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

The United States bonds were inclosed in an envelope and carried in an inner pocket, which had been expressly made by an Emmonsville tailor on his first connecting himself with the bank. The pocket was unusually deep, so as to accommodate a long parcel.

This was the most important commission on which Ernest had been employed, and he was pleased with the confidence reposed in him. He did not dread the long walk, for he was a strong and active boy. Besides, he was authorized to accept a ride if one should be offered him.

He would arrive at Lee’s Falls after the bank was closed, but he was instructed to call at the residence of the cashier and leave the bonds.

Ernest had walked three miles when he met with an adventure.

On the borders of a small pond he caught sight of a small Indian boy playing. He was probably not more than three years of age. A stick he was playing with fell into the pond, and the little fellow reached over to recover it. In doing so he lost his balance and fell into the water; there was a scream and a splash, and Ernest no sooner saw the accident than he ran up, threw off his coat and vest, lest he should wet the bonds, and plunged into the pond.

The young bank messenger was an expert swimmer, and in an instant had seized the child and placed him out of danger. The little Indian boy clung to him instinctively, feeling safe with his young protector.

“Where do you live, little boy?” asked Ernest.

“Out yonder,” answered the child.

Ernest had not been quite sure whether he would be able to understand or speak English, but having been brought up among white people he was as familiar with English as most white boys of his age.

Ernest looked in the direction pointed out by the boy. At the distance of a hundred rods he saw a rude log-house. Smoke was curling from a chimney. Outside sat an Indian about forty years of age smoking a pipe.

He seemed busily thinking, having the grave face characteristic of the average Indian. He did not immediately notice the approach of his little son. But when they were near the Indian boy uttered a cry, pronouncing some Indian word which possibly meant “father.”

Then the red man looked up, and his grave face changed as he recognized his boy in the company of a young white stranger.

He rose hastily from his seat and advanced to meet the two who were approaching.

“What has happened?” he asked in clear and distinct English.

“Your little boy fell into the water,” explained Ernest.

“And you saved him?”

“Yes,” answered Ernest modestly. “I saw him fall and jumped in after him.”

“Was the water deep?”

“About so deep,” said Ernest, placing his hand about five feet from the ground.

“Then he would have been drowned if you had not been near?”

“Yes, if he could not swim.”

“He is too young to swim. But you are wet,” added the Indian, noticing for the first time the condition of Ernest’s clothes.

“Yes, a little.”

“Come in,” said the Indian abruptly.

He led the way into the log-cabin.

There was a stove in the center of the room, and the air was so heated as to be uncomfortable. As he led the child in a stout Indian woman came forward with a cry and took him in her arms. Her husband rapidly explained what had happened. She instantly stripped the clothes from the child and put on a dry change.

“Now,” said the Indian, turning to Ernest, “take off your wet clothes.”

Though Ernest knew that it was wise to do so, he felt bashful about removing them in presence of the woman. But his Indian host brought from a nail on which they hung a pair of buckskin breeches of his own and offered them to Ernest for temporary use.

Ernest no longer hesitated, but made the substitution.

As the Indian was four or five inches taller than himself, the legs covered his feet. He laughed as he saw how they looked, and the Indian’s serious face relaxed a little from the same cause.

“Now I will dry your clothes,” he said.

He took a chair and, hanging the wet garments over the back, placed it very near the stove. Ernest hardly liked to lose so much time, but he knew that it would not be safe to wear the trousers in their soaked condition.

“You speak English very well,” he said, turning to the Indian.

“Yes; I have spent much time with white people,” was the answer.

“Do you support yourself by hunting?” went on Ernest.

“Yes, I am a hunter, but I go with rich white people from the cities and with Englishmen who want a guide.”

“And do they pay you well?” asked Ernest, not quite sure whether he was not showing too much curiosity.

“Yes, they pay me well. I have some money in the bank.”

Then Ernest remembered having seen the Indian one day at the bank. He was told at the time that his name was John Castro, and that he had several hundred dollars on deposit.

CHAPTER XV

JOHN CASTRO

While Ernest’s clothes were drying the Indian woman was bustling about the stove. The boy did not suspect her object till she placed on the table a plate of Indian cakes hot from the oven and he was invited to partake.

