Bob Produces the Missing Receipt.
"When my poor husband left your office this receipt was in his possession," answered Mrs. Burton.
"I deny it," exclaimed Aaron Wolverton, in a tone of excitement.
"Where else should it be?" inquired the widow, eying him fixedly.
"I don't know. How should I?"
"So you deny that the signature is yours, Mr. Wolverton?"
"Let me see it."
"I would rather not," said Bob, drawing back the receipt from Wolverton's extended hand.
"That's enough!" said Wolverton quickly. "You are afraid to show it. I denounce it as a base forgery."
"That will do no good," said the boy, un-terrified. "I have shown the receipt to Mr. Dornton, and he pronounces the signature genuine."
"What made you show it to him?" asked Wolverton, discomfited.
"Because I thought it likely, after your demanding the interest the second time, that you would deny it."
"Probably I know my own signature better than Mr. Dornton can."
"I have no doubt you will recognize it," and Bob, unfolding the paper, held it in such a manner that Wolverton could read it.
"It may be my signature; it looks like it," said Wolverton, quickly deciding upon a new evasion, "but it was never delivered to your father."
"How then do you account for its being written?" asked Mrs. Burton, in natural surprise.
"I made it out on the day your husband died," Wolverton answered glibly, "anticipating that he would pay the money. He did not do it, and so the receipt remained in my desk."
Bob and his mother regarded each other in surprise. They were not prepared for such a barefaced falsehood.
"Perhaps you will account for its not being in your desk now," said Bob.
"I can do so, readily," returned Wolverton, maliciously. "Somebody must have stolen it from my desk."
"I think you will find it hard to prove this, Mr. Wolverton."
"It is true, and I don't propose to lose my money on account of a stolen receipt. You will find that you can't so easily circumvent Aaron Wolverton."
"You are quite welcome to adopt this line of defense, Mr. Wolverton, if you think best. You ought to know whether the public will believe such an improbable tale."
"If you had the receipt why didn't you show it to me before?" Wolverton asked in a triumphant tone. "I came here soon after your father's death, and asked for my interest. Your mother admitted, then, that she had no receipt."
"Where, and when, did you find it?"
"I do not propose to tell."
Wolverton shook his head, satirically.
"And a very good reason you have, I make no doubt."
"Suppose I tell you my theory, Mr. Wolverton."
"I wish you would," and Wolverton leaned back in his chair and gazed defiantly at the boy he so much hated.
"My father paid you the interest, and took a receipt. He had it on his person when he met with his death. When he was lying outstretched in death"—here Bob's eyes moistened—"some one came up, and, bending over him, took the receipt from his pocket."
Mr. Wolverton's face grew pale as Bob proceeded.
"A very pretty romance!" he sneered, recovering himself after an instant.
"It is something more than romance," Bob proceeded slowly and gravely. "It is true; the man who was guilty of this mean theft from a man made helpless by death is known. He was seen at this contemptible work."
"It is a lie," cried Wolverton, hoarsely, his face the color of chalk.
"It is a solemn truth."
"Who saw him?"
"I don't propose to tell—yet, if necessary, it will be told in a court of justice."
Wolverton saw that he was found out, but he could not afford to acknowledge. His best way of getting off was to fly into a rage, and this was easy for him.
"I denounce this as a base conspiracy," he said, rising as he spoke. "That receipt was stolen from my desk."
"Then we do not need to inquire who took it from the vest-pocket of my poor father."
"Robert Barton, I will get even with you for this insult," said Wolverton, shaking his fist at the manly boy. "You and your mother."
"Leave out my mother's name," said Bob, sternly.
"I will; I don't think she would be capable of such meanness. You, then, are engaged in a plot to rob me of a hundred and fifty dollars. To further this wicked scheme, you or your agent have stolen this receipt from my desk. I can have you arrested for burglary. It is no more nor less than that."
"You can do so if you like, Mr. Wolverton. In that case the public shall know that you stole the receipt from my poor father after his death. I can produce an eye-witness."
Wolverton saw that he was in a trap. Such a disclosure would injure him infinitely in the opinion of his neighbors, for it would be believed. There was no help for it. He must lose the hundred and fifty dollars upon which, though he had no claim to it, he had so confidently reckoned.
"You will hear from me!" he said, savagely, as he jammed his hat down upon his head, and hastily left the apartment. "Aaron Wolverton is not the man to give in to fraud."
Neither Bob nor his mother answered him, but Mrs. Burton asked anxiously, after his departure:
"Do you think he will do anything, Bob?"
"No, mother; he sees that he is in a trap, and will think it wisest to let the matter drop."
This, in fact, turned out to be the case. Mortifying as it was to give in, Wolverton did not dare to act otherwise. He would have given something handsome, mean though he was, if he could have found out, first, who saw him rob the dead man, and next, who extracted the stolen receipt from his desk. He was inclined to guess that it was Bob in both cases. It never occurred to him that Clip was the eye-witness whose testimony could brand him with this contemptible crime. Nor did he think of Sam in connection with his own loss of the receipt. He knew Sam's timidity, and did not believe the boy would have dared to do such a thing.
All the next day, in consequence of his disappointment, Mr. Wolverton was unusually cross and irritable. He even snapped at his sister, who replied, with spirit:
"Look here, Aaron, you needn't snap at me, for I won't stand it."
"How will you help it?" he sneered.
"By leaving your house, and letting you get another housekeeper. I can earn my own living, without working any harder than I do here, and a better living, too. While I stay here, you've got to treat me decently."
Wolverton began to see that he had made a mistake. Any other housekeeper would cost him more, and he could find none that would be so economical.
