CHAPTER XXXI.
THE UNWELCOME RELATIVE.
Now that Jasper has found a place we can venture to leave him for a time and go back to the home which he had felt compelled to leave.
His step-mother felt relieved by his departure. It left her mistress of the situation, with no one to interfere with or question her authority. How Jasper fared she cared little, or not at all. How he was likely to get along without money she never inquired, nor did she feel a twinge of remorse for her treatment of one who had been her late husband's sole care and hope. It was enough for her that she had Nicholas with her. Stern as she generally was toward him, she was weakly indulgent. Whatever he wanted she gave him, if it were not utterly unreasonable. She was afraid he would tire of the country and want to go away, and this led her to gratify him in his wishes, in order that she might retain him at her side.
Nicholas was not slow in finding out his power and in using it. He asked and obtained a horse for his own use, and later an elegant little carriage was ordered from the city, in which he used to drive around the neighborhood with the airs of a young prince. To others he might seem arrogant and conceited—to his mother he was only possessed of the proper spirit of a gentleman. In her eyes he was handsome, though in the eyes of no one else.
But perfect happiness is short-lived. In her new prosperity Mrs. Kent forgot that she had a brother who was not likely to reflect credit upon the family. She had not heard from him for years, and supposed he did not know where she was. But in this, as we know, she was mistaken.
One day Nicholas was standing on the lawn in front of the house, waiting for his carriage to be brought around from the stable, when his attention was drawn to a common-looking man who was standing by the fence and looking at him in what he considered an impudently familiar way.
Since Nicholas had become a young aristocrat he was easily made angry by such familiarity on the part of anyone of the lower orders, and he resented it at once.
"Why are you standing there, fellow?" he demanded, frowning.
The man neither seemed overawed nor angry. He only looked amused.
"Because I am tired of walking," he said.
"Then go somewhere else."
"Thank you, this suits me very well," said the man, smiling provokingly.
"It doesn't suit me, though," said Nicholas, bristling up.
"Who are you?" inquired Dick, for it was he, with provoking nonchalance.
"Who am I? I'll let you know!" retorted Nicholas, now very angry.
"I wish you would. That's what I just asked you."
"I'm the owner of this place, and I warn you off."
"Oh, you're the owner of this place!" said the stranger, laughing. "Do you own the road, too?"
"Yes," said Nicholas, "I own the road in front of my place."
Dick laughed again.
"You're a young man, ain't you, to be a landed proprietor. How about your mother? Doesn't she own anything?"
"What do you know about my mother?" demanded Nicholas, a little nonplussed.
"More than you think for, young man," said Dick. "She used to go to school with me."
"Did she? Well, I suppose she couldn't help it if there were low persons in the school with her."
"That's good!" said the stranger, laughing heartily. "So I am a low person, am I?"
"You look like it," said Nicholas, insolently.
He expected the man would be angry, but instead he laughed more heartily than before.
Nicholas began to think he was crazy.
"Well, boy," he said, after a pause, "just remember that appearances are sometimes deceitful."
"I don't think they are so in this case," said Nicholas, "but I can't waste anymore time with you. There's my horse coming around. I'm going to ride."
"Is that your team? It's very neat, 'pon my word."
"That's nothing to you."
"Won't you give me a seat? I've never been in this town before, and I should like to take a drive."
"Look here, fellow, you've got cheek!" exclaimed Nicholas.
"Have I?"
"Do you think I would be seen in such low company?"
"Why not? I'm a gentleman. If you are a gentleman, then I am, too."
"What do you mean? What have I to do with you?"
"A good deal," said the stranger. "I am your uncle!"
Nicholas gasped for breath. What! this low, common person his uncle? He would not credit it.
"That's a lie!" he said. "You are trying to humbug me."
"Not so fast, nephew Nicholas," said Dick. "You can't alter facts. I'm your mother's brother. Didn't she ever tell you of your Uncle Dick?"
Uncle Dick! Nicholas did remember that his mother had named such a person, and the uncomfortable apprehension dawned upon him that the stranger's claim was well founded, after all. He kept silent, but flared at the stranger in a state of mental disturbance.
"I see you've heard of me," said Dick, with a short laugh. "Is your mother at home?"
"I believe so," said Nicholas, sullenly.
"I've come a long way to see her. Will you go in and tell her I am here?"
Nicholas was not overwilling to obey the person whom he had just called low, but he felt considerable curiosity as to whether the man was really his uncle, and this decided him to comply with his request.
"I will speak to my mother," he said. "She will know whether you are what you claim to be."
"Yes, she will know. I don't believe she has forgotten brother Dick."
Nicholas sought and found his mother.
"What, Nicholas, back so soon?" she said, looking up from her sewing.
"No, mother, I haven't started yet. There's a person down stairs who says he is my Uncle Dick, and he wants to see you."
"Good heavens! is he here?" exclaimed Mrs. Kent, in a tone of vexation. "How in the world did he find me out?"
"Then it is he? He is a very common-looking person."
"He's kept low associates. Where is he?"
"Down on the lawn."
"Tell him to come in. I suppose I shall have to see him."
"It may not be your brother after all," said Nicholas.
"I am afraid it is. I can tell soon as I see him."
Nicholas went down stairs in no very pleasant mood.
"You're to come in," he said, ungraciously. "My mother will see you."
"I thought so," said Dick, smiling complacently.
CHAPTER XXXII.
A COLD RECEPTION.
Richard Varley followed Nicholas into the presence of Mrs. Kent. The latter looked scrutinizingly at him as he approached, hoping that it might be an impostor. But, no! there was no mistaking his appearance. It was, indeed, her brother.
"How d'ye do, Helen," said Dick, with ostentatious cordiality.
"Very well, Richard," she answered coldly, slipping her hand out of his grasp as quickly as she could.
"The old girl ain't very glad to see me," thought Dick. "Just as I thought."
