Phils Father signs the Pledge.Page 193.
Phils Father signs the Pledge.Page 193.
"I am willing; and I feel a hope, even now, madam, that God has heard your prayer for a poor wretch like me."
"Sign, then; and God bless you, and enable you to keep this solemn covenant with him."
She took the writing materials from the bureau, and my father, with trembling hand, wrote his name upon the pledge.
"May God enable me to keep it!" said he, fervently, as he completed the flourish beneath the signature.
"Amen!" ejaculated Mrs. Greenough. "May you be as faithful as he was whose name is on the paper with you."
"Stimulated by his example, and by your kindness, I trust I shall be," said my father.
Mrs. Greenough then provided a light supper for him, of which he partook, and very soon retired. I told my kind landlady that I had recovered my money, and should now be able to pay my father's board for a time. She hadnot thought of that matter, and would be glad to take care of him for nothing if she could only save him. As I went to bed I could not but congratulate myself upon finding such a kind and devoted friend as she had proved to be.
IN WHICH PHIL MEETS THE LAST OF THE ROCKWOODS.
The next day my father was quite sick; but Mrs. Greenough was an angel at his bedside, and I went to my work as usual. I was filled with hope that the wanderer might yet be reclaimed. Though I longed intensely to see my mother, I think if I had known she was in the city I should not have sought to find her, for I desired to carry to her the joyful news of the salvation of my father. When I could say that he was no longer a drunkard, I should be glad to meet her with this intelligence upon my lips. But she was wandering in distant lands. Plenty and luxury surrounded her, while I was struggling to earn my daily bread, and to take care of my father. The fact that she was in affluence was consoling to me, andI was the more willing to cling to my father in his infirmities.
When I went to work that morning I was introduced to a plane and a plank—to test my ability, I supposed, for the men had not yet finished shingling the roof. A plank partition was to be put up in order to make a counting-room in one corner of the storehouse. I had never in my life seen a plane till I came to St. Louis; but I had carefully observed the instrument and its uses. Conant told me how to handle it with ease and effect, and instructed me in setting the iron, so as to make it cut more or less deeply, according to the work to be done.
It was hard work, harder than boarding or shingling; but I made it unnecessarily severe for the first hour, and though it was a cool day, the sweat poured off me in big drops. I had not yet got the hang of the thing; but when Conant came from the roof for a bundle of shingles, he looked in to see how I succeeded. A little more instruction from him put me on the right track, and I worked much easier; in a word, I learned to use the plane.After removing the rough side from the plank, it was a relief to handle the smoothing-plane, and I polished off the wood to my own satisfaction and that of my employer.
In the afternoon I was sent upon the roof again to lay shingles, and we finished that part of the job before night. At six o'clock all the hands were paid off for their week's work. I felt considerable interest in this performance. I had worked three days, and at the price agreed upon I was entitled to a dollar and a half.
"I shall not want you any longer, Blair," said Mr. Clinch to the young fellow of whom Conant had spoken so disparagingly to me. "I owe you six dollars; here is the amount."
"You don't want me any longer?" replied Blair, as he took his wages.
"No."
"Why not?"
"You don't suit me. I can't afford to pay you six dollars a week for what you do," answered the employer, bluntly. "You don't understand the business, and you don't try tolearn it. That boy there does twice as much work in a day as you do."
I did not think it right to hear any more of this conversation, and moved away. Though I was pleased with the compliment, I was sorry to have it bestowed upon me at the expense or to the disparagement of another. I walked around the building, but I was soon sent for to receive my wages.
"Phil, you have done remarkably well," said Mr. Clinch; "and I want to use you well. You handle a plane well for one who never saw one before, and I think you were born to be a carpenter."
"Thank you, sir," I replied. "You give me all the credit I deserve."
"And I give you a dollar a day for your work, for you have done twice as much as I expected of you," he added, handing me three dollars. "I supposed you would be in the way at first, and I only took you to oblige Captain Davis."
"I have done the best I knew how, and shall always do so; but I don't ask any morethan you agreed to give me. I am entitled to only half of this."
"Yes, you are. I agreed to give you more if you were worth it. Conant says you have done a man's work most of the time. Of course you can't do that on the average. But you will be worth about a dollar a day to me, now that I have discharged Morgan Blair."
"Thank you, sir; you are very kind."
"Kind! Nonsense! I am only doing the fair thing by you. When I think you are worth more than a dollar a day, I shall give it to you. On the other hand, I shall discharge you when I don't want you, or when you are lazy or clumsy. I always speak my mind."
I saw that he did, to Blair as well as to me, and I was very thankful for having obtained so good an employer. I was determined to merit his good will by doing my duty faithfully to him.
I went home, and found my father more comfortable than in the morning; but he was still very sick, and unable to leave his bed. In the evening I went out to purchase a suit of clothes, which I so much needed. I obtained a completeoutfit, which would enable me to attend church the next day, looking like other young men of my age, in the humbler walks of life. Mrs. Greenough had been very particular in urging me to be prepared for church and Sunday school, and had even offered to lend me money to purchase the needed articles. I told her I had never been to church in my life, and I was very glad of the opportunity.
When my bundle was ready I turned to leave the store. A young man, whose form and dress looked familiar to me,—though I did not see his face, for he was looking at the goods in a glass case,—followed me into the street.
