Rupert had been a bell-boy for more than a year. He found his employers very pleasant and considerate, and his salary was larger, probably, than he could get anywhere else. Still the position was not likely to lead to anything better, unless he might in time qualify himself to be a hotel clerk.
Sometimes he talked over the matter with Leslie, but the latter had the advantage of knowing just what he aspired to. He was determined some day to be an actor, and was content to remain in his present place till there was an opening for him on the stage.
One day Rupert received a letter from Colorado. He knew, of course, that the letter was written by his old acquaintance, Giles Packard, from whom he heard occasionally. This was the letter:
"Friend Rupert—"I have been meaning for some time to write toyou, but my mode of life is not favorable to letter-writing, and whenever I take my pen in hand I feel as awkward as a Chinaman would with a knife and fork. I think it is three months since I heard from you, but I hope you are well and getting on nicely. How is the little boy you took charge of? It was a pretty big responsibility for a lad of your age, but I am sure you would take better care of him than a good many older persons."Don't forget that you promised to let me know if you needed some help. Even small boys cost something to bring up, and I have plenty, while you are only beginning life. I suppose you are still a bell-boy at the Somerset Hotel. Now that is a good position for a boy, but it seems to me that it is about time you took up something else. Before choosing what it shall be, I want you to come out and make me a visit. I feel pretty lonely sometimes, having neither 'chick nor child,' unless I count you. I think it would do you good to see a little something of the far West. I inclose a draft for two hundred dollars for your expenses out here. If all is right I want you either to ask for a vacation or leave your situation, and start as soon as you can. Don't be afraid, for I will see that you don't suffer, even if you don't get a new place right off."
"Friend Rupert—
"I have been meaning for some time to write toyou, but my mode of life is not favorable to letter-writing, and whenever I take my pen in hand I feel as awkward as a Chinaman would with a knife and fork. I think it is three months since I heard from you, but I hope you are well and getting on nicely. How is the little boy you took charge of? It was a pretty big responsibility for a lad of your age, but I am sure you would take better care of him than a good many older persons.
"Don't forget that you promised to let me know if you needed some help. Even small boys cost something to bring up, and I have plenty, while you are only beginning life. I suppose you are still a bell-boy at the Somerset Hotel. Now that is a good position for a boy, but it seems to me that it is about time you took up something else. Before choosing what it shall be, I want you to come out and make me a visit. I feel pretty lonely sometimes, having neither 'chick nor child,' unless I count you. I think it would do you good to see a little something of the far West. I inclose a draft for two hundred dollars for your expenses out here. If all is right I want you either to ask for a vacation or leave your situation, and start as soon as you can. Don't be afraid, for I will see that you don't suffer, even if you don't get a new place right off."
Here followed some directions as to finding him, and then the letter ended.
The proposal struck Rupert favorably. Hehad a natural desire to travel, and had a great anxiety to see Chicago and other places, of which he had heard a great deal.
He went at once to the proprietor of the hotel and showed him the letter.
"You want to accept the invitation, I suppose?" said the landlord.
"Yes, sir, if it won't inconvenience you."
"As it happens, one of my old friends wants me to give his son a place in the hotel. I had thought of discharging Leslie to make room for him, but if you really wish to give up your position I will put him in your place."
"That will suit me, sir."
"But in that case I cannot take you back on your return."
"I will not expect you to do so. I think I can find something outside, and Mr. Packard agreed to see me through."
"That draft looks like it. I will send for the boy at once, and during the balance of the week you can instruct him in his duties."
"I am sorry you are going, Rupert," said Leslie. "If you get acquainted with anymanagers on your Western trip, speak a good word for me."
"I will."
"I am going to play at a benefit next week, Wednesday. It is a variety entertainment, and I am to give imitations of celebrated actors. I've got Irving down fine. You ought to stay and see me."
"Perhaps you will give me a private rehearsal. It wouldn't be convenient for me to put off my journey."
"I will. Come into my room to-night, and you shall see me imitate Irving, Booth and Joe Jefferson."
Rupert stayed two days in Chicago, and visited the principal localities, including Jackson Park, soon to become known all over the country as the site of the World's Fair. He was impressed with the business activity and greatness of the Queen City of the West, and left it reluctantly at the end of two days. At the railroad station, while purchasing his ticket to Denver, his attention was called to a tall old man who looked to be nearly seventy. He was thin and bent, and his face was sad.His suit was black, but it was well-worn and looked shabby. His eyes were fixed on Rupert as he bought his ticket, and he heaved a sigh.
"I envy you, young man," he said in answer to Rupert's inquiring look.
"Why so?" asked the bell-boy.
"Because you are going to Denver."
"Do you wish to go there?"
"Yes, but it is impossible."
"Why is that? Won't your business permit you?"
"Alas, I have no business. I came to Chicago from my old home in Rochester, New York, hoping to get a situation as bookkeeper. I understand bookkeeping thoroughly, and for fifteen years occupied that position in one of the largest firms in Buffalo. But they went out of business, and I was thrown on my own resources."
"Had you not laid up any money?"
"Yes. I took what I had, and went by invitation to make my home at the house of a niece in Rochester who was married to a man named Jackson. I had three thousanddollars, and I thought that if I should get something to do I might with the help of that live comfortably for the balance of my days. That was a year ago, and I was then sixty-five. I can hardly expect to live many years, and I considered myself well provided for.
