A Cousin's Conspiracy: or, A Boy's Struggle for an Inheritance

“I’m glad you won’t be left penniless, lad; did he own the cabin?” said Luke.

“Nobody owned it,” said Joe Marks. “It was built years ago by a man who suddenly left it and went away, nobody knew where. It wasn’t worth much, and no one ever took the trouble to claim it. When your uncle came here he found it empty and took possession of it, and there he has lived ever since. So you’ll have some money, Ernest?”

“Only a hundred dollars.”

“What will you do? What are your plans?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t had time to think.”

“I might find a place for you in the store. We wouldn’t like to have you go away.”

“Thank you, Joe. You are very kind. But there’s no chance for me around here. I’ll take the money and go somewhere. But first I must see Uncle Peter buried. Will you help me?”

“To be sure we will. Was he your only relation?”

“He was not my relation at all.”

“Why, you have always called him uncle.”

“I supposed him to be my uncle, but yesterday he told me that he was only a servant in my father’s family, and that on my father’s death he was placed in charge of me.”

“I reckon that’s so. You didn’t favor the old man at all. You look as if you came from better stock.”

“All the same I shall miss him,” said Ernest sadly. “He was a good friend to me.”

“Did he tell you whether you had any kin?”

“Yes; I have a cousin of my father’s living in New York State. He is a rich man. He inherited the property that ought to have gone to my father.”

“How did that happen?”

“He prejudiced my grandfather against my father, and so the estate was willed to him.”

“The mean scoundrel!” exclaimed Luke indignantly. “I’d like to have him in my hands for a few minutes; I’d give him a lesson.”

“I should pity him if ever you got hold of him, Luke,” said Joe Marks. “But we must consider what we can do for the boy.”

“I wish we could get hold of that thief of a tramp!”

“Probably we shall. He’ll find his way back here sooner or later.”

But the burial of Peter Brant was the first consideration. No undertaker was called, for in that small settlement one would not have been supported. The ceremonies of death were few and simple. A wooden box was put together, and Peter was placed in it, dressed as he was at the time of his death. There was an itinerant minister who preached in the village once in four weeks, but he was away now, and so there could be no religious ceremony beyond reading a chapter from the New Testament. Joe Marks, who had received a decent education, officiated as reader. Then the interment took place. In the forenoon of the second day Peter’s body was laid away, and Ernest was left practically alone in the world.

Meanwhile some account must be given of Tom Burns, the tramp.

When he found it impossible to obtain whisky with the gold he had stolen he felt very despondent. His craving became intolerable. He felt that he had been decidedly ill used. What was the use of money unless it could be converted into what his soul desired? But there was no way of changing the coin except at the store of Joe Marks. To ask any of the villagers would only have excited suspicion. Besides, the tramp felt sure that Ernest would soon discover that he had been robbed. He would naturally be suspected, especially as Joe Marks had knowledge of a gold piece being in his possession.

There was a small settlement about five miles off called Daneboro. It was probably the nearest place where he could get a glass of whisky. He must walk there. It was not a pleasant prospect, for the tramp was lazy and not fond of walking. Still, it seemed to be a necessity, and when he left the store of Joe Marks he set out for Daneboro.

Thirst was not the only trouble with Tom Burns. He had not eaten anything for about twenty-four hours, and his neglected stomach rebelled. He tightened a girdle about his waist and walked on. He had perhaps gone two miles when he came to a cabin. A woman stood in the doorway.

“My good lady,” said Tom, putting on a pitiful expression, “I am a very unfortunate man.”

“Are you?” said the woman, scanning him critically. “You look like a tramp.”

“I do, madam, yet I was once a thriving merchant.”

“You don’t look like it.”

“I don’t; I acknowledge it.”

“How did you lose your property, if you ever had any?”

“By signin’ notes for my brother. It swept off all my possessions.”

“Then I pity you. That’s the way my man lost five hundred dollars, nearly all he had. What can I do for you?”

“Madam, I am hungry – very hungry.”

“Set right down on the settee, and I’ll give you what’s left of our breakfast.”

Tom Burns obeyed with alacrity.

A plate of cold bacon, a cold potato and some corn bread were placed before him, and he ate them voraciously. There had been times in his life when he would have turned up his nose at such fare, but not now.