"Phil," said he; and I recognized the voice of Morgan Blair, the young man who had been discharged that afternoon by Mr. Clinch.
I paused to see what he wanted, though I was not very anxious to make his acquaintance after what I knew of him.
"What is it?" I asked.
"I want to see you about a matter that interests me," he added.
"What is that?"
"They say you came from way up the Missouri River. Is that so?"
"That's so."
"Conant said you did. I want to know something about the country up there, and I suppose you can tell me."
"What do you want to know?"
"I have an uncle up there somewhere, and I want to find him if I can."
"Do you know in what region he is located?" I inquired.
"I do not; that is what I want to ascertain. Conant told me you came from that country, and I meant to talk with you about it; but you put my pipe out, and I was discharged to-day. I saw you go into that store, and I thought I would wait for you."
"What do you mean by putting your pipe out?"
"Didn't you put my pipe out?"
"I didn't even know that you smoked."
"You are rather green, but you have just come from the country. I meant that you caused me to be discharged."
"I did?"
"You heard Clinch say that I did not do half as much work as you did?"
"Yes; I heard that; but it was not my fault."
"I didn't do any more than I could help, and you put in all you knew how. If you hadn't come, Clinch never would have suspected that I wasn't doing enough for a boy. I don't believe in breaking your back for six dollars a week. But never mind that now. When can I see you and talk over this other matter with you?"
"I can tell you now all I know," I replied.
"I think I shall go up the Missouri, if I have any chance of finding my uncle."
"You can't go up this season. No steamers leave so late as this. When did you see your uncle?"
"I never saw him, and I shouldn't know him if I met him to-night. He has been up in the woods for twenty years, I believe."
"What is his name?"
"Rockwood."
"Rockwood!" I exclaimed, startled by his answer.
"Yes; my mother was his sister."
"What was his other name?"
"Matthew. He left Illinois before I was born; but my mother heard from him about ten years ago. Somebody—I don't know who it was—saw him at a wood-yard, and he sent word by this person that he was alive and well, but did not think he should ever come back to Illinois. His name was Matthew Rockwood. Did you ever hear of such a man?"
"I have, and I knew him well."
"You don't say so!" replied he, astonished in his turn. "Where is the place?"
"On the Missouri, between Bear and Fish Creeks."
"Well, I don't know any better now than I did before. What was the old man doing?"
"He has been hunting, trapping, and selling wood; but he is not living now."
"Dead—is he?"
"Yes; he died last spring."
"You don't say it!"
"There was some trouble with the Indians in that region, and he was shot in a skirmish with them."
"The last of them is gone, then," added Blair.
"Matt Rockwood had a brother—did he not?"
"He did have—but he is dead; and my mother died two years ago. And so uncle Matt is dead too?"
"Yes."
"The man that told my mother about him thought he must be making money out there, for he sold a great deal of wood to the steamers. Do you know anything about it?"
"I know all about it."
"You lived near him, then?"
"I lived with him. To tell the whole story in a few words, I was brought up by Matt Rockwood, and I was at his side when he was killed by the Indians. But here is my boarding-house, and I don't care about going any farther."
"But I want to know more about my uncle."
"Come in, then."
I conducted him up stairs to Mrs. Greenough's kitchen; and, after ascertaining that myfather was still very comfortable, I seated myself with Morgan Blair.
"It is a little odd that I should stumble upon you," said he.
"Rather," I replied; and it seemed to be another of my mishaps, for in him had appeared an heir to Matt Rockwood's little property, which had come into my possession.
I told him all about his uncle; how he had lived and how he had died.
"Did he have any property?" asked Blair.
"Why do you ask?"
"Why do I ask? Well, that's a good one! My father and mother are both dead, and I suppose I am the last of the Rockwoods. I am now out of business, with less than ten dollars in the world; and why do I ask whether my uncle had any property?"
"He had his farm—a quarter section of land," I added.
"How much is it worth?"
"Perhaps it is worth as much as it would cost you to go up there and back."
"That's hopeful."
"There were a couple of horses, a lot ofhogs, a log house and barn, and the farming tools."
"Well, what are they worth?"
"They are worth considerable to a person who wishes to live up there."
"But I don't wish to live up there."
"Then they are worth whatever you can sell them for. Kit Cruncher has the farm; but I think you will find that squatter sovereignty prevails up there; and a man in possession, without any claim, is better off than a man with a title, but not in possession."
"Then I have no chance, you think?"
"On the contrary, I know that Kit Cruncher is an honest man, and if you prove your claim, he will either pay you the fair value of the place, or give it up to you."
"But didn't my uncle have any money?"
"Yes; he left about nine hundred dollars in gold," I replied.
"Whew!" exclaimed Blair, opening his eyes.
IN WHICH PHIL CALLS UPON MR. LAMAR, AND DOES NOT FIND HIM.
Ihad heard nothing from Mr. Gracewood since my arrival in St. Louis. He had in his possession all the moneyed property which had come to me from the estate of Matt Rockwood. I had placed no little dependence upon the fifteen hundred in gold, which I regarded as my inheritance; and now an heir appeared, who certainly had a better legal claim than I had.
"Nine hundred dollars!" exclaimed Morgan Blair again, and with as much satisfaction as though this large sum was already in his own hands.
"And after his death we sold off wood and produce enough to amount to over seven hundred dollars more."
