CHAPTER XIII. — PRELIMINARY ARRANGEMENTS.
At nine o'clock on the following morning Ben found Jake Bradley at the appointed rendezvous.
"You're on time, my lad," said Jake. "I didn't know as you'd think it worth while to look me up."
"I promised," said Ben.
"And you've kept your promise. That's more'n many a man would do."
"How did you pass the night?" asked Ben.
"I stretched out on the soft side of a board. It isn't the first time. I slept like a top."
"Have you had breakfast?"
"Well, there! you've got me," said Jake. "I reckoned on findin' an old friend that keeps a saloon on Montgomery Street, but he's sold out to another man, and I hadn't the face to ask him for a bite. What a consarned fool I was to throw away all my pile."
"Where is the saloon?" said Ben. "We will go there, and while you are eating we can arrange our business."
"Thank you, boy. I ain't above acceptin' a favor of you, and I allow that I'm empty, and need fillin' up."
"You needn't thank me, Mr. Bradley-"
"Jake!"
"Jake, then. I am only acting as the agent of Miss Sinclair."
"The gal you spoke of?"
Ben nodded.
"Then you can thank her. If there's anything I kin do for her, jest let me know."
"I mean to. That is the business I want to speak to you about."
After a hearty breakfast the two turned their steps to the private boarding-house where Miss Sinclair was eagerly awaiting them. Though Jake referred to her as "the gal," in his conversation with Ben, he was entirely respectful when brought face to face with the young lady.
"I want to thank you for my breakfast, miss, first of all," said the miner. "If I hadn't been such a thunderin' fool, I needn't have been beholden to any one, but-"
"You are entirely welcome, Mr. Bradley," said the young lady. "Ben tells me that you know something of Richard Dewey."
"Yes, miss."
"He is a valued friend of mine, and I am anxious to hear all that you can tell me of him. You don't know where he is now?"
"No, miss."
"When did you see him?"
"Nigh on to a year ago."
"That is a long time. You have heard nothing of him since?"
"No, miss. I should say yes," he added, with sudden recollection. "One of our boys saw him some months later, and reported that he was well and prosperin'. I disremember where he was, but somewhere at the mines."
"That is something. Do you think you could find him?"
"I could try, miss,"
"I am going to send out Ben, but he is only a boy. I should like to have you go with him. You know the country, and he does not. Besides, you have seen Mr. Dewey."
"Yes, I should know him ag'in if I met him."
"How did he seem when you knew him?" asked Ida, hesitating, because conscious that the question was vaguely expressed and might not be understood.
"He was a quiet, sober chap, workin' early and late," answered Jake, who, rough as he was, comprehended the drift of her questions. "He wasn't exactly pop'lar with the boys, because he wouldn't drink with 'em, and that made them think he was proud, or grudged the expense."
"They were very greatly mistaken," said Ida hastily.
"We found that out," said the miner. "A young chap fell sick; he was a newcomer and had neither friends nor money, and was pretty bad off. Dewey sat up with him night after night, and gave him fifty dollars when he got well to help him back to 'Frisco. You see, his sickness made him tired of the mines."
"That was like Richard," said Ida softly. "He was always kind-hearted."
"After that," continued Jake, "none of us had a word to say agin' him. We knowed him better, and we liked him for his kindness to that young chap."
If Jake Bradley had sought to commend himself to Ida Sinclair, he could not have found a better or more effectual way than by praising her lover. She became more cordial at once, and better satisfied with the arrangement she had formed to send off the ex-miner in Ben's company in search of her lover.
The arrangements were speedily made. The two were to start out, equipped at Miss Sinclair's expense, on an exploring-tour, the main object being to find Richard Dewey, and apprise him of her arrival in California. They were permitted, however, to work at mining, wherever there was a favorable opportunity, but never to lose sight of the great object of their expedition. From time to time, as they had opportunity, they were to communicate with Miss Sinclair, imparting any information they might have gathered.