"I don't mean anything, Sally," he said; "but I'm worried."
"What worries you?"
"A heavy loss."
"How much?"
"A hundred and fifty dollars."
"How is that?"
"I have lost a receipt, but I can't explain how. A hundred and fifty dollars is a great deal of money, Sally."
"I should say it was. Why can't you tell me about it?"
"Perhaps I will some time."
About two months later, while Bob was superintending the harvesting of the wheat—the staple crop of the Burton ranch—Clip came running up to him in visible excitement.
"Oh, Massa Bob," he exclaimed, "there is a ferry-boat coming down the creek with nobody on it, and it's done got stuck ag'inst a snag. Come quick, and we can take it for our own. Findings is keepings."
Bob lost no time in following Clip's suggestion. He hurried to the creek, and there, a few rods from shore, he discovered the boat stranded in the mud, for it was low tide.
The boat was shaped somewhat like the popular representations of Noah's ark. It was probably ninety feet in length by thirty-eight feet in width, and was roofed. Bob recognized it at once as a ferry-boat of the style used at different points on the river, to convey passengers and teams across the river. It was a double-ender, like the much larger ferry-boats that are used on the East River, between New York and Brooklyn.
The creek on which the Burton ranch was located was really large enough for a river, and Bob concluded that this boat had been used at a point higher up.
"I wish I owned that boat, Clip," said Bob.
"What would you do with it, Massa Bob?"
"I'll tell you what I'd do, Clip; I'd go down to St. Louis on it."
"Will you take me with you, Massa Bob?" asked Clip, eagerly.
"I will, if I go, Clip."
"Golly, won't that be fine!" said the delighted Clip. "How long will you stay, Massa Bob?"
Clip supposed Bob intended a pleasure trip, for in his eyes pleasure was the chief end of living. But Bob was more practical and business-like. He had an idea which seemed to him a good one, though as yet he had mentioned it to no one.
"Get out the boat, Clip," he said, "and we'll go aboard. I want to see if the boat will be large enough for my purpose."
Clip laughed in amusement.
"You must think you'self mighty big, Massa Bob," he said, "if you think there isn't room on that boat for you an' me."
"It would certainly be large enough for two passengers like ourselves, Clip," answered Bob, smiling; "for that matter our rowboat is large enough for two boys, but if I go I shall carry a load with me."
Clip was still in the dark, but he was busying himself in unloosing the rowboat, according to Bob's bidding. The two boys jumped in, and a few strokes of the oars carried them to the ferry-boat. Fastening the flat-bottomed boat, the two boys clambered on deck.
Bob found the boat in good condition. It had occurred to him that it had been deserted as old and past service, and allowed to drift down the creek, but an examination showed that in this conjecture he was mistaken. It was sufficiently good to serve for years yet. This discovery was gratifying in one way, but in another it was a disappointment. As a boat of little value, Bob could have taken possession of it, fairly confident that no one would interfere with his claim, but in its present condition it was hardly likely to be without an owner, who would appear sooner or later and put in his claim to it.
"It seems to be a pretty good boat," said Bob.
"Dat's so, Massa Bob."
"It must have slipped its moorings and drifted down the creek during the night. I wish I knew who owned it."
"You an' me own it, Massa Bob. Finding is keeping."
"I am afraid it won't be so in the present case. Probably the owner will appear before long."
"Can't we get off down de river afore he comes, Massa Bob?"
"That wouldn't be honest, Clip."
Clip scratched his head in perplexity. He was not troubled with conscientious scruples, and was not as clear about the rights of property as his young patron. He was accustomed, however, to accept whatever Bob said as correct and final. In fact, he was content to let Bob do his thinking for him.
"What was you goin' to take down de ribber, Massa Bob?" he asked.
"I'll tell you what I was thinking of, Clip. You know we are gathering our crop of grain, and of course it must be sold. Now, traders ask a large commission for taking the wheat to market, and this would be a heavy tax. If I could load it on board this boat, and take it down myself, I should save all that, and I could sell it myself in St. Louis."
"Can I go, too?" asked Clip, anxiously.
"You shall go if I do," answered Bob.
"When will you know?" asked Clip, eagerly.
"When I find out whether I can use this boat. I had thought of building a raft, but that wouldn't do. No raft that I could build would carry our crop to St. Louis. This boat will be just the thing. I think it must have been used for that purpose before. See those large bins on each side. Each would contain from fifty to a hundred bushels of wheat. I only wish I knew the owner. Even if I couldn't buy the boat, I might make a bargain to hire it."
Bob had hardly finished his sentence when he heard a voice hailing him from the bank.
Going to the end of the boat, he looked towards the shore, and saw a tall angular figure, who seemed from his dress and appearance to be a Western Yankee. His figure was tall and angular, his face of the kind usually described as hatchet face, with a long thin nose, and his head was surmounted by a flapping sombrero, soft, broad-brimmed, and shapeless.
"Boat ahoy!" called the stranger.
"Did you wish to speak to us?" asked Bob, politely.
"I reckon I do," answered the stranger. "I want you to take me aboard that boat."
"Is the boat yours?" asked Bob.
"It doesn't belong to anybody else," was the reply.
"Untie the boat, Clip. We'll go back!" ordered Bob.
The two boys dropped into the rowboat, and soon touched the bank.
"If you will get in we'll row you over," said Bob. "When did you lose the boat?"
"It drifted down last night," answered the new acquaintance. "I've been usin' it as a ferry-boat about twenty miles up the creek. Last night I thought it was tied securely, but this morning it was gone."
"I don't see how it could have broken away."