"Better and better," added Blair. "Go on,Phil; perhaps you can make it up to two thousand."
"I can't very easily make it any more," I replied.
"Well, I'm satisfied as it is. Now, can you tell me where this money is?"
"A friend of mine has fifteen hundred dollars in gold, and I have his note for it."
"Exactly so; and perhaps you won't object to handing the note over to me, and telling me where I can find your friend."
"I must say that I do object."
"You do?"
"Certainly I do."
"But I am the last of the Rockwoods. Don't you think I look like my uncle Matt?"
"I don't see it."
"Nor I; but my mother said I did. Be that as it may, you must see that this money belongs to me, and not to you."
"I don't even see that."
"Don't be mean about it, Phil."
"I don't intend to be. I have told you the whole truth, and now I don't care about talking any more on the subject."
"That's rather cool. You have my money, and you won't give it to me."
"Certainly not; I don't know anything about you. I never even heard old Matt say he had a sister."
"That's nothing to do with me. He did have one, and I am her son."
"It's no use to say anything more about it. When Mr. Gracewood, who has the money, arrives, I will speak to him about it."
"But I can't wait."
"You must wait."
"Couldn't you let me have a little of it?" persisted he.
"No, I could not. You haven't proved your claim yet."
"I will prove it."
"When you have done so, the money shall be paid."
"But I must go to Vandalia to obtain the proof; and I haven't money enough to pay my expenses."
"I can't help that."
"Haven't you any money?"
"I have, and I intend to keep it for my own use."
"But the money is mine. I am the last of the Rockwoods. I know you have nearly a hundred dollars; or you had before you went into that shop. That money is mine, and when you spend a dollar of it you steal it. That's what's the matter."
"I think you have said enough about it, and we will end up the matter here," I replied, disgusted with his impudence, and wondering how he knew that I had nearly a hundred dollars.
I refused to say anything more, and he threatened me with the terrors of the law, and even with his individual vengeance. He teased me to let him have fifty dollars on account, and declared he would have me arrested if I did not comply. Finally I put on my cap, and he followed me into the street, for I found I could get rid of him in no other way. As soon as he was outside of the door, I made a flank movement upon him, and returned to the house, shutting him out as I entered. He did not trouble me any more that night, but I expected to see him again soon.
I was inclined to believe that he was what he represented himself to be, for I did not see how he could know anything about Matt Rockwood. It was very singular that he had stumbled upon me so blindly, and I regarded my fortune as already lost. I was sorry that Matt's heir had appeared, for I had considered how convenient this large sum of money would be when I began to look for my mother. I had thought, as soon as my father's reformation was in a measure assured, of going to Chicago to see my grandfather, Mr. Collingsby. My wages, even at six dollars a week, would no more than pay my father's and my own board. But I was fully determined to be honest; and, if the fifteen hundred dollars belonged to Morgan Blair, he should have it, as soon as he satisfied me that he was the "last of the Rockwoods," even without any legal forms. The next day my father was a little better, and sat up a portion of the time. Mrs. Greenough nursed him most tenderly, and insisted that I should go to Sunday school and to church in the forenoon. I dressed myself in my new clothes, and when my father saw me he smiled, and seemed to be proud of his boy. I went to Sunday school at the church which my landlady attended; and I realized all my pleasant anticipations of the occasion. I was put into a class of boys of my own age, and listened attentively to the instructions of my teacher, who, I afterwards learned to my surprise, was one of the wealthiest merchants in the city, though he was very plain in his manners and in his dress.
What was so new and strange, and withal so exceedingly pleasant to me, is familiar to all my readers, and I need not describe it. Mr. Phillips, my teacher, had an attentive scholar in me, and immediately took an interest in me. He promised to call and see me some evening, and presented me a class book for use in the school and at home. I was astonished at his kindness and condescension, when Mrs. Greenough told me who and what he was. The services in the church were not less novel and interesting to me; and I am sure that I was deeply impressed by the prayers, the singing, and the sermon. In the afternoon I staid at home with my father, and Mrs. Greenough went to church. I read the Bible and the library book I had obtained at the Sunday schoolto him, and he was as much interested as I was. In the evening I went to the prayer-meeting; and when I retired I felt more like being good and true than ever before.
On Monday I was at the plane and plank again, and when night came I was never so tired in my life, not even when I had tramped through the woods for a day and a night. I did not go out; but Mr. Lamar and Mr. Gray called to inquire for my father. As I had told them all about my relations with Matt Rockwood, and that I had the money he had left, I ventured to ask their advice in regard to the claimant who had appeared in the person of Morgan Blair.
"Don't pay him a dollar," said Mr. Lamar, who was a very prudent man, as I had learned before.
"I have no doubt he is the nephew of Matt Rockwood," I replied.
"If he is, he must prove his claim. Do nothing, Phil, without the advice of your friends, especially Mr. Gracewood."
"As he has the money, I shall not be likely to do anything."
"The fellow may be an impostor," suggested Mr. Gray.
"I think that is impossible. He came to me simply to inquire about the country on the upper Missouri, and said he had an uncle up there. Then he gave me the name of Matthew Rockwood. If he were an impostor, he could not have done that."
"Perhaps it is all right as you say; but don't pay him anything till we have the evidence," added Mr. Lamar.