"How did you find me out?" asked Mrs. Kent.
"There was a man from this way told me of your good luck."
"Where were you, then?"
"In Missouri, near St. Louis."
"Indeed? Have you just come from there?"
"Yes."
"Did you have any business this way? I suppose you must, or you wouldn't have come so far."
"I came on purpose to see you, Helen," said Dick, trying to look like an affectionate brother, and signally failing.
"You are certainly very kind," said Mrs. Kent in a cold tone, evincing not the slightest pleasure at his devotion. "I am afraid you must have put yourself to a good deal of inconvenience on my account."
"Why, yes, I have," answered her brother, perceiving at once that he might urge this as a claim upon her; "but what of that? Ain't you my only sister, and hasn't it been years since we met?"
"Really, Richard," said Mrs. Kent, with a little quiet sarcasm, "I was hardly prepared to expect from you so great an interest in me. I wonder you didn't come before. It's a good many years since we met."
"Well, Helen, you see I couldn't afford it before. I wanted to see you, but I couldn't raise the money to come East."
"You've raised it now, it seems."
"Yes; I had a little stroke of luck."
"You're doing well, then?" asked his sister, with a slight show of interest.
If this were so, she was ready to welcome him.
"I said a little show of luck. I got together money enough to come East."
"Oh, indeed!" returned Mrs. Kent, her manner becoming chilly again.
Dick got nettled. He didn't relish his reception.
"It seems to me you ain't very glad to see me," said he, bluntly.
"I never was very demonstrative," said his sister. "Did you expect me to fall on your neck and embrace you?"
"No; but—well, you know what I mean. You are as cold as an icicle."
"It's my way, I suppose. Is your wife living?"
"Yes."
"Is she with you?" asked Mrs. Kent, rather apprehensively.
"No; it was too expensive for me to bring two. I hear you are rich, Helen."
"Is that what brought you on?"
"Don't be so suspicious. It's only natural I should congratulate you."
Before this Nicholas had left the room to go out on his proposed drive.
"I've got enough to live on economically," she answered, with reserve. "I am not rich."
"Your son, Nicholas, acts as if you were."
"How is that?"
Dick laughed.
"He puts on as many heirs as a prince."
"He has considerable spirit," said Mrs. Kent, proudly.
"There's no doubt of that. He ordered me off with the air of a young lord."
"That was before he knew who you were."
"Yes, he didn't know I was his uncle. By the way, you've got a step-son, haven't you?"
"Yes; two-thirds of this property belongs to him."
"Where is he?"
"He is absent just now," answered Mrs. Kent, in a tone of reserve.
Dick laughed.
"Oh, you're good at keeping secrets, Helen," he said; "but you can't deceive me."
"What do you mean?" inquired his sister, with some indignation.
"I know all about his going away, Helen."
"Who told you—the neighbors? Have you been questioning them about my affairs?"
"No, no. You're on the wrong scent this time. He told me himself."
"What! has he got back again?" demanded Mrs. Kent, in surprise and dismay.
"No; I met him in Missouri. He told me there."
"How did he know you were related to me?"
"He heard me and my wife talking about you, and then he told me."
"What did he tell you?"
"That you and he couldn't agree, and so he left home."
"He was insubordinate. He disobeyed me, and I wouldn't stand it."
"Oh, well, you two can settle your own affairs. I don't care to interfere, only I thought you would like to hear from him."
"What's he doing?" asked Mrs. Kent.
"He was in St. Louis when I left, looking out for a situation."
"I wash my hands of him. He might live easily enough if he would submit to me. If not, he will probably have to submit to a great many privations."
"He is a pretty smart boy; he'll get along."
"I consider my Nicholas smarter," said Mrs. Kent, coldly.
"Perhaps so," answered her brother, dubiously. "I don't know much about Nicholas."
"Where are you staying?" asked his sister.
"Why," said Dick, rather taken aback, "I calculated you would invite me to stay here awhile, seeing I've come so far to see you."
Mrs. Kent bit her lips in vexation.
"You can stay a day or two, if you like," she said, "but we live very quietly, Nicholas and I. I don't think it will suit one so active as you are."
"I'll take the risk, sister Helen. It seems good to be in my own sister's house after so many years. Besides, I should like to ride out with my nephew behind that gay horse of his."
"You can speak to him about it," said
Mrs. Kent. "I believe he prefers to be alone."
"Oh, he'll be willing to treat his uncle to a ride. I'll give him a few hints about driving."
Mrs. Kent winced. She was proud, and she did not fancy exhibiting Dick to the village people as her brother. But there seemed no way of avoiding it. She privately determined to get rid of him as soon as possible.
"I must leave you now," she said, gathering up her work. "I will ask the servant to show you your room."
"All right, Helen. Don't trouble yourself about me. I'll make myself at home."
"I'm afraid you will," thought his sister.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
DICK PUNISHES NICHOLAS.
"Is that man going to stay here?" asked Nicholas, in a tone of dissatisfaction.
"Yes."
"What made you invite him?"
"I couldn't help it, Nicholas. He is my brother."
"I'm ashamed of the relationship."
"I am not proud of it myself, but I can't help paying him a little attention."
"How long is he going to stay?"
"A day or two."
"He'll stay a week or two if you let him."
"I can prevent that."
"How?"
"You'll see."
The manner of Nicholas toward his uncle was far from agreeable. In fact, it was almost insolent. Dick retained his temper out of policy, but he said to himself:
"Some time or other, my fine nephew, I'll pay off old scores. See if I don't."
"Are you going to ride this morning?" he asked the next day.
"I may," answered Nicholas.
"I should like to ride with you."
"I prefer riding by myself."
"Oh, come, nephew. I shan't stay here long. Don't refuse such a small favor."
