CHAPTER XXVIBOUGHT OFF
Bolton’s reply did not quite suit Mr. Ray, but he felt that if he said too much about the will it would give it an exaggerated importance in the eyes of the man before him. So he answered carelessly: “I will give you the hundred dollars, but I wish it understood that it is all I can give you at any time. Don’t apply to me again, for it will be of no use.”
“I understand,” said Bolton non-committally.
“Shall I give you a check?”
“I could do better with the money. My name is not known now at any bank.”
“Well, I think I can accommodate you. I believe I have that sum in my desk.”
He opened a drawer in his secretary, and produced a hundred dollars in crisp new bills. They had been taken from the bank the day before for a different purpose.
Bolton took them joyfully. It was long since he had so much money in his possession. He had been his own worst enemy. Once a prosperous lawyer he had succumbed to the love of drink and gradually lost his clients and his position. But he had decided to turn over a new leaf, and he saw in this money the chance to reinstate himself, and in time recover his lost position.
“Thank you,” he said, but while there was relief there was no gratitude in his tone.
“And now,” said Stephen Ray, “I must ask you to leave me. I have important business to attend to. You will excuse me if I suggest it would be better to go away—to a distance—and try to build yourself up somewhat where you are not known.”
“I might go to Savannah.”
“Yes, to Savannah, if you think it will be to your advantage,” said Ray with equanimity.
The other noticed his manner, and he said to himself: “He is willing to have me visit Savannah. It is clear that Ernest did not die there.”
Benjamin Bolton left the house in a pleasant frame of mind. It was not the sum which he had received that exhilarated him. He looked upon it only as the first installment. It was clear that Stephen Ray feared him, for he was not an open-handed man, and would not have parted with his money unnecessarily.
Bolton had not arranged his campaign, but he was determined to raise himself in the world by playing on the fears of the man he had just visited.
“I wonder,” he said to himself, “whether Dudley Ray’s son is dead. If so the document is of no value, and though I should prefer to have it, I won’t insist. He was a strong and healthy boy, and he may still be living.”
This was a point not easy to ascertain.
He went to a restaurant and obtained a substantial meal, of which he stood very much in need. Then he went out for a stroll. He did not propose to leave the place yet.
As he was walking along he met Clarence Ray again, but not now on his wheel. The boy recognized him.
“Are you going to stay in town?” asked Clarence curiously.
“Not long.”
“Did you get through your business with pa?”
“Yes, for the present. I suppose you know that you have a cousin about your own age. I used to know him and his father.”
“Did you? His father is dead.”
“So I have understood. Do you happen to know where the son is?”
“Somewhere out West, I think.”
Bolton pricked up his ears. So it seemed that Stephen Ray had deceived him.
“I would give five dollars to know where he is,” he said slowly.
“Have you got five dollars?” Clarence asked doubtfully.
By way of answer Bolton took a roll of bills from his pocket. They were those which Stephen Ray had given him.
“Do you mean it?” asked Clarence in a more respectful tone.
“Yes, I mean it.”
“Why didn’t you ask pa?”
“He never liked the boy nor his father, and I don’t think he would tell me.”
“That is true. He didn’t like either of them.”
“I suppose you couldn’t find out for me?”
“I don’t know but I could,” answered Clarence brusquely.
He had a special use for five dollars, and it struck him that he might just as well earn the money offered by the stranger.
“If you could I would cheerfully pay you the five dollars. You see I used to know Ernest Ray and his father, and I would be pleased to meet them again.”
“Just so,” said Clarence complacently. “How long are you going to remain in town?”
“I did think of going to Elmira to-night, but I think on the whole I will stay at the hotel here till to-morrow morning.”
“That will give me time to find out,” said Clarence.
“All right! You had better not ask your father, for I don’t think he would tell you.”
“That’s so. He will be going out this evening, and then I will search in his desk. I saw a letter there once in which the boy’s name was mentioned. But I say, if you’ve got money why don’t you buy some new clothes?”
“Your suggestion is a good one,” said Bolton, smiling. “Come to look at myself I do appear shabby. But then I’m no dude. I dare say when you rode into me this morning you took me for a tramp.”
“Well, you did look like one.”
“That’s so. I can’t blame you.”