“My good lady,” he said, “you have saved my life.”

“Well, you must ’a’ been hungry,” said the woman. “A man that’ll eat cold vittles, especially cold potato, ain’t shammin’.”

“I wish I had money to offer you – ”

“Oh, never mind that; you’re welcome. Can I do anything more for you?”

“I feel sick, and sometimes, though I am a temperance man, I take whisky for my health, if you had just a sup – ”

“Well, we haven’t any, and if we had I wouldn’t give you any.”

“You misjudge me, madam. You must not think I am a drinker.”

“It’s no matter what I think. You can’t get any whisky here.”

At Daneboro Tom fared better. He changed his gold piece, drank a pint of whisky, and the next day retraced his steps to old Peter’s cabin. He felt satisfied that somewhere near the cabin there was treasure concealed.

CHAPTER V

BURNS RETURNS

When Peter Brant was laid away under a tree not far from the cabin where he had ended his days Ernest felt that he was at liberty to begin the new life that lay before him. Despite the natural sadness which he felt at parting with his old friend, he looked forward not without pleasant anticipations to the future and what it might have in store for him.

Oak Forks had few attractions for him. He had a literary taste, but could not get books. Peter Brant had about a dozen volumes, none of which he had read himself, but Ernest had read them over and over again. None of the neighbors owned any books. Occasionally a newspaper found its way into the settlement, and this, when it came into Ernest’s hands, was read, advertisements and all.

How, then, was his time passed? Partly in hunting, partly in fishing – for there was a small river two miles away – but one could not fish or hunt all the time. He had often felt a vague yearning to go to Chicago or New York, or anywhere where there would be a broader field and large opportunities, and he had broached the subject to Peter.

“I can’t afford to go, Ernest,” the old man would reply. “I must live on the little I have, for I am too old to work.”

“But I am young. I can work,” the boy would answer.

“A boy like you couldn’t earn much. Wait till I am dead, and then you can go where you like.”

This would always close the discussion, for Ernest did not like to consider such a possibility. Peter represented his world, for he had no one to cling to except the man whom he supposed to be his uncle.

Now, however, the time had come when he could go forth and enter upon a career. Accordingly he declined Joe Marks’ offer to take him into the store. He understood very well that it was only meant in kindness, and that he was not really needed.

“You don’t need me, Joe,” he said. “You are very kind, but there must be real work for me somewhere.”

“Well, my lad, I won’t stand in your way, but I’ve known you a long time, and I shall hate to lose sight of you.”

“I’ll came back some day, Joe – that is if I am prosperous and can.”

“If you are not prosperous, if you fall sick and need a home and a friend, come back then. Don’t forget your old friend Joe Marks.”

“I won’t, Joe,” said Ernest heartily.

“You’ve got another friend here, Ernest,” added Luke Robbins. “I’m a poor man, and my friendship isn’t worth much, but you have it, all the same.”

Ernest grasped the hands of both. He felt that each was a friend worth having.

“You may be sure that I won’t forget either of you,” he said.

“When do you expect to go, Ernest, and where?” asked Joe Marks.

“I shall get away to-morrow, I think, but where I shall go I can’t tell yet.”

“Do you need any money?”

“No; my uncle left me some.”

Ernest had not yet secured the gold, but he knew exactly where it was, and now that all his business was ended he felt that it was time to possess himself of it. Accordingly, he took a spade from the house, and bent his steps in the direction of the old oak tree.

He went alone, for he thought it best not to take anyone into his confidence.

Arrived at the tree, Ernest measured off five feet in the direction mentioned by Peter and began to dig. It did not take him long to reach the box, for it was only a foot beneath the surface of the ground.

It proved to be a cigar box, for Peter was fond of smoking, though he usually smoked a pipe. Ernest lifted the lid, and saw a small roll inclosed in brown wrapping paper, which on being removed revealed twenty five-dollar gold pieces. He regarded them with satisfaction, for they afforded him the means of leaving Oak Forks and going into the great world which he had such a curiosity to enter.

Hidden behind a tree only a few feet away was Tom Burns, the tramp and vagabond.

He had come from Daneboro, and was prowling round the neighborhood searching for old Peter’s hidden treasure. He had deliberated as to whether the cabin or the fields was the more likely place to have been selected. He had nothing in particular to guide him. He did not, however, venture to approach the house just yet, as it would probably be occupied by Ernest.

