Try and Trust; Or, Abner Holden's Bound Boy

“Then I will take it myself, and give you something to remember me by, you little fool!”

He placed his knee on the window-sill, and prepared to jump in.

“One step farther,” said Herbert, resolutely, “and I fire!”

He displayed the pistol, at the sight of which the burglar hesitated.

“Hold on a bit,” said he, pausing. “I’ll give you some of the plunder, if you’ll put up that shooting iron, and make no trouble.”

“Do you think me a villain, like yourself?” asked Herbert.

“By –, you shall repent this,” said the robber, with an oath, and he made another attempt to enter.

Click!

There was a sharp report, but Herbert had fired in the air, and the burglar was unhurt.

“Confusion!” he exclaimed; “that will raise the house!”

Then, espying the carpet-bag, he determined to jump in, seize it, and get away before the people in the house were fairly awake. As for the pistol, that had been discharged, and he supposed that nothing was to be feared from it. But he reckoned without his host. As he put one leg over, and had all but succeeded in getting in, Herbert fired once more, this time hitting him in the shoulder. He uttered a shriek of pain, and, losing his hold, tumbled backward to the ground.

The two reports alarmed the house.

“What’s the matter?” exclaimed Mr. Carroll, awakened and alarmed.

“Don’t be alarmed, sir,” said Herbert. “A man just attempted to get in through the window, and I have wounded him.”

“You are a brave boy,” said Mr. Carroll. “Where is he now?”

“He has tumbled to the ground, shot through the shoulder, I think.”

There was a loud thumping at the door. Herbert opened it, and admitted half a dozen guests, headed by the landlord.

“What’s the matter?” exclaimed all, in chorus.

“If you will come to the window, gentlemen, I will show you,” said Herbert.

They followed him curiously, and the sight of the ladder and the wounded man, who was uttering groans of pain from the ground below, told the story at once.

“Served the rascal right,” said the landlord. “Who is he?”

“The black-whiskered man who was in the barroom last night,” said Herbert.

“I remember now; he asked particularly where you were to sleep—you and the old gentleman—but I did not suspect his purpose.”

“I did,” said Herbert, “and kept awake to be ready for him.”

“You are a brave lad.”

“I only did my duty,” said Herbert, modestly.

“Help! help!” groaned the wretch below.

Herbert heard the cry of pain, and his heart was filled with pity. The man was, indeed, a villain. He had only been served right, as the landlord said. Still, he was a fellow-creature, and he was in pain. Herbert could not regret that he had shot him; but he did regret the necessity, and he felt sympathy for him in his suffering.

“Poor fellow!” he said, compassionately; “I am afraid he is a good deal hurt.”

“Poor fellow!” echoed the landlord. “It serves him right.”

“Still, he is in pain, and he ought to be cared for.”

“He has no claim upon us. He may be there till morning.”

“No,” said Mr. Carroll. “Herbert is right. He is guilty, but he is in pain, and it is the part of humanity to succor him. Landlord, if you will have him brought in, and send for the doctor, you may look to me for your pay.”

“Yet, he was going to rob you, sir,” said the landlord, considerably surprised.

“Yes, that is true; but you don’t know how strongly he was tempted.”

“He looks like a hard ticket. I didn’t like to give him a bed, but we can’t well refuse travelers, if they have money to pay their reckoning. I made him pay in advance.”

“Pray, lose no time,” said Herbert, as another groan was heard; “I will go out and help you bring him in.”

A lantern was lit, and the whole company followed the landlord out.

“Well,” said he, throwing the light of the candle full on the sufferer’s face, “you’ve got yourself into a fine pickle, haven’t you?”

“Oh,” groaned the burglar, “if it hadn’t been for that accursed boy!”

“You’d have got off with the old gentleman’s money. Well, it was rather unkind to interfere.”

“Are you in much pain?” asked Herbert, bending over him.

There was something in his voice that betrayed the compassion he really felt.

The burglar looked up.

“You’re the boy that wounded me, ain’t you?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Herbert.

“Curse you! I don’t know but you’ve killed me. I’m shot through the shoulder. Then, that cursed fall! I feel as if I had broken my back.”

“I did not want to shoot you,” said Herbert.

“What did you do it for, then?”

“Because you forced me to it. You were after Mr. Carroll’s money.”