All this time George Melville had spoken in his usual tone of voice, and the tramp was puzzled to know whether he had any weapon with him. For himself, he was unarmed, and this made him feel rather ill at ease, notwithstanding his superiority in physical strength. He was rather disposed to think that George Melville had a pistol, for he could not understand how otherwise he should dare to confront a man of twice his size and strength.

"I don't care for the spoons," he said, "but I will take the money."

"No, you will return the money," said Melville, calmly.

"Who will make me?" demanded the tramp, defiantly.

"I will."

"We'll see about that!" said the tramp, desperately, and he sprang towards Melville, who had in the meantime entered the house and stood only six feet distant.

"Stay where you are!" exclaimed Melville, resolutely, and he drew a pistol, which he leveled at his formidable antagonist.

"That settles it, stranger!" said the tramp, "You've got the advantage of me this time. Just wait till we meet again."

"I am willing to wait for some time," said Melville, shrugging his shoulders. "I have no desire to cultivate your acquaintance, my friend."

"There are the spoons!" said the tramp, throwing them down on the table.

"Now for the money!"

The tramp looked at George Melville. Melville still held the pistol in his hand leveled at his breast. The thief was a large man, but he was not a brave one. He cowered before the resolute glance of his small opponent.

"Won't you interfere with me if I give back the money?" he asked.

"No."

"Will you let me go without firing at me?"

"Yes."

"Perhaps you won't keep your agreement," suggested the tramp, nervously.

"I am a man of my word," said Melville, calmly.

His calm, resolute tone, free from all excitement, impressed the tramp with confidence. He drew the notes from his vest pocket, where he had thrust them, and threw them on the table.

"Now, may I go?" he said.

In answer, George Melville, who stood between him and the door, drew aside, still, however, holding the pistol in position, and the tramp pa.s.sed out, not sorry, it may be said, to get out of range of the weapon.

They watched him striding through the yard, and when he was fairly gone Mrs. Cole said:

"Oh, how can I thank you for saving me from this wretch?"

"I am glad to have been the instrument of deliverance," said Melville, politely.

"It was fortunate you had the pistol with you, Mr. Melville," said Herbert.

"Well, yes, perhaps it was," said Melville, smiling.

"Pray, put it up, Mr. Melville," said the farmer's wife, "it always makes me nervous to see a loaded pistol."

Melville bowed, and put back the pistol in his pocket.

"As your unpleasant visitor has gone," he said, "I may as well relieve your fears by saying that the pistol is not loaded."

"Not loaded!" exclaimed Herbert and Tom Tripp in concert.

"No; it has not been loaded to my knowledge for a year."

"Then how could you stand up against that man?" asked the farmer's wife, in wonder.

"He thought it was loaded!" replied Melville, "and that answered the purpose. I should be very reluctant to use a loaded pistol, for I have a high idea of the sacredness of human life, but I have no objection to playing upon the fears of a man like that."

Melville and Herbert remained at the farmhouse for half an hour, till the return of the farmer, when they resumed their river trip. They returned about noon. When they were walking through the main street, Herbert saw the town constable approaching with the air of a man who had business with him.

"Did you wish to speak to me, Mr. Bruce?" he asked.

"Yes, Herbert. I have a warrant for your arrest."

"For my arrest!" exclaimed Herbert, in amazement. "What for?"

"On complaint of Eben Graham, for abstracting postage stamps and money from the post office last evening."

CHAPTER XI. TRIED FOR THEFT.

Herbert stared at the constable in blank amazement.

"I am charged with stealing stamps and money from the post office?" he said.

"Yes."

"Who makes the charge?" demanded Herbert, in great excitement.

"Eben Graham."

"I don't know what it means," said our hero, turning to George Melville.

"It means," said Melville, "that the fellow is envious of you, and angry because he cannot supersede you with me. He evidently wants to do you an injury."

"It must be so; but I did not imagine that Eben could be so mean. Mr.

Bruce, do you believe that I am a thief?"