“I wish I knowed where the old man hid his boodle,” muttered Tom. “I can’t dig all over.”

In fact, digging was not in Tom’s line. It was too much like work, and if there was anything to which Tom was bitterly opposed it was work of any kind.

“The boy must know. Likely the old man told him,” he finally concluded. “I’ll watch the boy.”

He therefore lost no time in prowling around the cabin, with the especial object of watching Ernest’s movements. He was especially favored, as he thought, when from a distance he saw Ernest leaving the cabin with the spade in his hand.

The tramp’s heart was filled with joy.

“He is going to dig for the treasure,” he said. “I’ll keep him in sight.”

Tom Burns had no difficulty in doing this, for Ernest bent his steps in his direction.

“I hope he won’t discover me,” thought Burns; “at any rate not till I find out where he’s going to dig.”

All things seemed to favor the tramp. Ernest stopped when he came to the oak tree, and it was evident that this was the spot of which he was in search.

“Why, that’s where I was lyin’ the other night!” thought Burns. “If I had only knowed! Why, the gold was right under me all the time.”

He watched with eagerness while Ernest was digging. He no longer doubted that this was the place where the gold was hidden. Ernest could have no other object in digging in this place.

“I wonder how much there is,” thought Burns. “There ought to be as much as a thousand dollars. Perhaps there’s two or three. But even if there is only a thousand it will set me on my feet. I’ll soon get out of this neighborhood. I’ll go to Chicago or New York, and I’ll live in clover. I’ll make up for lost time.”

When Ernest found the roll of coins, and taking them out put them in his pocket, he was not disappointed, for he knew what to expect, but Tom Burns was in dismay.

“Only a hundred dollars!” he thought. “What’s a hundred dollars? The old man ought to be ashamed of himself!”

However, one thing was certain. A hundred dollars was better than nothing. It would take him to Chicago and enable him to live in comfort for a while. Besides, he might multiply it many times at the gaming table, for Tom Burns had been a gambler in his day. He certainly did not propose to disdain the sum which fortune had placed in his way because it was so small.

Ernest put the gold pieces in his pocket and turned to go back to the cabin, when a voice reached him.

“Look here, boy, I’ll trouble you to hand over that money!”

CHAPTER VI

A FRIEND IN NEED

Ernest turned and regarded the tramp in amazement.

“What do you mean?” he demanded.

“I want that money you just dug up,” replied Tom Burns boldly.

Instantly Ernest comprehended his danger. He was a stout boy, but the tramp was a large man, weighing probably fifty pounds more than himself. The boy felt that in strength he was no match for the thief who confronted him.

Yet he could not bear the thought of allowing himself to be robbed. Left penniless, how could he carry out the plans which he had in view? He tried to gain time.

“Do you want to rob me?” he asked.

“I have just as much right to that money as you,” said the tramp.

“How do you make that out?”

“The man who put it there owed me money.”

“Do you think I am a fool, to believe that ridiculous story?”

“You’d better be careful how you talk!” said Burns, menacingly.

“Then all I can say is that you have told a falsehood. You are the man, I suppose, who entered our cabin at night and stole money out of a trunk.”

“I don’t know anything about your trunk!” said Burns. “But I have no time to talk; I want that money!”

Ernest looked about him, hoping to see some one to whom he could appeal for help, but no one appeared in sight. Next he looked at the tramp, to note if he were armed. To his relief, Burns did not appear to have any weapon with him.

“I won’t give up the money to a thief!” he said boldly.

As he spoke he turned and ran as fast as he was able.

Winged with fear of losing his gold, Ernest flew rather than ran, not heeding the direction he was taking. The tramp accepted the challenge and put forth his utmost speed in the hope of overtaking him.

“You’ll pay for this, boy!” he growled.

But Ernest did not mean to be caught. Being a fast runner for a boy of his size, he bade fair to outdistance his pursuer. But directly in his path was an excavation of considerable size and depth. Ernest paused on the brink to consider whether to descend the sloping sides or to go round it. The delay was fatal. The tramp saw his advantage, and pushing forward seized him by the collar.

“I’ve caught you!” he cried triumphantly. “Now give me the money!”

