

      “How did this unfortinit misfortune come to overtake ye?”

      Tommy gave the history of their mishap, the two tramps listening with much interest.

      “This is my friend, Ragged Jim,” said Sam, when the narrative was finished, “and he’s true blue.”

      Ragged Jim nodded his head and grunted, without taking the black clay pipe from between his teeth, while Snakeroot Sam munched his sandwich at intervals.

      “So you’ve no money with you?”

      “Not a dollar,” replied Tommy.

      “How ’bout your shootin’ irons?”

      “They’re