Tom was determined to find out. He crept nearer, so that he could have a clearer view of the figure.
"It's Bill Crane!" he said to himself, with sudden recognition. "What's he up to?"
Tom could guess. He didn't know the man's antecedents, but he had read his character aright. He was instantly on the alert. Crane evidently was on a thief's errand, and was likely to steal not only Miles's money but Tom's. Our hero was alive to the emergency, and resolved to foil him. He had his revolver with him; for in the unsettled state of society, with no one to enforce the laws, and indeed no laws to enforce, it was the custom for all men to go armed.
Tom was not long left in doubt as to Crane's intentions. He saw him cautiously pulling at something in the tent, and felt sure that it was the bag of treasure. He decided that the time had come to act.
"Put that back," he exclaimed in boyish, but clear, commanding tone.
Bill Crane turned suddenly, panic-stricken.
He saw Tom standing a few feet from him, with a revolver in his hand.
All was not lost. He might, he thought, intimidate the boy.
"Mind your business, you young cub," he growled.
"I am going to sleep with Miles. He invited me. Does that satisfy you?"
"No, it doesn't, for I know that it's a lie. You are here to rob him."
"You'd better not insult me, boy, or I'll have your life."
"Get up this instant and leave the tent, or I'll fire," said Tom, resolutely.
"A young cub like you can't frighten me. That shooting-iron of yours isn't loaded," said Bill Crane, rather uneasily.
"It'll be rather a bad thing for you to take the risk," said Tom, with a coolness that surprised himself, for the situation was a strange one for a boy brought up in a quiet New England farming town.
"What do you want of me?" growled the desperado, uncomfortably, for he was satisfied that the weapon was loaded, and Tom looked as if he would shoot.
"I want you to leave that tent at once," said Tom.
"I think I could explain it," said our hero. "You know very well what will happen to you if you are caught."
Bill Crane did know. Hanging was the penalty for theft in the early days of California, and he had no desire to swing from the branch of a tree.
"You're a young fool!" he said roughly, as he rose from his stooping posture. "I wanted to ask Miles to do a little commission for me in Frisco. I had no thought of robbing him."