"Well, I sought out my niece, and was cordially received by her husband and herself after they learned that I had money. I agreed to board with them, and sought a position in my old line. But a man over sixty is at a disadvantage when he is seeking employment. In vain I showed a first-class recommendation from my past employers in Buffalo.
"'I dare say you understand your business,' one and another said to me, 'but you are too old for us. We want a young man who can hustle.'
"'But I can hustle, too,' I said.
"They only laughed.
"'You are too old to work. You ought to retire,' they said.
"I reported my disappointment to my niece and her husband.
"'Uncle John,' said my nephew, 'I feel for you, and I will try to do something for you. I think I can make a place for you in my store. I can't afford to pay you high wages. If you will work for ten dollars a week I will employ you.'
"I was very glad to accept this proposal, though I had in my time been paid a hundred dollars a month.
"I entered the store, and had reason to think that I was doing satisfactory work. But at the end of three weeks Eben Jackson called me aside and said: 'Uncle John, I have been figuring up my expenses, and I don't see how I can afford to employ you.'
"'You wish me to go, then?'
"'I shall have to dispense with your services unless I can get additional capital to enlarge my business.'
"Presently he made me a proposal.
"'If you will lend me three thousand dollars,' he said, 'and allow me to use it in my business, I will pay you six per cent. interest, and advance your wages to twelve dollars a week.'
"I thought over this proposal and determined to accept it. Eben Jackson was very plausible and smooth-spoken, and I saw no reason to doubt him. I transferred my small capital to him. He increased his stock, but only by five hundred dollars' worth, as I afterwards ascertained, and I continued to work for him. For a month he paid me twelve dollars per week, then he reduced me to ten, on the plea that business was poor, afterwards to eight, and finally he allowed me only my board. I became indignant and demanded my money back, but he absolutely refused to repay it. I consulted a lawyer, but found upon inquiry that he had made over all his property to his wife. I saw that nothing was to be expected, and a month since I left Rochester and came to Chicago, in the hope of finding employment here."
"What has been your success here, Mr. Plympton?" inquired Rupert.
"No better than in Rochester. Why is it that no one is willing to employ an old man? I am in good bodily health, and I can do as good work as I ever could, but no one will have me."
"Chicago seems to be a city of young men—more so than New York."
"Have you noticed that? Some of the successful business men are men young enough to be my sons."
"I understand you to say that you wished to go to Denver. Have you any reason to think you will succeed any better there?"
"No, but I have a nephew somewhere in Colorado, and perhaps in Denver. If I can fall in with him, I am sure he will help me. I haven't seen Giles for twenty years, but—"
"Giles!" repeated Rupert, in surprise. "What is his full name?"
"Giles Packard. He is my sister's son."
"Well, that is astonishing," ejaculated Rupert.
"What is astonishing?"
"Your nephew is my particular friend, and I am going out to Colorado at his special invitation."
"Is it possible?" asked the old man, eagerly. "Then you know where he lives?"
"Yes."
"Will you tell him you met me, and ask him if he will send money to bring me on to where he lives? Giles was always good-hearted, and I am sure he will do it."
"It won't be necessary to wait. I will buy you another ticket, and take you on with me."
John Plympton's face lighted up with joy.
"How kind you are," he said, grasping Rupert's hand. "I hope when you are old you will find some one who will be as kind to you. You are not related to me in any way, you only saw me within the hour, yetyou are going to do me a great kindness. May heaven bless you."
"Thank you, but don't give me too much credit. I am sure Mr. Packard will approve what I am doing, and will consider it a favor done to himself."
"I hope so, but my niece's treatment has made me uncertain how far the ties of relationship will be regarded. Yet I will accept your offer thankfully."
Rupert lost no time in purchasing another ticket, and secured Pullman accommodations for himself and his new acquaintance.
"You used to live in Buffalo," he said.
"Yes, I worked in one place there for fifteen years."
"Did you ever hear of the firm of Rollins & Lorimer?"
"Certainly. They were dry-goods merchants."
"I am Rupert Rollins, son of the senior partner."
"Is it possible? I knew your father well. He was a fine man."
"I am glad to hear you say so."
"But I didn't like Mr. Lorimer as well."
"I have little reason to like him, for he ruined my poor father, and indirectly caused his death."
"I am not surprised to hear it. I never had any dealings with Mr. Lorimer, but I knew his reputation. Is your mother living?"
"Yes, thank God, she is living, and my sister Grace as well."
"Did your father lose all his property?"
"All."
"How, then, is your mother getting along?"
Rupert explained.
"And yourself? Are you in any employment?"
"I have been a bell-boy in a New York hotel for the last year and a half."
"You could hardly be very well paid."
"Yes, I received larger pay than I would have received in a mercantile house. But I have finally given up the business."
"What do you propose to do?"
"I shall ask the advice of your nephew. He is a very good friend of mine—the best I have outside my own family with oneexception—and I shall be guided by what he says."
"I wish I had been able to go to him instead of to my niece and her husband."
"I don't see how they could have treated you so meanly."
"Mary would have treated me better, but she is under the thumb of her husband, and he is as mean a man as I ever encountered."
"Excepting Mr. Lorimer."
"There isn't much choice between them."
"Did he give you a note for the three thousand dollars you lent him?"
"Yes, I have his note—but what is it worth?"
"Keep it and show it to Mr. Packard. He may be able to advise you how to secure it."