It was the first time he had ever been a guest in an Indian family, and he hesitated, but saw that his refusal to partake might hurt the feelings of his new friends. He seated himself at the table, and found the cakes really very good.

When his clothes were dry he rose to go.

“Won’t you stay all night?” asked Castro.

“Thank you. I cannot spare the time. I must push on.”

“Where are you going?” asked the Indian.

“To Lee’s Falls.”

“I will go with you a short distance.”

So they set out together.

At length John Castro stopped.

“That is your way,” he said. “I wish you a pleasant journey. I will not forget what you have done for my little son. If ever you are in trouble send for John Castro.”

“I thank you.”

The Indian shook hands with him gravely and turned back toward his cabin.

All this had taken time. Ernest had no watch with him, but he estimated that the adventure had cost him two hours. However, he had saved a boy’s life.

Again he had made a friend. The friend was an Indian, but Ernest was wise enough to consider that no friend, however humble, is to be despised.

It was clear that he would reach his destination late, and he began to wish that some carriage would overtake him in which he might ask for a ride.

But he walked two miles farther without encountering any team. At last, however, he heard the rumble of wheels, and turning round to see whether there was room in the vehicle, he saw that it was a buggy driven by a tall, thin man with dark hair, swarthy face and a long, aquiline nose.

The driver eyed Ernest sharply and brought the buggy to a standstill.

“Where are you going, boy?” he asked.

“To Lee’s Falls.”

“Where have you come from?”

“From Emmonsville.”

“It is a long walk.”

“Yes. Do you think you could give me a lift?”

“Perhaps so. Jump in.”

Ernest lost no time in availing himself of the invitation.

“Where were you going in Lee’s Falls?” he asked.

Ernest felt that it would be imprudent to mention that his destination was the bank, so he answered guardedly, “I am going to see the town. I may stop overnight.”

“At the hotel?”

“Yes.”

“It is not much of a place to see,” said the driver, watching his companion curiously.

“It is larger than Emmonsville, isn’t it?”

“Yes. How long have you been in Emmonsville?”

“Not long.”

“Where do you live there?”

“At Mrs. Larkins’.”

“Do you go to school?”

“No.”

Meanwhile the horse was traveling very slowly, and it seemed to Ernest that he would go over the road quite as fast if he had continued to walk. He began to think it was his turn to ask questions.

“Are you going all the way to Lee’s Falls?” he asked.

“I may go nearly there.”

“I am very much obliged to you for giving me a lift. I was quite tired.”

The driver smiled.

“Perhaps I have an object,” he said.

Ernest looked an inquiry.

“The pleasure of your company,” explained his companion with a smile.

“Thank you,” answered Ernest.

“Now I come to look at you, I think I have seen you before,” continued the driver.

“Where?”

“In Emmonsville – at the bank.”

Ernest became alarmed. There was a significance in his companion’s tone which excited his alarm. But he did not dare show his feelings. He remained outwardly calm, though inwardly disturbed.

“Very probably,” he said; “I have been there.”

His companion laughed. He was playing with the boy as a cat plays with a captive mouse. Ernest began to consider whether he could not think of some pretext for getting out of the buggy.

Suddenly the buggy stopped.

“I will get out here,” said Ernest quickly.

“Not quite yet. I have not got through questioning you.”

“I am in a hurry,” said Ernest.

“You must wait till your hurry is over. Now tell me truly, are you not bound for the Lee’s Falls bank?”

Ernest was startled.

“You see, I know more about you than you suppose. You are the bank messenger.”

It seemed useless to deny it. The question now was, was his secret packet in danger?

“I have sometimes acted as bank messenger,” he said warily.

“And you are acting in that capacity now. What are you taking to the Lee’s Falls bank?”

Ernest turned pale. His worst fears were confirmed.

“Why do you ask?” he said.

“Because I want to know.”

“What business can it be of yours?” demanded Ernest boldly.

“Don’t be impudent, boy! Hand me the package of money.”

“I have no package of money.”

“Then you have bonds.”

Ernest remained silent.

“I see that I have hit it. Now hand over the bonds, if you value your life.”