"Like as not some mischievous boy cut the cable," was the answer. "Any way, here it is, and here am I, Ichabod Slocum, the owner."
"Then the boat and its owner are once more united."
"Yes, but that don't take the boat back to where it belongs. It's drifted down here, easy enough; mebbe one of you boys will tell me how it's goin' to drift back."
"There may be some difficulty about that," answered Bob with a smile. "How long have you owned the boat?"
"About two years. I've been usin' her as a ferry-boat between Transfer City and Romeo, and I've made a pretty fair livin' at it."
Bob was familiar with the names of these towns, though he had never been so far up the creek.
"I'm afraid you'll have trouble in getting the boat back," he said. "It will make quite an interruption in your business."
"I don't know as I keer so much about that," said Ichabod Slocum, thoughtfully. "I've been thinkin' for some time about packin' up and goin' farther west. I've got a cousin in Oregon, and I reckon I might like to go out there for a year or two."
"Then, perhaps you might like to dispose of the boat, Mr. Slocum," said Bob, eagerly.
"Well, I might," said Ichabod Slocum, cautiously. "Do you know of anybody around here that wants a boat?"
"I might like it myself," was Bob's reply.
"What on airth does a boy like you want of a ferry-boat?" asked Slocum, in surprise.
"I have a plan in my head," said Bob; "and think it would be useful to me."
"There ain't no call for a ferry-boat here," said Ichabod.
"No; you are right there. I may as well tell you what I am thinking of. Our crop of grain is ready to harvest, and I should like to load it on this boat and carry it down to St. Louis and sell it there myself."
"Good!" said Mr. Slocum. "I like your pluck. Well, there's the boat. You can have it if you want it—for a fair price, of course."
"What do you call a fair price?" asked Bob.
"I don't mind sayin' that I bought it second-hand myself, and I've got good value out of it. I might sell it for—a hundred and twenty-five dollars."
Bob shook his head.
"That may be cheap," he answered; "but I can't afford to pay so much money."
"You can sell it at St. Louis when you're through usin' it."
"I should have to take my risk of it."
"You seem to be pretty good on a trade, for a boy. I reckon you'll sell it."
"Do you want all the money down. Mr. Slocum?"
"Well, I might wait for half of it, ef I think it's safe. What's your security?"
"We—that is, mother and I—own the ranch bordering on the other side of the creek. The wheat crop we are harvesting will probably amount to fourteen hundred bushels. I understand it is selling for two dollars a bushel or thereabouts." (This was soon after the war, when high prices prevailed for nearly all articles, including farm products.)
"I reckon you're safe, then," said Mr. Slocum. "Now we'll see if we can agree upon a price."
I will not follow Bob and Mr. Slocum in the bargaining that succeeded. The latter was the sharper of the two, but Bob felt obliged to reduce the price as much as possible, in view of the heavy mortgage upon the ranch.
"I shall never breathe easy till that mortgage is paid, mother," he said. "Mr. Wolverton is about the last man I like to owe. His attempt to collect the interest twice shows that he is unscrupulous. Besides, he has a grudge against me, and it would give him pleasure, I feel sure, to injure me."
"I am afraid you are right, Robert," answered his mother. "We must do our best, and Heaven will help us."
Finally Mr. Slocum agreed to accept seventy-five dollars cash down, or eighty dollars, half in cash, and the remainder payable after Bob's river trip was over and the crop disposed of.
"I wouldn't make such terms to any one else," said the boat-owner, "but I've been a boy myself, and I had a hard row to hoe, you bet. You seem like a smart lad, and I'm favorin' you all I can."
"Thank you, Mr. Slocum. I consider your price very fair, and you may depend upon my carrying out my agreement. Now, if you will come up to the house, I will offer you some dinner, and pay you the money."
Bob Buys the Ferry-boat.
Ichabod Slocum readily accepted the invitation, and the three went up to the house together.
When Bob told his mother of the bargain he had made, she was somewhat startled. She felt that he did not realize how great an enterprise he had embarked in.
"You forget, Robert, that you are only a boy," she said.
"No, mother, I don't forget it. But I have to take a man's part, now that father is dead."
"St. Louis is a long distance away, and you have no experience in business."
"On the other hand, mother, if we sell here, we must make a great sacrifice—twenty-five cents a bushel at least, and that on fourteen hundred bushels would amount to three hundred and fifty dollars. Now Clip and I can navigate the boat to St. Louis and return for less than quarter of that sum."
"The boy speaks sense, ma'am," said Ichabod Slocum. "He's only a kid, but he's a smart one. He's good at a bargain, too. He made me take fifty dollars less for the boat than I meant to. You can trust him better than a good many men."
"I am glad you have so favorable an opinion of Robert, Mr. Slocum," said Mrs. Burton. "I suppose I must yield to his desire."
"Then I may go, mother?"
"Yes, Robert; you have my consent."
"Then the next thing is to pay Mr. Slocum for his boat."
This matter was speedily arranged.
"I wish, Mr. Slocum," said Bob, "that you were going to St. Louis. I would be very glad to give you free passage."
"Thank you, lad, but I must turn my steps in a different direction."
"Shall I have any difficulty in managing the boat on our course down the river?"
"No, you will drift with the current. It is easy enough to go down stream. The trouble is to get back. But for that, I wouldn't have sold you the boat. At night you tie up anywhere it is convenient, and start again the next morning."
"That seems easy enough. Do you know how far it is to St. Louis, Mr. Slocum?"
"There you have me, lad. I ain't much on reckonin' distances."
"I have heard your father say, Robert, that it is about three hundred miles from here to the city. I don't like to have you go so far from me."
