“What are you lookin’ at?” demanded his captor suspiciously, “You want to know us again, do you?  Maybe you’d like to get us hauled up, would you?”

“I don’t want ever to set eyes on you again.”

“That’s the way to talk.  As soon as our business is over, there ain’t no occasion for our meetin’ again.  Don’t you go to point us out, or——­”

He didn’t finish the sentence, but whipped out a long knife, which made any further remarks unnecessary.

Under the circumstances, resistance would be madness and Joe drew out his money.

“Is that all you’ve got?” demanded the thief.

“Every cent,” said Joe.  “It won’t leave me anything to pay for my night’s lodging.”

“Then you can sleep out.  I’ve done it many a time.  But I’ll take the liberty of searching you, and seeing if you tell the truth or not.”

“Just as you like,” said Joe.

Joe was searched, but no more money was found.

“The boy’s told the truth,” said his captor.  “Two dollars and a half is a pretty small haul.”

“I am sorry, gentlemen, that I haven’t anything more.  It isn’t my fault, for I’ve tried hard to get something to do to-day, and couldn’t.”

“You’re a cool customer,” said the barkeeper.

“I expect to be to-night, for I shall have to sleep out.”

“You can go,” said his captor, as he opened the door of the den; “and don’t come round here again, unless you’ve got more money with you.”

“I don’t think I shall,” said Joe.

When Joe found himself penniless, he really felt less anxious than when he had at least money enough to pay for lodging and breakfast.  Having lost everything, any turn of fortune must be for the better.

“Something has got to turn up pretty quick,” thought Joe.  “It’s just as well I didn’t get a job to-day.  I should only have had more money to lose.”

He had not walked a hundred feet when his attention was called to the figure of a gentleman walking some rods in front of him.  He saw it but indistinctly, and would not have given it a second thought had he not seen that the person, whoever he might be, was stealthily followed by a man who in general appearance resembled the rascal who had robbed him of his money.  The pursuer carried in his hand a canvas bag filled with sand.  This, though Joe did not know it, was a dangerous weapon in the hands of a lawless human.  Brought down heavily upon the head of an unlucky traveler, it often produced instant death, without leaving any outward marks that would indicate death from violence.

Though Joe didn’t comprehend the use of the sand-bag, his own recent experience and the stealthy movement of the man behind convinced him that mischief was intended.  He would have been excusable if, being but a boy and no match for an able-bodied ruffian, he had got out of the way.  But Joe had more courage than falls to the share of most boys of sixteen.  He felt a chivalrous desire to rescue the unsuspecting stranger from the peril that menaced him.