"Look at me closely, Stephen Ray," said the strange visitor. "I think you will see some traces of the Bolton you used to know."
Stephen Ray, somewhat discomposed, did examine his visitor closely. Against his will he was obliged to acknowledge the resemblance of the man before him to one who in past times had had an intimate acquaintance with his affairs.
"You may be Benjamin Bolton," he said after a pause, "but if so, you have fallen off greatly in your appearance. When I first knew you, you were well dressed and--"
"Respectable, I suppose you mean to say?"
"Well, respectable, if you will have it so. Now you look more like a tramp than a lawyer."
"True as gospel, every word of it. But it isn't too late to mend. That's an old proverb and a true one. It is quite in the line of possibility that I should get back to the position from which I fell."
"Perhaps so, but I'm not sanguine of it."
"With your powerful help nothing is impossible--not even that."
"You must not count upon that," said Stephen Ray, stiffly. "It is a good while since we parted company. I don't myself care to renew the acquaintance."
"But I do," rejoined Bolton with emphasis. "I told you that I had business with you."
"I have very little time at my disposal," said Ray, pulling out an elegant gold watch--a Jurgensen--and consulting it.
"I think it may be well for you to spare me a little time," went on Bolton, quietly.
There was something in his tone that sounded like a threat, and Stephen Ray could not wholly conceal his uneasiness.
"Well," he said, "I will give you ten minutes. Get through your business, whatever it is, as soon as possible."
"Hadn't you better send your son away?" suggested Bolton, significantly.
"Why should I?"
But on second thoughts Mr. Ray concluded to act on the hint, and turning to Clarence he said, "Clarence, you might take another spin on your wheel."
This did not suit Clarence at all. His curiosity had been excited by his father's change of front towards the objectionable stranger, and he counted on finding out the reason for it.
"Why can't I stay?" he grumbled. "I am tired of riding."
"Then go up stairs. This man and I have a little private business together."
He spoke firmly, and Clarence knew by his tone that further remonstrance would be un availing, so with a dissatisfied look he left the room.
"Now, sir," said Stephen Ray, sharply, when his son had taken his departure, "I gave you ten minutes. You will need to be expeditious."
"It will take more than ten minutes--what I have to say," returned Bolton, coolly. "I am rather tired of standing, so you will excuse me if I sit down."
As he spoke he dropped into a comfortable chair three feet from his host.
"Confound his impudence!" thought Ray, much annoyed.
"I think we had better go indoors," he said.
He did not care to be seen in an apparently friendly conversation with a man like Bolton.
"Very well. I think myself it may be better."
He followed Ray into a room which the latter used as a library and office, and took care to select a comfortable seat.
"Really, Stephen Ray," he remarked, glancing around him at the well-filled bookcases, the handsome pictures, and the luxurious furniture, "you are very nicely fixed here."
"I suppose you didn't come to tell me that," responded Stephen Ray with a sneer.
"Well, not altogether, but it is as well to refer to it. I have known you a good many years. I remember when you first came here to visit your uncle in the character of a poor relation. I don't believe you had a hundred dollars to your name."
Such references grated upon the purse-proud aristocrat, who tried to persuade himself that he had always been as prosperous as at present.
"There is no occasion for your reminiscences," he said stiffly.
"No, I suppose you don't care to think of those days now. Your cousin, Dudley, a fine young man, was a year or two older. Who would have thought that the time would come when you--the poor cousin--would be reigning in his place?"
"If that is all you have to say, our interview may as well close."
"It isn't all I have to say. I must indulge in a few more reminiscences, though you dislike them. A few years passed. Dudley married against his father's wishes; that is, his father did not approve of his selection, and he fell out of favor. As he lost favor you gained it."
"That is true enough, but it is an old story. Why recall it?"
"Does it seem just that an own son should be disinherited and a stranger--"
"A near relative," corrected Stephen Ray.
"Well, a near relative, but less near than an only son. Does it seem right that Dudley should have been disinherited and you put in his place?"
