# The Young Auctioneers/Chapter 30

CHAPTER XXX.
A DASH FROM DANGER.
Had Matt known that he would meet three of the colored men in the cottage in the hollow, it is more than likely that he would not have gone near the place.
When he and Andy had had the trouble at the store, the two men who had been compelled to pay for the broken glass had gone off in anything but a happy frame of mind, and the young auctioneer had then remarked to his partner that they might have trouble with the men should they chance to meet them away from police protection.
Matt saw at once that the negroes recognized him, and that his reception would be far from agreeable. Had he been less courageous he would have turned and fled, but as it was, he stood his ground.
All three of the colored men had been seated around a kitchen table playing cards, but at his ​entrance the two who had been the primary cause of the former trouble sprang to their feet and came toward him.
"Huh! what brings yo' heah?" demanded the ringleader of the mischief-makers wrathfully.
For the instant Matt hardly knew how to reply. He recognized his mistake in coming to the cottage, and he was anxious now to make as early a departure as possible.
"Do you live here?" he asked boldly.
"Yes we do," returned the colored man.
"Then I have made a mistake in coming here. I thought some one else might live here."
And he took a step backward to the door.
"Hol' on!" exclaimed the colored man, coming still closer. "What brung yo' heah?"
"I wanted to find out if we were on the right road, that was all. But I can find out elsewhere."
"Whar's yo' wagon?"
"Over on the road," and Matt waved his hand in the direction.
"Gwine to leave Easton?" questioned the second colored man.
"Yes."
No sooner had Matt made the reply than the three colored men glanced at each other, and the ringleader whispered to his companions.
​"See yeah, yo' ain't gwine befo' we is squar' wid yo'!" he cried, as he caught Matt by the arm.
"Let go of me!" exclaimed the young auctioneer. "I won't stand being molested!"
"We'll see about dat!" cried the second colored man, and he also caught hold of Matt.
"Close dat doah, Shelby!" went on the ringleader, to the man still at the table. "Dis is just de chance we wanted at dis yeah boy!"
The man addressed at once arose, and rushing to the somewhat rickety door, not only closed it, but also locked it.
Matt viewed this movement with increased alarm, and squirmed to release himself, but without avail.
"Yo' can't git away from us, nohow!" cried the ringleader, as he squeezed the young auctioneer's arm until Matt thought he would crack a bone. "We is gwine for to teach you a lesson, boy, dat yo' won't forgit in a long while!"
"Help! help!" yelled Matt, without more ado, realizing that the situation was becoming suddenly desperate.
He had barely time to repeat his cry when the ringleader of the negroes clapped his big hand over his mouth. Then he was forced over backward upon the floor.
​"Go frough his pockets, Jeff!"
"Dat's wot I intends to do, Tooker!"
"He's got a putty good watch."
"Maybe he's got a lot o' money, too."
The rascals began to go through Matt's pockets, and he called Jeff made a movement toward relieving the boy of his watch and chain.
The timepiece had once belonged to Mr. Lincoln, and to the young auctioneer it was a valuable heirloom. The thought that he was to be deprived of it angered him more than did anything else, and he began to kick out hotly right and left.
The negroes were not prepared for this, and before they could guard against it, one received a severe blow in the chin, and the other had the toe of Matt's shoe nearly knock out his eye. They both gave sharp cries of pain and fell back, and taking advantage of this Matt leaped to his feet.
"Open that!" he commanded, to the third negro, who stood with his back against the door. "Open that before I make it warm for you also!"
But the colored man would not budge, and Matt was compelled to attack him in his fight for freedom.
The young auctioneer was thoroughly aroused, and now showed what muscle he had gained during his free-and-easy life on the road. He attacked the ​man without hesitation, and forcing him aside, compelled him to keep away from the door by blows and kicks delivered with surprising rapidity.
The man had, at the last moment, taken the key from the lock and thrown it in the far corner of the room. Not waiting to recover this, Matt began to hammer at the door, and gathering himself together, threw his whole weight against it.
