"Maype dis vos der vork of dem Pornell Academy fellers," suggested
Hans.

"No, they are gentlemen, not scoundrels," replied Tom. "They may
feel cut up, but they wouldn't play such a dastardly trick as
this."

The spot was one commanding a good view of the back road, so that
anybody standing there could have seen the stage coming while it
was still a quarter of a mile off.

All hands began a search for some clew leading to the identity of
the evil-doers--that is, all but Joel Darwell and his helper.
These two dragged the posts and boards into position again, and
this time set them down so firmly that a removal would be out of
the question without tools.

"Hullo, here's something!" cried one of the cadets presently. "Did
you just drop this, Tom?"

As he spoke he held up a round, flat coin of coppery metal,
engraved with several circles and a rude head.

"No, I didn't drop it," replied Tom, his face growing serious.
"Did you, Sam?"

Sam gave a look, placed his hand in his pocket and brought out a
similar piece. "No, there is mine," he said. "Where in the world
did that come from?"