"I've got Clip to take care of me, mother," said Bob, humorously.
"I'll take care of Massa Bob, missis," said Clip, earnestly.
"I suppose I ought to feel satisfied with that assurance," said Mrs. Burton, smiling, "but I have never been accustomed to think of Clip as a guardian."
"I'll guardian, him, missis," promised Clip, amid general laughter.
After dinner, in company with Mr. Slocum, Bob and Clip went on board the ferry-boat, and made a thorough examination of the craft, with special reference to the use for which it was intended.
"You expect to harvest fourteen hundred bushels?" inquired Mr. Slocum.
"Yes; somewhere about that amount."
"Then you may need to make two or three extra bins."
"That will be a simple matter," said Bob.
"The roof over the boat will keep the wheat dry and in good condition. When you get to the city you can sell it all to one party, and superintend the removal yourself. You can hire all the help you need there."
Bob was more and more pleased with his purchase.
"It is just what I wanted," he said, enthusiastically. "The expenses will be almost nothing. We can take a supply of provisions with us, enough to keep us during the trip, and when the business is concluded we can return on some river steamer. We'll have a fine time, Clip."
"Golly! Massa Bob, dat's so."
"You will need to tie the boat," continued Ichabod Slocum, "or it may float off during the night, and that would upset all your plans. Have you a stout rope on the place?"
"I think not. I shall have to buy one at the store, or else cross the river."
"Then you had better attend to that at once. The boat may become dislodged at any moment."
After Mr. Slocum's departure, Bob lost no time in attending to this important matter. He procured a heavy rope, of sufficient strength, and proceeded to secure the boat to a tree on the bank.
"How soon will we start, Massa Bob?" asked Clip, who was anxious for the excursion to commence. He looked upon it somewhat in the light of an extended picnic, and it may be added that Bob also, apart from any consideration of business, anticipated considerable enjoyment from the trip down the river.
"Don't tell anybody what we are going to do with the boat, Clip," said Bob. "It will be a fortnight before we start, and I don't care to have much said about the matter beforehand."
Clip promised implicit obedience, but it was not altogether certain that he would be able to keep strictly to his word, for keeping a secret was not an easy thing for him to do.
Of course it leaked out that Bob had bought a ferry-boat. Among others Mr. Wolverton heard it, but he did not dream of the use to which Bob intended to put it. He spoke of it as a boy's folly, and instanced it as an illustration of the boy's unfitness for the charge of the ranch. It was generally supposed that Bob had bought it on speculation, hoping to make a good profit on the sale, and Bob suffered this idea to remain uncontradicted.
Meanwhile he pushed forward as rapidly as possible the harvest of the wheat, being anxious to get it to market.
When this work was nearly finished Mr. Wolverton thought it time to make a proposal to Mrs. Burton, which, if accepted, would bring him a handsome profit.
Mrs. Burton was somewhat surprised, one evening, when told that Mr. Wolverton was at the door, and desired to speak with her. Since the time his demand for a second payment of the interest had been met by a production of the receipt, he had kept away from the ranch. It might have been the mortification arising from baffled villainy, or, again, from the knowledge that no advantage could be gained from another interview. At all events, he remained away till the wheat was nearly harvested. Then he called, because he had a purpose to serve.
"Tell Mrs. Burton that I wish to see her on business," he said to the servant who answered his knock.
"You can show Mr. Wolverton in," said the widow.
Directly the guest was ushered into her presence.
"I needn't ask if I see you well, Mrs. Burton," he said, suavely. "Your appearance is a sufficient answer."
"Thank you," answered Mrs. Burton, coldly.
Aaron Wolverton noticed the coldness, but did not abate any of his suavity. He only said to himself: "The time will come when you will feel forced to give me a better reception, my lady!"
"I have called on a little business," he resumed.
"Is it about the interest?" asked the widow.
"No; for the present I waive that. I have been made the victim of a base theft, and it may cost me a hundred and fifty dollars: but I will not speak of that now."
"What other business can you have with me?"
"I have come to make you an offer."
"What!" exclaimed Mrs. Burton, indignantly.
Aaron Wolverton chuckled, thereby showing a row of defective and discolored teeth.
"You misunderstand me," he said. "I come to make you an offer for your wheat crop, which I suppose is nearly all gathered in."
"Yes," answered the widow relieved. "Robert tells me that it will be all harvested within three days."
"Just so. Now, I am willing to save you a great deal of trouble by buying the entire crop at a fair valuation."
"In that case, Mr. Wolverton, you will allow me to send for Robert. He attends to the business of the ranch, and understands much more about it than I do."
"Wait a minute, Mrs. Burton. Robert is no doubt a smart boy, but you give him too much credit."
"I don't think I do. He has shown, since his father's death, a judgment not often found in a boy of his age."
"She is infatuated about that boy!" thought Wolverton. "However, as I have a point to carry, I won't dispute with her."
"You may be right," he said, "but in this matter I venture to think that you and I can make a bargain without any outside help."
"You can, at any rate, state your proposition, Mr. Wolverton."
"Have you any idea as to the amount of your wheat crop?"
"Robert tells me there will be not far from fourteen hundred bushels."
Wolverton's eyes showed his pleasure. If he made the bargain proposed, this would bring him an excellent profit. "Very good!" he said. "It will be a great help to you."
"Yes; I feel that we are fortunate, especially when I consider that the ranch has been carried on by a boy of sixteen."
"Well, Mrs. Burton, I am a man of few words. I will give you a dollar and a half a bushel for your wheat, and this will give you, on the basis of fourteen hundred bushels, twenty-one hundred dollars. You are a very fortunate woman."