“Shall I find you at the hotel this evening?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’ll see what I can do.”
About seven o’clock Squire Ray went out to attend to a business meeting, and Clarence was left in possession of the study. He locked the door, and began to ransack his father’s desk. At length he succeeded in his quest.
Benjamin Bolton was sitting in the public-room of the hotel an hour later, smoking a cigar, and from time to time looking toward the door. Presently Clarence entered.
“Have you got it?” asked Bolton eagerly.
“Yes,” nodded Clarence.
He took a piece of paper from his vest pocket and handed it to Bolton.
It read thus: “Ernest Ray, Oak Forks, Iowa.”
“How did you get it?” asked Bolton.
“I found a letter in pa’s desk from an old man named Peter Brant, asking pa for some money for the boy, who was living with him.”
“When was that letter written?”
“About two years ago.”
“Thank you. This gives me a clue. Come out of doors and I will give you what I promised. It isn’t best that anyone should think we had dealings together.”
Five minutes later Clarence started for home, happy in the possession of a five-dollar bill.
“I never paid any money more cheerfully in my life,” mused Bolton. “Now I must find the boy!”
CHAPTER XXVIIOREVILLE
When Ernest and Luke Robbins started for California, they had no very definite plans as to the future. But they found among their fellow passengers a man who was just returning from the East, where he had been to visit his family. He was a practical and successful miner, and was by no means reluctant to speak of his success.
“When I landed in ’Frisco,” he said, “two years ago, I had just forty dollars left after paying the expenses of my trip. I couldn’t find anything to do in the city, so I set out for the mines.”
“Where did you go?” asked Luke, becoming interested.
“To Oreville. At least, that’s what they call it now. Then it didn’t have a name.”
“I hope you prospered,” said Ernest.
“Well, not just at first, but luck came after a while. When I reached the mines I was dead broke, and went to work for somebody else. After a while I staked out a claim for myself. Well, I won’t go into particulars, but I’ve got six thousand dollars salted down with a trust company in ’Frisco, and I’ve got a few hundred dollars about my clothes besides.”
“That’s the place for us, Ernest,” said Luke.
“So I think,” answered Ernest.
“Do you want to go to the mines?” asked the miner.
“Yes; we have our fortunes to make, and are willing to work.”
“Then go out to Oreville with me. Have you got any money?”
“We have enough to get there, and perhaps a little over.”
“That will do. I’ll set you to work on one of my claims. We will share and share alike. How will that suit you?”
“It seems fair. Do you think we can make enough to live upon?”
“That depends partly on yourselves and partly upon luck.”
“At any rate, we are willing to work,” said Ernest.
“Then I’m your friend, and will help you,” said the miner heartily. “Tom Ashton never goes back on his friends.”
This was very encouraging. Luke and Ernest were not dead broke, but were near it. They had less than forty dollars between them, and they had already found out that living was high in California. They remained but a day in San Francisco, and then started for Oreville with Mr. Ashton.
The two friends knew nothing of mining, but as practiced in those days it took very little time to learn. They found that their new friend was a man of consideration at Oreville. He owned several claims, and had no difficulty in finding them employment. They set to work at once, for they were almost penniless.
It may easily be supposed that the miners were not fastidious about living. The cabins or huts which they occupied were primitive to the last degree. Generally they did their own cooking, such as it was. Three of these cabins Tom Ashton owned, and one was assigned to the use of Ernest and his friend.
For years Ernest, with his old friend and supposed uncle, Peter Brant, had lived in a cabin at Oak Forks, but it was superior to their new residence. Yet his former experience enabled him the better to accommodate himself to the way of living at Oreville.
For a month the two friends worked steadily at their claim, which Ashton had finally given them. They made little. In fact, it was with difficulty that they made expenses.
“It will be a long time before we make our pile, Ernest,” said Luke one evening, as he sat in front of his cabin smoking.
“Yes, Luke, things don’t look very promising,” replied Ernest gravely.
“If it weren’t for my pipe I should feel blue.”
“That is where you have the advantage of me, Luke.”
“You have the same chance that I have. I have an extra pipe. Won’t you take a smoke?”
Ernest shook his head.
“I think I’m better off without it.”
“Perhaps you’re right, lad. I remember my poor father warned me against smoking. The question is, how long we’d better keep at it.”
