“What’s he doing out here at this hour of the night, and on foot?” wondered Dick Prescott half aloud.

“Eh?  What?” asked Reade in a low, drowsy voice, as he opened his eyes.

“It’s Mr. Hinman, the peddler,” Prescott whispered to his chum.  “But I wonder what’s wrong with him?”

“I wonder, too,” Reade assented.  “One thing is certain; something has happened to him.”

For Reuben Hinman half-lurched, half-staggered along, yet his gait did not suggest intoxication.  He moved, rather, as one who is dazed with trouble.

The old man was sobbing, too, with a sound that was pitiful to hear; as though some great grief were clutching at his heart.

CHAPTER V

DAVE DOES SOME GOOD WORK

“Good evening, Mr. Hinman!” called Dick softly.

The old man started, affrighted.

“Who—–­who calls?” he quavered.

“One of the boys you talked with, this noon.”

“Where are you?”

“Here,” answered Dick, throwing his blanket aside, rising and stepping toward the old man, who, more bent than ever, was shaking as though from fright.  “Don’t be afraid of us, sir.  Can we help you in anything?”

“I am afraid not,” replied the peddler, then leaned against a tree-trunk, staring, as he tried to stifle his sobs.

“What has happened, sir?” asked Tom Reade, also stepping forward.

“I’ve been robbed!” replied the old man, in a broken voice.

“Robbed?” repeated Dick.  “Do you mean that some villains have stolen the goods from your wagon?”

“No, no!” replied the old man, with sudden, unlooked for vehemence.  “I’ve been robbed, I tell you—–­my money stolen!”

“Money?” asked Tom in surprise.  “How much was taken from you?”

“Four hundred and eighteen dollars,” replied the old man, with a lack of reserve that testified to his confidence in these unknown but respectful and sympathetic high school boys.

“All that money?” cried Dick.  “How did you ever come to have so much about you?”

“I owe some bills for goods, over at Hillsboro,” replied Reuben
Hinman, “and this trip was to take me toward Hillsboro.   But now-----”

He broke off, the strange, rending sobbing returning.

“Perhaps we can help you, bad as the case looks,” Tom suggested.  “Try to tell us all about it, sir.”

“Where did you have the money?” inquired Dick.

“In a wallet, in this inside coat pocket,” replied the peddler, holding his frayed coat open at the right side.

“You carried your wallet as conspicuously as that when traveling over lonely country roads?” cried Prescott in amazement.

“I had a lot of letters and papers in front of the wallet, so that no one would suspect that I had the wallet or the money,” explained Reuben Hinman.

“I don’t see any papers there now,” Tom interposed.