My friends left me, and the door had hardly closed behind them before Morgan Blair called to see me. He pressed me to let him have fifty dollars to enable him to go to Vandalia; but I continued to refuse, and as before he waxed angry and threatened me.
"It's no use, Blair. I shall not let you have a dollar. I have consulted Mr. Lamar and Mr. Gray, and I act under their advice. If you want to do anything about it, go and see them."
"I don't know them, and don't want to know them. My business is with you, and I will follow you till you give me that money. It belongs to me, and I ought to have it."
"You can do as you think best; but following me won't do any good. If you will wait till Mr. Gracewood comes, he will be able to settle the question. He was with us when your uncle was killed. Perhaps Matt spoke to him about his sister."
"Do you doubt my word?"
"No; but if I should pay this money to you, Matt's brother might come after it."
"I tell you he is dead."
"That must be proved."
"I suppose I shall have to prove that I'm not dead myself, by and by."
"If you can prove the rest as easily, as you can prove that, you will be all right. When I hear from Mr. Gracewood I will let you know."
"I can't wait."
"Very well; then go to work at once in the right way."
"What's that?"
"Go to the territory where your uncle lived and died, have an administrator appointed, and he can legally claim the effects of Matt Rockwood," I replied, rehearsing the information imparted to me by Mr. Lamar.
"I can't go up there."
"Go to a lawyer, then, and he will advise you what to do."
"I haven't any money to pay a lawyer. I haven't a dollar left. I lost nearly all I had."
"Lost it? Where?"
"At Forstellar's," he replied.
"Gambling?"
"Well, I played a little. I wanted to make a little money somehow."
"But you didn't make any?"
"Made it out of pocket."
"I should go to work if I were you."
His confession gave me a new revelation in regard to his character, and I was the more determined not to let him have a dollar. He pleaded, begged, and threatened; but I was firm, and he left me.
When I came home to dinner the next day, I found a letter from Mr. Gracewood in reply to mine. With trembling hands I opened it. The writer began by saying that he was very glad to hear from me, and that he had worried a great deal about me. Mrs. Gracewood had been very sick, but was now slowly improving. He did not think he should be able to leave for St. Louis for two or three weeks. Ella was well, and sent her regards to me. This was favorable news, and I was very much rejoiced to receive the letter. I wrote immediately, giving him a full account of what had happened to me since we parted, and sent the letter by the next mail.
Phil reading the Bible to his Father.Page 212.
Phil reading the Bible to his Father.Page 212.
My father improved very slowly, but I was not sure that his illness was not a blessing to him, for he was unable to go out of the house, and the process of weaning him from whiskey was thus assisted very materially. On Saturday night, after I had been paid off, I found a letter at the house. I opened it, and looked first at the signature, which was Pierre Lamar. He wrote that he wished to see me about the money matter of which I had spoken to him, and desired me to call at a place in Fourth Street which he designated. In a postscript he requested me to bring the note which Mr. Gracewood had given for the money.
After supper, with the note in my pocket, I hastened to the place indicated. It appeared to be a dwelling-house, and I rang the bell atthe front door, which was presently opened by a man in a white jacket. I asked for Mr. Lamar, and was assured that he was in his room. I was conducted up three flights of stairs, and the man knocked at a door. I thought Mr. Lamar ought to be able to afford better accommodations for himself; but the door opened, and I entered the room.
I looked for my friend; but instead of him, I saw only Mr. Leonidas Lynchpinne and Morgan Blair.
IN WHICH PHIL FINDS HIMSELF A PRISONER IN THE GAMBLERS' ROOM.
Iwas not suspicious; I had no idea that any one intended to wrong me. I was even willing to believe that Morgan Blair was sincere, and really thought that I ought to advance him money from the estate of his uncle, even before he had proved his claim. After all, it is pleasant to believe that no one intends to injure you; it is even better to be occasionally deceived than to be always suspicious.
I went up the stairs in the house to which the note from Mr. Lamar had given me the address without a suspicion that anything was, or could be, wrong. I had never before seen the handwriting of my correspondent, and had no reason to suppose that the note was a fraudupon me. Though I had had a sharp experience of the villany of men since I came from my home in the wilderness, I was still a child in the ways of the great world.
I entered the room to which I had been conducted by the man in a white jacket, and the door was instantly closed behind me and locked. The apartment was an attic chamber, on the fourth floor of the house, and contained the ordinary furniture of a bedroom. Mr. Leonidas Lynchpinne, otherwise Lynch, sat in a rocking-chair, smoking a cigar. Blair had slipped in behind me when I entered in order to secure the door; and having done this, he took a chair near the blackleg. On a small table, over which hung the gas-light, was a silver box, such as I had seen in the hands of Redwood at Leavenworth. It contained a pack of cards, and another lay upon the table. There was also a dice-box, and some other gambling implements, of which I do not even know the names. I concluded, from the position of the parties and the articles on the table between them, that Lynchhad been giving the young man a lesson in the art of winning money.
"How are you, Phil Farringford?" said Lynch, with a sort of triumphant smile, which indicated the pleasure he felt at the success of his trick.
"How are you, Mr. Leonidas Lynchpinne?" I replied, cheerfully; for I felt it to be my duty to demonstrate that I was not alarmed at my situation.