In consequence probably of the first part of this answer, Mrs. Kent said:
"Nicholas, you'd better take your uncle out this morning and show him a little of the village."
Nicholas grumblingly assented.
So about ten o'clock they started out.
"You've got a good horse here," said Dick.
"He ought to be. Mother paid four hundred dollars for him."
"Did she, though? You ought to have got me to send you one from the West. For half the money I'd have sent you a better one."
"I don't believe it."
"Because you don't know. I do."
"It takes a good driver to drive this horse," said Nicholas.
"Does it? I could drive this horse blindfolded."
He spoke contemptuously, and Nicholas was nettled. He prided himself upon his driving ability, and now his uncle underestimated it.
"The horse is not as easy to drive as you think," he said. "If you don't believe it, take the reins and see."
"All right."
This was what Dick wanted, for he had a plan for revenging himself on his upstart nephew. He drove on till he got to a place where there was a muddy and miry puddle beside the road. Then by a dexterous manœuver, for he understood driving thoroughly, he managed to overturn the wagon, and Nicholas was thrown headlong into the puddle. Dick leaped out just at the right time, retaining his hold on the reins.
Bespattered with mud and drenched with mire, Nicholas arose from the puddle a sorry figure.
"What did you do that for?" he demanded, wrathfully, surveying himself with disgust.
"I'm afraid I can't manage your horse," said Dick, with hypocritical meekness. "He was too much for me."
"Didn't I tell you so?" said Nicholas, triumphing in spite of his woful condition.
"I'm sorry you fell into the puddle. Why didn't you jump, as I did?"
"I didn't have time," said Nicholas, ruefully. "What a figure I am!"
"I suppose we may as well go home."
"Yes," said Nicholas, sullenly. "That comes of giving you the reins."
"You are right," said Dick. "You'd better drive home yourself."
Nicholas took the reins, but it mortified him not a little to see the looks of wonder and amusement which he attracted as he passed through the village.
Dick laughed to himself.
"I rather think, my proud nephew, we're about even," he said to himself.
In the course of the next day Dick ventured to suggest to his sister that a temporary loan would be very acceptable.
"A loan!" she repeated, curling her lip. "Why not say 'gift' at once?"
"I'm willing to put it on that ground," said Dick, unabashed. "Still, I'll give you my note for the amount, if you say so."
"What good would that do?"
"Why, I've got some plans in view which, if successful, will enable me to repay you the money, with interest."
"I have small faith in the success of your plans, Richard."
"I haven't been as lucky as you, sister Helen, I admit; but where would you have been but for your lucky marriage?"
"As to that, I have always taken care of myself," said his sister, coldly.
"May be so. There are some born to good luck."
"How much money do you expect me to give you?" asked Mrs. Kent.
Dick looked at his sister's face attentively. He wished to judge how much there was a chance of getting out of her. His survey was not particularly encouraging. She didn't appear to be a woman easily wheedled out of her money. Still, he spoke up boldly, and said:
"A loan of five hundred dollars, Helen, would be a great lift to me."
"I have no doubt it would," said Mrs. Kent, quietly; "but if you have any expectation of getting that sum from me you know very little of me. I should be a fool to throw away such a sum of money."
"You would be generous."
"I have no ambition to be considered generous," she answered, coldly. "A fool and his money are soon parted. You appear to take me for a fool, but I beg to assure you that you are entirely mistaken."
"How much will you lend me, then?" asked Dick, rather sullenly.
"Don't use that ridiculous word 'lend,' when you know there's no probability of your ever repaying it, even if you should be able."
"Have your own way, Helen."
"I will give you fifty dollars, though in justice to my boy I ought not to do so."
"Fifty dollars!" repeated Dick, chagrined. "Why, that don't pay me for coming East."
"You are right. You would have done better to stay where you were."
"You don't seem to consider, Helen, that we hadn't met for years, and I wanted to see my only sister."
"Suppose I had had no money, would you have come then?" asked Mrs. Kent, with contemptuous incredulity.
"No; I couldn't have afforded it. But, Helen, fifty dollars is nothing at all. You might say a hundred."
"I might say a hundred, but there is no chance that I shall. Are you not ashamed—a great, strong man, as you are—not to be able to support yourself and wife without help from me?"
"Luck's been agin me," said Dick, sullenly. "I could have got ahead but for that."
"How has it been against you?"
"I owned a mining claim in California—it didn't pay anything—and I sold it for ten dollars. The man I sold it to kept working till he struck a vein. He cleared ten thousand dollars."
"As you might have done if you hadn't despaired too quickly."
"Oh, well, it's easy enough to criticise, Helen. You've struck a vein, and you're in luck. No more hard work for you."
"There would be if I gave away my money, five hundred dollars at a time. You needn't complain of my good fortune. I have had my share of work to do. Now I am comfortable, and I mean to keep so."
"No matter what becomes of your poor brother?" whined Dick.
"My poor brother must work as I have done, and he won't starve. Do you think, if I were a man," she said, disdainfully, "that I would stoop to ask help of a woman!"
"Well, let me have the money, then," said Dick, gloomily.
Mrs. Kent drew from her pocket-book five ten-dollar bills and placed them in his hand.
"Don't expect any further help," she said. "In justice to my son I must refuse it."
Dick left the house with an execration.
"Was there ever a more selfish, cold-hearted woman?" he muttered. "It's all for her son, is it? I'd like to choke the whelp!"
With this sentiment the affectionate uncle left his sister's house.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
AN IMPORTANT COMMISSION.
It was nearly a year later, and Jasper Kent still remained in St. Louis, and in the employ of Herman Fitch. He had won his way to the favor of his employer, not alone on account of his personal good qualities, but because in the way of business he manifested an unusual aptitude. For this reason he had already had his pay raised to fifteen dollars a week and was thoroughly trusted, even in matters of importance.
Of this he was about to receive an additional proof.