"Certainly. My cousin disobeyed his father, while I was always dutiful and obedient."
"So he was left in poverty."
"I don't see how that concerns you, Benjamin Bolton. My uncle had the right to dispose of his property as he pleased. It was not for me to question his right nor you."
"Probably Dudley Ray is living in poverty now."
"You are mistaken. He is dead."
"Indeed! Poor fellow. He was a generous and high-minded man."
"Whatever he may have been, he offended his father and suffered the consequences."
"Too true!"
"But I fail to understand why you should have come to discuss this matter with me."
"When did Dudley die?"
"I can't be sure as to the year. I think it was about a year after his father's death."
"I presume that his father's injustice helped to hasten his end."
"I won't permit any reflections upon my dear uncle and benefactor. He did what he liked with his own. He felt that the estate would be better in my hands than in Dudley's."
"Admitting for a moment that this was so, did your heart prompt you to bestow a part of the estate on your unfortunate cousin?"
"No; for I am sure my uncle would have disapproved of such action on my part."
"Do you know if he suffered much from poverty?"
"No; I did not concern myself with that, nor need you."
"I would like to comment on one of your statements. You say that your uncle had a right to dispose of his estate as he pleased."
"Do you dispute it?"
"No; I agree with you. Stephen Ray, was his estate disposed of according to his wishes?"
Mr. Ray started, and his face became flushed.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"I mean that he bequeathed the estate to his son, and you took possession of it."
Bolton spoke slowly, and eyed Stephen Ray keenly.
"Are you mad?" gasped Stephen. "How could I do that? His will, devising the estate to me, was duly probated, and I entered upon my inheritance by due process of law."
"I know such a will was probated."
"Then what have you to say?" demanded Stephen Ray, defiantly. "Do you mean to deny that the will was genuine?"
"No."
"Because if you do, you can go to the probate office, and submit the will to any judge of my uncle's handwriting."
"There will be no occasion. I admit that the will was written by him."
"What do you mean, then?" asked Stephen Ray, showing relief.
"I mean this--that it was not hislastwill and testament."
"Where is the later one? Produce it if you can," said Stephen Ray, triumphantly.
"You say this fearlessly because you found a later will--and destroyed it."
"It is a vile slander!"
"No; I will swear that such a will was made."
"If it was destroyed, he destroyed it himself."
"No, he did not. I am willing to swear that when he died that will was in existence."
"I don't think your swearing will do much good," sneered Stephen Ray.
"Perhaps so; but one thing has not occurred to you."
"What is that?"
"A duplicate of the last will was placed in my hands.That will exists to-day!"
Stephen Ray started violently.
"I don't believe it," he said.
"Seeing is believing."
"Then bring it here, and let me see it. However, there is one material circumstance that would make it of no value."
"What is it?"
"My cousin Dudley is dead, and so is his son Ernest. There would be no one to profit by the production of the alleged will."
Bolton was quite taken aback by this statement, as Stephen Ray perceived, and he plumed himself on the success of his falsehood.
"When did the boy die?" asked Bolton.
"About five years ago."
"And where?"
"At Savannah," answered Ray, glibly.
"What should have taken him down there?"
"I am not positive, but I believe after his father's death a Southern gentleman became interested in him and took him to Georgia, where the poor boy died."
Bolton looked keenly at the face of his companion, and detected an expression of triumph about the eyes which led him to doubt the truth of his story. But he decided not to intimate his disbelief.
"That was sad," he said.
"Yes; and as you will see, even had your story about the will been true it would have made no difference in the disposal of the property."
"Still the revelation of your complicity in the suppression of the last will would injure your reputation, Mr. Ray."
"I can stand it," answered Ray with assumed indifference. "You see, my dear fellow, you have brought your wares to the wrong market. Of course you are disappointed."
"Yes, especially as I am dead broke."
"No doubt."
"And it prompts me to take my chances with the will in spite of the death of the rightful heirs."
"What do you propose to do?"
"Lay the matter before a shrewd lawyer of my acquaintance, and be guided by his advice."