There was a brief struggle, but a boy, even a strong boy, was no match for a man taller and heavier than himself. The gold pieces were snatched from him, and the tramp, releasing his hold, was about to make off in triumph when he found himself seized in turn.

“Why, you contemptible thief!” exclaimed Luke Robbins – for it was he whose opportune coming had saved Ernest from being plundered. “Are you trying to rob the boy?”

He seized the tramp by the collar, forced him to give up the gold he had just snatched from Ernest and flung him on his back.

The tramp’s surprise deepened to dismay when, looking up, he saw the stalwart hunter with stern face looking down upon him.

“It was my money,” he whined.

“Your money, you owdacious liar! Don’t tell me that or I’ll treat you worse!”

“But it was. I had hidden it under a tree. I came along just as the boy dug it up. I told him to give it to me, for it was mine, but he wouldn’t, and then I chased him.”

“What’s the truth of the matter, Ernest?” asked Luke.

“It was money that Peter Brant had hidden away. He told me on his death-bed where to look for it.”

“I thought it was Peter’s.”

“I had just dug it up and put it in my pocket when this man came along. He ordered me to give it to him.”

“Did he say he hid it there?”

“No. He said that Peter owed him money, and he wanted it.”

“You appear to be a very ingenious liar,” remarked Luke, turning to the tramp. “Which of these stories do you want me to believe?”

“I hid it there!” said the tramp doggedly.

“Then why did you tell the boy that Peter owed you money?”

“Because I didn’t think he would believe that I hid it.”

“You are right there. He don’t believe it, nor do I. One thing more – were you the man that broke into his cabin and stole two gold pieces from his trunk?”

“No. I don’t know anything about it.”

“Of course you would deny it. All the same I have no doubt that you were the man.”

“If I had done it he would have seen me.”

“That won’t go down. He was asleep. Ernest, what shall I do with this fellow? Shall I shoot him?” and Luke Robbins pulled out a revolver, which he handled in a significant way.

“Don’t shoot! Spare my life, Mr. Robbins!” cried the tramp in great alarm.

“Humph! I don’t see the good. Your life is of no value to the world.”

“Let him go, Luke,” said Ernest, “but tell him to clear out of this neighborhood.”

“It is treating him too well. Still, I will do as you say. Hark, you fellow, what is your name?”

“Tom Burns.”

“You are a disgrace to the name of Burns. If I spare your life will you leave this neighborhood and never come back?”

“Yes – yes!” answered the tramp earnestly.

“You’d better keep that promise. If I ever catch sight of you again I’ll shoot without asking you any questions! Now get!”

Tom Burns got up and started away with celerity. He thought it wise to put as great a distance as possible between himself and the tall and stalwart hunter.

“I’ll scare him a little,” said Luke.

He fired after the fugitive, taking care not to hit him, however. Tom Burns heard the bullet whistling by his head, and with a cry of terror increased his speed till he reached a place where he felt secure.

“That is a terrible man!” he panted. “He’d as soon take my life as not. I won’t get in his way again if I can help it.”

“Well, Ernest, where do you want to go? What are your plans?”

“I don’t know,” answered Ernest gravely. “I am not sure that I have any plans. I feel upset completely.”

“Sit down here and I’ll talk to you.”

The two sat down together.

“Now, how much money have you got?”

“A hundred dollars.”

“It isn’t much. Is that all that your uncle left?”

“I think so. He said nothing about having more.”

“It isn’t much to begin the world with. I wish for your sake, boy, that I had some to give you, but I never knew how to get together money.”

“I guess it will do, Luke. I have health and strength. I think I can make my way.”

“But you have no trade.”

“Have you?”

“No, Ernest. You’ve got me there. I am only a hunter, but I don’t make much of a living. I don’t recommend you to follow in my steps.”

“One thing is certain, Luke. I must get away from here. There is nothing I can do in Oak Forks.”

“Where do you want to go, lad?”

“I don’t know. I might go eastward to Chicago or New York, or I might go West to California. Have you ever been to either place, Luke?”

“No, lad, but if I had my choice I’d go westward. I’ve heard fine stories of California. I think I should like to see that land.”

“Why don’t you go?”

“Stop a minute! Let me think!”

The hunter assumed a thoughtful look. He remained silent for five minutes. Then he said, as if to himself: “Why not?”

