Young Auctioneers: or, The Polishing of a Rolling Stone

CHAPTER XXII.
THE SHANTY IN THE WOODS

The reader may rest assured that Matt listened with deep interest to the words of the constable. He knew nothing of the man that had been mentioned as the probable thief, but he was willing to believe Jackson’s supposition true.

“That Joe Yedley’s cap?” returned Isaac Marvelling slowly.

“Certainly. You ought to know it well enough. He has worn nothing else for years.”

“Humph! how did it get here?”

“The man must have dropped it in his haste to get away when I came here,” said Matt. “He left in a big hurry.”

“That’s most likely it,” said the constable. “To tell the truth, it looks just like a piece of Yedley’s work,” he added slowly. “He did it in order to get square, as much as anything, I reckon. He always resented being called a beggar.”

“Humph!” muttered Isaac Marvelling, not particularly pleased over the turn affairs seemed to be taking. “He may be guilty and he may not be. I rather think you had better hold this young fellow for awhile yet.”

“Just as you say.”

“You may hold me if you wish,” put in the young auctioneer. “But if you want to get all of your stuff back you had better follow up this Yedley.”

“I’ll do that,” returned the constable. “I have an idea I can find out where he has gone to. He has several old hang-outs here, and most likely he’ll be at one or another of them.”

“Are any of the places close at hand?”

“He used to put up at a shanty back here in the woods,” was the slow reply. “It is possible he has struck for that place – or else for Bill Voegler’s barn.”

“Supposing we three make for the shanty without delay?”

The matter was talked over, and finally Isaac Marvelling, urged on solely by the desire to recover his goods and not to clear Matt, consented to accompany the others to the place the constable had named.

It was a dark and lonely road the trio had to travel. But Jackson knew the way well, and to avoid suspicion, put out the light. He cautioned them not to make any noise, and so, as silently as Indians, they filed along, Jackson first and Marvelling last, with the young auctioneer between them.

Ten minutes’ walking brought them to the edge of a bit of woodland, surrounded on three sides by corn-fields. Here Jackson called a halt.

“The shanty is not two hundred feet from here. Keep quiet while I go on and investigate,” he whispered.

The constable glided out of sight, and five minutes of silent suspense followed.

“It ain’t likely he’ll find anything,” grumbled Isaac Marvelling. “This ain’t anything but a wild goose chase.”

“Wait,” returned Matt. “He must go slow, or he may – ”

The young auctioneer broke off short, for at that instant several loud exclamations reached their ears.

“Surrender, Yedley!” they heard Jackson cry. “Surrender, in the name of the law!”

“Who told ye to come here?” yelled the voice of an old man. “Git out an’ leave me alone.”

“I arrest you, Yedley, for stealing – Hullo! he’s gone! Stop him! stop him!”

There was the banging of a shanty door, and then a crashing in the bushes. Footsteps came close to where Matt and Marvelling stood.

“He’s coming this way!” cried the young auctioneer. “Let us stop him!”

“You stop him!” stammered the store-keeper. “He is – is a very ugly man to deal with.”

And as the old fellow in question appeared in sight, the store-keeper dropped down behind the rail fence, leaving Matt to face Joe Yedley alone.

This the young auctioneer did without hesitation.

“Stop where you are!” he cried out, and as Yedley attempted to leap the fence, he caught the fellow by the leg and dragged him to the ground.

“Let go of me!” howled the man savagely. “Let go, boy, or it will be the worse for you!”

“Don’t you attempt to rise, or I’ll knock you down,” was Matt’s undaunted reply. “Just you remain where you are until Mr. Jackson gets back.”

But Yedley would not remain still, and as a consequence, a fierce struggle ensued. Matt called to Isaac Marvelling to come to his assistance, but the store-keeper was too afraid to do so, and only screamed for Jackson to come and secure the thief.

Yedley, although well along in years, was very strong and active, and Matt gradually found himself being overpowered. But he held on until Jackson arrived, and then the man was quickly subdued by the sight of the constable’s pistol.

“Now, Yedley, you had better tell us what you have done with the stolen goods,” said Jackson, after he and the others had somewhat regained their breath.

“Yes! yes! hand over my goods!” put in Isaac Marvelling eagerly.

“Ain’t got no goods – didn’t steal nuthin’!” growled the old man.

“We know better,” said Jackson. “We’ll search the shanty.”