The demonstration was not a feint, either. I felt an utter contempt for Lynch, and, now that I realized his rascality, for Morgan Blair. I had fought the savage Indians in the forest, which had developed my courage, if nothing more. I glanced around the room, and saw at the grate an iron poker, with which I thought I might neutralize the odds against me, in case the interview resulted in anything more dangerous to life and health than mere words. The letter, in its postscript, as though it had been an afterthought, requested me to bring Mr. Gracewood's note. Blair had asked me to give it up to him. I was inclined to think that the parties before me wanted thisnote, though I could not imagine what earthly use it could be to them.
"You need not call me by that name any longer," added Lynch, biting his lip, and evidently vexed to find that I was not intimidated by my situation.
"As you gave me the name of Leonidas Lynchpinne, I shall consult my own inclination, rather than yours, in the use of it."
"You will change your tune before you are an hour older, Phil."
"If I do I shall take the pitch from you."
"You are here at my summons, my lad."
"I see now that I am; brought here by a lie and a swindle, which seem be your stock in trade."
"Don't be impudent, Phil."
"If you speak to me like a gentleman, I will answer you in the same way. You need not put on airs."
"I have business with you, Phil."
"I have no business with you; and I respectfully decline having anything whatever to do with you."
"Your declination is not accepted. I want totell you that I never forget a friend or forgive an enemy."
"I have fought Indians before, and though I don't like the business, I can do it again."
"Do you call that talking like a gentleman, Phil?"
"No gentleman ever utters an Indian sentiment."
"You are in my power, Phil, and you had better come down from that high horse."
"I'm not in your power, and never shall be till I become a thief, a blackleg, and a swindler," I replied, calmly, as I glanced at Morgan Blair, who, I thought, was completely in his power.
"What!" exclaimed Lynch, springing to his feet, his face red with anger.
I fell back two or three steps, and quietly took up the poker, which rested against the bracket at the side of the grate.
"What are you going to do with that?" demanded he.
"That will depend upon circumstances."
"Drop that poker!"
"For the present I shall regard this pokeras a part of myself; and I hope you will so regard it."
"You impudent puppy!"
"Foul words are cheap, defiling only him who utters them," I added, quoting a sentence from the instructions of Mr. Gracewood.
"I'm not to be trifled with, Phil," said Lynch, taking a small Derringer pistol from his pocket.
"That's just my case," I answered, elevating the poker.
"Look here, Lynch," interrupted Morgan Blair, rising from his chair in evident alarm, "if you are going to use pistols and such things, I won't have anything to do with the scrape."
"Shut up, Blair!" replied Lynch.
"I won't!"
"You are a fool!" exclaimed the older villain, dropping into his rocking-chair with an expression of utter disgust upon his face.
I felt that I was fighting my battle very well indeed, and I was encouraged in the course I had chosen.
"I don't want any shooting where I am," said Blair. "I'm willing to lick him within aninch of his life, if he don't play fair, but I don't want him shot."
Phil defies Lynch.Page 224.
Phil defies Lynch.Page 224.
"I don't intend to shoot him, unless he attacks me with that poker. I want to show him that two can play at his game," added Lynch. "Will you drop that poker, Phil?"
"I will not."
"If you undertake to use it, I want you to understand that pistol balls travel faster than pokers."
"Very true; and if you are satisfied with your pistol, I am with my poker. I am ready to end this meeting at any time."
"I am not ready to end it. I have business with you. I don't forgive an enemy."
"I do, when he deserves to be forgiven."
"None of your cant! I'm not going to a prayer-meeting with you now."
"It would do you good to go to one; and I know of no one who needs to go any more than you."
"If you can hold your tongue long enough, we will proceed to business, Phil."
"I have no business to proceed to; and I'mgoing to speak as I feel inclined," I replied, resting the poker in a chair near me.
"I have business with you, if you have not with me. As I told you, I never forgive an enemy."
"As I told you before, that is an Indian sentiment."
"Will you hold your tongue?"
"No, sir, I will not."
"You knocked me down in the street, and took my money from me."
"At your request I took it; and you were kind enough to pay me the balance in my favor when we parted at the police station," I replied.
"You must give me back that money, Phil."
"Not if I know it. Let me remind you that the money belonged to me, and that I did not charge you any interest upon it for the time you had it."
"The money wasn't yours. It belonged to Matt Rockwood. You stole it; and I intended to get all I could for my friend here, Morgan Blair, to whom all of it belongs."
"You and your friend seem to understandeach other very well, except so far as the pistol is concerned."
"I act for him. He is a young fellow, and don't know much about the ways of the world."
"He appears to be learning very rapidly."
"He is the rightful heir of the man up the river, whose money you have. I expect you to give it up to him."
"And I expect to do so myself, just as soon as he proves the claim. Though I think I have a better right to the money than he has, I will give it up whenever he satisfies me that he is the nephew of Matt Rockwood. If this is your business with me, you can't get ahead any farther with it to-night."
"Have you the note with you—the note of Mr.—What's his name?"
"Mr. Gracewood," added Blair.
"I respectfully decline to answer," I replied.
"But you must give it up before you leave this house."
"Then I shall stay here longer than you will want to board me."
"I don't intend to board you," sneered Lynch. "You will neither eat nor drink till you giveup this note, and the hundred dollars you got out of me at the police station."