"Do you know if Giles has been successful? Has he bettered himself in Colorado?"
"I have reason to think that he is a rich man. He has been very kind to me, who am a recent acquaintance, and I am sure he will not turn his back upon his uncle."
This assurance brightened up the old man, who rapidly recovered his cheerfulness, andlooked forward to a meeting with the nephew whom he had not seen for twenty years.
Rupert had telegraphed to Mr. Packard when he would reach Denver, and received a return telegram directing him to go to the St. James Hotel. Thither he repaired, taking his companion with him.
Mr. Plympton displayed some anxiety as they were approaching Denver.
"Perhaps my nephew will receive me coldly," he said. "If he does, there will be nothing left me but destitution and the poorhouse."
"Don't be alarmed, Mr. Plympton," rejoined Rupert. "You have not seen your nephew for twenty years. I have met him more recently, and I probably know him better than you. Leave all in my hands. I will speak to him about you."
They reached the St. James, and Rupert engaged rooms for both. On examining the hotel register he found that Giles Packard had already arrived. He had been in the hotel hardly half an hour when Mr. Packard entered.
His face lighted up with pleasure when he saw Rupert.
"I am delighted to see you, Rupert," he said. "Somehow you seem very near to me. I shall take you, after a day or two in Denver, to my cattle ranch near Red Gulch, and I think I can promise you a good time and a comfortable home for as long as you are willing to stay."
"Have you room for another, Mr. Packard? I have brought a companion with me."
"Why, certainly. Any friend of yours shall have a cordial welcome."
"But he is nearer to you than to me."
Mr. Packard's face expressed surprise.
"I don't understand you."
"I found a relative of yours in Chicago. He was in hard luck, and I thought you would be willing to help him. Here he is."
He led Giles Packard up to his uncle, who anxiously scanned the face of his nephew.
"Don't you know me, Giles?" he asked, in a tremulous tone.
"Surely you are not my Uncle John?"
"The same. I hope you will forgive me for seeking you out."
"Don't speak like that, Uncle John. I have not forgotten that I am your nephew."
"But, Giles, I come to you as a pauper."
"I have enough for us both. Did you save nothing, then, by your long years of business?"
"I saved three thousand dollars."
Then he explained how he had been defrauded of it by Eben Jackson.
Giles Packard's face became stern.
"The scoundrel!" he exclaimed. "And after he got your money he had no further use for you?"
"No, he turned me out to starve."
"You were very imprudent in trusting him with the money."
"So I was, but he promised, if I lent it to him, that he would give me a position in his store."
"And he broke his promise?"
"No; he employed me for about two months, but in the end he would only give me my board, and refused to let me havemoney enough to buy a suit of clothes. Then I became indignant and left the house."
"Did you make an effort to recover the money?"
"Yes, but it was of no use. He refused to give it back."
"He must have given you a note?"
"Yes, I have his note."
"I will give you the money, and you will transfer the note to me. He will find me a different customer to deal with."
"Keep the money yourself, Giles, and pay me interest on it. I shall not be afraid to trust you."
"I will. If I treat you as Eben Jackson did, may I lose my property and become a pauper."
"You are sure you can afford to do this, Giles? You have accumulated some property?"
"Well," answered Giles, smiling, "I am not a millionaire, but I think perhaps I might realize seventy-five thousand dollars if I should take account of stock. I have been very successful in gathering property, but I have had a great many lonely hours."
"Don't you need a bookkeeper?" asked the old man, eagerly.
"Yes, I can find you something to do in your own line, Uncle John. My business isn't very complicated, but I find it necessary to keep some accounts. I will give you a home and you shall want for nothing. Has Eben Jackson got any children?"
"Yes, he has two, a boy and a girl. They are fourteen and eleven."
"What sort of children are they?"
"The boy is like his father. He never treated me with respect, but looked upon me as a poor relation. The girl is of a better disposition."
"And they would be among my heirs. I will look them up some day, and shape my will accordingly. Shall you be ready to go back with me on Monday, Rupert?"
"I will be ready whenever you are, Mr. Packard."
Mr. Packard's cattle ranch was located in one of the extensive parks for which Colorado is noted. It included several square miles of territory. The cattleman had erected a dwelling, covering a good deal of ground, but only one story high. While it was comfortable, it was easy to see that it was the home of a bachelor.
He had as housekeeper the widow of a herdsman, or perhaps I may say, cowboy, who had died a year before. She cooked and took care of the house.
"Well, Rupert," he said, "this is my home. Mrs. Jones, get ready two rooms for my friends here. Uncle John, you are the oldest and shall have the choice."
"Any room will do for me, Giles," said the old man modestly.
"You shall have as good a one as the house affords."
"You treat me differently from Eben Jackson. He gave me a small room in the attic."
"And did his wife allow that?"
"She had very little to say. Her husband's will is law in that household."
"I am sorry for her. She deserved a better fate. As a girl she was good-hearted and had a cheerful disposition."
"She is greatly changed. I am afraid her husband has taught her to be selfish. She seemed to have little more consideration for me than Eben."
Rupert found that Mr. Packard was a cattle owner on a large scale. He had a great number of cowboys in his employ, over whom he exercised supervision.
"Is all your property in cattle, Giles?" asked his uncle.
"No. I have mining interests. The money I have made in the cattle business I have invested, at least partially, in mines and mining claims. I don't believe in having all my eggs in one basket."