He spoke sternly and looked so fierce that the boy messenger became more and more alarmed. He saw that he must give up the package, but determined to hold out in his resistance as long as possible.

“The package is not mine, and I have no right to surrender it,” he said.

“I’ll take the responsibility, boy. You can’t be blamed, for you can’t help yourself.”

As he spoke he passed his hand over Ernest’s vest, which he saw projected more than was usual, and discovered the hiding place of the important package.

Instantly he had torn open the vest and drawn out the envelope.

“I thought I should find it,” he said in a tone of triumph.

Ernest felt very much dejected. It was a mortification to lose the first large sum with which he had been intrusted.

“Will you tell me who you are?” he asked abruptly.

“First let me know who you think I am.”

As the driver spoke he eyed Ernest sharply.

“Is your name Fox?” asked the young messenger.

His companion laughed.

“I know Mr. Fox,” he answered.

“You are either Fox or a member of his band.”

“You seem to be a sharp boy; I won’t tell you whether you are right or not.”

“I suppose I may go now?”

“Where do you want to go?”

Ernest hesitated. This was a question which he could not at once answer. To go on to Lee’s Falls without the packet would do little good. Yet the bank officers there ought to know that the bonds intended for them had been stolen.

“I will go to Lee’s Falls,” he said.

“Not at present; I have other views for you.” As he spoke the robber turned his horse to the right. Wholly ignorant as to where he was to be carried, Ernest sank back in his seat and resigned himself as well as he could to the situation.

CHAPTER XVI

IN THE OUTLAW’S HOME

Where he was to be carried or what was to be his fate, Ernest could not conjecture, nor did he speculate much. It was enough for him to know that he was in the power of one of the notorious outlaws.

There was considerable difference between his appearance and that of the man at his side. He was silent and depressed, while James Fox, for it was he, seemed in excellent spirits. He turned to the boy with the remark: “You don’t say much.”

“No, for it would be no good.”

“Brace up, boy! There is no occasion to look as if you were going to a funeral.”

“Give me back the bonds and I will look lively enough.”

“Come now, don’t be foolish. These bonds don’t belong to you.”

“They were given into my care.”

“Very well! You took as good care of them as you could.”

“I shall be held responsible for them.”

“No, you won’t. I shall send your employers a letter letting them know that you did the best you could to keep them out of my hands. But perhaps they never heard of me,” and he laughed.

“If your name is Fox they have heard of you.”

“There is no need to beat about the bush. My name is Fox – James Fox.”

“What made you take up such a business, Mr. Fox?” asked Ernest gravely.

“Well, I like that! You, a kid, undertake to lecture me.”

“You were once a kid yourself.”

The outlaw’s face grew grave suddenly and his tone became thoughtful.

“Yes, I was a kid once. At sixteen – is that your age?”

“Yes.”

“Well, at sixteen I was as innocent as you. I had a good mother then. If she had lived perhaps I would have turned out different. Why, it seems a great joke, doesn’t it. I attended Sunday-school till I was fifteen. Are you afraid that you will come to harm?”

Ernest looked intently in the brigand’s face.

“No,” he said, after a pause. “I think you won’t do me any more harm. But you can do me a great favor.”

“What is that – return you the bonds?”

“I would ask that if I thought you would do it, but I don’t expect it. I should like to have you release me and let me go home.”

“I can’t do that, for I want you to visit me. You may not think it, but I always liked young people. It will be quite a pleasure to me to have you for a visitor.”

“Thank you, but I am afraid that I shall become an unwilling guest.”

“Besides, it will be a pleasure to my little boy to meet you. He does not often meet other boys.”

“Have you a son?” asked Ernest in surprise.

The outlaw’s face softened.

“Yes,” he answered. “He is a sweet little boy, as I can say even if he is my son. His name is Frank. Would you like to see his picture?”

“Yes,” answered Ernest, with interest.

James Fox drew from an inner pocket a small card photograph of a young boy with a very winning face. Ernest was attracted, for unlike many boys of his age he liked younger children. He looked at the picture long and earnestly.

“It is a sweet face,” he said at last.

“Isn’t it?” asked the proud father.

“Is his mother living?”

“No.”

“Was there no difficulty in getting it taken?”