This was done, and in one corner, under some loose flooring, was found a large bundle done up in several newspapers. When this was opened there came to light many knives, forks and spoons, as well as a quantity of cheap jewelry, such as watch chains, rings and trinkets. The entire collection was not worth over fifteen dollars, although Isaac Marvelling stuck to it that the articles had cost him forty-five dollars cash.

After the store-keeper had made certain that all of his goods, with the exception of several cheap spoons, which must have slipped out of the bundle on the way, were safe, all hands made their way back to the village. Yedley begged to be allowed to go, but the constable was firm, and the man was eventually locked up, and later on sent to jail for one year.

Isaac Marvelling was too mean a man to recognize the service Matt had done him, or to apologize for the false charges he had made against the young auctioneer. As soon as he could he got out of Matt’s way, and that was about the last the boy saw of him.

But Jackson, the constable, did not hesitate to tell the whole story, and, as a consequence, the people of the village thought less of the mean store-keeper than ever. His trade dropped down daily, until he was at last forced to give up his store and go back to the farm from which he had originally come.

On the following morning Matt and his partner set off bright and early for Phillipsburg. Andy had heard the particulars of Matt’s adventures, and he sincerely trusted that neither would have anything further to do with thieves, little dreaming of what fate had in store for them in the near future.

They had done very well in High Bridge, and so took their time to reach the pretty manufacturing town which lies on the east bank of the Delaware. The road was a good one, and on the way they stopped at a farmhouse, where Andy treated the firm, as he termed it, to apple pie and fresh milk. He was going to pay for these articles in cash, but the farmer’s wife wished a hat-pin, and gladly took one out of their stock instead.

When they arrived in Phillipsburg they found that their new goods from New York had not yet arrived, but were told that the cases would probably come in on the afternoon freight. After this they started to find a vacant store. Strange to say, there was none to be had which would suit their purpose. There were several large places vacant, but all of them were on side streets, and these they declined to hire.

“We’ll have to sell direct from the wagon,” said Andy. “Perhaps we’ll do just as well.”

They found a good corner, and after paying a license fee and getting a square meal, opened up for business. Hardly anything was done during the afternoon, but toward evening trade picked up, and when they finally dismissed the crowd they found they had taken in seventeen dollars.

“And that’s pretty good, considering that we are out of many of our best sellers,” was Andy’s comment. “We must go around to the freight house the first thing in the morning and stock up again.”

“I see by the posters that there is to be a big firemen’s parade in Easton day after to-morrow,” said Matt. “Would it not be a good idea to locate there just before it comes off?”

“Excellent. Day after to-morrow, you say?”

“Yes; the posters are everywhere.”

“Then instead of remaining here we had better cross the river as soon as we have our cases of goods. If we can only get a store in a good location we may do better than we did on circus day in those other places.”

“That’s true, Andy, for I saw by the bills that the railroads are going to run special excursions on account of the big parade, so there will be many strangers with money in the city.”

As soon as the freight depot was open the next morning the two drove to the place, and Andy entered the office and called for the cases, three in number.

“What’s the name?” asked the agent in charge.

Andy told him, and an examination of all the freight which had come in was made, and then the two made the dismaying discovery that no goods for them had arrived.

CHAPTER XXIII.
SOMETHING IS MISSING

“The goods haven’t come in!” cried Matt. “What’s to be done now? We can’t open up without them, and we can’t afford to miss the chance of taking a good round sum on parade day.”

“I’ll telegraph to New York and find out what the trouble is,” returned Andy, and he started for the telegraph office without delay.

The message was sent to the metropolis within quarter of an hour, reaching its destination before any of the down-town wholesale houses were open for business. At eleven o’clock a reply came back that the cases had been duly sent, and that the delay would be traced up, if possible, at the freight depot there.

“This leaves us in a pickle for to-day,” said Andy, as he handed the message over to Matt.

“Well, it won’t be so bad if only we get our goods by to-morrow morning, Andy. Let us go over to Easton, anyway, and look for a store, and if we can find one, take the risk of hiring it.”

So they crossed the river and began a search, leaving the horse and wagon tied up at the freight depot in Phillipsburg in the meantime.

They found that the firemen’s parade was really to be very large, and already the store-keepers were decorating in its honor. On the streets numerous fakirs were about, offering badges, medals, song-sheets, souvenirs, and other wares for sale.

“I’ll take this street, and you take that,” said Andy, as they came to a corner. “Go around the block, and then take the next block. In that way we may find a store quicker. There is no use for both of us to go over the same ground.”

