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

“Who is this man?” he asked himself. “Is he one who is likely to be in the confidence of the outlaws? If so I have only got out of one scrape to fall into another.”

He studied the face of the man with whom he was speaking and to his dismay noted a resemblance to James Fox. He began to suspect that this was his brother.

Whether it was or not Ernest deemed it politic to say as little as possible of his experiences and of what he knew about the cave and its occupants.

“Yes,” he answered quietly; “there seems to be a cave underneath. I found the trap-door open and went down, but I regretted it, for I found it difficult to get out again.”

His new acquaintance eyed him scrutinizingly, as if to see whether he knew more than he was willing to reveal.

“So there is a cave underneath?” he said.

“Yes.”

“Have you any idea what it is used for?”

“I don’t think it is used at all. The room below seems empty.”

The man regarded him fixedly.

“When did you leave Emmonsville?” he asked abruptly.

“Yesterday,” answered Ernest in some confusion.

“How does it happen that you have got no farther on your way to Lee’s Falls?”

“I stopped at the cabin of an Indian,” answered Ernest, making the only explanation he could think of.

The man smiled.

“Young man,” he said, “didn’t you pass last night in this cave?”

Ernest saw that there was no further chance for subterfuge.

“Yes,” he answered.

“I thought so.”

“You were captured?” the other went on.

“Yes.”

“Have you any suspicion by whom this cave is occupied?”

“I presume by the Fox brothers.”

“Correct. I am one of them.”

“I began to think so.”

“How were you able to escape?”

“I was left with the little boy. He fell asleep and then I began to explore.”

“Where is my brother?”

“He went out quite early, I presume in search of you.”

“Exactly. I suppose my brother heard that I was in trouble?”

“Yes.”

“By the way, the Quaker detective through whom I got into difficulty you doubtless know?”

“I do.”

“I was put into jail at Crampton, but I managed to effect my escape. Are you connected in any way with the Emmonsville bank?”

“Yes.”

“In what way?”

“As bank messenger.”

“Did my brother take anything from you?”

“Yes.”

“Money?”

“No, bonds.”

“You are a sensible boy. You answer my questions freely. You are a smart boy, too. It isn’t every lad of your age who would have managed to effect an escape from the cave. Do you remember the entrance?”

“No; I was carried into it blindfolded.”

“I thought my brother would be prudent. So you couldn’t find it again.”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Still I cannot run any risk. You will have to come with me.”

“Where do you want to carry me?” asked Ernest, much disturbed.

“I will carry you back to the cave.”

“Let me go free. I will promise not to reveal anything that I have discovered.”

“I am sorry, boy, but you were made prisoner by my brother, and I owe it to him to prevent your escape.”

It was intolerable to Ernest to think of having his captivity renewed. He determined that he would at least make an effort for freedom.

Accordingly he did not hesitate, but started to run, hoping that in this way he might save himself. He had always the reputation among his boy companions as a sprinter, and resolved to see whether this was a lost art.

“So that’s your game, is it?” exclaimed the outlaw. “It will go hard with me if I don’t catch you. Stop, or it will be the worse for you!”

But Ernest had no intention of giving up so soon. He only exerted himself the more.

The contest was not so unequal as might have been supposed. Ernest was tall for his age, and the outlaw was rather below the average height. So there was in reality only about an inch difference in their height.

On the other hand, John Fox had, as might be supposed, more strength and endurance. He was not over weight and therefore not scant of breath. Ernest got the start and this was an advantage. One ran about as fast as the other, so it settled down into a contest of endurance.

The outlaw, however, was irritated at the unexpected difficulty of his undertaking. He had thought that Ernest would surrender.

“I wish I had my revolver,” he muttered.

Had the outlaw been aware that Ernest had in his possession the packet of bonds which had impelled his brother to make him a captive his zeal would have been increased. He knew, of course, that the bonds would be taken from him and he could conceive of no chance of the boy’s recovering them.

They flew over the ground, maintaining the same relative distance. But there was an unexpected contingency that worked to the disadvantage of Ernest.

Directly in his path was a projecting root which in his haste escaped his notice. He tripped over it, and as a natural consequence he measured his length on the ground.