"Jasper," said Mr. Fitch one day, as our hero entered his counting-room, "how would you like a little journey?"
Jasper's eyes brightened.
"I would like nothing better," he answered, promptly.
"So I supposed. Young men of your age generally like to travel."
"To what place do you wish me to go, may I ask, sir?"
"To Kansas—a small town named Plattville."
"Very well, sir, I will go."
"The business is this: A firm in that town, Watts & Duncan, are considerably indebted to me, and I have doubts as their solvency. In the event of their failure I want to realize as much as possible of my claim. I don't want the other creditors to forestall me."
"Yes, sir; I see."
"It is rather a delicate commission, you perceive. You are to go there and quietly find out what you can of their affairs, and report to me by mail. Then I shall send you instructions how to proceed."
"Very well, sir."
"Some might blame me for sending so young a messenger, but I have two objects in view. A boy of your age will not excite suspicion, and again, I repose great confidence in you."
Jasper was not a little gratified by this assurance.
"I will try not to disappoint your expectations," he said, earnestly.
"I don't think you will."
"When do you want me to start?"
"To-morrow."
"I'll be ready," said Jasper, briskly.
"You can go a part of the way by rail, but only a part. It is a frontier town, and you may have to ride horseback a part of the way. That I must leave to your judgment."
"All the better," said Jasper.
"I see you don't mind roughing it," said Mr. Fitch.
"No; that's the best part of it."
"Well, you may go home now and make preparations. To-morrow morning come to the office for instructions and money. One thing only I suggest now—take as little baggage as possible. It would only be in your way."
"All right, sir. I've got a small knapsack that will hold all I want to carry."
"Good! Be here to-morrow at nine o'clock."
At the appointed hour Jasper received his instructions and a certain sum of money. He had provided himself with a belt, into which he put the money to guard against possible robbery, carrying only a few dollars in a pocket-book for outward show.
In explanation of these precautions it must be stated that the events which I am describing took place some years since, when Kansas was more sparsely settled and life less secure than at present.
He received his instructions, and set out on his journey, secretly envied by other clerks who had been longer in the office than himself, but who had not been complimented by having a similar trust reposed in them.
We will follow him and see how he fares.
CHAPTER XXXV.
AN INDIAN MAIDEN.
From the information afforded by his employer Jasper was led to expect a somewhat adventurous journey. He was not to be disappointed. As long as he was in the well-settled part of the country he encountered no difficulties nor adventures worth recording. Plattville, as already stated, was a frontier town, and there was a large tract of almost uninhabited country between it and the nearest settlement.
Late in the afternoon of the fourth day Jasper found himself standing on the bank of a river which must be crossed. There was no boat in sight, and he was puzzled what to do. While he was considering, a young Indian girl glided by in a canoe. She handled the paddle dexterously and as one who had been long accustomed to the exercise, though she did not look more than twelve years of age.
"I wonder if she understands English?" thought Jasper. "Perhaps I could get her to ferry me across."
Acting upon this thought he called out:
"Halloo, there!"
The young girl turned quickly, and discovered Jasper, whom she had not before seen.
She stopped paddling, and asked, in a musical voice:
"White boy speak?"
"Yes," said Jasper. "Do you speak English?"
"A little."
"I want to go across the river. Will you take me in your canoe?"
The girl hesitated a moment, perhaps from uncertainty as to whether she could trust our hero, for she surveyed him attentively. It appeared that her impressions were favorable, for she turned her canoe to the shore and said, simply:
"Yes."
"Thank you," said Jasper, and he promptly took his place in the frail craft.
The Indian girl pushed off and began to paddle rapidly.
"It seems odd to be ferried by a girl," thought Jasper. "I think I ought to offer to take her place." "Shall I paddle instead of you?" he asked.
The girl laughed and shook her head.
"White boy not know how to paddle a canoe—tip it over," and she laughed again.
"I don't know but I should," thought Jasper, as he noticed how light and frail the little canoe was, and how a slight motion would agitate it.
"Do you live around here?" he asked, in some curiosity.
"Up the river," said the girl, indicating with her head, for her hands were occupied.
"Have you a father?"
"Monima's father great chief," said the girl, proudly.
"Monima! Is that your name?"
"Yes."
"It is a pretty name."
The girl laughed and appeared to be pleased with the compliment, though it was only to her name. She seemed in turn to be possessed by curiosity, for she asked:
"What white boy's name?"
"Jasper."
"Jasper," she repeated, with difficulty.
"Isn't it a pretty name?"
"No," said Monima, laughing.
"I am sorry you don't like it, Monima."
"I like white boy. He will be big warrior some day."
"I don't know about that, Monima. So your father is a chief?"
"Yes," said Monima, proudly. "Great chief."
"Did he give you this canoe?"
"Yes."
"Have you any brothers and sisters?"
"One brother, young man; no sister."
By this time they had reached the other side. Monima skilfully drew up the canoe alongside, and Jasper jumped out. He stood on the bank, and drew from his vest-pocket a silver half-dollar, which he handed to Monima.
"Monima no want money," said the girl, proudly.
"Keep it to remember white boy," said Jasper.
"Monima will remember white boy without money."
Jasper reluctantly put the money in his pocket, but he did not like to accept the favor from Monima without rendering her some return. He was in doubt at first, but finally an idea occurred to him. He had half a dozen photographs of himself, which he had recently had taken in St. Louis. He drew out one of these and extended it to Monima.
"Take that, Monima," he said. "Keep that and remember me."
Monima's face lighted up with wonder and admiration when she saw the photograph, for she had never seen one before. She looked from the picture to Jasper, and from Jasper back again to the picture, and laughed softly.
"White boy's picture?" she said.
"Yes, Monima. Do you think it looks like me?"
She nodded emphatically.
"Two white boy—here and there," she said, pointing first to the picture, then to Jasper.