"I shall have to leave much to your discretion," said Ida, addressing them both. "I know absolutely nothing of the country, and you, Mr. Bradley, are tolerably familiar with it. I have only to add that should you become unfortunate, and require more money, you have only to let me know. In any event, I shall take care to recompense you for all your efforts in my behalf."
"We don't want to bear too heavy on your purse, miss," said Jake Bradley. "Once we get to the mines, we kin take care of ourselves. Can't we, Ben?"
"I hope so, Mr. Bradley."
Bradley eyed Ben reproachfully, and our hero at once smilingly corrected himself. "I mean Jake."
"That suits me better. I s'pose the young lady wouldn't like to call me Jake?"
"I think not," said Ida, smiling.
"I ain't used to bein' called mister. The boys always called me Jake."
"But I am not one of the boys, Mr. Bradley," said Miss Sinclair.
"Right you are, miss, and I reckon Richard Dewey would rather have you as you are."
Ida laughed merrily. To her the miner was a new character, unlike any she had ever met, and though rough and unconventional, she was disposed to like him.
"Find him for me, and you can ask him the question if you like. Tell him from me-but you must first know me by my real name."
Ben looked surprised. He had forgotten that Ida Sinclair was only assumed to elude the vigilance of her guardian.
"My real name is Florence Douglas. I am of Scotch descent, as you will judge. Can you remember the name?"
"I can, Cousin Ida-I mean Cousin Florence," said Ben.
"Then let Ida Sinclair be forgotten. Richard—Mr. Dewey-would not know me by that name."
"I tell you, Ben, that gal's a trump!" said Jake Bradley enthusiastically, when they were by themselves; "and so I'll tell Dick Dewey when I see him."
"She's been a kind friend to me, Jake. I hope we can find Mr. Dewey for her."
"We'll find him if he's in California," answered Jake.
CHAPTER XI. — THE CANON HOTEL.
Late in the afternoon of the third day subsequent a man and a boy might have been seen riding slowly through a rocky canon probably eighty miles west from San Francisco. Both were mounted on the small native horses of California, generally called mustangs. These animals possess a strength disproportioned to their size, and show great endurance. At times they have a playful habit of bucking, not quite agreeable to an inexperienced horseman.
The reader will already have guessed that the two riders are Jake Bradley and Ben. The mustangs were on a walk, being apparently weary with the day's tramp.
"Well, Ben," said Bradley, "what do you say to camping out for the night?"
"I have no objection," said Ben, "and I don't think my horse has."
"He is better off than mine, having less to carry. Are you tired?"
"Not very tired, but my limbs are rather stiff."
"What hotel shall we put up at, Ben?" asked Bradley, with a humorous glance about him.
"There isn't much choice," said Ben. "The Canon Hotel seems to be the only one that is open hereabouts. The only objection is, that we shall have to sleep on the floor, with the windows all open."
"That's about so, Ben," assented Bradley, laughing. "I shouldn't mind sleeping in a Christian bed to-night myself. Well, here goes!"
As he spoke, he jumped from the back of his horse, and, taking out a rope, tethered it to a tree hard by.
Ben followed his example.
"Now for the grub," said Bradley. "I'm powerfully empty myself. This ridin' all day up and down hill is wearin' to the stomach. What do you say?"
"I've got a healthy appetite myself, Jake."
"This yere Canon Hotel that you was talkin' about ain't first-class. It don't supply anything but cold victuals. Now, ef we had a cup of coffee to wash it down, and kinder warm us up, it would go to the right spot, eh, Ben?"
"You are right, Jake! but please don't speak of it again. It makes my mouth water."
"Stay here a few minutes, Ben, and I'll reconnoiter a little. Perhaps I can find a better place for campin'."
"All right, Jake!"
