University of Virginia Library

2. CHAPTER II.

Latterly, the whole country had been flooded with
counterfeit money. Justice had been on the alert to
discover the offenders, but, as yet, unless it was fastened
upon Bobby, without avail. Suspicion had
been hovering round different persons, but had not
been steadily fixed upon any one. It attached to
Gordon as strongly as to any other; but nothing like
proof of the fact had transpired against him. If he
were guilty he therefore had a double motive for fixing
the charge on Bobby; viz., to clear his own skirts,
and to revenge himself upon the Gammons.

At the tavern in Springdale Gordon had, with
much ostentation, displayed the bank note which he
had received from Bobby in payment for the cow,
exclaiming, “It was a beauty.”

The tavern-keeper on inspection pronounced it a
counterfeit; and Gordon stoutly maintained it was
not. High words grew between them, till at last he
told Gordon that it was his belief that he knew it
was a counterfeit; and that he believed it was not the
first time he had it knowingly in his possession. At
this Gordon knocked the tavern-keeper down. The
publican was an arrant coward, and there fore he made
no attempts at retaliation, but gathered himself up,
and forthwith repaired to the magistrate, who issued
a warrant against Gordon, both on the charge of

passing counterfeit money, and for the assault and
battery.

Gordon plead guilty to the assault and battery, and
paid the fine. On the charge of passing counterfeit
money, he boldly asserted his innocence. There was
no proof against him, and he was discharged, when
he obtained a warrant against Bobby, stating that he
had received the note from him in payment for the
cow, and that he believed the boy had quantities of it.
Our readers know the result, so far. On arriving at
the magistrate's office they found the squire seated
at his desk, and eager for the examination. Gordon
was sworn. He repeated the charge which he had
made against Bobby at the boy's grandmothers',
though more circumstantially, being under oath.
When he got through, Bobby said he didn't deny it,
that he gave Gordon the note in payment for the cow,
and that he received it from a man whom he did not
know by name, but whom he would recognise should he
ever meet him. He was, however, completely stricken
dumb; when another witness, whose testimony was
corroborated by the constable, produced a tin box filled
with counterfeit paper on the same bank with the note
passed on Gordon, and made oath that he found it
without the door of Granny Gammon's cabin, between
the logs. The constable also testified that he had seen
that very box, which he knew by a mark on the lid,
in Bobby's possession at the races.

“Robert Gammon, have you anything to say?”
asked the magistrate.

Bobby shook his head, but spoke not.

“You had better make a clean heart, Robert Gammon,
and tell all about your accomplices.”

Bobby made no answer.

“What have you to say about the box?” asked the
magistrate, solicitous of obtaining some clue for the
detection of others.

“It's true,” said Bobby; “I had that very box at
the races to-day. Jack Gordon asked me to let him
look at it, and I took my money out of it, and give it
to him.”

“Didn't I give it back to you?” asked Gordon.

“You did,” replied Bobby.

“Why didn't you say so, then, my lark—you don't
want to fix counterfeiting on me, do you?”

Without noticing the remark of Gordon, Bobby
said to the magistrate:

“The box was give to me by Jack Gordon in the
city, at the circus, when I got into that other counterfeiting
scrape. I had it ever since till to day; he
told me it was a good thing to keep money in, an' I
kept mine in it. As I said he gave it back to me,
and, somehow, a little time afterwards, I lost it on the
race-ground, or it was stolen from me.”

“You'd better make a clean heart,” repeated the
magistrate.

“I've no more to say,” replied Bobby.

“I must commit you,” said Norris; “the county
court's now sitting, so you'll have a quick trial. The
witnesses must give security for their appearance.”

A few minutes afterwards, without saying a word,
Bobby entered the jail in the custody of the constable,
followed by Gordon, who told the officer in a whisper
that he thought he could get something out of the boy
about the gang of counterfeiters, if he would let him
hold a little private discourse with him. The jailer
willingly consented, and Bobby and Gordon were shown
into a kind of anti-room, and left together.

“Bobby,” said Gordon, in a sympathising tone,
advancing to the boy's side; “if you'll be my friend,
I'll be yours. I can get you out of this scrape, yet.”

“How?” said Bobby, throwing his eye on him for
a moment, and then letting it fall on the ground.

“Bobby, we must understand each other every
pace and more in the matter. I appeared hard on
you like at your Granny's, and afore Norris, that I
might blind them, and do for you to a greater certainty.
When I was taken up you couldn't blame me for telling
where I got the money, could you—now say, could
you?”

“Go no,” said Bobby; “say what you have to say.”

“But mind,” resumed Gordon; “we must understand
each other,” and as he spoke he sunk his voice
to a whisper, “we must mind how we talk here, these
damn dull walls have quick ears, I can tell you. Are
you agreed?”

“Say what you want to say, at once, Jack Gordon;
what are you afraid of?”

“Well! you know, Bobby, I want to serve you; the
day you got in to thatother fuss I rode all the way
out here to tell your folks, and get Mr. Sidney to
stand your friend; you know that. I was determined
to stand by you. I rode in town that very night, and
went to the squire's where they had you locked up, on
purpose to tell you what I'd done; but you had put.
This shows you how I felt to you.”

Gordon paused for a moment, and snuffed with
his fingers the slim tallow-candle which the jailer had
left on an old oaken table near which the boy stood.
Bobby said nothing, and Gordon resumed. “I am a
friend of yours, I am by —. But one good turn
deserves another; you see I can quit the village and
not appear; then, what the devil will be the proof
against you—don't you mark it? This counterfeiting
business is penitentiary for ten years. Ten years! I'd
die first; ten years—little more to eat than bread and
water—worked to death; shut up between four walls;
no races; no pleasure of any kind; not allowed to see
your nearest and dearest relatives. I'm your friend,

Bob Gammon, and I'd save you—I would on my soul;
but you must help me if I help you.”

“How can I help you—say it out!” exclaimed
Bobby.

“Well, you see, I'm your friend—and your Cousin
Peggy, I am her friend. She's alone, now your
granny's dead; she 'll have nobody to take care of
her—if you go to the penitentiary she will no doubt feel
herself disgraced and quit the country—turn out, God
knows what; and perhaps you'll never see her again.
You see I tell you truth, plain truth; may I be blasted
if I don't deal with you like brother with brother.
Peggy once as much as promised to marry me, but
those lying tales that's told round, put the devil in her
against me—she don't think that I may be accused
of things and be innocent as you are—you're into a
worse fix than ever I was, and I should be sorry if she
should believe ill against you. To come to the point, this
is the thing—you send for her to-morrow and tell her
what I have said—point to her what a lonely condition
she is in, and that nobody can save you but me.
Paint it all to her and tell—you can persuade her—
to marry me.”

“Jack Gordon,” said Bobby, firmly, “I'd see my
Cousin Peggy dead, stone dead beside my old granny,
and rot in the penitentiary, before I'd do that.”

“You would, hey?” inquired Gordon through his
clenched teeth.

“I would,” rejoined Bobby, turning away from
him.

“Then you shall rot there,” muttered Gordon, as he
passed out of the room, and closed the door after him.
“I can't get much out of him,” said Gordon to the
jailor, as that worthy proceeded to let him out of the
prison. “He's a rum one—he'll die with his shoes on.”

As the door closed on Gordon, he stepped out in

front of the jail from which the crowd had dispersed,
and eyed the building, as if he would scrutinize its
power of detaining the unfortunate lad. Then, with
a lowering brow, he turned away, and walked quickly
through the village.