Stephen Ray looked uneasy. The lawyer might suggest doubts as to the truth of his story concerning Ernest's decease.
"That would be very foolish," he said.
"Would it? Then perhaps you can suggest a better course."
"You are a man of education and have been a lawyer yourself. Get a place in the office of some attorney and earn an honest living."
"You see how I am dressed. Who would employ me in this garb?"
"There is something in what you say. I feel for you, Bolton. Changed as you are, you were once a friend. I certainly haven't any reason to feel friendly to you, especially as you came here with the intention of extorting money from me. But I can make allowance for you in your unfortunate plight, and am willing to do something for you. Bring me the document you say you possess, and I will give you fifty no, a hundred dollars."
Bolton eyed his prosperous companion with a cunning smile.
"No, Stephen Ray, I prefer to keep the will," he replied, "though I can do nothing with it. Give me the money unconditionally, and if I get on my feet you will have nothing to fear from me."
Bolton's reply did not quite suit Mr. Ray, but he felt that if he said too much about the will it would give it an exaggerated importance in the eyes of the man before him. So he answered carelessly, "Oh, very well! The document is of no value, and though I should prefer to have it, I won't insist. I will give you the hundred dollars, but I wish it understood that it is all I can give you at any time. Don't apply to me again, for it will be of no use."
"I understand," said Bolton, non-committally.
"Shall I give you a check?"
"I could do better with the money. My name is not known now at any bank."
"Well, I think I can accommodate you. I believe I have that sum in my desk."
He opened a drawer in his secretary, and produced a hundred dollars in crisp new bills. They had been taken from the bank the day before for a different purpose.
Bolton took them joyfully. It was long since he had had so much money in his possession. He had been his own worst enemy. Once a prosperous lawyer, he had succumbed to the love of drink, and gradually lost his clients and his position. But he had decided to turn over a new leaf, and he saw in this money the chance to reinstate himself, and in time recover his lost position.
"Thank you," he said; but while there was relief there was no gratitude in his tone.
"And now," said Stephen Ray, "I must ask you to leave me. I have important business to attend to. You will excuse me if I suggest it would be better to go away--to a distance--and try to build yourself up somewhere where you are not known."
"I might go to Savannah."
"Yes, to Savannah, if you think it will be to your advantage," said Ray with equanimity.
The other noticed his manner, and he said to himself, "He is willing to have me visit Savannah.It is clear that Ernest did not die there."
Benjamin Bolton left the house in a pleasant frame of mind. It was not the sum which he had received that exhilarated him. He looked upon it only as the first instalment. It was clear that Stephen Ray feared him, for he was not an open-handed man, and would not have parted with his money unnecessarily.
Bolton had not arranged his campaign, but he was determined to raise himself in the world by playing on the fears of the man he had just visited.
"I wonder," he said to himself, "whether Dudley Ray's son is really dead. He was a strong and healthy boy, and he may still be living."
This was a point not easy to ascertain.
He went to a restaurant and obtained a substantial meal, of which he stood very much in need. Then he went out for a stroll. He did not propose to leave the place yet.
As he was walking along he met Clarence Ray again, but not now on his bicycle. The boy recognized him.
"Are you going to stay in town?" asked Clarence, curiously.
"Not long."
"Did you get through your business with pa?"
"Yes, for the present. By the way, I suppose you know that you have a cousin about your own age. I used to know him and his father."
"Did you? His father is dead."
"So I have understood. Do you happen to know where the son is?"
"Somewhere out West, I think."
Bolton pricked up his ears. So it seemed that Stephen Ray had deceived him.
"I would give five dollars to know where he is," he said slowly.
"Have you got five dollars?" Clarence asked, doubtfully.
By way of answer Bolton took a roll of bills from his pocket. They were those which Stephen Ray had given him.
"Do you mean it?" asked Clarence, in a more respectful tone. Since Bolton had money, he regarded him differently.
"Yes, I mean it."
"Why didn't you ask pa?"
"He never liked the boy nor his father, and I don't think he would tell me."