While Bradley was absent Ben threw himself on the ground, and began to think. It was the third day of the expedition. Ben enjoyed riding through this new, unsettled country. He almost felt in the solitudes of the woods and hills as if he were the original explorer of this far-distant country. He was more than three thousand miles away from his native town, entrusted with a mission of importance. The thought was gratifying to his boyish fancy, and inspired him with a new sense of power and increased his self-reliance. He was glad, however, to have the company of Jake Bradley. He was ready to acknowledge that his chances of success, had he started alone, would have been much smaller, and certainly he would have found it exceedingly lonesome.
His companion was not a man of culture, nor were his tastes elevated, but there was a rough honesty about him, and a good humor, which made him an agreeable companion. Besides, he knew the country, and Ben felt secure in leaving the conduct of the trip to him.
"I am glad I came out here," thought Ben, as, with his head pillowed on his knapsack, he looked up through the branches of the tall trees to the blue sky beyond. "It's better than staying at home and working for Deacon Pitkin, or blacking boots for Sam Sturgis. Here I am my own man, free and don't need to run at anybody's bidding."
Probably most boys of Ben's age share his love of independence, but it is neither practicable nor desirable that at sixteen a boy should be his own master, much as he may desire it. In the case of our hero, circumstances had thrown him upon his own resources, and it may be added that he could better be trusted with the management of himself than most boys.
Ben's reverie was broken in upon by the return of his companion.
"What are you dreamin' about, Ben?" queried Jake.
"I was thinking about home, Jake."
"This don't look much like it, eh, Ben?"
"Not much."
"Well, my lad, I've found something," continued Bradley.
"Found something? What! a nugget?" exclaimed Ben, in excitement.
"Not much. This ain't the place for such a find as that."
"What, then, Jake?"
"I've found a hotel."
"Where?" asked Ben eagerly.
"Get up and stand by me. There! look yonder. What do you see?"
"It looks like smoke."
"It is smoke. There's a cabin yonder. I've reconnoitered, and I seed the door open, and a woman inside. Now, I'm going to ask her to give us some supper and a bed. Won't that be fine?"
"Splendid, Jake!"
"Then unhitch that animal of yours, and we'll put our best foot forrards, and maybe we'll get a hot supper and a Christian bed to sleep in."
CHAPTER XV. — A POLITE HOSTESS.
The cabin was a rough one, built of logs, with an adobe chimney. It contained two rooms and a loft. The inducements to live in such a lonely spot must have been small enough, but so many undesirable localities are inhabited, that it is hardly worth while to feel or express surprise at men's taste in such matters.
The approach of Ben and his companion was not observed by the inmate or inmates of the cabin. It was only when Bradley, dismounting from his mustang, struck the door-post with the handle of his whip-for it is needless to say that bells were not to be found in that neighborhood—that their presence became known.
A woman, tall, spare, and with harsh features, came to the door. She eyed Bradley askance.
"Well, what's wanted, and who are you?" she demanded.
"We are bound for the mines, ma'am," said Bradley. "We expected to camp out to-night, but we happened to see the smoke rising from your chimbly, and we made bold to ride up and ask you for supper and a night's lodging."
"We don't take in tramps," said the woman roughly.
"We're on a tramp," said Bradley, resolved not to be rebuffed, "but we've got money to pay for our accommodations."
"This ain't a hotel," said the woman, but less roughly.
"Of course not," said Bradley, in a conciliatory manner; "but I guess you won't object to get us some supper and give us a bed. We'll pay for all the trouble we make. That's fair, ain't it?"
"I don't know what my husband will say," returned the woman, in an undecided manner.
"Won't you ask him, ma'am?"
"He's gone out just now. He won't be back for an hour."
"While you're waitin' for him, can't you get us some supper? Then you can send us off if he ain't willin' to keep us."
"I'll do that," said the woman. "You'd better stay outside till I get supper ready. There ain't much room here, and you'll be in the way."
"Jest as you say, ma'am. I s'pose it would be too much to ask if you kin give us a hot cup of coffee. We haven't tasted any since we left 'Frisco."
"I can give you coffee," answered the woman. "My husband likes it, and we always keep it on hand."
"Good!" said Bradley, his face lighting up with satisfaction. "We've rid far to-day, and a cup of coffee will go to the right spot."
