A Cousin's Conspiracy: or, A Boy's Struggle for an Inheritance. Horatio Alger Jr.

he spoke he looked up the road, and his glance fell upon a short, compactly built man in a gray suit, who was walking toward them. He seemed a quiet, commonplace person, but there was something about him that attracted Luke’s attention.

      “Do you know that man?” he asked abruptly.

      “No,” answered Mason after a rapid glance.

      “Are the Fox brothers tall men?” asked Luke.

      “One only.”

      “The other?”

      “Is about the size of the man who is approaching.”

      Luke did not reply, but examined still more critically the advancing pedestrian.

      “If this should be one of the Foxes – ” he began.

      “Do you think it is?” asked the farmer in a terrified tone.

      “I can’t tell. If it proves to be, do exactly as I tell you.”

      “Yes,” replied the farmer, now thoroughly alarmed.

      By this time the newcomer was but twenty feet distant. Though his appearance and dress were commonplace, his eyes, as they could see, were dark and glittering.

      He made a halt.

      “Friends,” he said, “can you oblige me with the time?”

      The farmer was about to produce his big old-fashioned silver watch when Luke nudged him sharply.

      “Leave him to me,” he whispered in a tone audible only to the farmer.

      “Thee has asked the wrong party,” he said. “We don’t carry watches.”

      The pedestrian regarded him with contempt. Whoever he might be he looked upon a Quaker as a mild, inoffensive person, hardly deserving the name of man.

      “I didn’t speak to you,” he said scornfully.

      The pedestrian’s next move was a bold one.

      “I am tired,” he said. “Give me a ride.”

      “Will thee excuse us?” said the Quaker meekly.

      “Oh, shut up!” cried the assumed pedestrian. “Quakers should be seen and not heard.”

      Then to the farmer: “I am tired. Let me into your carriage.”

      “There is no room,” said the farmer nervously.

      “Then tell the Quaker to get out and I will take his place.”

      Ezekiel Mason was by no means a brave man and he did not know what to say to this impudent proposal.

      He looked appealingly at Luke.

      “I will accommodate the gentleman,” said the latter meekly. With the words he rose from his seat and jumped to the ground.

      “Shall I assist thee?” he asked the stranger in a mild voice.

      “No; I am quite capable of getting into the carriage without help.”

      The stranger did not immediately get into the buggy.

      “I don’t care to ride, after all,” he said coolly. “Just hand me your money, you old clodhopper.”

      The worst had come. The new arrival was evidently one of the Fox brothers, after all.

      “Indeed I have no money,” said the terrified farmer.

      This was true, for he had put the wallet containing the five hundred dollars into the hands of Luke.

      “You lie! You have just come from the Emmonsville bank, where you drew a large amount.”

      At this proof of knowledge on the part of the outlaw the farmer was almost paralyzed. It appeared to him that the robber must be supernaturally gifted.

      “I haven’t got it now,” he said.

      “You lie!” cried the outlaw sternly. “Come down here and give up the money or I’ll shoot you.”

      “You can search me,” said Mason desperately.