"The wagon was off the road, two miles below here," the peddler
explained brokenly. "It would cost me fifty cents for a bed at
a farm house, so, when the night is fine, I sleep outdoors on
the wagon and save the money. It's cheaper with the horse, too,
as I have to pay only for his feed."

"But the money?" Tom pressed the old man. Reuben Hinman groaned,
but did not take to sobbing again.

"I woke up to-night, and found it gone," he answered.

"Did you feel or hear anyone prowling about, or searching your
clothing?"

"No; if I had discovered anyone robbing me," shivered the peddler,
"I would have caught and held on to him. I have strong hands.
I have strong hands. Do you see?"

Holding up his wiry, claw-like hands, the old peddler worked the
fingers convulsively.

"Then how do you know you were robbed, Mr. Hinman?" Dick insisted.

"Because the money is gone," replied the old man simply.

"You searched the rags, and the surrounding parts of your wagon?"
Reade asked.

"Young man, you may be sure that I did."