The outlaw’s face lighted up with exultation. Now the issue was no longer doubtful.

Before Ernest could recover himself and rise to his feet John Fox was upon him.

He flung himself on the prostrate boy and clutched him in a firm grasp.

“Now I have you,” he said. “You were a fool to run. You might have known that you could not escape.”

“I came near it, though,” gasped Ernest, quite out of breath. “Let me up.”

“Will you promise to go with me without giving me any more trouble?”

“I will make no promises,” said Ernest.

“Then it will be the worse for you,” said the outlaw vindictively.

What he proposed to do must remain unknown, for as he spoke a hand was thrust into his neckcloth and he was jerked violently to his feet.

CHAPTER XXII

CASTRO TO THE RESCUE

Bewildered and angry, John Fox looked to see who was his assailant. He found himself confronted by a tall, muscular Indian, whom Ernest also recognized as the man whose child he had saved from a watery grave.

“What do you mean by this outrage?” demanded the outlaw angrily.

“Why are you hurting him?” said the Indian, pointing to Ernest.

“Because I choose to.”

“Me stop you,” said the Indian calmly.

“I have a great mind to shoot you.”

This was an empty threat, for his weapon had been taken by the Quaker detective.

The only answer made by the Indian was to produce a revolver, which he pointed at the breast of the outlaw.

“Two play at that game,” he answered.

John Fox shrank back, for it takes a man of nerve to face a revolver. He began to remonstrate.

“What interest have you in that boy?” he asked.

“He save my little boy from drowning,” answered the Indian. “Will you go or shall me shoot?”

There was but one answer to make to this question. John Fox turned about and walked quietly away without a word.

Ernest grasped the Indian’s hand gratefully.

“I can’t thank you enough,” he said. “You have perhaps saved my life.”

“You save my little boy.”

“Do you know that man?”

“No.”

“It was John Fox, one of the Fox brothers, the famous outlaws.”

“Humph! I have heard of him. How did he catch you?”

Ernest told the story. He also told of the commission he had from the Emmonsville bank.

“I am going to ask you a favor,” he asked.

“What is it?”

“I want you to go with me to the bank at Lee’s Falls. I have a package of bonds to carry there and I don’t think it safe to go alone. I will see that you are paid for your time and trouble.”

“I will go.”

Under the guidance of his Indian friend Ernest reached Lee’s Falls. The bank was closed, but the cashier was still in the bank building, having been detained after hours. Seeing him through the window, Ernest knocked and obtained admission.

“The bank is closed, young man,” said the bank officer.

“I know it, but I have a package of bonds from the bank in Emmonsville. I hope you will take them from me, for I don’t want the responsibility of them any longer.”

“Oh, you are the young messenger. We had advice that you would be here yesterday.”

“So I should have been, but for my capture by one of the Fox brothers.”

“And how did you escape?” asked the wondering cashier.

“Please take the bonds and I will tell you. I spent two nights in the outlaws’ cave. This afternoon I managed to get away.”

“But were not the bonds taken from you?”

“Yes, but I recovered them.”

Ernest, without waiting for further questions, told the story as briefly as possible.

“So, after all,” he concluded, “I should have been taken again but for my friend here,” laying his hand upon the Indian’s shoulder. “I told him you would pay him for his trouble in accompanying me.”

“So I will,” said the cashier, and he took a five-dollar bill and tendered it to the Indian.

The latter objected to taking it, alleging that Ernest had saved his boy’s life, but the cashier overruled his objections and he accepted it.

They were going out of the bank when the familiar figure of Luke Robbins came up the street. His face was clouded by an expression of anxiety and he seemed troubled. He had searched everywhere for Ernest, and thus far had failed to find him.

When he saw the boy emerging from the bank his face changed at once.

“So you are safe, Ernest? I thought I had lost you,” he exclaimed. “Did you see anything of the outlaws?”

“I should say that I did. I was captured by James Fox and confined two nights in the underground haunts of the robbers. When I escaped this afternoon I fell into the clutches of the other brother.”

“What! John Fox?”

“Yes.”

“This cannot be, Ernest. I lodged him myself in Crampton jail.”