“I suppose you mean on account of my profession. Well, there might be around here, but this was taken in Minneapolis – about a year ago. It was one of the few visits that Frank has made with me.”

“Are you going to bring him up to your business?”

“Take care, boy!” said the outlaw, frowning. “Don’t be impertinent.”

“I don’t mean to be. Do you think the question an improper one?”

“Well, perhaps I have no right to think so. Somehow the business, though it seems all right to me, I couldn’t think of for my boy. No, I shall soon place him at school, where no one will know that he is related to the celebrated outlaw. I want him brought up to lead an honest life.”

“I am glad you do. I respect you for that.”

“My lad, you seem to be one of the right sort. As you will see my son I want you to promise me that you won’t say a word about the business I am engaged in.”

“I will make that promise. Then the boy doesn’t know?”

“No, he has no suspicion. He is too young to think much about that. Perhaps if he had associated with other boys much he would have found out.”

While this conversation was going on they had entered a wood, and the road became wilder and rougher. Indeed, it was hardly a road, but rather a lane, narrow and grass-grown.

Ernest began to wonder in what sort of a home his companion lived. His evident affection for his son gave Ernest a different feeling toward him. It was plain that he had a softer side to his nature, bandit though he was.

Ernest had never read the story of Jekyll and Hyde, but he felt instinctively that the man beside him had a double nature. On the road he was an outlaw, with corresponding traits, a rough and unscrupulous man, but at home and in the presence of his son, as Ernest judged, he was a warm-hearted and affectionate father.

In truth, the young bank messenger looked forward with interest to a meeting with the boy who was so dear to the heart of a man whom the world generally supposed to be a stranger to the softer emotions.

At length they reached a rocky hillside. Here the outlaw pulled up his horse and jumped from the buggy. Ernest looked at him in a questioning way.

“You can get out,” he said. “We have arrived.”

Ernest alighted and looked about him. He naturally expected to see a dwelling of some kind, but there was none in sight. If it was at a distance, why should they not have driven to it?

James Fox looked at him with a smile, enjoying his perplexity.

From his pocket he drew a large silk handkerchief.

“Come here, my boy,” he said.

Ernest did not quite understand what he proposed to do, but he felt better acquainted with the outlaw now, and he knew that there was no cause for apprehension. He accordingly approached without question.

James Fox bandaged his eyes so that he could see nothing. Then he took him by the hand and led him forward.

Ernest could not tell what was being done, but he found himself walking on a rocky path, hand in hand with his guide. How far he walked he could not tell. It might have been two hundred feet. Then his guide stopped, and of course he stopped too.

Next the handkerchief was removed and he found himself in what seemed a rocky cavern. At any rate it was a large room of irregular shape, but the stone floor had been made smooth and was covered by a soft carpet. It was furnished like a sitting-room in a private house. There were comfortable chairs, including a rocking-chair and a capacious armchair. On one side of the room was an inviting-looking couch.

Of course there would have been perfect darkness but for artificial light. On a table was a large student’s lamp and in a niche in the wall was another. Besides this there was a lantern hanging from the roof of the chamber, but this was not lighted.

Ernest looked about him with curiosity and surprise. It was something new to him and recalled a story he had once read in which a cave dwelling was described.

“Well, what do you think of it?” asked the outlaw, smiling.

“It is wonderful,” said Ernest.

“You did not know where I was bringing you?”

“No. It is a cave, is it not?”

“Well, it looks like it.”

“There are other rooms, are there not?”

“Yes, but this is my private apartment; my parlor, you may call it. This is my sleeping room.”

He drew aside the hangings on the farther side and revealed an inner chamber of less size.

On a bed Ernest’s attention was drawn to the figure of a sleeping boy – evidently the original of the picture which the outlaw had shown him.

“That is your son?” asked Ernest.

“Yes, that is Frank.”

The outlaw’s stern countenance softened as he regarded the sleeping boy.

Suddenly the boy stirred; he opened his eyes and when he recognized his father a glad smile lighted up his innocent face.

“Papa!” he said, and James Fox bent over and kissed him.

CHAPTER XVII

FRANK

After kissing his father the young boy looked inquisitively at Ernest.