Bradley and Ben threw themselves on the ground near-by, and awaited with complacence the call to supper.
"We're in luck, Ben," said his companion. "Who'd have expected a hot supper out here in this lonely place?"
"I don't much like the looks of our landlady, Jake," said Ben.
"She ain't handsome, I allow, Ben; but if she gives us a good supper, that don't matter. We must make the most of this, for it's uncertain when we get another."
"W'on't she give us breakfast in the morning?"
"I didn't think of that. Maybe she will, and that'll be a good start on our to-morrow's journey."
In about three-quarters of an hour the woman came to the door, and called the travelers in to supper.
An unpainted wooden table was set in the middle of the floor, on which was spread a simple but appetizing meal. There was a plate of meat, which appeared to have been fried; a loaf of bread, and a pot of coffee; but there was neither milk nor butter. This naturally detracted from the attractiveness of the bread and coffee, but our travelers were not disposed to be fastidious.
Ben tasted the meat, and it evidently puzzled him. In taste it differed from anything he had eaten before.
Bradley smiled at his perplexity.
"Don't you know what it is, Ben?" he asked.
"No."
"Do you like it?"
"I am hungry enough to enjoy anything."
"Well, lad, it's bear steak."
"Bear steak!" repeated Ben, in surprise.
"Exactly. I've eaten it before two or three times. You see, we haven't any markets here to depend on, and we must take what we can get."
"It isn't bad," said Ben meditatively.
During this conversation the landlady had been out of the room. As it concluded, she reentered.
"Your supper is good, ma'am," said Bradley.
"Now if you only had a cow to supply you with milk and butter, you'd be fixed complete."
"If you want 'em you'll have to go somewhere else," said the woman.
"Excuse me, ma'am. I wasn't complainin' of the fare-not by no means. I was only thinkin' of you."
"There's no call to think of me, stranger."
"Have you lived long in these parts, ma'am?" inquired Bradley socially.
"Fools ask questions, and fools answer them. I ain't a fool," responded the polite hostess.
"Excuse my curiosity, ma'am. I didn't know that it would be disagreeable to you to answer."
"Who told you it was?"
"I thought from your way of speakin'."
"It's none of your business, that's all," said the hostess.
Even Bradley was silenced. It was clear that their hostess was not inclined to be social. The remainder of the meal passed in silence.
CHAPTER XVI. — A NEW ACQUAINTANCE.
After supper the two travelers emerged from, the cabin and stretched themselves out under the trees once more. Bradley produced a clay pipe, filled the bowl with tobacco, and began to smoke.
"It's a pity you don't smoke, Ben," he said, his face expressing the satisfaction he felt.
"Would you advise me to, Jake?" questioned our hero.
"No, Ben; I guess you're better off without it; but there's nothing makes me feel so good as a smoke after a good supper."
"I feel comfortable without it, Jake."
"Then let well enough alone. I wonder whether our sweet-tempered hostess is goin' to give us a bed to-night. Not that it matters much. I'd rather have a good supper, and sleep under the trees, than have the best bed in Californy without the supper."
Here their attention was drawn to a man who was leisurely approaching. He was dressed roughly in a red shirt, trousers tucked in his boots, and a hat with a broad flapping brim. As he strode along, his revolver and bowie-knife were carelessly exposed. His complexion was dark; he wore an abundant beard, and whatever he might be, he looked like a desperado, whom one would not care to meet on a dark night, unless well armed and on the alert.
He stopped short when he caught sight of the two travelers.
"Who are you?" he asked abruptly.
"We're bound for the mines," answered Bradley. "Your good lady, if so be as you live there—indicating the cabin-has just provided us with a capital supper."
The newcomer glanced toward the door of the cabin, at which the woman now made her appearance.
"Givin' you some supper, eh? I hope she's saved some for me."
"Yes, Jack," said his wife, in a conciliatory tone; "there's plenty for you. These strangers offered to pay well for supper and lodging, and I thought you wouldn't object. I gave them the supper, but I wouldn't say anything about the lodging until you came."
