THE BURGLAR, fairly trapped, gnashed his teeth with rage. To have been caught thus by a boy whom he had despised, increased his rage and humiliation. Besides he was in great peril. Burglary, and indeed all offences against property, were severely punished in this new State. It was a matter of necessity, considering the elements that had been brought together, and the freedom and lack of restraint that characterized the people. So the ruffian was fairly frightened. But he resolved to try the effect of one more appeal.

“Listen, boy,” he called out. “Let me out, and I will not only promise to do no harm and take no money, but I will give you two hundred dollars in gold, which I have in my pocket at this moment.”

But Tom was not to be caught by a promise only made to be broken.

“That’s too thin,” he answered back. “I sha’n’t let you out. You are best off where you are.”

“I’d like to kill him!” thought the burglar, grinding his teeth.

“Beware what you say, boy,” he shouted. “You have me at advantage now, but the time will come when I shall be free. When that time comes I will kill you unless you release me at once.”

“I must take the risk,” said Tom.

“Then you won’t let me out?”

“I won’t.”

There was no answer, for the burglar, who had previously decided that he could not lift the trap-door, determined to see if there was no other mode of egress.

Here was Tom’s danger.

There was a door at one side, as already explained. This had hitherto escaped the burglar’s attention, for the dark-lantern lighted up only a small part of the cellar, and left the rest in gloom. Supposing the door was found, and being bolted within, it could easily be opened and egress obtained, Tom would be in a perilous position. The burglar would again enter as he had done previously, and inflamed by anger, would not only take the gold, but perhaps kill our hero.

This thought was enough to startle the bravest. Tom felt that he must have assistance, and he took the most effectual way of calling it.

He threw open the outer door, stepped into the street, and fired the revolver, not once only, but twice. In the silent street, wrapped in darkness, these two shots were heard with startling emphasis. Neighbors rushed to their windows and called out:

“What has happened? What’s the matter?”

“Help!” exclaimed Tom. “Come here at once. There’s a burglar in the cellar. Come quick, and help me secure him.”

Half a dozen men hurried on their clothes, seized arms and hurried down into the street.

Meanwhile the noise of the revolver had been heard by the trapped burglar also.

“Confusion!” he exclaimed, with an oath, “the boy is calling assistance. He must be afraid I will get out. There must be a door somewhere. I must find it at once, or all is over with me.”

He had been turning his attention to the wrong side of the cellar, and this delayed him a little. But finally, with a cry of triumph, he espied the door. He saw also that it was bolted inside, and inferred that there would be no difficulty in opening it. But for some reason it stuck, and this occasioned further delay. Otherwise he might have got out in time to attack Tom before the arrival of help. But the little delay was in our hero’s favor. When the burglar got out he heard voices of men speaking with his young enemy.

“Where’s the burglar?” asked Archibald Campbell, a gigantic Scot, who was the next-door neighbor.

“In the cellar,” said Tom in a low voice.

“Can he get out?”

“Yes,” said Tom in a whisper, so as to afford no information in case the discovery had not yet been made. “There’s a side door, and if he’s found it he’s free now perhaps.”

“Where is the door?”

“On that side.”

“Come, then,” said the brave Scot, “we’ll nab him. What weapons has he got?”

“A knife, and perhaps a revolver.”

By this time another man had come up.

“We must have him if it’s a possible thing,” said Campbell. “That sort of vermin are best shut up where they can’t get into mischief.”

The burglar, now outside, heard these last words. He realized that Tom was too strong now to attack, and that his only safety lay in flight. If he could get away, there would be a chance for retaliation later. He could not escape into the street. That was barred by his pursuers. In the rear there was a fence to be surmounted. That was the only way of escape.

He was mounting the fence when his enemies came round the corner of the house and espied him.

“There he is,” said Tom.

Archibald Campbell raised his revolver and covered the ruffian.

“Halt, man!” he cried. “Do you surrender?”

“No, hang you!” answered the burglar, and he, also, was about to draw a corresponding weapon, when the Scotchman, feeling that their lives were in peril, and there was no time for parley, fired, striking the man in the wrist. The weapon fell to the ground, and he uttered an exclamation of pain. Before he could recover the weapon they had rushed upon him.

“Look out for his knife!” shouted Tom.

This made them cautious, and they stood off at a distance of six feet.

“Come down from that fence,” said Campbell in a commanding tone, “and give yourself up as our prisoner. If you refuse, or if you stoop to raise that pistol, I will shoot you through the head.”

There was a stern resoluteness in his tone which convinced the ruffian that he was in earnest.

“What do you want with me?” he asked doggedly.

“What should we want with such as you? To give you up to the authorities. It is not safe for such men to be at large.”

“Let me go,” pleaded the burglar abruptly. “I have taken nothing.”

“You intended to.”

“But I have not, and I will not—from you. I will agree to leave the city and never return.”

“You cannot be trusted,” said the Scotchman promptly. “We can make no conditions with you.”

“You may repent this,” the ruffian growled.

“I should repent letting you go, but I sha’n’t leave any chance of that. Are you coming down?”

Slowly and reluctantly the burglar backed down from the fence, and with a longing look at his pistol, which he knew it would be death to pick up, he allowed himself to be taken prisoner.

“Drop your knife,” said his chief captor.

He obeyed with a malignant scowl at Tom.

“I’d like to sheathe it in that boy,” he muttered, “and I will some time.”

“Don’t let him frighten you, my lad,” said the Scotchman. “You’ve done your duty bravely.”

“He does not frighten me,” said Tom calmly.

A crowd had collected by this time, who escorted the burglar to the lock-up.

“Now,” thought Tom as he re-entered the shop, “I’ll try to get a little more sleep.”