“Is there anything else, Luke?”
“Well, no; not here.”
“And we haven’t money enough to get away.”
Just then a tall man with reddish hair strode across the field to their cabin.
“Good-evening, neighbors,” he said. “How are you making out?”
“Not over well,” answered Luke.
“There’s a difference in claims. You’ve got a poor one.”
“Probably you are right.”
“There’s been considerable gold-dust gathered in Oreville within six months. I have been one of the lucky ones.”
“Indeed! I am glad of it.”
“Yes; I found a nugget two months since that I sold for two thousand dollars. I have made five thousand within a year.”
“You’ve been in luck. I wish the boy and I could be as successful.”
“The claim is not good enough to support two. Why not let the boy find something else?”
“You wouldn’t have me freeze him out?” said Luke in a tone of displeasure.
“No, but suppose I find something for him to do? What then?”
“That’s a different matter. Have you an extra claim?”
“Yes; but that isn’t what I offer him. I have a plan in which he can help me.”
“What is it?”
“All our supplies come from Sacramento. What we need is a retail store in Oreville—a general store for the sale of almost everything that miners need.”
“It would be a good plan to open one,” said Luke approvingly.
“Now, you must know that I am an old storekeeper. I had for years a store about twenty miles from Boston. I succeeded fairly with it, but my health gave out. The doctor told me I must not be so confined—that I needed out-of-door exercise. So I came out here and got it. Well, the advice proved good. I am strong and robust, and I feel enterprising. Now, what I propose is this: ‘I will open a store, and put the boy in charge under me.’”
“I should like it,” said Ernest eagerly.
“You know what we pay for supplies. There’s at least a hundred per cent. made, and no one objects to the prices. Why shouldn’t we make it as well as the Sacramento storekeepers?”
“True!” said Luke.
“I don’t ask you to work for me, my friend, for I don’t think it would suit you.”
“It wouldn’t. At home—that’s in Oak Forks, Iowa—I was a hunter. I was always in the open air. The sort of life we live here suits me, though I haven’t made much money as yet.”
“The boy, I think, would do. He looks like a hustler. I need only look at his face to know that he’d be honest and faithful. What is your name, boy?”
“Ernest Ray.”
“That’s a good name. You’ll only have to live up to it—to the first part of it, I mean. Then you accept my offer?”
“You haven’t made any,” said Ernest, smiling.
“Oh, you mean about wages. Well, I don’t offer any stated wages. I will give you one-third profits, and then your pay will depend on your success. The fact is, you are to keep the store.”
Ernest looked an inquiry.
“One person can attend to it by day. I will come in the evening, and take a general look after things. Just at first I’ll stay with you till you’ve got the hang of things. But during the day I shall be looking after my claims. Do you know how to keep books?”
“I understand single-entry bookkeeping.”
“That will be all you will require.”
“How soon shall you start?” asked Ernest, who began to feel very much interested.
“I will go to Sacramento to-morrow, now that we have come to terms. You know that frame building near Ashton’s cabin?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know what it was originally used for, but it is empty and I can secure it for our store. It isn’t large, but it will hold all we need.”
“Yes, that will do.”
“You haven’t said how you like my offer.”
“Of one-third profits? I like it better than if you paid me wages. I will make it amount to a good deal.”
“That will suit me. I don’t care how much you make out of it, for I shall make twice as much.”
“How did you happen to think of me?”
“I’ve watched you ever since you came. I can judge of anyone, man or boy, if I have time enough to take stock of him. I saw that you were just the man for me.”
“Boy,” suggested Ernest, smiling.
“Oh, well, I’ll make a man of you. By the way, an idea has just occurred to me. You’d better go to Sacramento with me to-morrow.”
“I should like to do it,” said Ernest.
“Then you can notice where I buy my supplies. You may need to go alone sometimes.”
“At what time will we start?”
“The stage leaves at seven o’clock.”
“I will be ready.”
CHAPTER XXVIIISTOREKEEPING
The journey to Sacramento was made, the goods selected, and in less than a week the new store was stocked. In the arrangement of goods Ernest took a zealous part. He had never served in a store, yet it seemed to come natural to him, and he felt more interest in it than in the work of mining.