"Good-bye, Monima," he said.
But the Indian girl was evidently tired of the river, for she fastened the canoe and walked by his side. He kept up a conversation for some time, till she turned aside and entered a path which led into the woods.
"Does your father live there?" he asked.
"Yes," said Monima.
"Good-bye," he said.
She didn't say good-bye, but uttered a word which was probably the Indian equivalent for it, and was soon lost to his sight.
"Well, that's romantic, to begin with," thought Jasper. "The daughter of a great chief has ferried me across the river, and I have given her my photograph. The next romantic thing that happens to me may be my losing my way, but I hope not."
He had a general idea of the way he wanted to go, but after awhile he became perplexed, and was led to doubt whether he had not gone astray.
"I wish I could find somebody to guide me," he thought.
He had his wish. A few rods farther on he came upon a man stretched upon the grass under a tree.
"I have lost my way," he began, but before he could finish the sentence the man sprang to his feet, and, to his dismay, he recognized Jack, the man who had had him locked up in St. Louis.
CHAPTER XXXVI.
IN DIFFICULTIES.
Jack looked at first surprised, then smiled with malicious joy as he recognized the boy who accosted him.
"Ha! my chicken, it's you, is it?" he said. "You remember me, don't you?"
"Yes, I remember you," said Jasper.
"I thought I'd get hold of you again some time," said Jack, "but hang me if I expected to find you out here. What brings you here?"
"I came here on business," said Jasper.
"So you are a man of business, are you?" sneered the burglar.
"I am in the employ of Herman Fitch, of St. Louis."
"The father of the boy that Dick kidnapped?"
"Yes."
"Did he send you out here?"
"Yes."
"What for?"
"On a little matter of business," said Jasper, with reserve.
"Oh, that's it. Well, you didn't expect the pleasure of seeing me, did you?"
"I don't consider it a pleasure," said Jasper, boldly.
"Ha! you are a bold boy."
"I speak the truth."
"Well, it isn't always best to speak the truth," said Jack, frowning.
"Shall I lie to you, then?"
"Don't be impudent."
"I shan't say I am glad to see you when I am not."
"Perhaps you are right, boy. You will have no reason to be glad to see me. Follow me."
"I would rather not."
"Follow me, or I will drive this knife into you!" said Jack, savagely, displaying a murderous-looking weapon which he carried in his girdle.
Resistance would have been unavailing and dangerous, and Jasper obeyed, resolved, however, to escape at the first opportunity.
Jack led the way into the woods, not far, however, and finally paused under a large tree.
"Sit down," he said, imperiously.
He threw himself down on the green sward, and Jasper, not very comfortable in mind, sat down near him.
"Now, young fellow," said Jack, "I've got some questions to ask you."
"I suppose he is going to ask me about my escape," thought Jasper, and he was right.
"How did you get away from that room where you were locked up?"
"I got out of the sliding-door," said Jasper.
"How did you get out of the house? Did the old man help you?"
"No," said Jasper.
"Did you go out through the front door?"
"No."
"Don't keep me asking questions," said Jack, harshly. "How did you get out, then?"
"Through the door in the roof. From there I got in through the window into a room in the next house."
"Ha!" said Jack. "I never thought of that. Did you have any trouble with the people there?"
"No; I got into the room of a German, who let me spend the night with him and take breakfast."
"So, that's the way you managed it?"
"Yes."
Jasper felt relieved that no question had been asked him as to Nancy's agency in effecting his release. He would not have betrayed her, at any rate, but his refusal to speak might have incensed Jack.
"Well," he said, "so much for that. Now, how much money have you got with you?"
This was a question which Jasper had expected and dreaded to hear, for nearly all the money in his possession belonged to his employer, and not to himself.
"Well, boy, I want an answer," said Jack, impatiently.
Jasper reluctantly drew out his pocket-book, containing, as we know, but a small portion of his money.
Jack took it, and, opening it, counted the money.
"Only twelve dollars!" he exclaimed, in disgust and disappointment.
"Don't take it," said Jasper, affecting to be very much disturbed.
"What business have you out here with such a paltry sum as twelve dollars?" demanded Jack, angrily.
"That's my business!" said Jasper.
"What do you mean, boy?"
"It certainly isn't your business how much money my employer gave me for expenses."
"Did he expect you to make the whole journey on this contemptible sum?"
"No."
"Where's the rest, then?"
"I am to collect some money before I return," answered Jasper, with a lucky thought.
Jack felt disappointed. The money Jasper was about to collect would do him no good, as, doubtless, the boy would take good care, if once released, not to be caught again.
"That's a miserable way of doing business," said Jack. "Suppose you shouldn't collect it?"
"Then I must write to the firm to send some money."
This gave Jack an idea, on which he afterward acted.
"But," continued Jasper, desirous of getting back some of the money in the pocket-book, "if you take away all my money I can't get to Plattville to make collections."
"Is that where you are to collect money?"
"Yes."
"Will you promise me the money after you have collected it?"
"No," answered Jasper.
"You won't, eh?"
"No; I have no right to. The money won't belong to me."
"That makes no difference."
"It makes a great deal of difference to me."
"Look here, boy," said Jack, frowning, "you evidently don't know the man you're talking to. You ain't going to bluff me off in that way," and he reinforced this declaration with an oath.
"I am trying to be faithful to my employer," said Jasper.
"You've got to be faithful to me."
"What claim have you on me?" asked Jasper.
"You're in my power—that's the claim I have. Do you understand that?"
"I understand what you mean," said Jasper.
"Then I've only to say that it'll be best for you to remember it."
"Tell me again what you want."
"What I did want was, that you should collect this money and bring it to me."
"I refuse."
"You needn't, for I don't intend to let you go out of my sight. I can't trust you. No; I have another plan in view."
Jasper did not ask what it was. He felt sure that it was nothing that he would be willing to do.