"Well, stir round, old gal, and get me something to eat, for I'm dead hungry."
"Supper is ready now, Jack."
The man entered his cabin, and the next twenty minutes were consumed in repairing the ravages of hunger.
"How do you like his looks, Jake?" asked Ben, in a low voice.
"He's just the sort of man I'd expect to find in a State prison," answered Bradley. "That man's a rascal, if looks mean anything."
"I'll tell you what he reminds me of, Jake. Did you ever read 'Oliver Twist'?"
"All of a Twist? That's a queer name. What is it?"
"It's a story by Dickens. He describes a brutal villain, named Bill Sykes, who murders his wife."
"This chap looks as if he wouldn't mind doing it. His wife's afraid of him, though half an hour ago I would have said she wasn't afraid of anything."
"That's so. They seem pretty well matched."
Presently the master of the cabin came out. It was not easy for his harsh features to look amiable, but his manner was no longer offensive. He even seemed inclined to be social.
"Traveled fur to-day?" he inquired.
"About thirty miles, as near as I can guess," said Bradley.
"Is that your boy?"
"No, he's no kin to me. We're travelin' together-that's all."
"Goin' to the mines?"
"We are goin' to Murphy's."
"Come from 'Frisco?"
"Yes."
The proprietor of the cabin at this reply fixed his eyes reflectively upon Ben and his companion.
"I'd like to know what he's thinkin' about," said Bradley to himself. "Somehow I mistrust him. A man with that face can't help bein' a scoundrel."
"Don't you find it lonely livin' out here?" he asked.
Jack Carter shrugged his shoulders.
"I don't care for company," he said. "As long as me and the old woman get enough to eat, our own company's good enough for us."
"Are there any mines near-by?" asked Bradley.
"Not very."
"What inducement can he have to live out here in the wilderness?" thought Bradley. "If he were workin' a mine now, I could understand. How does he make a livin', I wonder?"
"Have you lived here long?" he asked.
"Quite a while."
It was clear that Jack did not care to answer definitely, and was disposed to give as little information as possible about himself.
It was yet early when the two travelers felt an inclination to sleep. They had had a hard day's tramp, and wished to be stirring early the next day. As yet, however, they were uncertain whether they would be permitted to sleep in the cabin. Bradley resolved to put the question to the man.
"If you haven't got room for us to sleep," he said, "Ben and I will camp out, as we have done before."
"The old woman's makin' up a bed for you," said Jack. "We don't keep a hotel, but we've got room for you two."
"Thank you."
"Wait here, and I'll see if the bed's ready."
He entered the cabin, probably to consult with his wife.
"I don't know why it is, Ben," said Bradley, in a low voice, "but I mistrust that man."
"Don't you think it safe to sleep here?" asked Ben gravely.
"I think if we are prudent we shall keep a careful watch over our host and hostess; they may mean us harm."
"What motive would they have for harming us, Jake?"
"To get possession of our money. There's a gang of robbers hereabouts, who make their livin' by stopping stages, and lyin' in wait for solitary travelers, and I strongly suspect that this man is one of them."
"Do you judge from his looks?"
"Not wholly, but I can't think of any other motive he can have for livin' in this out-of-the-way place. There are no mines near, and the huntin' wouldn't pay him. I may be mistaken, but that's what I think."
"What shall we do?" asked Ben, a little startled by his companion's suggestion.
"That's more than I can tell you, Ben."
"We might camp out."
"And be surprised in our sleep. No, we shall be as safe in the cabin as outside. Besides, I may be wrong. But, hush! here comes our agreeable friend."
Jack Carter had in his hand a bottle and a tin mug.
"Strangers," said he, "Jack Carter's a poor man, but he's not so poor that he can't offer a glass of wine to a friend."
As he spoke, he poured out a liberal mug of wine and offered it to Bradley.
Our friend Bradley was not a member of a temperance society, and he could not resist the temptation. His conscience smote him when he thought of the suspicions he had cherished, and there was a sudden revulsion.