"So far as the money is concerned, I spent a part of it, and the rest I left at my boarding-house."
"You can give me an order on your landlady for what you have left, and Blair will go and get it."
"I will not give him that trouble."
"You prefer to stay here—do you?"
"I do; this isn't a bad place to stay, and I can stand it here a while."
"Consider well your situation, Phil. This is my room. I board here when I am in town, and—"
"It's good enough for me, if it is for you."
"It is a gambling-house, and the people who live here are my friends. I can bring in half a dozen men to help me."
"Bring them in," I replied, laughing, though I confess that I was not very much amused.
"It's no joke."
"It will not be for you when you are done with it. When my father misses me, he will bevery likely to send for our friends, Mr. Lamar and Mr. Gray."
"In a word, Phil, will you give me that note."
"In a word, I will not; and in another word, I will fight just as long as I have a breath in my body, if you or anybody else attempts to meddle with me."
"Phil, you go to prayer-meetings, and claim to be honest," continued Lynch, changing his tone when he found that he did not terrify me.
"I do go to prayer-meetings when I can, and I try to be honest."
"I hope you will keep on trying. By the merest accident Blair stumbled upon you, and turns out to be the heir of the man whose money you have. He is the last of the Rockwoods. Do you think it is honest to keep him out of his money?"
"I'm not so sure now that he stumbled upon me."
"Didn't he ask you something about the upper Missouri, and tell you he had an uncle there? and didn't he tell you the name of his uncle before you had mentioned it?"
"He certainly did; but since I have found out what company he keeps, I begin to think you posted him up, and sent him to stumble upon me."
"That's absurd."
"Not at all. Didn't you hear me tell the whole story in the police station, Mr. Leonidas Lynchpinne?"
"I never saw him till after that," replied Lynch, angrily, as he picked up the pistol, which he had laid upon the table. "It is useless to reason with you. Come, Blair, we will leave him here to think about it till morning."
The villain moved towards the door, pointing his pistol at me. It was capped, and I supposed it was loaded. Blair unlocked the door, and retreated into the entry. Lynch followed his example, and as it was possible that he might fire at me, I did not deem it prudent to be the aggressor. I heard the door locked upon me.
IN WHICH PHIL IS STARTLED BY THE SIGHT OF A FAMILIAR FACE.
Iactually laughed when I heard the bolt of the lock snapped upon me; partly because I thought it was better to laugh over my mishaps than to cry, and partly because the trick of which I had been made the victim was simply ridiculous. Perhaps, if I had been a boy brought up in the city, and had never been thrown upon my own resources in times of peril, I might have taken a different view of the matter. I can easily believe that many boys would have been intimidated, and given up the money and the note. Lynch ought to have known me better, though I had been a lamb at Leavenworth.
I seated myself in the rocking-chair, and looked around the room. There was a luthernwindow in it, which opened upon the roof. A cheerful coal fire burned in the grate, and the room was quite comfortable. I examined the silver card box on the table, and the other articles there; but I was not much interested in them, and soon gave myself up to a consideration of the situation. Of course the whole trick was intended to intimidate me; but I positively refused to be intimidated. I supposed my persecutors would soon return, and renew the onslaught.
For my own part, I could not see what they intended to gain, even if they obtained the note against Mr. Gracewood. It was stupid of them to imagine that he would give up the money to total strangers. Still they must have believed he would let them have the gold, for they could not have taken all this trouble for the seventy dollars which I had. But it was no use to speculate upon their intentions. The note was safe in my pocket, and the money at my boarding-house. If I had supposed there was any possibility of the villains obtaining the former, I would have burned it on the spot, for I knew that Mr. Gracewood would pay themoney whether there was any legal document to show for it or not.
I rose from my chair, and walked to the door, in order to examine it. This same Lynch had once before locked me into a room, and it was possible that I might break this door open, as I had done on the former occasion. But I found this was a different piece of work from that at Leavenworth. It fitted well in the frame. I tried the handle, and found that it was securely locked.
"No use, Phil," said a voice in the entry, which I recognized as that of Morgan Blair.
It appeared that my late fellow-workman was stationed as a sentinel at the door to prevent my escape.
"Where's Lynch?" I asked, placing my mouth at the key-hole.
"Down stairs. Are you ready to give up the note?"
"No."
"When you are, let me know."
I made no reply, but walked to the window to see what the prospect was in that direction. I did not wish to stay in my prison a greatwhile, for I knew that my father would worry about me if I did not return soon. I was in the hands of the enemy, and I was afraid that Lynch would keep me in the room till the middle of the night, and then, with the aid of others, overcome me, and rob me of the note. I was not so well satisfied with the situation as at first, when I could realize the possibilities of the occasion.
The window opened upon a steep roof. I raised the sash very carefully, so that Blair might not know what I was about. But, then, I had hardly a hope of being able to escape in this direction; for I did not see how it was possible for me to descend to the street. However, I should be out of the reach of my inquisitors, even if I passed the night on the cold slates of the roof. I climbed out of the window, and my head swam when I looked down the fearful depth below me. I was on the rear slope of the roof, and beneath me was the back yard of the house.
