This made it plain to me that my master, whose honest, cheerful face I was glad to see once more, intended to start for home as soon as he could get ready. I was glad of it, for if I had been in his place I should not have cared to camp in so wild a region with six thousand dollars of another man’s money in my keeping. It made the boys a trifle nervous, and during the night one of them kept watch while the others slept. They broke camp after eating breakfast by firelight, and hardly stopped to rest until the money had been handed over to the officers of the Mount Airy bank, who straightway telegraphed to the Irvington people the gratifying intelligence that their missing funds, which they had given up for lost, had been fished out of the river. Every one said it was a “lucky find,” and Tom Bigden wondered if any thing would come of it. If he had been in the bank a day or two afterward, he might have heard something to astonish him. A messenger came from Irvington to claim the money, and Joe and his two friends were invited to meet him. They were able to give him a very accurate description of the adventures through which the valises had passed since they left his bank on the third of August filled with stolen coin, and answered a question or two that was asked them.
“I don’t know what kind of a case we shall be able to make out against Sam Coyle and the old woman,” said the messenger, “but it’s my opinion that Jake will have a hard time of it. Are you going to prosecute any body for stealing your canoe?”
“No, sir,” answered Joe. “Matt was to blame for that, and he is dead; got drowned when the canoe was snagged and sunk.”
“The boys and the old woman all contend that they wouldn’t be half as guilty as they are if one Tom Bigden had not advised and urged them on to commit crime,” continued the messenger. “Do you believe it? We mean to sift the matter to the bottom, and want to know how to go about it.”
“If I were in your place I’d let all such talk go in one ear and out at the other,” replied Joe, earnestly. “Tom Bigden has too much sense to do any thing of the sort.”
“But I have heard it from more than one source.”
“That may be. So have I; but I don’t believe it.”
And this was the boy who was “jealous” of Tom Bigden and his cousins, and who was ready to “go any lengths to injure” them, was it? You know how close Tom was to the truth when he made that assertion.
I can not begin to tell you how glad I was to find myself in my old familiar quarters once more, or give you even an idea of the interest and curiosity with which I regarded the handsome stranger, the Expert Columbia, who occupied the recess with me. He wasn’t a bit stuck up because he had on more nickel than the rest of us could boast of, and during my time I have found that those who have done great things, or who are capable of them, seldom are stuck up. This new-comer was as common as an old shoe, and as ready to talk to me as I was to talk to him. 1 wasn’t jealous of him for crowding me out of Joe’s affections for a while, for I knew that Joe would come back to me when he wanted to run the rapids into Sherwin’s Pond or go a-fishing.
Under my master’s skillful care my wound healed rapidly, and in a few days I was ready for service again; but of course I was not called upon. Even when spring opened I was not in demand, but the bicycle was. He began running the very minute the roads would admit of it, and kept it up during the entire season, covering an astonishing number of miles, and saving valuable lives. He met some adventures, too; and what they were and how he came out of them he will tell you in the concluding volume of this series, which will be entitled: “The Steel Horse; or, The Rambles of a Bicycle.”