Ernest still kept silence, but his eyes were fixed upon the face of the hunter.

Finally Luke looked up.

“How do you want to go, lad?” he asked. “Do you want to go over the railroad, or are you in for a tramp over the mountains and plains?”

“That depends on whether I am to go alone or not. If I go alone I shall prefer to go by rail.”

“Are you in for a long tramp with me?” asked Luke, his face glowing with new-born enthusiasm.

“I will go anywhere with you, Luke.”

“Then it is agreed. We will start to-morrow.”

CHAPTER VII

ON THE ROAD

Nothing could have pleased Ernest better than to travel with Luke Robbins. He felt that he should be safe with the sturdy hunter, who was strong, resolute and reliable.

True he was not a man who had succeeded as man reckons success. He had lived comfortably, but it had never occurred to him to lay up money, nor indeed had he had any opportunity to do so. He mentioned this as an objection to the trip which he had himself proposed.

“My lad,” he said, “I am afraid I can’t go with you after all.”

“Why not, Luke?”

“Because you’re rich compared with me.”

“I have but a hundred dollars.”

“And I – well, lad, I’m ashamed to say so, but I have only fifteen.”

“We’ll share and share alike, Luke.”

“No, lad. Luke Robbins is too proud to live upon a boy. I reckon I’d better stay at home.”

“But I want you to go and take care of me, Luke. How can I travel alone?”

Luke brightened up.

“That puts a different face on it, Ernest. If you think you need me, I’ll go.”

“I do need you.”

“Then go I will, but one thing is understood: I won’t take any of your money.”

“There won’t be any trouble on that score.”

So the two prepared for their trip. Ernest, with Luke’s help, purchased an outfit, and on the morning of the third day the two started out together, neither having a very definite idea where they were going except that their course was westward.

Luke knew very little of the States and Territories that lay between Oak Forks and the Pacific Coast. Ernest, whose education was decidedly superior to his companion’s, was able to give him some information. So they plodded on, enjoying the unconventional life and the scenery on the way.

They were in no hurry. They stopped to hunt and fish, and when the weather was unfavorable they stayed at some wayside cabin. When the nights were fine they camped out under the open canopy of heaven.

Part of their way led through woods and over prairies, but here and there they came to a village. There was little occasion to spend money, but they were compelled to use some.

One day, some weeks from the time when they started, Luke turned to Ernest with a sober face.

“Ernest,” he said, “I think you’ll have to leave me at the next poorhouse.”

“Why, Luke?”

“Because my money is nearly all gone. I started with fifteen dollars. Now I have but one.”

“But I have plenty left.”

“That doesn’t help me.”

“I want to share it with you, Luke.”

“Don’t you remember what I said when we set out, lad?”

“What was it?”

“That I would not touch a dollar of your money.”

“Then do you mean to leave me alone, Luke?” pleaded Ernest reproachfully.

“You are a boy and I am a man. I’m forty years old, Ernest. Is it right that I should live on a boy less than half my age?”

Ernest looked at him in perplexity.

“Is there no way of getting more money?” he asked.

“If we were in California now and at the mines, I might make shift to fill my purse; but there are no mines hereabouts.”

“Let us keep on and something may turn up.”

When this conversation took place they were approaching Emmonsville, a thriving town in Nebraska. As they walked through the principal street, it was clear that something had happened which had created general excitement. Groups of people were talking earnestly, and their faces wore a perturbed and anxious look.

“What’s the matter?” asked Luke, addressing a well-to-do appearing man.

“Haven’t you heard of the bank robbery over at Lee’s Falls?”

“No.”

“Two men fully armed rode up to the door, and, dismounting, entered the bank. One stepped up to the window of the paying teller, and covering him with his revolver, demanded five thousand dollars. At the same time the other stood in the doorway, also with a loaded revolver.”

“Why didn’t the teller shoot him down?” asked Luke.

“My friend, bank officers are not provided with loaded revolvers when on duty. Besides, the ruffian had the drop on him.”

“Well?” asked Luke.

“What could the teller do? Life is more than money, and he had no alternative. The fellow got the money.”

“Did he get away with it?”

“Yes; they both mounted their horses and rode off, no one daring to interfere. Each held his revolver in readiness to shoot the first man that barred his way.”