“All I can tell you is that he is at liberty now. He must have escaped.”

“Then I am afraid I shan’t receive the reward offered for his capture.”

“You ought to get it. You delivered him over to the authorities. If they could not keep him that was their own lookout.”

“You ought to be right, lad. I hope you are. Who is this man?”

“My Indian friend, who proved to be a friend in need. It was he who saved me from John Fox.”

“I am proud to know you,” said Luke, grasping the hand of the red warrior. “If you have helped Ernest you are my friend.”

“He save my little boy; I will always be his friend.”

“You have saved my boy, my Indian friend, and you will always be my friend,” returned Luke.

“Well, Luke, what shall we do? I have done my errand and delivered the bonds.”

“We will go back. I have found you and have no more to do here.”

“Shall we walk?”

“No, it is too far. There is a stable a little way from here; I will hire a conveyance and our Indian friend will perhaps be willing to drive us over.”

The Indian expressed his willingness, and the three were soon on their way through the woods. They met with no adventure, nor did they fear any, for it would have required a brave man to attack two such stalwart men as the Indian and the Quaker detective.

Leaving them for the present, we will go back to the cave from which Ernest had made so unceremonious a departure.

Frank slept for two hours, but at length opened his eyes, expecting to see Ernest sitting at his bedside.

He looked in vain. There was no one in the room. This did not surprise him much, however. He thought Ernest might have gone into the next apartment.

“Ernest!” he cried, but his call received no response.

The little boy got out of bed and looked about, but his search was vain.

So he went into the kitchen, where he found Juba engaged in some domestic work.

“Juba,” he said, “where is Ernest?”

“I don’t know, chile. Isn’t he in the big room?”

“No, Juba. I went to sleep and when I woke up he was gone.”

“You look round and maybe you find him.”

But Frank was doomed to disappointment. He sat down ready to cry. He felt very lonely. He had not realized how much he enjoyed Ernest’s company.

“I don’t know where he can have gone, Juba. Do you think he’s gone and left me?”

“I can’t tell, chile. Wait till your papa comes home. He will find him.”

Frank had to wait an hour and a half before his father’s return. All this time he was buoyed up by the hope that Ernest would come back. He was continually watching the portal to see if the runaway would not come.

James Fox entered the room with grave face and heavy step. He had not heard of his brother’s escape and thought him still an inmate of Crampton jail.

He looked about for his young captive.

“Where is Ernest, Frank?” he asked.

“I don’t know, papa. I miss him ever so much,” said the little boy tearfully.

“But he must be somewhere about. When did you miss him?”

“He went away when I was asleep.”

The outlaw’s suspicions were aroused.

“I will look for him,” he said.

But Ernest was in none of the rooms.

“Did you walk with him into the interior of the cave, Frank?” he asked.

“Yes, papa.”

“Ha, that explains it. Go with me and tell me just where you went.”

The little boy led the way through the vacant apartments till he reached the one through which the light came from above.

The rope was still hanging from the projection, and this explained Ernest’s escape.

“He must have got out this way,” said the outlaw.

“Won’t he come back, papa?” said Frank.

“Yes,” said his father resolutely. “I will bring him back.”

CHAPTER XXIII

GIVEN IN TRUST

“Well, lad, have you had enough of Emmonsville?”

The speaker was Luke Robbins and the time was two days after the series of exciting incidents recorded in the last few chapters.

“Why do you ask, Luke?” replied Ernest. “Are you tired of it?”

“Yes, lad, I want to move on.”

“But what about the reward you are entitled to for the capture of John Fox?”

“The cashier thinks I will only receive a part of it, as Fox has escaped.”

“That is unlucky. You will have to wait until the matter is decided, won’t you?”

“No. He has offered me an advance of a hundred dollars, and is authorized to collect whatever prize money may be awarded to me. You have some money left?”

“Yes, about seventy-five dollars.”

“Then we both have enough to start on. I propose to go to California by train, getting there as soon as possible. When we reach there we will see what we can do to increase our pile.”

“I like that plan. When shall we go?”

“We will start on Monday.”