After the store was in full working order, Horace Ames left Ernest as sole manager, coming in only in the evening to look at the books, for Ernest as far as possible kept a record of every sale.
Storekeeping in those days and in that country was unusually profitable. Ernest made a little comparison between the cost of goods and the selling price, and arrived at the conclusion that the average profits were a hundred per cent. And still the miners were able to buy goods cheaper than when they sent to Sacramento for them.
At the end of the first week Ernest figured up the sales and found they aggregated two hundred dollars. His share of the profit amounted to a little over thirty dollars.
This was encouraging, being three times as much as he had ever realized in the same length of time from mining. There was one embarrassment. There was no bank in the place where money could be deposited, and of course the chance of loss by robbery was much increased. However, his partner purchased a small safe, and this afforded some security.
One day a man entered the store and purchased a pipe and tobacco. He was a stranger to Ernest, but there was something familiar in his look, yet he could not place him.
The newcomer looked about with considerable curiosity.
“You have quite a snug store here,” he remarked.
“Yes.”
“Does it belong to you?”
“I have an interest in it, but it belongs to Mr. Ames.”
“Is he here much?”
“He usually comes in evenings, but he is interested in mining.”
“You seem to have a good trade.”
“What makes you think so?”
“You have a good stock. You would not keep so many goods unless you had a call for them.”
“Have I ever seen you before?” asked Ernest abruptly, for the idea grew upon him that he and his new customer had met somewhere under peculiar circumstances.
“I don’t know. I don’t remember you,” answered the customer, shrugging his shoulders. “I haven’t been in California long. I suppose you were born here.”
“No; very few of those now living in California were born here. I once lived in Iowa. Were you ever there?”
“Never,” answered the customer. “I’ve been in Missouri, but never in Iowa.”
“I have never been in that State. Are you going to stay here?”
“I don’t know. It depends on whether I can make any money. I suppose you don’t want to hire a clerk?”
“No.”
Ernest said to himself that this man with his shifty looks and suspicious appearance would be about the last man he would think of engaging.
“Perhaps Mr. Ames would give you a chance to work some of his claims,” he suggested.
“I will look about me a little before I apply to him,” replied the customer.
“Did you come here alone?” he asked after a pause.
“No. A friend came with me—Luke Robbins.”
The stranger started a little when Ernest pronounced this name, so that young Ray was led to inquire, “Do you know Luke?”
“How should I know him? Is he a young man?”
“No; he is probably about your age.”
“I suppose he came with you from Nebraska?”
“Iowa.”
“Oh, yes, Iowa. He isn’t in the store, is he?”
“He is working for Mr. Ashton on one of his claims.”
At this point a new customer came in and the visitor, after a brief delay, left the store.
When Ernest had waited upon the new customer he looked for the first visitor, but missed him.
“I wonder who he was,” he reflected, puzzled. “I am sure that I have seen him before.”
But think as he might he could not trace him.
Yet with this man he had had a very exciting experience in Oak Forks, for it was no other than Tom Burns, the tramp who had entered his cabin during the night and robbed him, and later had attacked him when digging for Peter’s hidden treasure. It had been only a few months since they had met, but Tom Burns, during that time, had grown a thick beard, which had helped to disguise him.
It is hardly necessary to explain how Burns had found his way out to Oreville. It was his business to tramp about the country, and it had struck him that in the land of gold he would have a chance to line his pockets with treasure which did not belong to him. So fortune had directed his steps to Oreville.
When he entered the store in which Ernest was employed, he immediately, and in some surprise, recognized the boy of Oak Forks. He was glad to find that Ernest did not recognize him, and he immediately began to consider in what way he could turn the circumstance to his own advantage.
“I wonder if the boy sleeps there,” he said to himself. “If so, I will make him a visit to-night. Probably the money he has taken during the day will be in some drawer where I can get hold of it.”
As he was leaving the store in the stealthy way habitual to him, he met a man walking toward the place with a long and careless stride.
He started nervously, for this man was one whom he dreaded, and had reason to fear.
It was Luke Robbins, who, tired with working the claim, was going to the store to replenish his stock of tobacco.
Tom Burns pulled his soft hat down over his eyes and pushed swiftly on.
