Cast Upon the Breakers

In Oreville Mr. Pettigrew was so well known that nearly everyone called him by his first name. Mr. Pettigrew did not care about this as he had no false pride or artificial dignity.

“Do you consider this hotel a good property, Mr. Bailey?”

“I’ll tell you this much. I started here four years ago, and I’ve made fifty thousand dollars which I shall take back with me to New Hampshire.”

“That certainly is satisfactory.”

“I shouldn’t wonder if you could improve upon it.”

“How does it happen that you sell out such a valuable property, Mr. Bailey? Are you tired of making money?”

“No, but I must tell you that there’s a girl waiting for me at home, an old schoolmate, who will become Mrs. Bailey as soon as possible after I get back. If she would come out here I wouldn’t sell, but she has a mother that she wouldn’t leave, and so I must go to her.”

“That is a good reason, Mr. Bailey.”

“Besides with fifty thousand dollars I can live as well as I want to in New Hampshire, and hold up my head with the best. You will follow my example some day.”

“It will be a long day first, Mr. Bailey, for I am only sixteen.”

On Monday morning the old landlord started for his Eastern home and Rodney took his place. It took him some little time to become familiar with all the details of hotel management, but he spared no pains to insure success. He had some trouble at first with the cook who presumed upon his position and Rodney’s supposed ignorance to run things as he chose.

Rodney complained to Mr. Pettigrew.

“I think I can fix things, Rodney,” he said. “There’s a man working for me who used to be cook in a restaurant in New York. I found out about him quietly, for I wanted to be prepared for emergencies. The next time Gordon act contrary and threatens to leave, tell him he can do as he pleases. Then report to me.”

The next day there came another conflict of authority.

“If you don’t like the way I manage you can get somebody else,” said the cook triumphantly. “Perhaps you’d like to cook the dinner yourself. You’re nothing but a boy, and I don’t see what Jefferson was thinking of to put you in charge.”

“That is his business, Mr. Gordon.”

“I advise you not to interfere with me, for I won’t stand it.”

“Why didn’t you talk in this way to Mr. Bailey?”

“That’s neither here nor there. He wasn’t a boy for one thing.”

“Then you propose to have your own way, Mr. Gordon?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Very well, then you can leave me at the end of this week.”

“What!” exclaimed the cook in profound astonishment. “Are you going crazy?”

“No, I know what I am about.”

“Perhaps you intend to cook yourself.”

“No, I don’t. That would close up the hotel.”

“Look here, young feller, you’re gettin’ too independent! I’ve a great mind to leave you tonight.”

“You can do so if you want to,” said Rodney indifferently.

“Then I will!” retorted Gordon angrily, bringing down his fist upon the table in vigorous emphasis.

Oreville was fifty miles from Helena, and that was the nearest point, as he supposed, where a new cook could be obtained.

After supper Rodney told Jefferson Pettigrew what had happened.

“Have I done right?” he asked.

“Yes; we can’t have any insubordination here. There can’t be two heads of one establishment. Send Gordon to me.”

The cook with a defiant look answered the summons.

“I understand you want to leave, Gordon,” said Jefferson Pettigrew.

“That depends. I ain’t goin’ to have no boy dictatin’ to me.”

“Then you insist upon having your own way without interference.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Very well, I accept your resignation. Do you wish to wait till the end of the week, or to leave tonight?”

“I want to give it up tonight.”

“Very well, go to Rodney and he will pay you what is due you.”

“Are you goin’ to get along without a cook?” inquired Gordon in surprise.

“No.”

“What are you going to do, then?”

“I shall employ Parker in your place.”

“What does he know about cookin’?”

“He ran a restaurant in New York for five years, the first part of the time having charge of the cooking. We shan’t suffer even if you do leave us.”

“I think I will stay,” said Gordon in a submissive tone.

“It is too late. You have discharged yourself. You can’t stay here on any terms.”

Gordon left Oreville the next day a sorely disappointed man, for he had received more liberal pay than he was likely to command elsewhere. The young landlord had triumphed.

CHAPTER XXX

THE MYSTERIOUS ROBBERY

At the end of a month Jefferson Pettigrew said: “I’ve been looking over the books, Rodney, and I find the business is better than I expected. How much did I agree to pay you?”

“A hundred and fifty dollars a month, but if you think that it is too much–”

“Too much? Why I am going to advance you to two hundred and fifty.”

“You can’t be in earnest, Mr. Pettigrew?”

“I am entirely so.”

“That is at the rate of three thousand dollars a year!”

“Yes, but you are earning it.”

“You know I am only a boy.”

“That doesn’t make any difference as long as you understand your business.”

“I am very grateful to you, Mr. Pettigrew. My, I can save two hundred dollars a month.”