"That is true. He didn't like either of them."
"I suppose you couldn't find out for me?" said Bolton, tentatively.
"I don't know but I could," answered Clarence, briskly.
He had a special use for five dollars, and it struck him that he might just as well earn the money offered by the stranger.
"If you could, I would cheerfully pay you the five dollars. You see I used to know Ernest Ray and his father, and I would be pleased to meet Ernest again."
"Just so," said Clarence, complaisantly. "How long are you going to remain in town?"
"I did think of going to Elmira to-night, but I think on the whole I will stay at the hotel here till to-morrow morning."
"That will give me time to find out," said Clarence.
"All right! You had better not ask your father, for he is so prejudiced I don't think he would tell you."
"That's so. He will be going out this evening, and then I will search in his desk. I saw a letter there once in which the boy's name was mentioned. But I say, if you've got money why don't you buy some new clothes? You look awfully shabby."
"Your suggestion is a good one," said Bolton, smiling. "Come to look at myself Idoappear shabby. But then I'm no dude. I dare say when you rode into me this morning you took me for a tramp."
"Well, youdidlook like one."
"That's so. I can't blame you."
"Shall I find you at the hotel this evening?"
"Yes."
"Then I'll see what I can do."
About seven o'clock Squire Ray went out to attend to a business meeting, and Clarence was left in possession of the study. He locked the door and began to ransack his father's desk. At length he succeeded in his quest.
Benjamin Bolton was sitting in the public room of the hotel an hour later smoking a cigar, and from time to time looking towards the door. Presently Clarence entered, and went up to him.
"Have you got it?" asked Bolton, eagerly.
"Yes," nodded Clarence.
He took a piece of paper from his vest pocket and handed it to Bolton.
It read thus:"Ernest Ray, Oak Forks, Iowa."
"How did you get it?" asked Bolton.
"I found a letter in pa's desk from an old man named Peter Brant, asking pa for some money for the boy, who was living with him."
"When was that letter written?"
"About two years ago."
"Thank you. This gives me a clue. Come out of doors and I will give you what I promised. It isn't best that any one should think we had dealings together."
Five minutes later Clarence started for home, happy in the possession of a five-dollar bill.
"I never paid any money more cheerfully in my life," mused Bolton. "Now I must find the boy!"
When Ernest and Luke Robbins started for California they had no very definite plans as to the future. But they found among their fellow-passengers a man who was just returning from the East, where he had been to visit his family. He was a practical and successful miner, and was by no means reluctant to speak of his success.
"When I landed in Frisco," he said, "two years ago, I had just forty dollars left after paying the expenses of my trip. I couldn't find anything to do in the city, so I set out for the mines."
"Where did you go?" asked Luke, becoming interested.
"To Oreville. At least, that's what they call it now. Then it didn't have a name."
"I hope you prospered," said Ernest.
"Well, not just at first, but luck came after a while. When I reached the mines I was dead broke, and went to work for somebody else. After a while I staked out a claim for myself. Well, I won't go into particulars, but I've got six thousand dollars salted down with a trust company in Frisco, and I've got a few hundred dollars about my clothes besides."
"That's the place for us, Ernest," said Luke.
"So I think," answered Ernest.
"Do you want to go to the mines?" asked the miner.
"Yes; we have our fortunes to make, and are willing to work."
"Then go out to Oreville with me. Have you got any money?"
"We have enough to get there, and perhaps a little over."
"That will do. I'll set you to work on one of my claims. We will share and share alike. How will that suit you?"
"It seems fair. Do you think we can make enough to live upon?"
"That depends partly on yourselves and partly upon luck. Luck has something to do with it."
"At any rate, we are willing to work," said Ernest.
"Then I'm your friend, and will help you," said the miner heartily. "Tom Ashton never goes back on his friends."
This was very encouraging. Luke and Ernest were not dead broke, but were near it. They had less than forty dollars between them, and they had already found out that living was high in California. They remained but a day in San Francisco, and then started for Oreville with Mr. Ashton.