"What is the name of your employer?"
"Herman Fitch."
"Very good."
Jack drew from his pocket a small pocket-inkstand, a pen, and some paper.
"Now," said he, "I want you to write a letter."
"Write a letter! To whom?" inquired Jasper, in surprise.
"To this man Fitch, telling him that you have had your pocket picked and need some money. Tell him you will need at least seventy-five dollars, as you haven't been able to collect anything."
"I can't do it," said Jasper.
"Can't do it! What do you mean?"
"I mean that by such a letter I should deceive my employer and be obtaining money from him by false pretenses. I can't do it."
"Look here, boy," said Jack, sternly, "you don't know the man you are trifling with. I am a desperate man, and will stick at nothing. I have taken life before, and I am ready to do so again. Write this letter or I will kill you!"
Jasper listened with horror to this terrible confession and his equally terrible threat.
"Would you take my life for seventy-five dollars?" he said.
"Yes; your life is nothing to me, and I need the money. Quick, your answer!"
As he spoke he drew out a long, murderous-looking knife, and approached Jasper menacingly.
It was a terrible moment. Jack looked as if he fully intended to carry out his threat At any rate, there was danger of it. On the one side was death, on the other breach of trust.
Finally he decided.
"You may kill me if you will," he said at length, "but I won't write the letter."
Jack uttered an execration and raised the knife, but suddenly he uttered a stifled cry and fell to the ground, with blood spurting from a wound in his breast.
Jasper bounded to his feet in astonishment. He had shut his eyes, expecting death. His first glance was at the prostrate brigand. He saw that the wound was made by an arrow, which had penetrated the region of the heart. But who had sped the shaft? And was he also in danger? The question was soon answered.
Out from the underbrush emerged three figures. The foremost was the Indian maiden, Monima. Following her were two men of the same tribe. It was one of these who had shot at Jack.
"Is white boy hurt?" asked Monima, running to Jasper and surveying him anxiously.
"No," said Jasper. "Thank you, Monima."
"Monima is glad," said the Indian girl, joyfully.
Jack groaned, and Jasper came to his side and addressed him compassionately, though but a minute before Jack had been about to take his life. He saw that the blood was gushing forth from his wound.
"Is he badly wounded?" asked Jasper, turning to Monima.
She said something in her native language to the two men.
They spoke briefly, shaking their heads.
"White man will die," she said, interpreting to Jasper.
Our hero was shocked. It was the first time he had ever witnessed a violent death, and it struck him with horror.
He kneeled by Jack's side. Just then the wounded man opened his eyes.
"Who shot me?" he asked, with difficulty.
"The Indians."
Jack's glance fell upon the two men, and he tried to lift himself up, but the effort caused his wound to bleed more copiously. He burst into a volley of oaths, which in his state shocked Jasper.
"Don't swear," he said. "Would you go into the presence of God with an oath in your mouth?"
Jack's face grew livid with terror.
"Who says I am going to die?" he asked, wildly.
"The Indians say you cannot live," said Jasper, gravely.
"It's a lie!" exclaimed Jack, violently. "I'll live to kill you all!"
As he spoke he plucked the arrow from his breast; but this only hastened his death. He fell back exhausted, and in five minutes breathed his last.
Jasper looked so shocked that the Indian girl said, in a tone of surprise:
"Is white boy sorry?"
"Yes," said Jasper.
"What for? He try to kill white boy."
"Yes; but it seems awful to see him killed so suddenly. I wish he could have lived long enough to repent."
Monima could not understand this.
"He bad man!" she said, emphatically. "He try to kill white boy. Monima white boy's friend."
Jasper took the hand of Monima gratefully and said:
"You have saved me, Monima. But for you he would have killed me."
The Indian girl's eyes lighted up, but she only said:
"Monima is glad."
"How fortunate that I fell in with her," thought Jasper, "and that I made a friend of her!"
"Where white boy go to-night?" asked Monima.
"I don't know," said Jasper, doubtfully.
"Come to my father's lodge. In the morning Monima will show the way."
"Thank you, Monima," said our hero. "I will go."
He felt that he could not refuse such an offer from one who had rendered him such a service. Moreover, it relieved him from embarrassment, as he would not have known otherwise where to pass the night, which was now close at hand.
CHAPTER XXXVII.
A STARTLING SUMMONS.
The Indian encampment was only half a mile away. There were assembled about fifty persons, men, women, and children, lying on the grass about the tents. Monima's favor was sufficient to insure a cordial reception to Jasper, who was pressed to partake of supper, an offer he was glad to accept, for it was now seven hours since he had eaten food. After the repast a pipe was offered him, but this he declined, explaining that he never had learned to smoke. On the whole, he enjoyed the adventure, except that he could not help thinking from time to time of his late companion, cut off so suddenly. He learned from Monima that her two attendants had remained behind and buried Jack under the tree where he had been killed.
At night he slept on skins in one of the tents, and in the morning he was guided on his way by Monima as far as the road.
The Indian maiden looked sad when they were about to part.
"When will white boy come back?" she said.
"I don't know, Monima. I hope to see you again, some time, but perhaps you won't remember me."
"Monima never forgets," she answered.
"And I shall not forget."
Attached to his watch was a silver chain which he had bought in St. Louis three months before. He had noticed Momma's look of admiration directed toward it, and he determined to give it to her. Detaching his watch from it, he held it out to the Indian girl.
"Take it, Monima," he said. "It is a gift of friendship."
She uttered a cry of pleasure.
"You give it to Monima?" she said, half incredulous.
"Yes," he said.
"And I have nothing to give white boy," she said, sadly.
"You have given me my life. Is that nothing, Monima? Keep the chain, and whenever you look at it remember Jasper."