“Do so, and I will find you a paying investment for the money.”

“What would Jasper say to my luck?” thought Rodney.

Three months passed without any incident worth recording. One afternoon a tall man wearing a high hat and a Prince Albert coat with a paste diamond of large size in his shirt bosom entered the public room of the Miners’ Rest and walking up to the bar prepared to register his name. As he stood with his pen in his hand Rodney recognized him not without amazement.

It was Louis Wheeler—the railroad thief, whom he had last seen in New York.

As for Wheeler he had not taken any notice of the young clerk, not suspecting that it was an old acquaintance who was familiar with his real character.

“Have you just arrived in Montana, Mr. Wheeler?” asked Rodney quietly.

As Rodney had not had an opportunity to examine his signature in the register Wheeler looked up in quiet surprise.

“Do you know me?” he asked.

“Yes; don’t you know me?”

“I’ll be blowed if it isn’t the kid,” ejaculated Wheeler.

“As I run this hotel, I don’t care to be called a kid.”

“All right Mr.–”

“Ropes.”

“Mr. Ropes, you are the most extraordinary boy I ever met.”

“Am I?”

“Who would have thought of your turning up as a Montana landlord.”

“I wouldn’t have thought of it myself four months ago. But what brings you out here?”

“Business,” answered Wheeler in an important tone.

“Are you going to become a miner?”

“I may buy a mine if I find one to suit me.”

“I am glad you seem to be prospering.”

“Can you give me a good room?”

“Yes, but I must ask a week’s advance payment.”

“How much?”

“Twenty five dollars.”

“All right. Here’s the money.”

Louis Wheeler pulled out a well filled wallet and handed over two ten dollar bills and a five.

“Is that satisfactory?” he asked.

“Quite so. You seem better provided with money than when I saw you last.”

“True. I was then in temporary difficulty. But I made a good turn in stocks and I am on my feet again.”

Rodney did not believe a word of this, but as long as Wheeler was able to pay his board he had no good excuse for refusing him accommodation.

“That rascal here!” exclaimed Jefferson, when Rodney informed him of Wheeler’s arrival. “Well, thats beat all! What has brought him out here?”

“Business, he says.”

“It may be the same kind of business that he had with me. He will bear watching.”

“I agree with you, Mr. Pettigrew.”

Louis Wheeler laid himself out to be social and agreeable, and made himself quite popular with the other boarders at the hotel. As Jefferson and Rodney said nothing about him, he was taken at his own valuation, and it was reported that he was a heavy capitalist from Chicago who had come to Montana to buy a mine. This theory received confirmation both from his speech and actions.

On the following day he went about in Oreville and examined the mines. He expressed his opinion freely in regard to what he saw, and priced one that was for sale at fifty thousand dollars.

“I like this mine,” he said, “but I don’t know enough about it to make an offer. If it comes up to my expectations I will try it.”

“He must have been robbing a bank,” observed Jefferson Pettigrew.

Nothing could exceed the cool assurance with which Wheeler greeted Jefferson and recalled their meeting in New York.

“You misjudged me then, Mr. Pettigrew,” he said. “I believe upon my soul you looked upon me as an adventurer—a confidence man.”

“You are not far from the truth, Mr. Wheeler,” answered Jefferson bluntly.

“Well, I forgive you. Our acquaintance was brief and you judged from superficial impressions.”

“Perhaps so, Mr. Wheeler. Have you ever been West before?”

“No.”

“When you came to Oreville had you any idea that I was here?”

“No; if I had probably I should not have struck the town, as I knew that you didn’t have a favorable opinion of me.”

“I can’t make out much of that fellow, Rodney,” said Jefferson. “I can’t understand his object in coming here.”

“He says he wants to buy a mine.”

“That’s all a pretext. He hasn’t money enough to buy a mine or a tenth part of it.”

“He seems to have money.”

“Yes; he may have a few hundred dollars, but mark my words, he hasn’t the slightest intention of buying a mine.”

“He has some object in view.”

“No doubt! What it is is what I want to find out.”

There was another way in which Louis Wheeler made himself popular among the miners of Oreville. He had a violin with him, and in the evening he seated himself on the veranda and played popular tunes.

He had only a smattering in the way of musical training, but the airs he played took better than classical music would have done. Even Jefferson Pettigrew enjoyed listening to “Home, Sweet Home” and “The Last Rose of Summer,” while the miners were captivated by merry dance tunes, which served to enliven them after a long day’s work at the mines.

One day there was a sensation. A man named John O’Donnell came down stairs from his room looking pale and agitated.

“Boys,” he said, “I have been robbed.”

Instantly all eyes were turned upon him.

“Of what have you been robbed, O’Donnell?” asked Jefferson.

“Of two hundred dollars in gold. I was going to send it home to my wife in Connecticut next week.”