"You seem to have done well in coming out West."
"Yes, when I came out here I probably was not worth over two thousand dollars all told. Now I am worth somewhere from seventy-five to one hundred thousand."
"I should think you would marry."
Giles Packard shook his head.
"When a man reaches the age of forty-five unmarried," he said, "he had better remain so. After that, marriage is a lottery."
Mr. Packard's guests found that he lived in a generous style. His housekeeper was an excellent cook, and his table was well supplied. But the days seemed long without employment. Rupert was supplied with a saddle-horse, and rode far and wide with his host, but John Plympton had reached an age when a man enjoys home comforts better than out-of-door exercise.
"Giles," he said, on the third day, "I am tired of doing nothing. Suppose you bring out your books and give me something to do."
"I will, Uncle John. When I was in Denver I bought some new books, and I willcommission you to transfer my accounts from the old ones. I never was much of a bookkeeper, and I am not sure whether you can understand my entries. However, you will be able to refer to me when you get puzzled."
The old man felt quite happy when set to work in his old business. As Mr. Packard's books covered a period of over fifteen years he found the task by no means a short one, but this pleased him all the more.
"I like to feel that I am earning my living," he said.
"What do you think of me as a bookkeeper, Uncle John?"
"I think you would find it hard to obtain a position in any first-class house," answered the old man, smiling.
"I have no doubt you are right. However, I never was ambitious to become a bookkeeper. What salary were you accustomed to earn?"
"A hundred dollars a month."
"You couldn't get rich on that. I have done better than that. Every man to his trade, as some wise man has said."
"Are you fond of hunting, Rupert?" asked Giles Packard one day.
"When I lived in the country I used to go gunning sometimes."
"We have some very good hunting here. I should like to go with you, but at present my business will not permit. I think, however, that I can find you a companion, if you would like to try it."
"I should," answered Rupert, promptly.
"There is a man who lives about three miles from me, in a small house near the river. He is a shiftless sort of fellow, but he is a good hunter. I will offer him pay to go with you, and his living during the trip. You will find it pleasant to stay about a week. I suppose you won't mind roughing it?'
"No, that is what I shall like."
"Then I shall send for Ben—his name is Ben Boone—and you can start bright and early Monday morning."
Ben Boone was a tall, loose-jointed man with a shambling gait, who looked as if he wished to get through life as easily as possible. It would be hard to find a man less ambitious. His movements were slow, and he seemed the incarnation of laziness.
He was as slow in speech as in action. Yet he was a successful hunter and had tramped about Colorado so much that no better guide could be found.
"I heard you wanted to see me, Mr. Packard," he said, when he made his appearance.
"Yes, I may have something for you to do. How are you getting on?"
"Not at all, squire. I'm a dreadfully unlucky man."
"So should I have been if I had been as lazy as you."
"What's the use of workin'? Things allus goes ag'inst me."
"I don't believe you would succeed under any circumstances. Do you know what makes the difference between you and me?"
"I reckon you was born to be rich."
"I was not rich till I came to Colorado, but when I came here I went to work."
Ben shrugged his shoulders.
"I've worked, too," he said, "but what's the good of it all?"
"Not much good in your case, I admit. However, I don't suppose you can be made over again, and if you could I don't think I would undertake it. There's one thing you do understand, and that's hunting. You've been pretty much all over Colorado."
"Yes, squire."
"I have a young friend here who would like to spend a week among the hills. He may not do much in the way of hunting, but he will carry a gun with him. He would like to explore the country a little under your guidance. I believe that is the only kind of work you are willing to undertake."
"Yes," answered Ben, in a tone of satisfaction. "I don't mind that."
"Then I'll tell you what I will do. You will take my young friend with you—his name is Rupert Rollins—and see that he has a good time."
"I'll do that, squire."
"I will furnish you with provisions sufficient to last you both a week, and will give you three dollars a day for your trouble. If there are any other expenses, Rupert will have money and will pay them. You won't need to spend anything, so there is no reason why you shouldn't save all your wages. How is your wife?"
"Oh, she's allus complainin'. She's had the fever'n ager last week."
"It is fortunate you have no children, for you don't seem to provide for even your wife."
"That's because I ain't lucky."
"Luck doesn't often come in the way of a shiftless man like yourself. Well, do you accept my offer?"
"Yes, squire. I'll be glad to do it."
"Send your wife here to-morrow morning. I will give her a part of your wages, so that she will have enough to carry her through while you are away."
"Give it to me, squire. I'll give it to her."
Giles Packard regarded him keenly.
"I can't trust you," he said. "If I give her the money I shall be sure she gets it."
"How much are you goin' to give her?"
"Two days' pay—six dollars. When you return, if you are away seven days there will be fifteen dollars for you."
Ben Boone grumbled some. He thought three dollars would be enough for his wife, but Mr. Packard was obstinate. He understood Ben thoroughly and had very little confidence in him.
"You may be surprised, Rupert, that I should send you with such a man, but, shiftless and lazy as he is, he understands his business. He will prove a good guide, and will make you acquainted with some of the wonders of Colorado."
"I am quite satisfied, Mr. Packard."
"Uncle John, if you wish to join the party I am entirely willing, and will pay your expenses also."
"No, Giles, I am getting too old for adventure. I have got to an age when a man prefers the chimney corner to camping out. It will do very well for Rupert, but I am about fifty years older than he is, and fifty years make a great difference. He can tell me till about his trip when he comes back."