Luke Robbins halted a moment and looked at him. As in Ernest’s case, he seemed to see something familiar in the appearance of the tramp. He realized, at all events, that he was a stranger in Oreville, for he knew everyone in the mining settlement.
“Who are you, stranger? Have I seen you before?” asked Luke, hailing him.
Tom Burns did not dare to reply, for he feared that Luke might prove to have a better memory than Ernest. So he was passing on without a response, when Luke, who considered his conduct suspicious, demanded, in a peremptory tone, “Who are you? Do you live here?”
Tom Burns shrugged his shoulders, and said, disguising his voice, “Me no understand English, boss.”
“What countryman are you?” asked Luke suspiciously.
“Italian,” answered Tom.
“Humph! you are the first Italian I have seen in Oreville.”
“Si, signor,” answered Tom, and this comprised all the Italian he knew.
“Well, I don’t think you will find any inducement to stay.”
“Si, signor,” replied Burns meekly.
Without another word Luke entered the store.
“Ernest,” he said, “I am out of tobacco, and must have a smoke. Give me half a pound.”
“All right, Luke.”
“I ran across an Italian just outside. He seemed to be leaving the store.”
“An Italian?” queried Ernest, his tone betraying surprise.
“Yes. Wasn’t he in here?”
“There was a man in here—a stranger, but I don’t think he was an Italian.”
“This man answered me in some Italian gibberish. He said he couldn’t understand English.”
“What was his appearance?”
Luke described him.
“It’s the same man that was in here just now, but he could speak English as well as you or I.”
“Did you have some conversation with him?”
“Yes. He looked familiar to me, and I asked him who he was. He said he had come from Missouri. He was in search of work.”
“You say he understood and spoke English?”
“Yes.”
“Then I wonder what could be his game.”
“Don’t he look familiar to you?”
“Yes; there was something familiar about his appearance, but I couldn’t place him.”
“He asked me if I couldn’t employ him in the store. I told him Mr. Ames might give him a chance at mining.”
“Well?”
“He said he would look round a little before deciding.”
“Did he buy anything?”
“Yes, tobacco.”
“Did you mention my name?”
“Yes, and he looked uneasy.”
“Ernest,” said Luke Robbins, with a sudden inspiration, “I know the man.”
“Who is it?”
“Don’t you recall any man at Oak Forks with whom you had trouble?”
“Tom Burns?”
“Yes. That’s the man.”
“Why didn’t we recognize him then?”
“Because he has grown a full beard.”
“That’s so, Luke. I understand now why he looked so familiar. I am sorry to see him here.”
“He’d better not undertake any of his rascalities or he will find himself in hot water.”
CHAPTER XXIXTOM BURNS MAKES A CALL
When Burns left the store he walked to the outskirts of the mining settlement, not wishing to attract attention. He wished especially to avoid encountering Luke Robbins, with the strength of whose arm he was disagreeably familiar.
He proposed to keep out of sight until night, and then make a visit to the store. It would go hard with him if he did not make a raise there, either in the shape of money or articles of value.
He came to a cabin standing by itself, at a considerable distance from the homes of the other miners. Sitting in front of it was a man with grizzled beard whose appearance indicated advanced age. There were lines upon his face that betrayed ill health.
“I wonder if anything can be got out of him,” thought Tom Burns. “I’ll see.”
“Good-day, sir,” he said, affably.
The old man looked up.
“Good-day,” he replied. “Who may you be?”
“I’m an unfortunate man, in search of employment.”
“When people are unfortunate there is generally a reason for it. Are you intemperate?”
“No, sir,” answered Burns, as if horror-stricken. “I hate the taste of liquor.”
“I am glad to hear it.”
“I belong to three temperance societies,” continued Tom, by way of deepening the favorable impression he thought he had made.
“And still you are poor?”
“Yes,” answered Burns. “Once I was prosperous, but I was ruined by signing notes for an unprincipled man who took advantage of my friendship. Do you think I can find work here?”
“I don’t know. Probably you can get a chance to work on one of Mr. Ames’s claims.”
“Is it Mr. Ames who owns the store?”
“Yes.”
“I called there to buy some tobacco. Is the boy there his son?”
“No; he is a recent arrival in Oreville. He is a very smart boy.”
“Is he? Mr. Ames trusts him, I suppose?”
