Bobaday sat up in the carriage, bracing his courage for the
emergency. He could take a cushion, jump out and attack the man with
that. It was not a deadly weapon, and would require considerable
force back of it to do damage. The whip might be better. He reached
for the whip and turned the handle uppermost. There was no cave at
hand to trap this robber in, but a toll-woman should not show more
spirit than Robert Day Padgett in the moment of peril.
Though the robber advanced cautiously, he struck his foot against a
root or two, and stumbled, making the horse take irregular steps
also, for he was leading his horse with the bridle over his arm.
And he came directly up to the carriage. Robert grasped the whip
around the middle with both hands, but some familiar attitude in the
stranger's dim outline made him lower it.
"Bobby," said the robber, speaking guardedly, "are you in here?"
"Pa Padgett," exclaimed Robert Day, "is that you?"
"Hush! Yes. It's me, of course. Don't wake your grandma. Old folks
are always light sleepers."
Pa Padgett reached into the carriage, shook hands with his boy, and
kissed him. How good the bushy beard felt against Bobaday's face.
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