"But, Mr. Wolverton, Robert tells me he expects to get at least two dollars a bushel."
It must be remembered that grain was then selling at "war prices."
"I don't know what the boy can be thinking of," said Wolverton, contemptuously. "Two dollars a bushel! Why don't he say five dollars at once?"
"He gained his information from a St. Louis paper."
"My dear madam, the price here and the price in St. Louis are two entirely different matters. You must be aware that it will cost a good deal to transport the wheat to St. Louis."
"Surely it cannot cost fifty cents a bushel?"
"No; but it is a great mistake to suppose that you can get two dollars a bushel in St. Louis."
"I must leave the matter to Robert to decide."
"Excuse my saying that this is very foolish. The boy has not a man's judgment."
"Nevertheless, I must consult him before deciding."
Mrs. Barton spoke so plainly that Wolverton said, sullenly: "Do as you please, Mrs. Burton, but I would like to settle the matter to-night."
Robert was sent for, and, being near the house, entered without delay.
Mr. Wolverton's proposition was made known to him.
"Mr. Wolverton," said Bob, regarding that gentleman with a dislike he did not attempt to conceal, "You would make a very good bargain if we accepted your proposal."
"Not much," answered Wolverton, hastily. "Of course I should make a little something, but I am chiefly influenced in making the offer, by a desire to save your mother trouble."
"You would make seven hundred dollars at least, out of which you would only have to pay for transportation to St. Louis."
"That is a very ridiculous statement!" said Wolverton, sharply.
"Why so? The wheat will fetch two dollars a bushel in the market."
"Some one has been deceiving you."
"Shall I show you the paper in which I saw the quotations?"
"No; it is erroneous. Besides, the expense of carrying the grain to market will be very large."
"It won't be fifty cents a bushel."
"Young man, you are advising your mother against her best interests. Young people are apt to be headstrong. I should not expect to make much money out of the operation."
"Why, then, do you make the offer?"
"I have already told you that I wished to save your mother trouble."
"We are much obliged to you, but we decline your proposal."
"Then," said Wolverton, spitefully, "I shall have to hold you to the terms of the mortgage. I had intended to favor you, but after the tone you have taken with me, I shall not do so."
"To what terms do you refer, Mr. Wolverton?" asked the widow.
"I will tell you. I have the right at the end of six months to call for a payment of half the mortgage—fifteen hundred dollars. That will make, in addition to the interest then due, sixteen hundred and fifty dollars."
"Can this be true?" asked Mrs. Burton, in dismay, turning to Robert.
"It is so specified in the mortgage," answered Wolverton, triumphantly. "You can examine it for yourself. I have only to say, that, had you accepted my offer, I would have been content with, say, one quarter of the sum, knowing that it would be inconvenient for you to pay half."
Bob, as well as his mother, was taken by surprise, but in no way disposed to yield.
"We should be no better off," he said. "We should lose at least five hundred dollars by accepting your offer, and that we cannot afford to do."
"You refuse, then," said Wolverton, angrily.
"Yes."
"Then all I have to say is that you will rue this day," and the agent got up hastily, but upon second thought sat down again.
"How do you expect to get your grain to market?" he asked.
"I shall take it myself."
"I shall store it on a boat I have purchased, and Clip and I will take it to St. Louis."
"You must be crack-brained!" ejaculated Wolverton. "I never heard of a more insane project."
"I hope to disappoint you, Mr. Wolverton. At any rate, my mind is made up."
Wolverton shuffled out of the room, in impotent rage.
"We have made him our enemy, Robert," said his mother, apprehensively.
"He was our enemy before, mother. He evidently wants to ruin us."
As Wolverton went home, one thought was uppermost in his mind. "How could he prevent Bob from making the trip to St. Louis?"
Bob hired a couple of extra hands, and made haste to finish harvesting his wheat, for he was anxious to start on the trip down the river as soon as possible. His anticipations as to the size of the crop were justified. It footed up fourteen hundred and seventy-five bushels, and this, at two dollars per bushel, would fetch in market nearly three thousand dollars.
"That's a pretty good crop for a boy to raise, mother," said Bob, with pardonable exultation. "You haven't lost anything by allowing me to run the ranch."
"Quite true, Robert. You have accomplished wonders. I don't know what I could have done without you. I know very little of farming myself."
"I helped him, missis," said Clip, coveting a share of approval for himself.
"Yes," said Bob, smiling. "Clip has been my right-hand man. I can't say he has worked very hard himself, but he has superintended the others."
"Yes, missis; dat's what I done!" said Clip, proudly.
He did not venture to pronounce the word, for it was too much for him, but he was vaguely conscious that it was something important and complimentary.
"Then I must buy Clip a new suit," said Mrs. Burton, smiling.
"I'll buy it in St. Louis, mother."
When the grain was all gathered in Bob began to load it on the ferry-boat. Wolverton sent Sam round every day to report progress, but did not excite his nephew's suspicions by appearing to take unusual interest in the matter.
To prepare the reader for a circumstance which happened about this time, I find it necessary to introduce another character, who was able to do Bob an important service.
In a small house, about three-quarters of a mile beyond the Burton ranch, lived Dan Woods, a poor man, with, a large family. He hired the house which he occupied and a few acres of land from Aaron Wolverton, who had obtained possession of it by foreclosing a mortgage which he held. He permitted Woods, the former owner, to remain as a tenant in the house which once belonged to him, charging him rather more than an average rent. The poor man raised vegetables and a small crop of wheat, enough of each for his own family, and hired out to neighbors for the balance of his time. He obtained more employment on the Burton ranch than anywhere else, and Mrs. Burton had also sympathized with him in his difficult struggle to maintain his family. But, in spite of friends and his own untiring industry, Dan Woods fell behind. There were five children to support, and they required not only food but clothing, and Dan found it uphill work.