So, after appointing a meeting-place, the two separated, and Matt hurried along the street Andy had designated to him.

“Here you are, gents, the most wonderful corn and bunion salve in the market!” he presently heard a voice crying out. “Made first expressly for the Emperor of Germany, and now sold in America for the first time. Warranted to cure the worst corn ever known, and sold for the small sum of ten cents! They go like hot-cakes, the boxes do, for they all know how good the salve is! Thank you, sir; who’ll have the next?”

Matt stopped short, as something in the voice of the street merchant attracted his attention. He looked at the man and saw that it was Paul Barberry, the fellow who had wished to be taken in as a partner in Newark.

“Give me a box of that ere salve,” Matt heard an old man say, and saw the traveling corn doctor hand over a package of his preparation.

The purchaser of the package handed over a quarter of a dollar in silver. Barberry stuck the money in his pocket, and without attempting to give back any change, thrust two more packages of his corn salve into the old man’s hands.

“What – what’s this?” stammered the old fellow. “Where is my change?”

“That’s all right, three for a quarter, sir,” returned Paul Barberry briskly. “Who’ll have the next? Don’t all crowd up at once!”

“But I don’t want three,” said the old man timidly. “I want my change.”

“You’ll find you need three, find ’em very valuable, sir! That’s right, come right up and buy, buy, buy! It’s the greatest on the face of the globe!” bawled Barberry, turning away and addressing another crowd on the sidewalk.

“Well, I’ll be jiggered!” muttered the old man, and much put out, but too timid to stand up for his rights and demand the return of his money, he placed the packages in his coat-tail pocket, and walked off.

“Well, that’s what I call a rather high-handed proceeding,” thought Matt. “No wonder some folks consider street merchants and traveling auctioneers little better than thieves, when some of them act in that fashion. I don’t think he’ll prosper, though, in the end.”

He was about to continue on his way, when Paul Barberry caught sight of him and came forward.

“Hullo, my young friend!” he called out pleasantly. “What brings you to Easton – the big parade?”

Matt did not like this manner of being addressed. He considered the corn salve doctor altogether too familiar, so he replied rather coldly:

“Not particularly. We merely struck Easton in the course of our travels.”

“Oh, then you and your companion are still on the road with your wagon?”

“Yes.”

Paul Barberry seemed to grow interested at once.

“Good enough! And how is business?”

“Very good,” returned Matt, and not without pardonable pride.

“Then you are not ready to take me in as a partner yet?”

“Not quite; my friend and I can run the business very well without outside help.”

“But you might make more money with me in the firm,” went on Paul Barberry persistently.

“We haven’t room for a third person.”

“Where are you stopping now?”

“We haven’t a place yet. My partner and I have just started to look for an empty store.”

“Oh, then you are going to stay several days or a week.”

“Yes.”

“Where were you last?”

“Across the river.”

“Do pretty well in Phillipsburg?”

“We did very well – until we began to run out of goods.”

“I couldn’t do anything in Phillipsburg,” grumbled Paul Barberry. “It’s only a one-horse place, anyway. So you ran out of goods there?”

“We ran out of some goods – our best sellers.”

“Why don’t you send for more goods?”

“We have sent, and we are expecting the cases at any moment at the Phillipsburg freight depot.”

“Where is your horse and wagon?”

“Tied up at the depot over there,” and to avoid being questioned further, Matt began to move off.

“I think I can get a good store for you,” went on Barberry, catching him by the arm.

“Thank you, but I would prefer to do my own hunting,” returned the young auctioneer, still more coolly.

“Don’t want anything to do with me, eh?” retorted the corn salve vender angrily.

“I don’t want you to take your valuable time in transacting my business,” returned Matt, and off he hurried, before Barberry could offer any reply.

“He and his partner are mighty independent chaps,” grumbled the pretended doctor, as he gazed after Matt, with a scowl on his face. “I suppose he thinks himself above me because he has a horse and wagon. Well, maybe he won’t be any better off than I am some day.”

And, in far from a good humor, Paul Barberry resumed the sale of his so-styled wonderful corn cure, a preparation, by the way, which was of no value as a remedial agent.

Matt walked along for several blocks without running across any empty stores that would be suitable for holding sales. Most of the places were too small, and others were in out-of-the-way corners, to which it would be next to impossible to attract a crowd.