"So I will, Mr. Plympton," said Rupert, with a smile.
Rupert looked forward to the journey with eager interest. He had always been fond of out-of-door sports, and the hunting expedition seemed to promise an experience entirely new to him. He little imagined what shape a portion of this experience would take.
Rupert was provided with a hunter's outfit and a gun by his host, and in company with his guide started out on Monday morning.
"I suppose you won't mind roughing it, Rupert?" said Mr. Packard.
"No, that is what I shall like. I remember when I lived in the country I went with some other boys to a point fifteen miles away, and camped out for a week. I wish I could see the boys now. There was Harry Bacon, and George Parker, and Eugene Sweetland, and—but you won't be interested in hearing about it."
"I am glad you have had some experience in that kind of life. Of course you won't have the comforts of home, but you may meet with adventures. At any rate, if you get tired you can start for home any time."
"Mr. Boone," said Rupert, when they were fairly on their way, "are you related to Daniel Boone?"
"I don't think there was any Daniel in our family," answered Ben, in a matter-of-fact tone. "Where did he live?"
"In Kentucky."
"I never was in Kentucky myself, though my wife has a cousin who lives there somewhere."
"This Daniel Boone was a great hunter," explained Rupert, rather surprised that Ben had not heard of him.
"Then he must be a relation to me. All my family were fond of hunting."
At the end of ten miles they struck a river, which was pleasant, as it afforded them a change of travel. They had brought with them a skeleton skiff, a sort of framework, with skins to cover it, and they were able to launch it on the river. The stream was narrow, and bordered on one side by mountain scenery. The channel seemed to be deep, and as the skiff moved rapidly on, with comparatively slight exertion in the way ofrowing, Rupert felt that he was indeed in a wonderful land.
The country seemed very sparsely settled. Once in a great while they caught sight of a rude cabin, which appeared to contain but one room.
"Have you ever been on those mountains, Mr. Boone?" asked Rupert.
"Well, I've never been to the top of any of the peaks. I reckon I've been half-way up Pike's Peak (that's north of us) and Long's Peak. It's dreadful hard climbing, and there don't seem to be any good in it when you've done it. Did you want to climb up any of the mountains?"
"Well, I might like to some time, but perhaps I'd better wait till another trip."
"I reckon you'd better."
It was clear that Mr. Boone had no desire to go mountain-climbing. He was not fond of exertion; it was easier getting over level ground.
They kept to the river for as much as fifty miles. Occasionally they landed, and made a little trip into the woods, but after a whilethey returned again to the river. At night they slept on the ground, covering themselves with blankets. They shot a few birds, but thus far they had met with no large game.
One morning Rupert had a fright. It was about four o'clock, and the light was indistinct. As he turned from one side to the other he was startled by finding that he had a bedfellow. There, coiled at his side, was a large rattlesnake, apparently asleep.
Rupert did not start up suddenly. He did not dare do so, for fear of rousing his unpleasant neighbor, and perhaps receiving a bite. Rupert was naturally a brave boy, but he turned very pale, and his heart came up in his mouth.
With extreme caution he moved somewhat to the opposite side, and managed to raise himself to his feet. He was not sure whether rattlesnakes had a quick sense of hearing, and this made him unusually circumspect. He wondered that the snake, which must have taken his position after he was asleep, had not attacked him before.
"But I suppose he was not hungry," hereflected, and then he shuddered as he thought that, had he slept two or three hours longer, the snake might have waked up and felt ready for breakfast. In that case, he would have been a ready victim.
However, he was on his feet and unhurt. Ben Boone lay ten feet away. He was snoring loudly, so loudly that Rupert wondered he had not waked up the rattlesnake, who could hardly be accustomed to sounds of that nature.
He approached his companion, and, bending over, called out, "Mr. Boone," but Ben never moved. He was a sound sleeper.
Rupert shook him, first gently, afterwards more roughly, till at last he opened his eyes, but seemed dazed and not quite conscious.
"Eh? Eh? What's the matter?" he ejaculated at length.
"Look there," said Rupert, pointing to the rattlesnake.
"Oh, yes, a rattlesnake," returned Ben, wholly without excitement. "There's a good many of 'em in these parts."
"That one coiled himself up close to where I was lying."
"Yes, it's a way they have. Seems as if they liked company," answered Ben, coolly.
"But—aren't they dangerous?"
"Well—they might be, if you interfered with 'em," drawled Boone. "As long as you lay still and didn't meddle with 'em they'd be all right."
"But suppose in my sleep I'd thrown out my arm, as I sometimes do, and hit the snake?"
"Then there'd be a chance of his biting you."
"And I suppose that would be fatal?"
"I've been bit myself," said Ben, in a reminiscent tone.
"And did you die?"
It was upon Rupert's lips to say this, but it occurred to him that it would be rather an absurd question, so he changed it to, "How did you get over it?"
"I filled myself full of whiskey—it's the only way. I was never so drunk in my life. But when I got over it, I was all right."
"I suppose the whiskey neutralized the poison," suggested Rupert.
"I reckon so," answered Boone, who was not quite clear in his mind as to the meaning of the word which Rupert had used. "What time is it?"
Rupert consulted his watch.
"It is fifteen minutes past four."
"That's too early to get up. I'll have another nap."
"I can't sleep. I shall be all the time thinking of the snake."
"He won't do you any harm."