His monthly rent was ten dollars; a small sum in itself, but large for this much-burdened man to pay. But, however poorly he might fare in other respects, Dan knew that it was important to have this sum ready on the first day of every month. Wolverton was a hard landlord, and admitted of no excuse. More than once after the rent had been paid there was not a dollar left in his purse, or a pinch of food in his house.
A week before this time Dan was looking for his landlord's call with unusual anxiety. He had been sick nearly a week during the previous month, and this had so curtailed his earnings that he had but six dollars ready in place of ten. Would his sickness be accepted as an excuse? He feared not.
Wolverton's call was made on time. He had some expectation that the rent would not be ready, for he knew Dan had been sick; but he was resolved to show him no consideration.
"His sickness is nothing to me," he reflected. "It would be a pretty state of affairs if landlords allowed themselves to be cheated out of their rent for such a cause."
Dan Woods was at work in the yard when Wolverton approached. He was splitting some wood for use in the kitchen stove. His heart sank within him when he saw the keen, sharp features of his landlord.
"Good morning, Dan," said Wolverton, with suavity. His expression was amiable, as it generally was when he was collecting money, but it suffered a remarkable change if the money was not forthcoming.
"Good-morning, sir," answered Woods, with a troubled look.
"You've got a nice, snug place here, Dan; it's a fine home for your family."
"I don't complain of it, sir. As I once owned it myself, probably I set more store by it than a stranger would."
"Just so, Dan. You get it at a very low rent, too. If it were any one but yourself I should really feel that I ought to raise the rent to twenty dollars."
"I hope you won't do that, sir," said Woods, in alarm. "It's all I can do to raise ten dollars a month, with all my other expenses."
"Oh, well, I'll let it remain at the present figure as long as you pay me promptly," emphasizing the last words. "Of course I have a right to expect that."
Dan's heart sank within him. It was clear he could not expect any consideration from such a man. But the truth must be told.
"No doubt you are right, Mr. Wolverton, and you've found me pretty prompt so far."
"So I have, Dan. I know you wouldn't be dishonest enough to make me wait."
Dan's heart sank still lower. It was becoming harder every minute to own that he was deficient.
"Still, Mr. Wolverton, bad luck will come——"
"What!" exclaimed Wolverton, with a forbidding scowl.
"As I was saying, sir, a man is sometimes unlucky. Now, I have been sick nearly a week out of the last month, as you may have heard, and it's put me back."
"What are you driving at, Dan Woods?" demanded Wolverton, severely. "I hope you're not going to say that you are not ready to pay your rent?"
"I haven't got the whole of it, sir; and that's a fact."
"You haven't got the whole of it? How much have you got?"
"I can pay you six dollars, Mr. Wolverton."
"Six dollars out of ten! Why, this is positively shameful! I wonder you are not ashamed to tell me."
"There is no shame about it that I can see," answered Dan, plucking up his spirit. "I didn't fall sick on purpose; and when I was sick I couldn't work."
"You ought to have one month's rent laid by, so that whatever happens you could pay it on time."
"That's easy to say, Mr. Wolverton, but it takes every cent of my earnings to pay my monthly expenses. There's little chance to save."
"Any one can save who chooses," retorted Wolverton, sharply.
"Shall I get you the six dollars, sir?"
"Yes, give it to me."
"And you will wait for the other four?"
"Till to-morrow night."
"But how can I get it by to-morrow night?" asked Dan in dismay.
"That's your lookout, not mine. All I have to say is, unless it is paid to me to-morrow night you must move the next day."
With these words Wolverton went off. Dan Woods, in his trouble, went to Bob Burton the next day, and Bob readily lent him the money he needed.
"Thank you!" said Dan, gratefully; "I won't forget this favor."
"Don't make too much of it, Dan; it's a trifle."
"It's no trifle to me. But for you my family would be turned out of house and home to-morrow. The time may come when I can do you a service."
"Thank you, Dan."
The time came sooner than either anticipated.
Wolverton was somewhat puzzled when on his next call Dan Woods paid the balance due on his rent.
"So you raised the money after all?" he said. "I thought you could if you made an effort."
"I borrowed the money, sir."
"Of whom?"
"It isn't any secret, Mr. Wolverton. I borrowed it of a neighbor who has always been kind to me—Bob Burton."
Wolverton shrugged his shoulders.
"I didn't know he had money to lend," he said.
"He always has money for a poor man who needs it."
"All right! I shall know where to go when I need money," responded Wolverton, with a grin.
"It suits me well enough to have the boy throw away his money," Wolverton said to himself. "It will only draw nearer the time when he will have to sue me for a favor."
That day Wolverton read in a St. Louis paper that wheat was steadily rising, and had already reached two dollars and six cents per bushel.
"I could make a fine thing of it if I had only received the Barton wheat at a dollar and a half a bushel," he reflected, regretfully. "If I had only the widow to deal with, I might have succeeded, for she knows nothing of business. But that confounded boy is always putting a spoke in my wheel. If he carries out his plan, and markets the wheat, it will set him on his feet for the year to come."
This reflection made Wolverton feel gloomy. There are some men who are cheered by the prosperity of their neighbors, but he was not one of them. He began to speculate as to whether there was any way of interfering with Bob's schemes. Generally when a man is seeking a way of injuring his neighbor he succeeds in finding one. This was the plan that suggested itself to Wolverton: If he could set the ferry-boat adrift when the grain was all stored it would float down stream, and the chances were against its being recovered. It would be mean, and even criminal, to be sure. For the first, Wolverton did not care; for the second, he would take care that no one caught him at it. He did not think of employing any one else in the matter, for he knew of no one he could trust; and he felt that he could do it more effectually than any agent, however trustworthy.