At the appointed time he walked to the spot where he was to meet Andy. His partner was waiting for him, a smile resting on his pleasant face.

“Any luck, Matt?” he asked.

“None.”

“I’ve struck something that I imagine will just suit us. Come on and look at it.”

The two hurried to the place Andy had in mind. It was, indeed, a good store, and just in the right spot, and ten minutes later they were on the way to hunt up the landlord and rent the place.

It was no easy matter to find the person for whom they were seeking, and it was well along in the afternoon before the man who owned the building was found. He agreed to let them have the store for four days for ten dollars, and the bargain was closed on the spot.

Then they returned to the store and cleaned it up as best they could, and at a little after five o’clock locked up and started back to Phillipsburg to ascertain if their cases of goods had yet arrived.

The walk across the bridge did not take long, and the freight depot was close at hand.

“Why, where is the horse and wagon?” cried Matt, as he discovered that the turn-out was missing from the place where Billy had been fastened.

“Well, that’s what I would like to know,” returned Andy. “I don’t see a thing of it anywhere, do you?”

They looked around, up one street and down another, but neither Billy nor the gayly-painted wagon came into view.

“I’ll ask the freight agent about it,” said Matt, and he hurried into the office.

“Your horse and wagon?” repeated the agent, in reply to his question. “Why, I guess your man drove off with them.”

“Our man?” gasped the young auctioneer.

“Yes; the one you sent around here to get those cases of goods you were expecting. He took the cases, too.”

CHAPTER XXIV.
ALONG THE RIVER

Matt could do nothing but stare at the freight agent. A man had come there and driven off with the horse and wagon and taken the cases of goods with him. It seemed too bold-faced to be true.

“Our man?” he stammered. “We have no man.”

“Didn’t you send the man here?” demanded the agent, as he stopped short in his work of checking off packages.

“We certainly did not,” returned the young auctioneer. “Andy!” he called out, as he stepped back toward the open door, and a moment later Andy Dilks hurried into the depot.

“He says a man came here, got the cases of goods, and drove off with Billy,” cried Matt breathlessly. “You did not send any one here, did you?”

“Certainly not,” returned Andy promptly. “When was this?”

“Less than two hours ago,” replied the freight agent, and he was now all attention. “Do you mean to say the fellow was a thief?”

“He was!” cried Matt.

“I don’t see how he could be anything else,” added Andy. “Did he pretend to have an order for the cases?”

“Yes, he had a written order.”

“And the bill of lading?”

“N – no, he didn’t have that,” was the slow reply. “But I thought it was all right. He looked like an honest chap. You had better notify the police at once.”

“We will,” said Matt. “What sort of a looking fellow was he?”

As best he could the freight agent gave a description of the man who had driven off with the goods and the turn-out. Matt and Andy both listened attentively.

“By the boots, I’ll bet it was that Paul Barberry!” almost shouted the young auctioneer, ere the agent had ceased talking. “This is his way of getting even with us for not taking him into partnership.”

“Perhaps you are right,” returned Andy. “Did you say anything to him about the wagon being here?”

“I did.” And Matt briefly narrated the conversation he had had with the corn doctor.

Then the agent was questioned further, and it was not long before all three were convinced that the pretended doctor was the guilty party.

“If I had known he wasn’t square I would not have let him have the cases of goods, that’s sure,” said the agent meekly.

“I do not doubt that,” returned Andy. “But the loss of the horse and wagon is more than we can stand as it is. We will have to hold the railroad responsible for the three cases.”

“Can’t we go after the thief?” suggested the agent, considerably worried, for he well knew that if the stolen cases were not recovered the loss would come out of his own pocket.

“Have you a horse and wagon?”

“Yes, and I can get it in five minutes.”

“What direction did the thief take, do you suppose?”

The freight agent thought for a moment.

“It is my opinion that he either went over to Easton or else up the river.”

“It is not likely that he went across the bridge,” said Matt. “If it was this Paul Barberry he would be afraid to take that direction, fearing to meet me and my partner on our way here.”

“Yes, that’s so,” put in Andy.

“Then he went up the river. There is quite a good road for a number of miles.”

“Well, supposing you get your horse and wagon,” said Matt impatiently. “It will not do to waste time here.”

“But what of the police?” questioned Andy.

“We can notify them when we come back – that is, if we are unsuccessful.”

“All right; hurry up that wagon, then.”

The freight agent at once disappeared around the corner of the building. He was gone nearly five minutes. When he returned he was leading a fine black horse, attached to a light road wagon.