The darkness rather favored me, for I could not so readily measure distances, and in a short time I became accustomed to the giddy height,though I thought it best not to look down. Holding on with one hand at the side of the luthern window, I closed the lower sash, and dropped the upper one. Grasping the inside of the window-frame for support, I climbed up till my feet were placed upon the top of the two sashes. I could then reach the roof of the luthern window. A ledge on the top of it afforded me a good hold, and I drew myself up, though with considerable difficulty, and my breath was all gone when I reached the point, exhausted by the violence of my exertions.
I lay where I was a few moments to recover my wind and my strength. I had placed the poker on the roof before I ascended, for I was afraid that I might yet have to fight a battle. I had worked very carefully, so as not to disturb the sentinel at the door of the room; and, so far as I could judge, I had been successful, for I heard nothing of him. I was on the top of the luthern window; and, so far as the inquisitors were concerned, I was safe. I preferred to stay there, though the night was quite chilly, rather than in the chamber of Lynch. But if I could have my choice, itwould suit me better to go home, and sleep in my own bed.
About half way between the luthern window and the ridge-pole of the house there was a skylight. The light shone up through it, and I concluded from its position that it was used to light the entry where Blair was keeping guard over the door. Lying down on the slated roof, with my feet resting upon the luthern window, I found I could reach the upper end of the skylight with my hands. I looked through the glass into the entry below, and saw a gas-light burning there. Under me was the door of the gambling-chamber, but Blair was not there. I tried to raise the skylight; but it was secure, and could not be moved. It was at least fourteen feet above the floor, and the space between the glass and the ceiling of the entry was boxed in, forming a ventiduct for the passage of the air.
If I could have opened the skylight, it would have been hardly prudent for me to drop down fourteen feet upon a hard floor, with the additional peril of encountering my enemies in going down the stairs. I could not see Blair,and I concluded that he had heard me, in spite of all my precautions, and had gone to procure the aid of Lynch. Whether this view was correct or not, I decided to act upon it, and increase the distance between myself and my persecutors. Grasping the upper part of the skylight, I dragged myself up to the point where I had placed my hands. Here I paused to breathe again.
While I was waiting I heard voices through the skylight. Looking through the glass, I saw Lynch and Blair, the latter unlocking the chamber door. I immediately concluded not to rest any longer, and laying hold of the ridge-pole, I drew myself up, and took a seat astride the saddle-boards. The block extended as far as I could see in the gloom of the night. With my hands upon the saddle-boards, I hopped along like a frog till I was satisfied that I was out of the reach of any pursuers. But I began to be very anxious to reachterra firmaonce more, and I continued to hop till I came to a four-story block with a flat roof. This was hopeful, and passing from the steep slope I found myself in a very comfortable position.
I could discover no signs of any pursuers behind me; and I concluded that the inquisitors were not enterprising enough to follow me in the perilous track I had chosen. Pleasant as was my present location compared with the slippery sides of the slated roof, I was not disposed to spend the night there. But I did not think it safe to jump down into the street, for I knew that the pavement could stand the shock of such a descent better than I could. On one of the roofs there were planks laid down, and places for lines, and I concluded that it was used for drying clothes. At every house I found a scuttle, and some of them were not fastened; but I did not like the idea of being captured as a burglar, and sent to the station-house to remain over Sunday. I walked to the end of the block, where a cross-street interrupted my further progress in that direction.
Between the several tenements which composed the block there were brick walls rising about a foot above the flat roof. They were the dividing lines between the houses. I observed that the house at the corner of thecross-street occupied as much space as three of the others, and was planked all over, with stanchions for clothes-lines. I concluded that the building was used for a purpose different from the others. I went to the front, and looked down into the street. There were a couple of gas-lamps before the door, and people were constantly arriving and departing. I satisfied myself that the house was a hotel.
In the rear of the roof there was a kind of crane, with a couple of ropes reaching to the ground. I reasoned that the apparatus was used for hoisting up baskets of clothes. I also found a scuttle door, which was not fastened, and I began to consider whether I should go down by the rope or by the stairs. I did not like the idea of dangling in the air fifty feet from the ground on the one hand, or of being captured as a thief on the other. If I went down the rope, it might drop me in some back yard, where I might be liable to suspicion if discovered. On the whole, I concluded that the stairs were the safer expedient, and I carefully opened the scuttle door.
The steps led down to a well-lighted entry;and, having satisfied myself that no one was there, I descended, taking the precaution to hook the door behind me, which some careless servant had neglected to do, though I was not disposed to blame her for the neglect. Passing down the steps, I came to a long entry, from which opened on each side the sleeping-rooms. The stairs were at the other end, and I walked as lightly as my thick boots would permit through the hall. At the stairs I heard the sound of voices on the floor below, and I paused. I concluded that the upper floors were used for sleeping-rooms, and that no one would remain long in the entry. Presently I heard a door open, and then the sound of footsteps on the stairs below. As all was still again, I ventured to descend the steps to the next hall.
I had hardly reached this floor before a gentleman came out of one of the rooms; but he passed me, and went down stairs without taking any notice of me. I was now on the third story, and must descend two more flights in order to reach the street. I was not a thief, and therewas no stolen property upon me. But men in white jackets were always whisking about in hotels, as I had observed at the Planters'. I determined to be ready with an answer if any of these fellows challenged me, and to tell the whole truth if I was detained.
I had hardly reached this conclusion before a waiter in a white jacket confronted me, looked at me suspiciously, and demanded my business.