Before they departed there was some sensational news. Peter Longman, one of the Fox band, taking offense at some slight put upon him by James Fox, went to the authorities and revealed the existence and location of the cave, with other information of a like nature. The result was that a strong force was sent to surprise and capture the notorious outlaws.

The visit was made at night and under guidance of Peter himself. Wholly unsuspicious of treachery, the outlaws were captured in their beds and the valuable articles in the storeroom were confiscated.

James Fox was reclining on the sofa when the officers entered.

“Is your name Fox?” asked the leader of the invading party.

“Yes,” answered the outlaw proudly.

“Then you are my prisoner.”

“Who has betrayed me?” demanded Fox quickly.

There was no answer, but just behind the invading party the outlaw caught sight of Peter Longman, apparently trying to screen himself from observation.

“I need not ask,” he said. “There is the treacherous hound. He shall not live to profit by his baseness.”

Before anyone could interfere James Fox leveled his revolver at Longman, and a sharp scream showed that his aim was true. His treacherous follower fell to the ground, mortally wounded.

James Fox looked at him disdainfully, then threw the revolver upon the floor of the cave and held out his hands. “Now bind me if you will,” he said; “I am your captive.”

Little Frank was a terrified witness of this scene.

“What are they doing to you, papa?” he asked. “They are bad men.”

In spite of his fortitude the outlaw showed traces of emotion. “That is my little son,” he said to the lieutenant commanding.

“He shall be taken care of. Do not be anxious about him.”

“There is an old colored woman here – Juba,” went on the outlaw. “The boy is used to her. If possible let them be together.”

Under a strong guard the famous robbers were carried to jail, and the cave which had been for years their meeting place was dismantled and was never again used for a criminal resort.

When Ernest read the story his feelings were mixed. He rejoiced that the outlaws were taken, but he felt a sympathy for little Frank, and understood what a shock it must be to the father and son to be separated.

He learned where Frank was and called upon him. He had been taken to his own home by the leader of the raiding force.

When he entered the room where Frank sat disconsolately at the window the little fellow uttered a cry of joy.

“Is it you, Ernest?” he said, running forward. “I thought I should never see you again.”

Ernest stooped over and kissed him.

“You see I am here,” he said.

“What made you go away? Why didn’t you tell me you were going?”

“I will tell you some time, Frank.”

“Why did those bad men take papa away?”

“I do not think you would understand. Where is Juba?”

“She is in the kitchen. I will call her.”

Juba came in and seemed pleased to see Ernest.

“I have got a letter for you, honey,” she said, fumbling in her pocket.

She brought out a yellow envelope. It was directed to Ernest.

The contents ran thus:

Now that misfortune has come upon me my chief thought is for my boy. Whatever befalls me I want him cared for. You are scarcely more than a stranger to me, but when you were in the cave you seemed to love Frank. Poor boy, he will stand in need of some friend who loves him. So far as you can, will you be his friend and guardian? He has some property – a few thousand dollars – which you will hold in trust for him. It is not stolen property. It was left him by his mother.

Call upon Mr. Samuel Hardy, a lawyer in Lee’s Falls, and he will make over to you the custody of the money, and look upon you as the authorized guardian of Frank. You know my wish that he should be sent to a good school and properly educated. Will you carry out my wishes in that respect? I do not wish to tie you down, but wherever you may go keep up an active interest in my boy, and from time to time write to him.

I do not know what my fate may be. I am not a coward, and shall not complain or beg for mercy. When you speak of me to Frank in after years, always paint me at my best, and let him understand that at least I loved him.

James Fox.

P.S. – Should Frank die before maturity I desire that his property should go to you.

Ernest read the foregoing with mingled feelings. He knew that the writer was an outlaw, deeply stained with crime; but this letter showed him at his best. Paternal love softened the harsh outlines of his character, and spoke of a nature that might have made him a blessing instead of a curse to his kind.

Ernest lost no time in communicating with Mr. Hardy.

The lawyer read the letter in some surprise.

“Mr. Fox seems to have appointed a young guardian for his son,” he remarked.

“Yes, sir; but he appeared to have no choice.”

“I am ready to assist you, however.”

“I will depend upon you, then, for I shall start for California as soon as possible. Can you recommend a satisfactory boarding school?”