So they parted, and Jasper pursued his journey to Plattville. He reached the town without further adventure, and conducted satisfactorily the business with which he was intrusted. He succeeded in obtaining half the money due his employer, and in making arrangements for the speedy payment of the rest. So it was with a mind well satisfied that he returned to St. Louis.
When he told Mr. Fitch the particulars of his encounter with Jack, and his escape, the latter said, earnestly:
"Jasper, you are the bravest boy I know."
"I am afraid you overrate my services," said Jasper, modestly.
"And you really refused to write the letter, though you knew your life was in danger?"
"I was not willing to betray my trust."
"I honor your courage and fidelity, but you carried them too far. We would far rather have lost ten times seventy-five dollars than risked your life."
"I didn't think of that, I only thought it would be wrong to defraud you."
"We shall not forget your fidelity. You may consider your wages raised to twenty dollars a week."
"Thank you, sir," said Jasper, gratified.
"It is not merely on account of your courage and fidelity, but partly because of the business ability you have shown in carrying on this affair."
Again Jasper thanked his employer, and went about his duties with fresh courage, feeling that his services were appreciated.
"I am glad I came to St. Louis," he thought. "How much better I am situated than I should have been at home, tyrannized over by a step-mother by whom I was disliked."
Three months more passed, when one day a boy entered the store.
"Is Jasper Kent here?" he asked.
"Yes," said Jasper, coming forward, "that is my name."
"I have a telegram for you," said the boy. Jasper tore it open, and read these words:
"Come home at once. Your step-mother is dying.
"Otis Miller."
Shocked at this startling intelligence, Jasper at once sought his employer, obtained leave of absence, and took the next train bound east.
We must precede him and explain what had happened, and what occasioned Mrs. Kent's critical condition.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
DICK COMES BACK.
When Mrs. Kent's brother left her house with fifty dollars in his pocket she warned him that it was the last money he could expect to receive from her. He did not reply, but he had no intention of remaining satisfied with so little.
"What is fifty dollars?" he thought, "to my sister's fortune? She needn't think she has got rid of me so easily."
At that time he expected to make her another visit in the course of a month or two, but circumstances prevented. The fact is, he was imprudent enough to commit theft and incautious enough to be detected, not long afterward, and the consequence was a term of imprisonment.
When he was released from confinement he at once made his way to his sister's house.
As before, Nicholas was standing on the lawn. His countenance changed when he recognized his uncle, though he didn't know that he had just come from a prison.
"How are you, Nicholas?" said his uncle.
"I'm well," said his nephew, coldly.
"Really, you have grown a good deal since I saw you."
Even this compliment did not soften Nicholas, who turned his back and did not invite his uncle into the house.
Dick scowled in an ugly manner but controlled his voice.
"How is your mother?"
"She's got the headache."
"I am sorry. I have been sick, too."
Nicholas did not exhibit the slightest curiosity on the subject.
"I have just come from the hospital," a slight fiction, as we know.
This aroused Nicholas, who retreated a little as he asked:
"Did you have anything catching?"
"No; besides, I'm well now. I should like to see your mother."
"I don't think she feels well enough to see you."
"Will you go up and see? I want to see her on important business."
Nicholas went up stairs grumbling.
"Well, mother," he said, "that disreputable brother of yours has come again."
Mrs. Kent's brow contracted.
"Where is he?" she asked.
"Down stairs. He wants to see you, he says."
"How does he look?"
"Worse than ever. He says he has just come from a hospital."
"From a hospital? He has a good deal of assurance to come here," said Mrs. Kent, with a hard look.
"So he has."
"I will tell you why," said his mother, in a lower tone. "He has not told you the truth. He has not come from a hospital, as he represents."
"Why should he say so, then?" asked Nicholas, surprised.
"Because he didn't like to say prison."
"Has he been in prison? How do you know?"
"I saw an account in the papers of his arrest and conviction. I suppose he has just come out of prison."
"Why didn't you tell me of this before, mother?"
"I wanted to keep the disgrace secret, on account of the relationship. When he finds I know it, I shall soon be rid of him."
"Will you see him, then?"
"Yes; I will go down stairs, and you may tell him to come in."
Two minutes later the ex-convict entered his sister's presence. He read no welcome in her face.
"Hang it!" he said, "you don't seem very glad to see your only brother."
"You are right," she said; "I do not seem glad, and I do not feel glad."
His face darkened as he sank heavily into an arm-chair.
"I suppose I'm a poor relation," he said, bitterly. "That's the reason, isn't it?"
"No."
"You'd treat me better if I came here rich and prosperous."
"Probably I would."
"Didn't I say so? You haven't any feelings for the poor."
"I haven't any feeling for criminals," said Mrs. Kent, in a sharp voice.
He uttered a stifled oath and his face flushed.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"I mean that you came here straight from a prison; deny it if you can," she said, sternly.
He hesitated. Then he said:
"I'm not the only innocent man that's been locked up."
"You can't deceive me," she answered, "though you protest your innocence all day. I shall not believe you. I feel sure that you were guilty of the crime for which you were punished."
"It's rather hard that my own flesh and blood should turn against me."
"You have disgraced the family," said Mrs. Kent. "I discard you. I no longer look upon you as my brother."
"If you had not turned me off with such a pittance it wouldn't have happened," he said, sullenly. "Out of your abundance you only gave me fifty dollars."
"And you a stout, broad-shouldered man, must accept charity or steal!" she said, sarcastically.
"Luck has always been against me."
"Your own bad habits have always been against you."
"Look here," said he, doggedly, "I won't stand any more of that, even from my own sister."
"Very well. What have you come here for?"
"I'm out of money."
"And you expect me to supply you?"
"I think you might give me a little, just to get along."
"I shall not give you a cent. You have no claim upon me. I have already said that I no longer look upon you as a brother."
"Is that all you've got to say?" demanded Dick, his face growing dark with anger.
"It is my final determination."