"You are more used to such sights than I. Can't we kill the snake?"
"We might, but it's likely there's more not far away."
"I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll go into the boat and see if I can't stretch myself out there."
"Just as you like," said Boone, drowsily.
He turned over, and in two minutes he was snoring as noisily as ever.
Rupert shared the repugnance that most persons have for snakes, and he had read so much about rattlesnakes and the fatal effects of their bite that he had an unusual dread ofthem. It would have been a relief if this particular snake were killed.
How would it do for him to shoot it in the head, which he judged was the most vulnerable part? Only, if he missed fire, and the snake were only wounded, he would probably be roused to anger, and in that case would become dangerous. Doubtless Ben could cope with him, but Rupert felt that it would be imprudent in him, a mere boy, and unaccustomed to hunting, to arouse such a dangerous antagonist.
So, giving up all thoughts of an encounter, he proceeded to the river, and lay down as well as he could in the boat. It was not very comfortable, but we felt relieved from all fear of the snake, and after a while he fell asleep.
When he woke up he got out of the boat and went on shore. He looked at the spot where the snake had been coiled, but could not see him. He had evidently waked up and vacated the premises.
Rupert glanced over to where the guide was lying and saw that he was still asleep. The fact that the rattlesnake was so near hadnot interfered at all with his ease of mind or his slumbers.
Rupert looked at his watch. It was already seven o'clock, and that was the hour when they generally got up.
"Seven o'clock, Mr. Boone!" he called out, giving Ben a shake.
"Oh! ah! is it?" and Ben stretched himself out in a sleepy way.
"Yes. Isn't it time to get up?"
Ben took the hint, and rose from his recumbent position.
"Didn't you wake me some time ago?" he asked. "What was it all about?"
"There was a rattlesnake lying beside me."
"Where is it now?"
"It's gone."
"Then there's no harm done."
Ben Boone was not only the guide, but the cook of the little party. They had brought with them materials for camping-out meals, and it was his work to make a fire and prepare their simple repasts. Sometimes they caught a fish or two in the river, and it made a pleasant addition to their fare.
Rupert found that in this new life he always had a good appetite for breakfast—more, even, than for their other meals. He had never had so good an appetite at the Somerset House, though the cook at that establishment was probably superior to Ben Boone in his chosen line.
The reader may naturally expect to hear something of Rupert's experience as a hunter. But so far as this story is concerned, this is not called for. He had other experiences which will speedily be set forth.
For, after all, it was not so much the hunting that Rupert cared about. He thoroughly enjoyed his opportunity to travel through the wild scenery of Middle Colorado. It was camping out in a much more interesting way than when, as a boy, he went but a little way from home, and knew that only a few miles intervened between him and his ordinary life.
Then he was interested in his guide. At the East he had never met such a man as Ben Boone. He seemed a product of the country. As for Ben, he carried out hiscontract, and served as a guide, philosopher and—I was about to say friend, but on the whole we'll substitute companion.
Though Ben was a skillful hunter and mountaineer he did not particularly enjoy his work. He was a thoroughly lazy man, and would prefer to have remained at home in the rude cabin which passed for such, and, lying on his back with a pipe in his mouth, have drowsed and dreamed away his time. He did not understand, for his part, why city people who could live comfortably should want to rough it, incurring the fatigue of hunting just for the sake of amusement.
"I am tired," he said, on the night after Rupert's adventure with the snake.
"Yes," said Rupert, "I am tired, too. We have come a good many miles."
"Do you like it?"
"Oh, yes," said Rupert enthusiastically; "it is grand."
"I don't see what good it is," rejoined Ben, lying back with a sense of exquisite enjoyment in his chance to rest. "You are not making any money."
"No," replied Rupert, laughing, "but I enjoy the wild mountain scenery; don't you?"
"No; a mountain isn't much to see."
"Then there are the valleys, the woods and the waterfalls."
"Oh, I've seen plenty of them. I don't care for them."
"I suppose that is why you don't care for them. You are too familiar with them."
"I reckon so," drawled Ben.
"Don't you enjoy seeing anything? Is there anything you would rather see than this wild and romantic scenery?"
"Yes. I would rather see cities. Where do you live when you are at home?"
"In New York."
"That is a wonderful city, isn't it?"
"Yes."
"I expect it is a great deal larger than Denver?"
"Yes; forty or fifty times as large."
At this time Denver probably had a population of less than thirty thousand.
Ben Boone's eyes opened.
"And I suppose there are some grand buildings?" he said, inquiringly.
"Yes," and Rupert told his guide something about the great city, of the horse-car lines, the elevated trains running thirty feet above the ground, the big hotels, the Brooklyn bridge, and other marvels, to which Ben Boone listened with rapt attention.
"I should like to see New York before I die," he said.
"Have you ever been there?"
"No."
"But you have probably seen other cities—St. Louis, or Chicago?"
"No; I have only seen Denver. Well, yes, I saw St. Louis when I was a boy. It seemed a large city to me then, but I reckon New York is much bigger."
"Yes, it is a great deal larger—several times as large as St. Louis was when you saw it."
"Does it cost a great deal of money to go to New York?"
"I think one might go there for fifty dollars, ten less by second class."
"Second class is good enough for me."
"Yes, you would be a good deal more comfortable traveling second class than we are on our hunting trip."
"Then I should be satisfied. I ain't used to living first class."
"I should think you would like to go to New York. Is there any reason why you should not go?"