“Who is that boy, papa?” he asked.

“I have brought him here to stay with you. Shall you like to have his company?”

“Yes, papa. You know it is very lonely while you are away. What is his name?”

The outlaw looked at Ernest significantly. He took the hint and answered: “My name is Ernest Ray.”

“How old are you, Ernest?” went on the boy.

“Sixteen.”

“I am only ten.”

“Are you going to get up, Frank?” asked his father.

“Yes,” answered the young boy briskly. “I got sleepy because I was alone. Where did papa find you, Ernest?”

“Oh, I met him outside and he took me to ride.”

James Fox looked approval of this answer.

“I am glad you came with him.”

By this time Frank had slid from the bed and put his hand in Ernest’s.

“Come here,” he said, “and I will show you my books.”

Led by his small companion Ernest went up to a bookcase which he had not before observed in the main room. About thirty books stood on the shelves.

“Where did you get your books?” he asked.

“Papa bought them for me in Minneapolis. Were you ever in Minneapolis?”

“No.”

“It is a nice place. Sometimes I think I would like to live there instead of here.”

“You are not getting tired of home, are you, Frank?” asked his father half reproachfully.

“No, papa, but it is lonely here sometimes. Am I to live here always?”

“No, Frank. Some time I will send you to school. But you won’t see me every day then.”

“Then I don’t want to go.”

The outlaw stooped over and kissed the boy.

“Now, Frank, I have something to do, so you may amuse yourself with Ernest.”

“Can you play dominoes?” asked Frank.

“Yes; have you a set?”

“Yes.”

The boy opened a drawer in a bureau and drew out a box of dominoes. He poured them out on the table and they began to play the ordinary game. When they tired of that Ernest taught him a new one.

After they grew tired of playing Ernest read aloud to the boy from one of his favorite books.

They were sitting together in the armchair when James Fox, who had left the room, returned. He smiled approvingly at the picture. He was pleased to think that he had found a companion whom his boy liked.

“What have you been doing, Frank?” he asked.

“He has been reading to me, papa. He reads nicely and I liked it very much.”

“I am sorry to interrupt you, but are not you young people hungry?”

“I think I could eat something,” answered Ernest.

“Frank, you may bring him into the dining-room.”

The drapery was lifted and they passed into a room as large as the one they were in. On a table in the center a substantial meal, consisting principally of roast beef, was set forth. An old colored woman hovered near, evidently the cook.

“Juba,” said the outlaw, “this is a new boarder. His name is Ernest.”

“Glad to see you, Massa Ernest,” rejoined the old woman, nodding her turban. “Sit down here next to Massa Frank.”

It seemed very strange to Ernest to reflect that he was the guest of one of the famous outlaws of whom he had heard so much. He was half inclined to doubt whether it was real. If he had been alone he would have pinched himself to see whether he was awake or dreaming. Here he was in the bowels of the earth on intimate terms with an outlaw and his family. How long was he to stay in the cavern? That was a question impossible to answer. Meanwhile he was hungry and the dinner was well cooked.

“Where is Uncle John, papa?” asked Frank suddenly.

Ernest remembered that one of the Fox brothers was named John, and he awaited the answer with interest.

James Fox seemed busily thinking and Frank had to repeat the question.

“Your Uncle John?” repeated the outlaw. “He went away on business.”

“What kind of business, papa?”

It was a natural question, but it startled James Fox. He saw that as his son became older it might not be easy to evade embarrassing questions.

“You seem curious, Frank,” he answered after a pause. “You wouldn’t understand if I were to tell you.”

“Will you teach me your business some day, papa?”

It was on the tip of the outlaw’s tongue to say, “Heaven forbid!” but he only answered: “Wait till you are older, Frank. Then we will talk about it.”

At length they rose from the table.

They went back to the main room and Ernest read a little more to the young boy. But Frank’s eyes grew heavy and he finally dropped off to sleep.

“Shall I lay him on the bed, Mr. Fox?” asked Ernest.

“No, I will do so.”

He took the boy tenderly in his arms.

“If I had known he would fall asleep I would have undressed him,” he said.

After placing the boy on the bed he resumed his seat in the armchair and began to smoke. Finally he looked over at Ernest.