Wolverton was so full of the plan, which commended itself to him as both simple and effective, that he took a walk late in the evening from his house to the point on the creek where the boat was tethered.
Now, it so happened that Dan Woods, who had been employed all day, had occasion to go to the village in the evening to procure a few groceries from the village store. He delayed for a time, having met an old acquaintance, and it was half-past nine when he set out on his return homeward.
His way led him not only by the Burton homestead, but by the river bend where Bob kept his rowboat—the same point also where the ferry-boat was tied.
As he approached, he caught sight of a man's figure standing on the bank. Who it was he could not immediately distinguish on account of the darkness.
"It may be some one bent on mischief," he thought to himself. "I will watch him and find out, if I can, who it is."
He kept on his way stealthily till he was within a dozen feet, when he slipped behind a tree. Then it dawned upon him who it was.
"It's Aaron Wolverton, as I'm a living man," he ejaculated, inwardly. "What can he be doing here?"
It was Wolverton, as we know. The old man stood in silence on the bank, peering through the darkness at the shadowy form of the ferry-boat, which already contained half the wheat crop of Burton's Ranch—the loading having commenced that morning. He had one habit which is unfortunate with a conspirator—the habit of thinking aloud—so he let out his secret to the watchful listener.
"Sam tells me they expected to get half the crop on board to-day," he soliloquized. "I sent him over to get that very information, though he don't know it. It is too early to do anything yet. To-morrow night the whole cargo will be stored, and then it will be time to cut the rope and let it drift. I should be glad to see the boy's face," he chuckled, "when he comes down to the creek the next morning and finds the boat gone. That will put him at my mercy, and the widow, too," he added, after a pause. "He will repent too late that he thwarted me. I will work in secret, but I get there all the same!"
Wolverton clasped his hands behind his back and, turning, walked thoughtfully away. He did not see his tenant, who was crouching behind a tree not over three feet from the path.
Dan Woods had no very favorable opinion of Wolverton, but what he had heard surprised and shocked him.
"I didn't think the old man was as wicked as that!" he said to himself. "He is scheming to ruin Bob and his mother. Why should he have such a spite against them?"
This is a question which we can answer, but Woods became more puzzled the more he thought about it. One thing was clear, however; he must apprise Bob of the peril in which he stood. Even if he had not received the last favor from our hero, he would have felt in duty bound to do his best to defeat Wolverton's wicked plan.
The next morning, therefore, he made an early call at Burton's Ranch, and asked for a private interview with Bob. He quickly revealed to him the secret of which he had become possessed.
"Thank you, Dan," said Bob, warmly. "You have done me a favor of the greatest importance. I knew Wolverton was my enemy, and the enemy of our family, but I did not think he would be guilty of such a mean and wicked action. If he had succeeded, I am afraid we should have lost the farm."
"You won't let him succeed?" said Dan Woods, anxiously.
"No; forewarned is forearmed. I shall be ready for Mr. Wolverton!" And Bob closed his lips resolutely.
He deliberated whether he should let his mother know of the threatened danger, but finally decided not to do so. It would only worry her, and do no good, as whatever measures of precaution were to be taken, he must take. He did not even tell Clip; for though the young colored boy was devoted to him, he was lacking in discretion, and might let out the secret. Bob did not want to prevent the attempt being made. He wished to catch Wolverton in the act.
He did, however, take into his confidence a faithful man who had worked for his father ever since the ranch was taken, thinking it prudent to have assistance near if needed.
That day the rest of the wheat was stored on the ferry-boat. All would be ready for a start the next morning, and this Bob had decided to make. He sent Clip to bed early, on the pretext that he must have a good night's sleep, as he would be called early. If Clip had had the least idea of what was in the wind he would have insisted on sitting up to see the fun, but he was absolutely ignorant of it.
Wolverton had learned from Sam, who was surprised that his uncle should let him spend almost all his time with his friends, Bob and Clip, that the cargo had been stored.
"When do they start?" he asked, carelessly.
"To-morrow morning, uncle," Sam answered.
"If I had thought of it," said Wolverton, "I would have asked young Burton to take my wheat along, too."
"I don't think he would have room for it, Uncle Aaron. The boat is about full now."
"Oh, well; I shall find some other way of sending it," said Wolverton, carelessly.
About nine o'clock Wolverton stole out in the darkness, and made his way stealthily to the bend in the creek. He had with him a sharp razor—he had no knife sharp enough—which he judged would sever the thick rope.
Arrived at the place of his destination, he bent over and drew out the razor, which he opened and commenced operations. But there was an unlooked-for interference.
A light, boyish figure sprang from behind a tree, and Bob Barton, laying his hand on Wolverton's shoulder, demanded, indignantly:
"What are you doing here, Mr. Wolverton?"
Wolverton started, dropped the razor in the river, and, with an expression of alarm, looked up into Bob's face.
"What are you doing here, Mr. Wolverton?" repeated Bob, sternly.
"Oh, it's you, Bob, is it?" said Wolverton, with assumed lightness. "Really, you quite startled me, coming upon me so suddenly in the dark."
"I noticed that you were startled," responded Bob, coolly. "But that isn't answering my question."
By this time Wolverton was on his feet, and had recovered his self-possession.
"What right have you to put questions to me, you young whelp?" he demanded, angrily.