"Where is Mr. Rockwood?" I asked, using the name most familiar to me.
"That's his room over there, where the door is open," said he, pointing towards the other end of the hall, and then continuing on his way up stairs.
I walked in the direction indicated, intending to rush down stairs as soon as the waiter was out of hearing. I went as far as the open door, and looked into the apartment. A gentleman sat in an arm-chair, reading a newspaper. A glance at him startled me more than anything that had ever occurred to me before.
That gentleman was Matt Rockwood, it seemed to me, dressed in his best clothes. He glanced from his paper into the entry, as I paused there. The face, the expression, the white beard,—everything about him was Matt Rockwood.
IN WHICH PHIL FINDS HIMSELF SIXTY-FIVE DOLLARS OUT.
Irepeat that I was startled when I saw the gentleman in the room with the open door. He was the very image of Matt Rockwood, who had taken me from the cold waters of the upper Missouri, and brought me up in his log cabin. Of course I could not believe it was old Matt, for I had seen him fall before the rifle-shot of the Indian, and had wept bitterly over his grave when his remains were committed to the earth.
The gentleman before me was dressed better than old Matt ever clothed himself; but his face was as brown from exposure, and his brow as deeply indented with wrinkles. If I had not known that my foster-father was dead, I shouldhave been willing to declare, at the first glance, that this gentleman was he.
"What do you want, young man?" said he, as I paused rather longer that politeness would tolerate before his door.
His voice was that of Matt Rockwood; and, as I do not care to prolong a sensation, I at once jumped to the conclusion that the person before me was the brother of my foster-father, though Morgan Blair had assured me that he also was in his grave.
"If you please, sir, I would like to speak to you," I replied to his question.
"Come in," he added, laying aside his newspaper. "What is your business with me?"
I entered the room, which was a parlor, and from it a bedroom opened on one side. The apartments were very handsomely furnished, and as the gentleman before me was very well dressed, I concluded that fortune had dealt more kindly with him than with Matt.
"Are you Mr. Rockwood?" I asked, gazing earnestly at him.
"I am."
"Mr. Mark Rockwood?"
"Yes."
"You had a brother, sir?"
"I had."
"And a sister?"
"No; or rather I had two, but both of them died in their childhood," he replied, evidently astonished at my line of questions.
He had no sister, and Morgan Blair's story, as I had suspected after I found him in the company of Lynch, was all a fiction.
"Have you heard from your brother within a few years?" I inquired.
"Not for twenty years. But who are you, young man?" he demanded, evidently supposing that I had known his brother.
At this moment the waiter of whom I had inquired for Mr. Rockwood appeared before the door and looked in.
"What do you want, John?" asked the old gentleman.
"Nothing, sir; the young man with you inquired for your room, and I came to see if he found you," replied the servant, retiring.
"Who are you, young man, and why do you ask me these questions?"
"I have seen your brother Matthew since you have, and I did not know but you might wish to hear about him, though I haven't any good news for you."
"You knew Matthew, then?"
"Yes, sir; I lived with him about ten years. In fact, he brought me up."
"But the last I heard of him, he had gone up the Missouri River."
"Yes, sir; and it was there that I lived with him."
"Where is he now?" asked Mr. Rockwood; and I saw that he was considerably moved.
"I am sorry to say I have no good news to tell you."
"Is he living?"
"No, sir; he died last spring. But I want to tell you, before I say anything more, that no better man than your brother ever lived."
Mr. Rockwood was silent for a few moments. Doubtless the intelligence I communicated revived the memories of the past, when they had been children together.
"I am glad to hear you speak well of him, young man, for really you could not say anything more pleasant of him," said Mr. Rockwood, at last. "Since he is dead, nothing can be more comforting than to know that he was a good man. Matt was always honest and straightforward; but he was almost always unfortunate, he failed in business, and left this part of the country discouraged and disheartened. I hope he was never in want, or anything of that kind."
"No, sir; he always had plenty; and when he died he left some property."
"I'm very glad to hear it, for I have had times when I worried a great deal about it. I tried to find out where he was, but I never succeeded. Were you with him when he died?"
"I was, sir," I replied, not a little embarrassed; for I did not like to reveal the manner of his death.
"Was he sick long?"
"No, sir; he had been troubled with the rheumatism for two or three months; but he was able to be about on crutches at the time he died."
"Did he die of rheumatism?"
"No, sir; he did not die of any disease, nor suffer any pain."
"What do you mean, young man?"
"He was shot, and instantly killed, in a fight with the Indians."
"Poor Matt!" exclaimed Mr. Rockwood, averting his gaze from me.
"I was as near to him as I am to you now when he fell. He never moved or breathed after he went down," I added.
"Well, he had lived his threescore and ten, and perhaps one could not pass away any easier; but it is grating to one's feelings to know that his brother was shot."
I related to him very minutely the history of Matt Rockwood; and he listened, as may well be supposed, with the deepest interest.
"And so you found your father?" said he, as I concluded the narrative.
"Yes, sir; and I hope yet to save him from himself."
"I hope so; and I am willing to do all I can for you and for him."
"Thank you, sir. As I said before, sir, your brother left about a thousand dollars in gold,and by selling wood and produce we made the amount up to about sixteen hundred dollars. A young man, by the name of Morgan Blair, says he is the son of Matt's sister, and claims this money."