“Yes. Why shouldn’t he?”
“I—I would rather not answer that question.”
“Have you ever met the boy before?”
“Yes; I met him in the East,” answered Burns.
“Since you have said so much you must say more. I am a cousin of Mr. Ames, and if you know anything unfavorable of the boy, it is your duty to tell me.”
“I have nothing against the boy, and would prefer not to speak.”
“I insist upon your doing it.”
“It is only this. When I knew him he was employed in a store. He was trusted as he appears to be here. One night the store was robbed—that is, some money disappeared, and the boy claimed that it was broken into by thieves, who took the money, whereas he took it himself.”
“That seems bad. Was it proved that he took the money?”
“Yes. That’s why he was compelled to leave the place.”
“Did you come here to expose him?”
“No; I didn’t know he was here. I was very much taken by surprise when I saw him in the store.”
“This is important, if true. Mr. Ames ought to be informed.”
“Don’t tell him while I am here. The boy is very revengeful, and he might try to do me an injury.”
“Are you afraid of a boy?”
“I am a man of peace. I don’t want to get into any difficulty.”
“I suppose you wonder that I am sitting here while others are at work.”
“Well, it did cross my mind.”
“My spine is affected. I look well, but I cannot walk. I hope to be better after a while, but at present I am comparatively helpless.”
“Can’t I help you?”
“You may go into the cabin, and bring me a bottle of medicine which you will find in the cupboard.”
Burns entered the cabin gladly. It occurred to him that he might find something worth taking.
On the wall, hanging from a nail, was a gold watch. It was too good a chance to be lost. It might or it might not be valuable, but at any rate it was worth something.
So, while securing the bottle, Burns slyly possessed himself of the watch, which he slipped into his inside breast pocket.
“Here is the bottle, sir,” he said, meekly.
“Thank you. Now bring a spoon which you will find on the table.”
Burns did so.
“Now pour out a teaspoonful, which I will take.”
“I am glad to be of service to you. Don’t you want an attendant while you are sick?”
“There would not be enough for you to do. I have a son at work in the mines who is here morning and night, and he gives me all the care I require.”
“I am sorry to hear that,” thought Burns. “The son may be dangerous.”
“Then, sir, I will bid you good-by. I will pray for your recovery.”
“Thank you. The prayers of the righteous avail much. Are you righteous?”
“It isn’t for me to say, sir. I don’t want to boast.”
“That is creditable to you. By the way, are you hungry?”
“I haven’t broken my fast since morning.”
“You will find some cold meat and a loaf of bread inthe cupboard. It is plain, but if you are hungry you will enjoy it.”
“Thank you, sir. I will accept your kind invitation.”
Tom Burns was really hungry, and he did justice to the food offered him.
When his lunch was over he came outside.
“Thank you,” he said, “for your kindness.”
“Out here we are always glad to give a meal of victuals to a stranger who needs it. Are you going to stay long in Oreville?”
“If I can get anything to do I may. You see I am a poor man, and stand in pressing need of employment.”
“Keep up your courage! Something will turn up for you. I will ask my son if he cannot find something for you to do.”
“Thank you, sir. I will bid you good-by, with thanks for your kindness.”
“If you are not pressed for time, I will send you on an errand.”
“All right, sir. I shall be glad to be of service to you.”
“Here is a Mexican dollar. You may go to the store and bring me a dozen eggs. If there is any change you may keep it.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“A dollar in!” thought Burns, as he turned away from the cabin. “I think I can turn it to a better use than spending it in eggs. That was a profitable call. I made a gold watch and a dollar by it. The old man can’t pursue me, thanks to his spinal complaint.”
“That is a very clever fellow,” reflected the old man, when Burns had started on his errand. “A bit too religious to suit my taste. Still he seemed grateful for the little I did for him. If he had a little more push and get up and get about him he would succeed better. Why, he isn’t more than forty and he confesses himself a failure. Why, at forty I considered myself a young man, and was full of dash and enterprise. Now I am sixty and tied to my seat by this spinal trouble. However, I’ve gotsomething laid by, and, old as I am, I feel independent as far as money goes.”
Half an hour—an hour—passed, and still the old man found himself alone. His messenger had not come back.
But there came up the path a tall, muscular figure, who greeted the old man in a bluff, off-hand way.
