"Maype dis vos der vork of dem Pornell Academy fellers," suggested
Hans.
"No, they are gentlemen, not scoundrels," replied Tom. "They may feel cut up, but they wouldn't play such a dastardly trick as this."
The spot was one commanding a good view of the back road, so that anybody standing there could have seen the stage coming while it was still a quarter of a mile off.
All hands began a search for some clew leading to the identity of the evil-doers—that is, all but Joel Darwell and his helper. These two dragged the posts and boards into position again, and this time set them down so firmly that a removal would be out of the question without tools.
"Hullo, here's something!" cried one of the cadets presently. "Did you just drop this, Tom?"
As he spoke he held up a round, flat coin of coppery metal, engraved with several circles and a rude head.
"No, I didn't drop it," replied Tom, his face growing serious.
"Did you, Sam?"
Sam gave a look, placed his hand in his pocket and brought out a similar piece. "No, there is mine," he said. "Where in the world did that come from?"
Then Tom and Sam looked at each other. The same idea crossed the mind of each. The coin was similar to those they had handled while on their way through Africa. They had brought home several as pocket-pieces.
"I'll wager Dan Baxter dropped that!" cried Tom. "He, or—"