The two friends knew nothing of mining, but as practised in those early days it took very little time to learn. They found that their new friend was a man of consideration at Oreville. He owned several claims, and had no difficulty in finding them employment. They set to work at once, for they were almost penniless.
It may be easily supposed that the miners were not fastidious about living. The cabins or huts which they occupied were primitive to the last degree. Generally they did their own cooking, such as it was. Three of these cabins Tom Ashton owned, and one was assigned to the use of Ernest and his friend.
For years, Ernest, with his old friend and supposed uncle, Peter Brant, had lived in a cabin at Oak Forks, but it was superior to their new residence. Yet his former experience enabled him the better to accommodate himself to the way of living at Oreville.
For a month the two friends worked steadily at their claim, which Ashton had finally given them. They made something, but not much. In fact, it was with difficulty that they made expenses.
"It will be a long time before we make our pile, Ernest," said Luke one evening, as he sat in front of his cabin smoking.
"Yes, Luke, things don't look very promising," replied Ernest, gravely.
"If it weren't for my pipe I should feel blue. Smoking cheers me up."
"That is where you have the advantage of me, Luke."
"You have the same chance that I have. I have an extra pipe. Won't you take a smoke?"
Ernest shook his head.
"I think I'm better off without it."
"Perhaps you're right, lad. I remember my poor father warned me against smoking. The question is, how long we'd better keep at it."
"Is there anything else, Luke?"
"Well, no; not here."
"And we haven't money enough to get away."
Just then a tall man with reddish hair strode across the field to their cabin.
"Good evening, neighbors," he said. "How are you making out?"
"Not over-well," answered Luke.
"There's a difference in claims. You've got a poor one."
"Probably you are right."
"There's been considerable gold dust gathered in Oreville within six months. I have been one of the lucky ones."
"Indeed! I am glad of it."
"Yes; I found a nugget two months since that I sold for two thousand dollars. I have made five thousand within a year."
"You've been in luck. I wish the boy and I could be as successful."
"The claim is not good enough to support two. Why not let the boy find something else?"
"You wouldn't have me freeze him out?" said Luke, in a tone of displeasure.
"No, but suppose I find something for him to do? What then?"
"That's a different matter. Have you an extra claim?"
"Yes; but that isn't what I offer him. I have a plan in which he can help me."
"What is it?"
"All our supplies come from Sacramento. What we need is a retail store in Oreville--a general store for the sale of almost everything that miners need."
"It would be a good plan to open one," said Luke, approvingly.
"Now, you must know that I am an old storekeeper. I had for years a store about twenty miles from Boston. I succeeded fairly with it, but my health gave out. The doctor told me I must not be so confined--that I needed out-of-door exercise. So I came out here and got it. Well, the advice proved good. I am strong and robust, and I feel enterprising. Now, what I propose is this: I will open a store, and put the boy in charge under me."
"I should like it," said Ernest, eagerly.
"You know what we pay for supplies. There's at least a hundred per cent, made, and no one objects to the prices. Why shouldn't we make it as well as the Sacramento storekeepers?"
"True!" said Luke.
"I don't ask you to work for me, my friend, for I don't think it would suit you."
"It wouldn't. At home--that's in Oak Forks, Iowa--I was a hunter. I was always in the open air. The sort of life we live here suits me, though I haven't made much money as yet."
"The boy, I think, would do. He looks like a hustler. I need only look at his face to know that he'd be honest and faithful. What is your name, boy?"
"Ernest Ray."
"That's a good name. You'll only have to live up to it--to the first part of it, I mean. Then you accept my offer?"
"You haven't made any," said Ernest, smiling.
"Oh, you mean about wages. Well, I don't offer any stated wages. I will give you one-third profits, and then your pay will depend on your success. The fact is, you are to keep the store."
Ernest looked an inquiry.
"One person can attend to it by day. I will come in the evening, and take a general look after things. Just at first I'll stay with you till you've got the hang of things. But during the day I shall be looking after my claims. Do you know how to keep books?"
"I understand single entry bookkeeping."