"Then all I've got to say is, you'll repent it to the last day of your life!" he burst out, furiously. "I'll go away"—here he arose—"but I'll never forget your cruelty and harshness."
He strode out of the room, and she looked after him coldly.
"It is as well," she said to herself. "Now he understands that there is no more to be got out of me, I hope I shall never lay eyes upon him again."
"Well," said Nicholas, entering directly afterward, "what have you said to him? He dashed out of the yard, looking as black as a thunder-cloud."
"I told him that he had disgraced the family and I should never more acknowledge him as a brother."
"I'm glad you sent him off with a flea in his ear. I don't want to see him around here again."
"I don't think we shall."
There was one thing Mrs. Kent forgot—her brother's brutal temper and appetite for revenge. Had she thought of this she would, perhaps, have been more cautious about provoking him.
In the middle of the night Mrs. Kent awoke with a strange sense of oppression, the cause of which she did not immediately understand. As soon as she recovered her senses she comprehended the occasion—the crackling flames—and the fearful thought burst upon her:
"The house is on fire!"
She threw on her dress and dashed hastily from the room. She was about to seek the quickest mode of exit when she thought of Nicholas. He might be asleep, unconscious of his peril. She was a cold and selfish woman, but her one redeeming trait was her affection for her son. She rushed frantically to his chamber, screaming:
"Nicholas! Wake up! The house is on fire!"
She entered his chamber, but he was not in it. He had already escaped, and, full of selfish thoughts of his own safety, had fled without giving heed to his mother, though there would have been time for him to save her.
"He is safe!" thought Mrs. Kent, and, relieved of this anxiety, she sought to escape.
But the flames had gained too much headway. Her dress caught fire, and she ran frantically about, ignorant that in so doing she increased the peril. She was barely conscious of being seized and borne out by friendly hands. But though the flames were extinguished, she had already received fatal injuries. She lingered till the afternoon of the following day, and then died. Meanwhile Mr. Miller sent Jasper the telegram already referred to.
Nicholas looked serious when he was informed of his mother's death, but his was not a temperament to be seriously affected by the misfortune of another. His own interests were uppermost in his mind.
"Will I get mother's property?" he asked Mr. Miller, while that mother lay dead and disfigured in his presence.
"This is no time to speak of property," said Mr. Miller, coldly. "You ought to think of your poor mother's fate."
"Of course I do," said Nicholas, trying to look sorrowful; "but I want to know how I'm going to be situated."
"Wait till after the funeral, at any rate," said the other, disgusted.
CHAPTER XXXIX.
HOW IT ALL ENDED.
Jasper did not reach home till after the funeral had taken place and his step-mother was buried. Though he had little reason to like her, he was shocked and distressed by her sad and untimely fate.
"How could the house catch fire, Mr. Miller?" he asked.
"It is supposed to have been set on fire."
"Who would do it?"
"From what Nicholas tells me I suspect that the fire was the work of Mrs. Kent's brother."
"Her brother!" exclaimed Jasper. "I met him in the West."
"Then you probably know that he was not a very respectable character."
"I know that he was concerned in kidnapping a child."
"Nicholas tells me that he had just got out of prison, and applied to Mrs. Kent for help, which she refused. Incensed at this, he probably set the house on fire."
"I think he would be capable of doing it. Has he been arrested?"
"Not yet, but the police are on his track. I don't think he can escape."
"Nicholas doesn't seem to take his mother's death very hard."
"No. I am disgusted with his selfishness. He seems to be principally concerned about property which she leaves."
"I suppose he will inherit it."
"Yes. I don't know in what state it is, but it ought to amount to thirty thousand dollars. It is a large slice of your father's fortune."
"I do not begrudge it to him. I shall have enough."
"That reminds me that it is time to open the instrument which your father left with me."
The paper was opened then and there, and proved to contain the following direction: That in case Jasper and his step-mother did not get along harmoniously, his old friend, Mr. Miller, was empowered and requested to assume the guardianship of Jasper.
"That arrangement suits me precisely," said Jasper, warmly. "Will you accept the trust?"
"Cheerfully," said his friend. "I don't think there is any danger of our disagreeing."
Jasper shook his head.
"If there should be any disagreement it would be my fault," he said. "But won't Nicholas need a guardian?"
"Yes; one will have to be appointed."
"I suppose his uncle would be willing to take the post."
"His uncle, if found, will hardly be in a position to act in that capacity."
Dick was not found. He disappeared, and from that day was not seen in the neighborhood. It is supposed that he went West and found a secure concealment in some of the distant territories, where probably he is engaged in the same discreditable courses for which he was already notorious.
As was anticipated, Nicholas inherited about thirty thousand dollars. He selected as his guardian the young physician whom his mother had employed in her husband's last sickness. But the man proved faithless to his trust, and ran away with the entire fortune of his ward, leaving him absolutely penniless. In this emergency Nicholas, humbled and mortified, appealed to Jasper to help him.
With his guardian's permission, Jasper agreed, during his good behavior, to pay for his use an annual sum of five hundred dollars, urging him to continue at school. But this did not suit Nicholas. He obtained a place in New York, where he soon developed fast tendencies, and ended by running away with a considerable sum of money belonging to his employer. It was believed that he went to California. His employer took no steps to apprehend him, Jasper having agreed to make up to him the sum—nine hundred dollars—which Nicholas had appropriated. For him it was a saving, since by his conduct Nicholas had forfeited the annual provision he had agreed to make for him.
And what became of Jasper? By his guardian's advice he went to school for two years more. Then he returned to St. Louis, and again entered the employment of Mr. Fitch.
At twenty-one, with a portion of his property, he bought an interest in the business and became junior partner, and is now one of the most respected and enterprising young business men in that flourishing city. He was recently united in marriage to a charming young lady, the daughter of a prosperous Western merchant, and so his prospects seem as bright as could well be hoped for.