“How are you, Luke?” said the old man. “I was feeling lonely. I am glad to see you.”
“Have you been alone since morning?”
“Not quite all the time. I had quite a long call from a stranger.”
“A stranger!” repeated Luke suspiciously. “What was his appearance?”
The old man described Burns, and Luke knew him at once.
“What did he say to you?”
“That reminds me—he said he knew the boy whom Horace has put in the store—young Ray.”
“Did he?”
“Yes, and he doesn’t speak well of him.”
“What does he say about him?”
“I don’t like to tell you, Luke, for I believe he is a protégé of yours.”
“Don’t mind that. If there is anything to be said unfavorable of Ernest I ought to know it.”
“He says the boy robbed a store in which he was employed, and then pretended it was entered by thieves. It was on that account, he says, that the boy was compelled to leave the town where he lived and come to California.”
“Really, that is very interesting. To my own personal knowledge the boy was never before employed in a store, and he came out to California with me.”
“Then what could the man mean?”
“I can’t say. I can only tell you that he is a professional thief.”
“Look quick, Luke, and see if my gold watch is hanging on a nail near the cupboard.”
“No, it is not there.”
“Then the rascal must have stolen it. I gave him a Mexican dollar to buy some eggs at the store.”
“I don’t think you will ever see it again, unless I catch the thief, as I may to-night.”
CHAPTER XXXA BURGLAR’S FAILURE
If Tom Burns had been more prudent, he would have made good his escape with the money and gold watch he had already secured. But he was too greedy for gain.
He pictured to himself the store with its goodly stock of money taken in during the day, and he felt an irresistible craving for it. There might be one or two hundred dollars, and no one in charge but a boy whom he could easily overpower.
Apart from the pecuniary gain he felt that he should enjoy getting the best of Ernest, who had already foiled him at Oak Forks.
“This time he will come out second best,” chuckled Burns to himself.
Then he laughed when he remembered how his appearance had puzzled Ernest.
“It was a good idea growin’ a beard,” he said to himself. “Seems to have disguised me pretty well. The boy thought he had seen me before, but he couldn’t make out where. The next time he’ll know me, I reckon.
“I must keep out of the way till night,” he said to himself. “It won’t do for me to be seen prowlin’ round the settlement.”
He retired a mile or two among the hills, and waited impatiently for night to come.
“It is lucky that the old man gave me a meal,” he reflected, “otherwise I should be about starved. I wonder if that watch is worth much.”
He examined the watch, and decided that its value wasprobably not far from a hundred dollars. In fact, the old man had bought it in St. Louis, and had selected a high-priced article.
It did occur to Burns that perhaps he had better remain satisfied with what he had got, for the watch would probably bring him fifty dollars at a sacrifice sale; but the temptation to stay was too strong.
“It would be a sin to give up such a fine chance,” he reflected. “There’s next to no risk, and I may get two hundred dollars.”
Then he began to consider what he would do in that case. He decided that he would go to San Francisco, and see what pickings he could find there.
He had already found out that mining men and others in the far West were more careless about their money than those in the East, probably because money came easier.
“I did well when I came out here,” he said to himself in a tone of congratulation. “I’ll make hay while the sun shines.”
Meanwhile, though he did not know it, his visit was expected, and preparations were being made to receive him.
After supper Luke Robbins came to the store and held a conference with Ernest.
“I am going to pass the night with you, lad,” he said.
“I wish you would, Luke.”
“I want to help you do the honors to my old friend Burns.”
“Perhaps he won’t call.”
“If he knows what’s best for him he won’t, but he will be like the foolish moth, and won’t be contented till he has singed his wings. I will look about me and see where to bestow myself for the night.”
Ernest occupied a bed in the rear of the store, just behind one of the counters. It was near a window in the rear of the building.
“I’ll take that bed, Ernest, and you can find another place.”
“Shall I fasten the window?”
“No. I am going to make it easy for my friend, Burns, to get in. Whether he will find it as easy to get out will be another matter.”
Nothing was said to the miners about the presence of a thief in the settlement. At that time there was no toleration for thieves. The punishment visited upon them was short, sharp and decisive. The judge most in favor was Judge Lynch, and woe be to the offender who ventured to interfere with the rights of property.
