“Who did he write to? do you know?”

“Somebody in Chicago, I think.”

“Do you remember the name?”

“He tried the pen on a slip of paper first.  It wouldn’t work very well.  But I think the name was Holtzmann, or something similar.”

I determined to remember the name, thinking it might prove of value sometime.

“The thing of it is,” broke in Henry Morse, “what has become of this Stumpy?  If he stole the Widow Canby’s money, it’s high time somebody was after him.”

“That’s true,” ejaculated another.  “Have you any idea which way the fellow went?”

Of course I had not.  Indeed, I was hardly in condition to do any rational thinking, much less form an opinion.  The thief might be in hiding close at hand, or he might be miles away.

“Some of us had better make a search,” put in another.  “Come, boys, we’ll spread out and scour the woods.”

“That’s a good idea,” said Tony Parsons, the constable of the town.  “Meanwhile, Roger Strong, let us go to Judge Penfold’s house and put the case in his hands.  He’ll get out a warrant, and perhaps a reward.”

I thought this was a good idea, and readily assented, first, however, getting one of the boys to promise that he would call at the widow’s house and quiet Kate’s fears concerning my whereabouts.

It was now early morning, and we had no difficulty in making our way through the woods to the main road.

“Guess we won’t find the judge up yet,” remarked Tony Parsons as we hurried along.  “I’ve never yet found him out of bed afore seven o’clock.  It will make him mighty mad to get up afore this time.”

“I’m sorry to disturb him,” I replied, with something of awe at the thought of rousing a magistrate of the law.

“But it’s got to be done,” went on Parsons, with a grave shake of his head, “unless we all want to be murdered and robbed in our beds!”

“That’s true.  I’d give all I’m worth to catch that tramp.”

“Reckon Widow Canby’ll be dreadfully cut up when she hears about the robbery.”

“I suppose so.”

“She may blame you, Roger.  You see if it was anybody else, it would be different.  But being as it’s you, why—­”

“I know what you mean,” I returned bitterly.  “No one in Darbyville believes I can be honest.”

“I ain’t saying nothing against you, Roger,” returned Parsons, hastily.  “I reckon you ain’t no worse than any other boy.  But you know what public sentiment is.”

“So I do; but public sentiment isn’t always right,” was my spirited answer.

“Who did you say those boys were that tied you up?” went on the constable, to change the subject.

“Duncan Woodward was the principal one.”

“Phew!  Reckon he didn’t think tying you up would prove such a serious matter.”

“If it hadn’t been for that, the robbery might have been prevented.  I would have been home guarding the widow’s property, as she expected me to do.”