"That will be all you will require."
"How soon shall you start?" asked Ernest, who began to feel very much interested.
"I will go to Sacramento to-morrow, now that we have come to terms. You know that frame building near Ashton's cabin?"
"Yes."
"I don't know what it was originally used for, but it is empty and I can secure it for our store. It isn't large, but it will hold all we need. I can get new supplies as we need them."
"Yes, that will do."
"You haven't said how you like my offer."
"Of one-third profits? I like it better than if you paid me wages. I will make it amount to a good deal."
"That will suit me. I don't care how much you make out of it, for I shall make twice as much."
"How did you happen to think of me?"
"I've watched you ever since you came. I can judge of any one, boy or man, if I have time enough to take stock of him. I saw that you were just the man for me."
"Boy," suggested Ernest, smiling.
"Oh, well, I'll make a man of you. By the way, an idea has just occurred to me. You'd better go to Sacramento with me to-morrow."
"I should like to do it," said Ernest, brightening up.
"Then you can notice where I buy my supplies. You may need to go alone sometimes."
"At what time will we start?"
"The stage leaves at seven o'clock."
"I will be ready."
The journey to Sacramento was made, the goods selected, and in less than a week the new store was stocked. In the arrangement of goods Ernest took a zealous part. He had never served in a store, yet it seemed to come natural to him, and he felt more interest in it than in the work of mining.
After the store was in full working order Horace Ames left Ernest as sole manager, coming in only in the evening to look at the books, for Ernest, as far as possible, kept a record of every sale.
Storekeeping in those days and in that country was unusually profitable. Ernest made a little comparison between the cost of goods and the selling price, and arrived at the conclusion that the average profits were a hundred per cent. And still the miners were able to buy goods cheaper than when they sent to Sacramento for them.
At the end of the first week Ernest figured up the sales and found they aggregated two hundred dollars. His share of the profits amounted to a little over thirty dollars.
This was encouraging, being three times as much as he had ever realized in the same length of time from mining.
There was one embarrassment. There was no bank in the place where money could be deposited, and of course the chance of loss by robbery was much increased. However, his partner purchased a small safe, and this afforded some security.
One day a man entered the store, and purchased a pipe and tobacco. He was a stranger to Ernest, but there was something familiar in his look, yet he could not place him.
The newcomer looked about with considerable curiosity.
"You have quite a snug store here," he remarked.
"Yes."
"Does it belong to you?"
"I have an interest in it, but it belongs to Mr. Ames."
"Is he here much?"
"He usually comes in evenings, but he is interested in mining."
"You seem to have a good trade."
"What makes you think so?"
"You have a good stock. You would not keep so many goods unless you had a call for them."
"Have I ever seen you before?" asked Ernest abruptly, for the idea grew upon him that he and his new customer had met somewhere under peculiar circumstances.
"I don't know. I don't remember you," answered the customer, shrugging his shoulders. "I haven't been in California long. I suppose you were born here."
"No; very few of those now living in California were born here. I once lived in Iowa. Were you ever there?"
"Never," answered the customer. "I've been in Missouri, but never in Iowa."
"I have never been in that State. Are you going to stay here?"
"I don't know. It depends on whether I can make any money. I suppose you don't want to hire a clerk?"
"No."
Ernest said to himself that this man, with his shifty looks and suspicious appearance, would be about the last man he would think of engaging.
"Perhaps Mr. Ames would give you a chance to work some of his claims," he suggested.
"I will look about me a little before I apply to him," replied the customer.
"Did you come here alone?" he asked after a pause.
"No. A friend came with me--Luke Robbins."
The stranger started a little when Ernest pronounced this name, so that young Ray was led to inquire, "Do you know Luke?"
"How should I know him? Is he a young man?"
"No; he is probably about your age."
"I suppose he came with you from Nebraska?"
"Iowa."
"Oh, yes, Iowa. He isn't in the store, is he?"
"He is working for Mr. Ashton on one of his claims."
At this point a new customer came in, and the visitor, after a brief delay, left the store.