"There's the money."
"But, as I told you, it doesn't cost a very large sum."
"Fifty dollars is a good deal to me. I never had so much money in my life."
"Because you don't save up your money."
"I don't know how to save money," said Ben Boone in a listless manner.
"But you could. Now how much money is Mr. Packard paying you for going with me?"
"Three dollars a day."
"Now suppose we are out ten days—that will make thirty dollars, won't it?"
"Yes; but I had to leave some money with my wife."
"You will at any rate have twenty-five dollars. Now, why can't you put that aside, and add to it when you can. Then by and by you will have money enough to go to New York. When you get there you can find work and earn enough to keep you and pay your expenses back."
"Yes, I reckon I might," said Ben, not knowing how to controvert Rupert's statement.
"If you really try hard to save, I will give you something toward your expenses myself."
"Are you rich?" asked Ben, looking up quickly.
"No, but I have some money."
"How much?"
This question Rupert did not care to answer. Ben Boone was a very good guide and hunting companion, but he was not exactly the kind of man he would choose as a confidant.
"I think everybody is rich that lives in New York," said Ben, with a touch of envy.
"What makes you think that?"
"I have had New York people with me before. I have traveled with them, andhunted with them. They always seemed to have plenty of money."
"It may be so with those who come out here, but there are plenty who never travel at all, who live in poor houses in a poor way, who earn small wages, and are no better off than you, perhaps not so well off. I was very poor myself once, and had scarcely money enough to buy myself food."
"But you got over it. You got rich after a while."
Rupert protested that he was not rich, but Ben Boone was incredulous, though he did not say so. He talked more and more about New York. He seemed to want to learn all he could about it.
Rupert was not surprised. He remembered that when he was a boy in the country, he, too, thought and dreamed a great deal about the great city. After he lived there and grew familiar with its marvels, he became indifferent to it, as much so as Ben Boone was to the wonderful mountain scenery. He felt disposed to joke a little about is.
"There is one thing you have here that wedon't have in New York," he said with a laugh.
"What is that?"
"Rattlesnakes."
"No. I reckon not. I shouldn't miss rattlesnakes."
Ben Boone said this so gravely that Rupert could not forbear laughing.
"Nor I," he said. "I am willing that Colorado should keep all her rattlesnakes."
Ben Boone, for a wonder, lay awake beyond his usual time. He could not get New York and its wonders out of his head. The more he thought of it the more he longed to see it.
And there wasn't so much time, either. He was forty-nine years old, and yet he had never been on the other side of the Mississippi River. Yet here was Rupert, who couldn't be more than sixteen or seventeen years old, who had actually lived in New York, and now had wandered to the far West and seen that also. If a boy could have those happy experiences, why not he?
Why not?
The question was easily answered. Thedifference between them was money. He didn't know how much money Rupert had, but probably he had more than the sum necessary to carry him to New York. Ben felt that it was not fair that a mere boy should have so much and he so little.
This was a dangerous path of thought, and led to a strong temptation. This temptation was increased when, waking at an early hour, he looked across at Rupert, lying not many yards away, and noticed that his pocketbook had in some way dropped out of his pocket and was lying on the grass beside him.
Ben's eyes sparkled with unholy excitement. An eager curiosity assailed him to learn how much money the pocketbook contained. It was a temptation which he did not seem able to resist.
He looked over towards Rupert again. The boy was sleeping calmly, peacefully. There was little chance that he would wake up.
Ben rose cautiously from his couch, and with a stealthy step he made his way to the sleeping boy.
He stooped down and picked up the walletand then opened it, peering eagerly at the contents.
There was a thick roll of bills. He counted them in a quick, stealthy way, and his heart beat with excitement when he ascertained that the roll contained eighty-one dollars.
"Why, that will take me to New York," he thought.
Yes, it would take him to New York. There would be no weary waiting, no probable disappointment in the end. The dream of his life might be realized, and at once.
Ben was not naturally dishonest. If he had not had a special use for the money it would not have tempted him. But he wanted to go to New York, and the temptation seemed too great for him to resist.
His resolution was taken. With one backward glance at the sleeping boy he thrust the wallet into his pocket and started for the river, where the skiff awaited him.
Rupert did not wake till later than usual. The previous day had been unusually fatiguing and nature had asserted her rights.
He turned over and mechanically looked over to where his companion lay at the time he went to sleep. He was a little surprised to find that he was not visible. Usually Boone slumbered till Rupert went over and waked him up.
"Ben has gone to take a walk," he said to himself. "It must be later than usual."
He looked at his watch and found that it was eight o'clock.
"Well, I did oversleep myself," he said, as he rose to his feet. "No wonder Boone got the start of me."
Upon reflection he decided that Ben hadprobably gone down to the boat, which was tied to a small tree on the river bank not more than five minutes' walk distant. He turned his steps in that direction. When he reached the place where the skiff was fastened, a surprise awaited him.
The boat was not there!
Still he had not the faintest suspicion that his guide had played him false and deserted him in the wilderness.
"Ben must have taken a row himself," he decided. "It is rather strange, for he isn't generally enterprising enough for that. He must have had a headache or something that prevented his sleeping. Well, I might as well take breakfast."
There was something left from supper of the night before. Rupert ate this with a hearty relish. He did not stop to make any hot coffee. Ben usually attended to this duty, and he was likely to appear at any moment.