As has been said, the door was a rickety one, and it went down with a crash, tumbling the young auctioneer upon his face just outside the cottage.
"Hullo! what on earth does this mean?" cried a voice close by, and Andy rushed up, a look of blank astonishment plainly depicted upon his face.
"Those negroes!" gasped Matt, struggling to rise from amid the wreckage of the door. "Come on, don't wait, for they are three to two, and they are just drunk enough to be as ugly as sin!"
He caught Andy by the arm, and before the latter could ask for a further explanation, hurried him up the hill toward the wagon.
The negroes came out of the cottage and made after them, but only for a short distance. Then they came to a sudden halt, and after a brief consultation, hurried back to the cottage.
"What do you suppose they went back for—pistols and razors?" questioned Andy, as they reached ​the turn-out, and he unhitched Billy from the tree to which he had been tied.
"No, they are afraid we are going after the police," returned Matt, springing up to the seat. "Every one of that crowd ought to be in jail this minute!" he went on bitterly.
"What did they do to you?"
"Nearly robbed me!" And in a few brief words he related what had happened to him.
"Well, do you want to go back to Easton and make a complaint?" asked Andy, when he had finished.
"No, I am sick of having to do with the police, Andy. All I want is to be let alone."
"That's my sentiment, Matt, We are out for business—and money—not trouble."
Andy sprang up beside Matt, and it was soon decided by the partners to continue on the road until another house should appear. They looked back, but saw nothing more of the negroes, and then started off.
They passed through a bit of woods and down a long hill. Here they found a neat farmhouse, where a pleasant enough woman was sitting upon the doorstep, knitting socks.
"This is one road, but it is not the best road," replied the woman, in reply to Andy's question ​regarding the way to Bethlehem. "But now you are this far, you had better keep on, for it will be harder to turn back."
"How far is it to the town?"
"Not over a mile and a half."
"And is the road fairly good from here?"
"Oh, yes; you can get along very well."
"Then we will continue," returned Andy. "By the way," he went on, "do you know anything of the negroes that live in the cottage back a ways?"
The woman's face lost its smile and she sighed.
"Yes. I know them only too well," she replied.
"They have stolen so many of our chickens and so much garden truck that my husband is going to make a complaint against them. I wish they would leave the neighborhood."
"I trust your husband succeeds in having them all locked up," put in Matt, "for they richly deserve it." And after a few words more with the farmer's wife they passed on.
It was getting on toward noon when they finally arrived at Bethlehem, that pretty little town on the Lehigh River. They drove past several of the silk mills, and finally found a livery stable, at which Billy and the wagon were put up.
"It looks as if we might do some business here," ​said Andy, as they started for a restaurant for dinner. "Let us open up this afternoon if possible."
"Shall we hire a store?"
"Let us try to sell from the wagon first."
Immediately after dinner they procured a license and found a suitable corner. They did all in their power to attract a crowd, and finally, toward evening, when the working people were on their way home, succeeded in bringing quite an assemblage around them.
But, strange to say, they could not make a single sale, try their best. Both used up all their eloquence; Matt played on the banjo and mouth harmonica, and Andy told funny stories. It was no use; the crowd merely smiled or frowned, and then one after another drifted away.
"This is the worst luck yet," whispered Andy to Matt. "I never dreamed that we would strike anything like this."
A stout German who stood in the crowd saw the look of wonder and disappointment on Andy's face, and he laughed heartily.
"You ton't vos caught der same pirds twice alretty!" he chuckled to several bystanders.
"What's that?" questioned Matt, who overheard the remark.
"You ton't vos caught der same pirds twice mit ​der same salt," returned the German, and he laughed heartily at what he considered a good joke, while those around smiled and nodded approvingly.
"I must say I don't see the joke," said Matt cheerfully. "Won't you let me in the secret?"
"Dose udder fellers vos schwindle us, put you can't do it twice times!" was the reply.
"Other fellows swindled you?" repeated Matt.
"Yes, dose fellers mit dot wagon vot vas here all last week. I don't dink but vot you vos der same crowd of fellers!"