When Ernest had waited upon the new customer he look for the first visitor, but missed him.
"I wonder who he was," he reflected, puzzled. "I am sure that I have seen him before."
But think as he might, he could not trace him.
Yet with this man he had had a very exciting experience in Oak Forks, for it was no other than Tom Burns, the tramp who had entered his cabin during the night and robbed him, and later had attacked him when digging for Peter's hidden treasure. It had been only a few months since they had met, but Tom Burns, during that time, had grown a thick beard, which had help to disguise him.
It is hardly necessary to explain how Burns had found his way out to Oreville. It was his business to tramp about the country, and it had struck him that in the land of gold he would have a chance to line his pockets with treasure which did not belong to him. So fortune had directed his steps to Oreville.
When he entered the store in which Ernest was employed, he immediately, and in some surprise, recognized the boy of Oak Forks. He was glad to find that Ernest did not recognize him, and he immediately began to consider in what way he could turn the circumstance to his own advantage.
"I wonder if the boy sleeps there," he said to himself. "If so, I will make him a visit to night. Probably the money he has taken in during the day will be in some drawer where I can get hold of it."
As he was leaving the store in the stealthy way habitual to him he met a man walking towards the place with a long and careless stride.
He started nervously, for this man was one whom he dreaded, and had reason to fear.
It was Luke Robbins, who, tired with working the claim, was going to the store to replenish his stock of tobacco.
Tom Burns pulled his soft hat down over his eyes and pushed swiftly on.
Luke Robbins halted a moment and looked at him. As in Ernest's case, he seemed to see something familiar in the appearance of the tramp. He realized, at all events, that he was a stranger in Oreville, for he knew every one in the mining settlement.
"Who are you, stranger? Have I seen you before?" asked Luke, hailing him.
Tom Burns did not dare to reply, for he feared that Luke might prove to have a better memory than Ernest. So he was passing on without a response, when Luke, who considered his conduct suspicious, demanded, in a peremptory tone, "Who are you? Do you live here?"
Tom Burns shrugged his shoulders, and said, disguising his voice, "Me no understand English, boss."
"What countryman are you?" asked Luke, suspiciously.
"Italian," answered Tom.
"Humph! You are the first Italian I have seen in Oreville."
"Si, signor," answered Tom, and this comprised all the Italian he knew.
"Well, I don't think you will find any inducement to stay."
"Si, signor," replied Burns, meekly.
Without another word Luke entered the store.
"Ernest," he said, "I am out of tobacco and must have a smoke. Give me half a pound."
"All right, Luke."
"I ran across an Italian just outside. He seemed to be leaving the store."
"An Italian?" queried Ernest, his tone betraying surprise.
"Yes. Wasn't he in here?"
"There was a man in here--a stranger, but I don't think he was an Italian."
"This man answered me in some Italian gibberish. He said he couldn't understand English."
"What was his appearance?"
Luke described him.
"It's the same man that was in here just now, but he could speak English as well as you or I."
"Did you have some conversation with him?"
"Yes. He looked familiar to me and I asked him who he was. He said he had come from Missouri. He was in search of work."
"You say he understood and spoke English?"
"Yes."
"Then I wonder what could be his game."
"Don't he look familiar to you?"
"Yes; there was something familiar about his appearance, but I couldn't place him."
"He asked me if I couldn't employ him in the store. I told him Mr. Ames might give him a chance at mining."
"Well?"
"He said he would look round a little before deciding."
"Did he buy anything?"
"Yes, tobacco."
"Did you mention my name?"
"Yes, and he looked uneasy."
"Ernest," said Luke Robbins, with a sudden inspiration, "I know the man."
"Who is it?"
"Don't you recall any man at Oak Forks with whom you had trouble?"
"Tom Burns?"
"Yes. That's the man."
"Why didn't we recognize him then?"
"Because he has grown a full beard."
"That's so, Luke. I understand now why he looked so familiar. I am sorry to see him here."
"He'd better not undertake any of his rascalities or he will find himself in hot water."