"Because I suspect you of designs on my property."
"What do you mean?" snarled Wolverton.
"I will tell you; I think you meant to cut the rope, and send my boat adrift."
"How dare you insult me by such a charge?" demanded the agent, working himself into a rage.
"I have reason to think that you meant to do what I have said."
"Why should I do it?"
"In order to injure me by the loss of my wheat."
"You are a fool, young man! I am inclined to think, also, that you are out of your head."
"If you had any other purpose, what is it?"
Wolverton bethought himself that in order to avert suspicion, he must assign some reason for his presence. To do this taxed his ingenuity considerably.
"I thought I saw something in the water," he said. "There it is; a twig; I see now."
"And what were you going to do with the razor?"
"None of your business!" said Wolverton, suddenly, finding it impossible, on the spur of the moment, to think of any reason.
"That is easy to understand," said Bob, significantly. "Now, Mr. Wolverton, I have a warning to give you. If anything befalls my boat, I shall hold you responsible."
"Do you know who I am?" blustered Wolverton. "How do you, a boy, dare to talk in this impudent way to a man who has you in his power?"
"It strikes me, Mr. Wolverton, that I hold you in my power."
"Who would believe your unsupported assertion? sneered the agent."
"It is not unsupported. I brought with me Edward Jones, my faithful assistant, who has seen your attempt to injure me."
At this, Edward, a stalwart young man of twenty-four, stepped into view.
"I saw it all," he said, briefly.
"You are ready to lie, and he to swear to it," said Wolverton, but his voice was not firm, for he saw that the testimony against him was too strong to be easily shaken.
"I don't wonder you deny it, Mr. Wolverton," said Bob.
"I won't remain here any longer to be insulted," said Wolverton, who was anxious to get away, now that his plan had failed.
Bob did not reply, and the agent slunk away, feeling far from comfortable.
"What cursed luck sent the boy to the creek to-night?" he said to himself. "I was on the point of succeeding, and then I would have had him in my power. Could he have heard anything?"
Wolverton decided, however, that this was not likely. He attributed Bob's presence to chance, though his words seemed to indicate that he suspected something. He was obliged to acknowledge his defeat. Yet it would be possible for him to return in an hour or two, and carry out his evil plan. But it would be too hazardous. The crime would inevitably be traced to him, and he would be liable to arrest. No, hard though it was to bring his mind to it, he must forego his scheme, and devise something else.
When the agent had left the scene, Bob Burton said: "Edward, you may go home. I mean to stay here on guard."
"But you will not be in condition to start to-morrow morning. You will be tired out."
"I can't take any risks this last evening, Edward."
"Then let me take your place. I will stay here."
"But it will be hard on you."
"I will lie later to-morrow morning. You can relieve me, if you like, at four o'clock."
"Let it be so, then! Too much is at stake for us to leave anything to chance. I don't think, however, that Wolverton would dare to renew his attempt."
Meanwhile Wolverton retraced his steps to his own house. There was one lonely place on the way, but the agent was too much absorbed in his own reflections to have room for fear. His occupation of mind was rudely disturbed, when from a clump of bushes two men sprang out, and one, seizing him by the shoulder, said, roughly: "Your money or your life!"
Wolverton was not a brave man, and it must be confessed that he was startled by this sudden summons. But he wasn't in the habit of carrying money with him in the evening, and an old silver watch, which would have been dear at four dollars, was not an article whose loss would have seriously disturbed him. So it was with a tolerable degree of composure that he answered: "You have stopped the wrong man."
"We know who you are. You are Aaron Wolverton, and you are a rich man."
"That may and may not be, but I don't carry my money with me."
"Empty your pockets!"
Wolverton complied, but neither purse nor pocket book was forthcoming.
"Didn't I tell you so?" he said, shrugging his shoulders.
"We won't take your word for it."
The first highwayman plunged his hand into the agent's pockets, but his search only corroborated Wolverton's statement.
"You, a rich man, go without money!" he exclaimed with rough contempt.
"Perhaps I might have expected such a meeting," Wolverton replied, with cunning triumph.
"You must have a watch, at any rate!"
"I have one that I will sell you for four dollars."
As he spoke, he voluntarily produced the timeworn watch, which had served him for twenty years.
The thieves uttered an exclamation of contempt. Their disappointment made them angry. They hurriedly conferred as to the policy of keeping Wolverton in their power till he should pay a heavy ransom, but there were obvious difficulties in the way of carrying out this plan.
Aaron Wolverton listened quietly to the discussion which concerned him so nearly. He smiled at times, and did not appear particularly alarmed till one, more bloodthirsty than the other, suggested stringing him up to the nearest tree.
"My friends," he said, for the first time betraying a slight nervousness. "I can't see what advantage it would be for you to hang me."
"You deserve it for fooling us!" replied the second highwayman, with an oath.
"In what way?"
"By not carrying any money, or article of value."
"I grieve for your disappointment," said Wolverton, with much sympathy.
"If you mock us, you shall swing, any way."
"Don't mistake me! I have no doubt you are very worthy fellows, only a little unfortunate. What sum would have paid you for your disappointment?"
"Fifty dollars would have been better than nothing."
"That is considerable money, but I may be able to throw it in your way."
"Now you're talking! If you are on the square, you'll find us gentlemen. We are ready to hear what you have to say."
"Good! But I expect you to earn the money."
"How?" inquired the first gentleman, suspiciously. The word earn might mean work, and that was not in his line.
"I'll tell you."
There was an amiable conference for twenty minutes, but this is not the place to reveal what was said. Enough that it nearly concerned Bob Burton, and involved a new plot against the success of his enterprise.