"After all," thought he, "Jack Carter is a good fellow. He don't look it, to be sure, but a man can't help his looks What is it the poet says, 'A man may smile and be a villain still.' Jack's a rough customer, but he's treatin' Ben and me tiptop."
"I drink your health, Jack," he said cordially. "You've treated Ben and me like gentlemen, and we're glad to know you. You're the right sort."
And he drained the mug.
Jack Carter filled it again, and passed it to Ben.
"Take a drink, boy," he said. "It will make you feel good."
"No, thank you," said Ben politely.
"What's the matter?" asked Jack, frowning. "Why won't you drink?"
"I never drink," answered Ben. "I promised my father I wouldn't, and I can't break my word."
"This wine is weak. It wouldn't hurt a baby."
"I would rather not drink," said Ben.
"Ain't you goin' a little too fur, Ben?" remonstrated Bradley. "Your father meant rum and whisky and sich. He wouldn't mind wine."
"Yes, he would," said Ben, resolutely. "I had an uncle who died a drunkard, and it was that that made my father so particular. I promised him faithfully, and now that he's dead, I can't break my work to him."
"The boy's right, Jack," said Bradley. "It won't hurt you and me, but if he don't want to drink, we won't press him."
"It's blasted nonsense!" exclaimed Jack angrily. "The boy's puttin' on airs, that's what's the matter."
"He's a good boy," said Bradley. "You don't know him as well as I do."
"Jest as you say," muttered Jack, in a dissatisfied tone. "If you want to go to bed now, you can."
"I'm ready, for one," said Bradley, rising with, alacrity. "I'm powerful sleepy."
"Come in, then."
They followed their host into the cabin.
CHAPTER XVII. — A TIGHT PLACE.
The lower part of the cabin was divided into two rooms, over which was a loft. There was no staircase; but there was a short ladder by which the ascent was made.
"You're to sleep up there," said Jack, pointing to the loft. "Me and the old woman sleep below."
"All right," said Bradley, gaping. "I can sleep anywhere to-night. I'm powerful sleepy."
He ascended the ladder first, and Ben followed. There was no bedstead, but a straw pallet was stretched in one corner, with a blanket in place of a quilt.
"I sha'n't undress, Ben," said Bradley, throwing himself down on the rude bed. "I can't keep my eyes open long enough. I think I never felt so sleepy in the whole course of my life."
"I am tired, but not sleepy," returned Ben.
"I won't undress, either. I can sleep just as well in my clothes."
Scarcely a minute had passed when Bradley was breathing in the unconsciousness of slumber.
As Ben lay down beside him, he could not help feeling surprised at his companion's yielding so suddenly to the power of sleep. That he should be tired was not surprising; but when seated outside he had not seemed unusually drowsy, that is, up to the time of his drinking the wine. A quick suspicion flashed upon Ben's mind. Had the wine anything to do with this sudden drowsiness?
Ben had not much experience of life; but he had heard of liquors being drugged, and it seemed possible that the wine which had been offered to Bradley might have been tampered with. If so, it was only too evident what was the object of their host. It was natural to suppose that the two travelers were provided with money, and it was undoubtedly the intention of Jack Carter to rob them in their sleep.
This was not a pleasant thought, nor one calculated to soothe Ben to sleep. He was only a boy, and to find himself in a robber's den was certainly rather a startling discovery. If he had been able to consult with his companion, it would have been a relief; but Bradley was in a profound sleep.
Ben nudged him, but without the slightest effect. He was insensible as a log. Finding more vigorous measures necessary, the boy shook him, but succeeded only in eliciting a few muttered words.
"I can't wake him," thought Ben, more and more disturbed in mind. "I am sure it must be the wine which makes him sleep so heavily. What can I do?"