Had Luke breathed a word about Burns, half a dozen miners would have volunteered to stand guard, and would thus have interfered with Tom Burns’s visit.
“I want to keep all the fun to myself, Ernest,” said Luke. “We’ll give him a lesson he won’t soon forget. If I told the boys they’d hang him up in short order. I don’t want to take the fellow’s life, but I’ll give him a first-class scare.”
It was about ten minutes of twelve when Tom Burns, leaving his place of concealment, walked with eager steps toward the mining settlement. The one street was not illuminated, for Oreville had not got along as far as that. The moon gave an indistinct light, relieving the night of a part of its gloom.
Burns looked from one cabin to another with a wistful glance.
“I suppose some of these miners have got a lot of gold-dust hidden away in their shanties,” he said to himself. “I wish I knew where I could light on some of their treasure.”
But then it occurred to him that every miner was probably armed, and would make it dangerous to any intruder.
So Tom Burns kept on his way. He was troubled by no conscientious scruples. He had got beyond that long ago. Sometimes it did occur to him to wonder how it would seem to settle down as a man of respectability and influence, taking a prominent part in the affairs of town and church.
“It might have been,” he muttered. “My father was a man of that sort. Why not I? If I hadn’t gone wrongin my early days, if I had not been tempted by the devil to rob the storekeeper for whom I worked, and so made myself an outcast and a pariah, who knows but I might have been at this moment Thomas Burns, Esq., of some municipality, instead of Tom Burns, the tramp? However, it is foolish to speculate about this. I am what I am, and there is little chance of my being anything else.”
So he dismissed the past, and recalled the work he had set for himself.
Everything was still. In the mining village probably there was not a person awake. It was like a dead town. Everything seemed favorable to his designs.
There was the store. He could see it already. And now there was nothing to do but to get in and take the money, which he had no doubt was waiting ready to his hand.
Perhaps he might be fortunate enough to secure it without waking the boy. He hoped so, at any rate, for he was not a desperate or cruel man. He did not wish to injure Ernest unless it should be absolutely necessary.
Arriving at his destination, he paused to reconsider.
He did not expect to enter by the front door. He did not as yet know whether there was any other. But at any rate there must be a window somewhere, and he preferred to get in that way.
He walked around to the rear of the store, and there he discovered the window. He had been afraid it might be blockaded with shelves, that would make entrance difficult, but fortunately this did not appear to be the case. He stood at the window and looked in.
The faint moonlight did not enable him to penetrate the interior very far, but he could make out something. There were goods of various kinds scattered about, and he could just see a recumbent figure on a bed near the counter.
“That’s the boy,” he said to himself. “I wonder if he is asleep.”
There seemed to be no doubt on this point.
But for the indistinct light Tom Burns might havethought the outstretched figure rather large for a boy. But he only glanced at it furtively.
The next thing to consider was whether the window was fastened. In that case he would have some difficulty, though for this he was prepared, having an instrument by which he could cut a pane of glass, and, thrusting in his hand, unfasten the catch.
But through some strange inadvertence, apparently, the window was not fastened, and much to his relief he had no difficulty in lifting it.
He was as careful as possible, fearing lest he might stumble over some article, and by the noise betray his presence.
What if there was a dog inside? This thought brought alarm to the burglar. In that case his visit would probably be a failure. He remembered, however, with a feeling of relief, that he had seen no dog about during his visit to the store during the day.
Now that he had passed through the window, and was fairly in the store, he looked round for the money drawer. He had not seen the safe, or probably he might not have entered the store at all, for he was not expert in breaking open safes, and at any rate it would be a matter of time and difficulty. So he was looking about when, as he passed by the bed, he felt himself seized by the leg. Evidently the sleeper had awakened and discovered his presence.
Burns got down on his knees and grasped the recumbent figure by the throat.
“Lie still, or I’ll choke you!” he said fiercely.
But as he spoke he felt the rough beard of a man, and with dismay he realized that he had tackled a more formidable foe than the boy for whom he was prepared.
He felt himself seized with an iron grasp.
“I’ve got you, you rascally burglar!” were the words he heard, and gave himself up for lost.
“Who are you?” he asked faintly.
“I am Luke Robbins, and I know you of old. You are Tom Burns!”