TOM ON A HUNT

Tom held his rifle in readiness, though he only intended it as a means of intimidation, and would not have fired at the burglar except to save his own life.  But the sight of the weapon was enough for the tramp.  He crouched motionless.  His own light had gone out, but by the gleam of the electric he carried Tom could see that the man had in his hand some tool with which he had been endeavoring to force the safe.

“I guess you’ve got me!” exclaimed the intruder, and there was in his tones no trace of the tramp dialect.

“It looks like it,” agreed Tom grimly.  “Are you a tramp now, or in some other disguise?”

“Can’t you see?” asked the fellow sullenly, and then Tom did notice that the man still had on his tramp make-up.

“What do you want?” asked Tom.

“Hard to tell.” replied the burglar calmly.  “I hadn’t got the safe open before you came down and disturbed me.  I’m after money, naturally.”

“No, you’re not!” exclaimed Tom.

“What’s that?” and the man seemed surprised.

“No, you’re not!” went on Tom, and he held his rifle in readiness.  “You’re after the patent papers and the model of the turbine motor.  But it’s gone.  Your confederates got it away from me.  They probably haven’t told you yet, and you’re still on the hunt for it.  You’ll not get it, but I’ve got you.”

“So I see,” admitted Happy Harry, and he spoke with some culture.  “If you don’t mind,” he went on, “would you just as soon move that gun a little?  It’s pointing right at my head, and it might go off.”

“It is going off—­very soon!” exclaimed Tom grimly, and the tramp started in alarm.  “Oh, I’m not going to shoot you,” continued the young inventor.  “I’m going to fire this as an alarm, and the engineer will come in here and tie you up.  Then I’m going to hand you over to the police.  This rifle is a repeater, and I am a pretty good shot.  I’m going to fire once now, to summon assistance, and if you try to get away I’ll be ready to fire a second time, and that won’t be so comfortable for you.  I’ve caught you, and I’m going to hold on to you until I get that model and those papers back.”

“Oh, you are, eh?” asked the burglar calmly.  “Well, all I’ve got to say is that you have grit.  Go ahead.  I’m caught good and proper.  I was foolish to come in here, but I thought I’d take a chance.”

“Who are you, anyhow?  Who are the men working with you to defraud my father of his rights?” asked Tom somewhat bitterly.

“I’ll never tell you,” answered the burglar.  “I was hired to do certain work, and that’s all there is to it.  I’m not going to peach on my pals.”

“We’ll see about that!” burst out Tom.  Then he noticed that a dining-room window behind where the burglar was kneeling was open.  Doubtless the intruder had entered that way, and intended to escape in the same manner.

“I’m going to shoot,” announced Tom, and, aiming his rifle at the open window, where the bullet would do no damage, he pressed the trigger.  He noticed that the burglar was crouching low down on the floor, but Tom thought nothing of this at the time.  He imagined that Happy Harry—­or whatever his name was—­might be afraid of getting hit.