“I have a son at school in Lincoln. The school is under the charge of a clergyman, who is an efficient teacher.”

“Can you arrange to enter Frank at his school?”

“I will do so, if you authorize me.”

“I don’t think we can do any better. Were you aware that Mr. Fox was the notorious outlaw?” asked Ernest, after a pause.

“I did not know, but latterly I have suspected it. You may be surprised that under the circumstances I should have consented to serve him. But I felt that I might be of assistance to the boy, and that my refusal would occasion him embarrassment. Your letter is satisfactory, as showing that the fortune of your ward is not made up of ill-gotten gains. Were it otherwise, he would hardly be allowed to keep it. Does Frank know his father’s character and reputation?”

“I don’t think so.”

“It had best be kept from him. I will see that it does not become known at school. It would wound the boy to be twitted with it by his schoolmates.”

Thanks to Mr. Hardy, Ernest found that the new charge imposed upon him would not materially interfere with his plans. A week later than he had originally intended he and Luke Robbins left Emmonsville.

As they rushed rapidly over the prairies, Luke Robbins turned to his young companion and said: “Our journey thus far has been adventurous. I wonder what lies before us.”

“We won’t trouble ourselves on that score, Luke. I feel hopeful.”

“So do I, and yet we have less than two hundred dollars between us.”

“That’s true.”

“Still, I have captured an outlaw, and you at the age of sixteen are the guardian of an outlaw’s son.”

“I don’t think we shall meet with anything stranger than that.”

Two days later, in a newspaper bought at an important station, there was an article that deeply interested both travelers. It related to the Fox brothers, recounting their daring attempt to escape from the jail where they were confined. John Fox got away, but James was shot dead by one of the prison guards.

So Frank was an orphan, and Ernest now felt that his responsibility was increased.

CHAPTER XXIV

STEPHEN RAY AND HIS SON

Leaving Ernest and Luke Robbins on their way to California, our attention is called to other characters who must play a part in the drama of the boy from Oak Forks.

A few miles from Elmira, upon an eminence from which there was a fine view of the surrounding country, stood the handsome country mansion of Stephen Ray, already referred to as the cousin of Ernest’s father. It passed into his possession by inheritance from poor Ernest’s grandfather, the will under which the bequest was made cutting off his son for no worse a crime than marrying a girl thoroughly respectable, but of humble birth.

Stephen Ray, since he came into possession of his uncle’s estate, had improved it considerably. He had torn down the old stable and built an imposing new one. The plain carriage which had satisfied his uncle had been succeeded by an elegant coach, and the slow horse by a pair of spirited steeds.

Mr. Ray had become pompous, and by his manner made it clear that he considered himself a man of great consequence. He was a local magistrate, and had for years endeavored to obtain a nomination for Congress.

Had he been of popular manners, he would probably have succeeded, but he was not a favorite among the poorer classes, and their vote must be considered.

There is an old saying, “Like father, like son,” and Clarence, now turned sixteen, the only child of the country magnate, was like his father in all objectionable qualities. He was quite as much impressed with ideas of his own consequence.

It was about three o’clock in the afternoon. Mr. Ray sat on the piazza, the day being unusually warm, reading a newspaper. In the street near by, his son Clarence was moving swiftly on a new velocipede which his father had just purchased for him.

“Out of the way, there!” he called out, as a shabbily dressed stranger with a weary step plodded along the pathway.

Whether because he was hard of hearing or because his mind was preoccupied, the stranger did not heed the warning, and Clarence, who might easily have avoided the collision, ran into him recklessly. Had the wheel been moving at a greater rate of speed, he might have been seriously hurt. As it was, he was nearly thrown down.

But he rallied, and seizing the offending rider with no gentle grasp, dragged him from the wheel, and shook him vigorously.

“Let me alone, you tramp!” exclaimed Clarence furiously.

But the stranger did not release his hold.

“Not till you apologize for running into me,” he answered sternly.

“Apologize to a man like you!” ejaculated Clarence, struggling furiously for his freedom.

“Will you apologize?”

“There is no need of an apology. You got in my way.”

“You have no business on the sidewalk with your wheel. It is meant for foot passengers.”