"I will wait for Ben to come," Rupert said to himself. "I hope he hasn't gone very far."
After eating he lay back on the ground, for he still felt a little tired.
"It seems odd to be alone," he reflected.
He had not formed any particular attachment to Ben Boone, but he had a certain satisfaction in his companionship. They had become closely acquainted, and though Ben was not especially sociable, they had had some long talks together, so that Rupert felt a certain interest in his rough companion.
Half an hour passed, and Rupert began to feel impatient, as well as solitary.
"Why doesn't Ben come?" he asked himself. "It is very strange that he should go away so early and stay away so long."
As this thought came to him he happened to put his hand into the pocket where he usually kept his money.
The pocket was empty.
A suspicion for the first time dawned upon him that startled and alarmed him. He made a hurried examination of the ground around him, for he knew that it was possible that the pocketbook had slipped out of his pocket.
But his search was fruitless. The pocketbook was nowhere to be seen.
Was it possible, he asked himself, that he had been robbed? Was Ben capable of such black treachery?
The thought that his companion had proved false disturbed him more at first than the sense of his loss, but he began almost immediately to realize his predicament.
Probably he was a hundred miles away from the ranch of his friend Giles Packard. Not only this, but he was without money and without provisions, except the small supply of food which remained over from his frugal breakfast.
Then, again, he was without a boat, for the skiff had been carried away by Ben. He was alone in a wilderness.
There were very few houses within the distance over which they had traveled. If he had been in any portion of the Eastern States, among settlements and villages, he would not have minded his destitute condition—that is, not so much. He would have felt sure of getting along somehow. But as it was, therewas no one to appeal to. There was no one to lend him a helping hand.
If only Ben had left him the boat, matters would not have been so bad. He would, of course, have instantly started on his return. He didn't feel at all tempted to explore farther. The fine mountain scenery which he had enjoyed yesterday had no attraction for him now.
"I'd give fifty dollars—if I had it"—he added, as the thought came to him that he had no money whatever, "to be back with Giles Packard on his ranch. Shall I ever see him again, or am I doomed to starve to death in this wilderness?"
It was not easy for Rupert to form plans in his present destitute condition. The money which he had lost was a minor consideration. The boat and provisions were much more important.
Besides this, he still had his gun and his watch. Both these were likely to prove useful.
He wondered a little why Ben had not taken the watch. But his wonder diminished when he remembered that Boone had told him one day that he had never owned a watch.
"How, then, do you tell time?" Rupert inquired.
"By the sun," answered Ben.
Rupert had tested him more than once, and found that from long and close observation his guide could always guess within afew minutes of the correct time. To Ben the watch had no value, and it didn't occur to him that he might raise money on it when he reached the settlements.
Rupert felt that he must lose no time in forming some plan of reaching the point from which he started. He went down to the river, faintly hoping that he might see Ben returning in the skiff, but this he owned to himself was extremely improbable.
Ben was ten, perhaps fifteen miles on the way back. What his object could have been in playing him such a dastardly trick, or what possible excuse he could make to Giles Packard for returning alone, Rupert could not conjecture.
He took it for granted that Boone would go back to his old home at Red Gulch. He did not dream of his plan of going to New York. If he had, this would have explained his sudden defection.
Rupert stood on the shore of the river and looked up the stream. Everything was calm and placid, and lonely. At the East he would have seen houses, on the banks and passingboats, but here he found himself alone with nature.
Without thinking especially what he was doing, he started to walk up stream, that is, along the river bank in an easterly direction.
"If I could only come across a boat," he soliloquized, "no matter how poor, I should think it a piece of great luck."
But it was too great luck for him. Still he kept on walking and looking about him, but he not only saw no boat, but no indication of any human presence.
He had walked quite five miles, as he judged from the passage of time, when at last he made a discovery. Moored to the bank was a dismantled raft, if such an expression is allowable. Rupert remembered now that on their trip down the river Boone had called his attention to it, saying: "It must have been left there by some party of travelers."
Rupert little thought how serviceable this would prove to him.
His eyes lighted up with joy, for he hailed the finding of the raft as a good omen, and foresaw how important it would prove to him.
"But was it in a condition for use?"
That was the important question.
Rupert bent down and examined it critically. The boards were still pretty firm, though water-soaked, and seemed to be securely fastened together. The rope that fastened it to the small sapling on the bank was quite rotten, and it was a wonder that it had not parted.
Rupert pulled on it to see how secure it was, and it broke. This, however, was of little consequence. He selected a long stick to serve as an oar, and getting on the raft, pushed out into the stream.
The stick, however, made a very poor substitute for an oar. Still he found that it was of some use.
But just as he was starting he discovered, almost covered with underbrush, the paddle which had probably been used by the parties who had constructed and used the raft. This worked tolerably well, and he was glad to have found it.
At last he was ready, and started on his journey. He found his progress slow, andhis task toilsome. Still he was making progress, and that was encouraging.
How rapid this progress he could only conjecture. It might be two miles an hour; probably it was not more than that, and he was obliged to confess with a sinking of the heart that it would take a very long time at this rate before he would get back.
He had tugged away possibly three hours, when his strength began to give out. He began to feel faint and hungry, especially as his breakfast had not been very satisfying.
Then, for the first time, with a sinking heart, he realized that he had made a serious blunder. What few provisions were left after breakfast he had left behind him, and he was absolutely without a mouthful to eat.