This question was more easily asked than answered. Ben was quite aware that single-handed he could not cope with a powerful man like Carter. With Bradley's help he would have felt secure; but no assistance could now be expected from his companion. So far as he could see, he must submit to be robbed, and to see his companion robbed. Of course, there was a chance that he might be mistaken. It was possible that Bradley's might be a natural sleep, induced by excessive fatigue, and there might be nothing sinister in the intentions of their host.
Ben, however, found it difficult to convince himself of this, much as he desired to do so. The existence of a gang of robbers in the vicinity, referred to by Bradley, was not calculated to reassure him. If Carter did not belong to this gang, his personal appearance was certainly calculated to foster the suspicion of his connection with them, and the suspicion was strengthened by the fact of his living in this lonely place without any apparent inducement.
For the first time, perhaps, since he had left the East, he wished himself in the security of home. As Deacon Pitkin's hired boy, living on frugal diet, he would have been better off than here at the mercy of a mountain bandit.
But Ben was a boy of spirit, and not inclined to submit in a cowardly manner without first considering if in any possible manner he could guard against the danger which menaced him. Fatigued as he was by the day's ride, he would, under ordinary circumstances, have fallen asleep quickly; but now anxiety and apprehension kept him broad awake.
"If I could only rouse Bradley," he said to himself, "I should feel more comfortable. I don't like the responsibility of deciding what is best to be done."
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of low voices below. Evidently Carter and his wife were conversing, and probably about them. Anxious to hear what was said, as this might give him a clue to their plans, Ben rose softly from his low couch, and drew near the edge of the opening through which he had mounted into the loft. In this position he was able to hear what was said.
"They must have money," said Carter. "They would need it to get them out to the mines. Whatever it is, I am bound to have it."
"The man seems strong," replied the wife. "You may not find it an easy task to master him."
"What can he do?" returned Carter contemptuously. "He is in a dead sleep. I put enough stuff into his wine to keep him in a stupor for twelve good hours. If I'm not a match for a sleeping man, I'll go and hang myself."
"But the boy-he took no wine."
"No; he's one of them temperance sneaks. But he's only a baby. I could lay him out with one hand."
"Don't harm him, Jack!" said the woman. "I can't help feeling kindly to him. Our boy, had he lived, would have been about his age. I can't help thinking of that."
"Don't be silly! Because we had a boy once, mustn't interfere with business."
"But you won't hurt him, Jack?" pleaded the woman, who, hard as she seemed, appeared to have a soft side to her nature.
"No; I won't hurt the brat if he behaves himself and doesn't get bumptious. Likely enough he'll be fast asleep. Boys at his age generally sleep well."
"In the morning they will discover that they have been robbed. What will you say to them?"
"Tell them it's none of my business; that I know nothing about it."
"But if the boy is awake, and sees you at work, Jack?"
"Then it will be different. It would have been better for him to have taken the wine."
"Do you think he suspected anything?"
"No; how could he suspect that the wine was drugged? He is one of them temperance sneaks, I tell you."
"How soon are you going up, Jack?"
"In half an hour. I want to give the boy time enough to get asleep. That will make matters easy."
"Don't you think I had better go up, Jack?"
"Why should you? Why should I let a woman do my work?"
"Then I should know the boy would receive no harm."
"Oh, that's it, is it? You make a great fuss about the boy."
"Yes; I can't help thinking about my own boy."
"Oh, drop that! It makes me sick. Wasn't he my boy as well as yours? I'm sorry he's gone. I could have brought him up to be a help to us in our business."
"Never, Jack, never!" exclaimed his wife fervently.
"Hello! what's that?"
"I mean that I should have been unwilling to have our son grow up no better than we are. He, at any rate, should have been a good man."
"What's up now, old woman? You haven't been attending Sunday-school lately, have you?" demanded Jack, with a sneer.
"I did once, Jack, and I haven't quite forgotten what I learned there, though it don't look like it now."
"Are you going back on me?" demanded Jack fiercely.
"No, Jack, it's too late for that. I have helped you, and I mean to help you, but to-night the sight of that boy, and the thought of our son, who died so long ago, have given me a turn. If it was a man, it would be different. But you have promised you won't harm him, and no more need be said."