“Brought you Flip, my fast trotter,” he explained. “He ought to be able to overtake any bit of horseflesh in these parts.”

“Well, we want a fast horse,” replied Matt, as he sprang into the wagon without delay. He was quickly followed by Andy and the freight agent, and off they went at a spanking gait down the smooth road.

It was a fine day, cool and clear, and under any other circumstances both Matt and Andy would have enjoyed the drive. But just now they were filled with fears. Supposing they were unable to recover their turn-out and goods what then?

The partners looked at each other, and that look meant but one thing. They must recover their property. Such a thing as failure was not to be countenanced.

At length Phillipsburg was left far behind, and they entered a somewhat hilly farming section. Presently they came to a farmhouse standing close to the road. There was an old countryman standing by the gate, smoking a pipe leisurely, and Matt directed the freight agent to draw rein.

“Good afternoon,” said the young auctioneer politely. “I wish to ask you for a bit of information.”

“Well, son, what is it?” returned the old countryman, removing his pipe from his mouth and gazing at all three curiously.

“Did an auction wagon pass this way a short while ago?”

“An auction wagon?”

“Yes, sir, a covered wagon, with the sign, ‘Eureka Auction Co.,’ painted on the sides. It had a single white horse, with brown spots.”

The old man’s face lit up.

“Oh, yes; I saw that wagon,” he replied.

“You did?” cried Andy. “We are very glad to hear it. Which way did it go?”

“Right up that way,” and the countryman waved his hand to the northwest.

“Along the river still,” said the freight agent. “I thought so.”

He was about to drive on when Matt stopped him.

“Did you notice who was driving the wagon?” he called back.

“Yes, a tall man kind of shabbily dressed.”

“Must be Barberry,” muttered the young auctioneer.

“What’s the trouble?” questioned the countryman curiously.

“The turn-out has been stolen, that’s the trouble,” replied the boy, and off they sped again, leaving the old countryman staring after them in open-mouthed wonder.

They turned from the main road, which about half a mile back had led away from the Delaware, and took the side road the old man had indicated. It was an uneven wagon track, and they went bumping over rocks and stumps of trees in a most alarming fashion.

“He couldn’t have gone far in this direction,” muttered the freight agent ruefully. “Why, it is enough to break the springs of any wagon ever made.”

“My idea is that he had an object in coming down here,” responded Andy thoughtfully. “Is there any sort of bridge in the neighborhood?”

The agent shook his head.

“No.”

“Or a place where the river might be forded?”

“Not now. The heavy rains have swollen the stream, as you can see. In real dry weather he might find a place to ford.”

“Well, it’s certain that if he came this way to merely get out of our reach he chose an awful way of doing it,” remarked Matt, as a sudden lurch of the wagon sent him bouncing up into the air. “This is the worst riding I’ve struck yet.”

“Worse than when Billy ran away?” questioned Andy, with a sudden gleam of humor.

“Well, hardly that,” admitted the young auctioneer. “But that wasn’t riding at all. That was a slap-bang, go-as-you-please trip, which didn’t – hullo! look there!”

He motioned to the freight agent to draw rein and pointed to a deep track in a soft bit of ground ahead.

“It’s the track of our wagon sure enough!” exclaimed Andy. “I could tell it out of a hundred.”

“So could I, Andy. Follow that, please,” went on Matt, to the agent.

“It’s queer you didn’t see that track before,” said the driver slowly.

“The reason is because it comes from the rocks. Barberry thought it best to keep on the rocks, I suppose. Maybe he thought he would get stuck in the mud with the cases if he got on soft ground.”

“That’s the truth of it, you can depend on it,” said Andy. “Hurry up and follow that track to the end, and we’ll soon have our wagon and goods back.”

On and on they went, over soft patches of ground, through low bushes, and around rocks and fallen trees. Sometimes they were close to the water’s edge, and again they traveled almost out of sight of the clear-flowing stream.

“We can’t go much further in this direction,” said the freight agent, when all of a mile of ground had been covered.

“Why not?” asked Andy.

“There is a big wall of rock just ahead. We will have to pull away from the river now.”

“No, we won’t!” shouted Matt. “Look there!”

And he pointed to where the wagon tracks led directly down into the water.

“I’ll bet all I am worth that he crossed the stream here,” he went on. “Do you not see how shallow it is? He went over to that island, and from there directly to the other side.”