"Too much has been said already, to my thinkin'," growled Jack. "However, that's over, and I expect you to help me if I need help."
Ben heard every word that was said, and it confirmed his suspicions. There was no doubt that an attempt would be made to rob him and his companion before morning, and the prospect was not pleasant. By submitting quietly he would come to no harm, and the loss of the money would not be irreparable. He and Bradley had each started with a hundred dollars, supplied by Miss Doughlas, and thus far but little of this sum had been spent. Their employer would doubtless send them a further supply if they were robbed, but they would be reluctant to apply to her, since the loss would be partly the result of their imprudence.
Ben felt that he was in a tight place, and he was not quite certain what he should or could do.
CHAPTER XVIII. — AN EVENING CALL.
To lie awake in momentary expectation of a hostile attack, from which there is apparently no escape, is by no means a comfortable position. The cabin was in the heart of the woods, with no other dwelling within twenty miles, so far as Ben knew. In fact, if it were true, as Jack had said, that there were no mines near at hand, there were probably no neighbors, except, possibly, of Jack's kind.
The question recurred to Ben: Was he willing to surrender his money, and go forth penniless, or should he attempt to escape or resist?
"If Jake would only wake up!" he thought, surveying, with perplexity, the recumbent form at his side.
But Jake was as senseless as a log, and the attempt to rouse him would inevitably attract attention below and precipitate the attack, besides leaving them utterly penniless.
There was another idea which occurred to our hero: Could he secrete his own money and Jake's, or the greater part of it, and thus save it from the clutches of his dishonest host?
If it had been in the form of bank-bills, there might have been some chance of doing this, but it was not so easy to conceal gold pieces. While considering this question, Ben rose softly and looked out of the window. Strictly speaking, there was no window, but a hole about fifteen inches square, screened by a curtain of coarse cotton cloth. This Ben moved aside, and looked out.
It was not a very dark night. In the half-light Ben was able to see a considerable distance. The height of the opening from the ground was probably not much over twelve feet, as well as the boy could estimate. There would have been no difficulty in his getting out and swinging to the ground, but to this move there were two objections: First, he would be sure to be heard by his enemy below; and, secondly, he was unwilling to leave Jake in the power of the enemy.
While he was standing at the window he heard the noise of some one moving below. The heavy step convinced him that it was Jack. He could not leave his place and lie down without being detected, and he hastily decided to remain where he was.
In this way he might possibly gain time.
Jack softly stepped from round to round of the ladder, and presently his head peered above the floor. He started angrily when he saw the boy at the window.
"What are you about there, boy?" he demanded roughly.
Ben turned, and said composedly: "I am looking out."
"Why are you not in bed and asleep, like your friend?"
"I tried to sleep, sir, but I couldn't."
"Do you expect to get to sleep looking out of that hole?"
"I thought I'd see how light it was."
"Well, I can't have you trampin' round, keepin' the old woman and me awake. I wouldn't have let you sleep here ef I had known that's the way you spend the night."
"I beg pardon if I disturbed you," said Ben politely.
"Well, that don't do no good, your apologizin'. Jest lay down and get to sleep in a hurry, or I'll know the reason why."
"All right, sir," said Ben submissively.
"What's the name of that chap that's with you?" continued Jack.
"It's Jake Bradley."
"He's a sensible man, he is. He lays down and goes to sleep, while you're trampin' round the room and lookin' out of doors. You won't see nothin' to pay you."
"I think you're right, sir. I'll lie down and go to sleep."
"You'd better. Me and the old woman can't be kept awake all night."
When Ben had resumed his place on the floor, the intruder descended the ladder. Though it would have been easy enough to execute his plan of robbery now, he evidently preferred to wait till both the travelers should be asleep.
It was not true, as he had said, that he had heard Ben moving about. In fact, it had been a surprise to him to find the boy up, but this afforded a convenient and plausible pretext for his intrusion, and he had availed himself of it.