“When did you miss it?”

“Just now.”

“Where did you keep it?”

“In a box under my bed.”

“When do you think it was taken?”

“Last night.”

“What makes you think so?”

“I am a sound sleeper, and last night you know was very dark. I awoke with a start, and seemed to hear footsteps. I looked towards the door, and saw a form gliding from the room.”

“Why didn’t you jump out of bed and seize the intruder whoever he was?”

“Because I was not sure but it was all a dream. I think now it was some thief who had just robbed me.”

“I think so too. Could you make out anything of his appearance?”

“I could only see the outlines of his figure. He was a tall man. He must have taken the money from under my bed.”

“Did any one know that you had money concealed there?”

“I don’t think I ever mentioned it.”

“It seems we have a thief among us,” said Jefferson, and almost unconsciously his glance rested on Louis Wheeler who was seated near John O’Donnell, “what do you think, Mr. Wheeler?”

“I think you are right, Mr. Pettigrew.”

“Have you any suggestion to make?” asked Jefferson. “Have you by chance lost anything?”

“Not that I am aware of.”

“Is there any one else here who has been robbed?”

No one spoke.

“You asked me if I had any suggestions to make, Mr. Pettigrew,” said Louis Wheeler after a pause. “I have.

“Our worthy friend Mr. O’Donnell has met with a serious loss. I move that we who are his friends make it up to him. Here is my contribution,” and he laid a five dollar bill on the table.

It was a happy suggestion and proved popular. Every one present came forward, and tendered his contributions including Jefferson, who put down twenty five dollars.

Mr. Wheeler gathered up the notes and gold and sweeping them to his hat went forward and tendered them to John O’Donnell.

“Take this money, Mr. O’Donnell,” he said. “It is the free will offering of your friends. I am sure I may say for them, as for myself, that it gives us all pleasure to help a comrade in trouble.”

Louis Wheeler could have done nothing that would have so lifted him in the estimation of the miners.

“And now,” he said, “as our friend is out of his trouble I will play you a few tunes on my violin, and will end the day happily.”

“I can’t make out that fellow, Rodney,” said Jefferson when they were alone. “I believe he is the thief, but he has an immense amount of nerve.”

CHAPTER XXXI

MR. WHEELER EXPLAINS

Probably there was no one at the hotel who suspected Louis Wheeler of being a thief except Rodney and Mr. Pettigrew. His action in starting a contribution for John O’Donnell helped to make him popular. He was establishing a reputation quite new to him, and it was this fact probably that made him less prudent than he would otherwise have been.

As the loss had been made up, the boarders at the Miners’ Rest ceased to talk of it. But Jefferson and his young assistant did not forget it.

“I am sure Wheeler is the thief, but I don’t know how to bring it home to him,” said Jefferson one day, when alone with Rodney.

“You might search him.”

“Yes, but what good would that do? It might be found that he had money, but one gold coin is like another and it would be impossible to identify it as the stolen property. If O’Donnell had lost anything else except money it would be different. I wish he would come to my chamber.”

“Perhaps he would if he thought you were a sound sleeper.”

“That is an idea. I think I can make use of it.”.

That evening when Wheeler was present Mr. Pettigrew managed to turn the conversation to the subject of sleeping.

“I am a very sound sleeper,” he said. “I remember when I was at home sleeping many a time through a severe thunder storm.”

“Don’t you sometimes wake up in the middle of the night?” asked Rodney.

“Very seldom, if I am in good health.”

“Its different with me,” said another of the company. “A step on the floor or the opening of the door will wake me up at any time.”

“I am glad I am not so easily roused.”

“If I had a fish horn,” said Rodney, laughing, “I should be tempted to come up in the night and give it a blast before your door.”

“That might wake me up,” said Mr. Pettigrew. “I wouldn’t advise you to try it or the other boarders might get up an indignation meeting.”

The same evening Jefferson Pettigrew took out a bag of gold and carelessly displayed it.

“Are you not afraid of being robbed, Mr. Pettigrew?” asked Rodney.

“Oh no. I never was robbed in my life.”

“How much money have you there?”

“I don’t know exactly. Perhaps six hundred dollars,” said Pettigrew in an indifferent tone.

Among those who listened to this conversation with interest was Louis Wheeler. Rodney did not fail to see the covetous gleam of his eyes when the gold was displayed.

The fact was, that Wheeler was getting short of cash and at the time he took John O’Donnell’s money—for he was the thief—he had but about twenty dollars left, and of this he contributed five to the relief of the man he had robbed.

His theft realized him two hundred dollars, but this would not last him long, as the expenses of living at the Miners’ Rest were considerable. He was getting tired of Oreville, but wanted to secure some additional money before he left it. The problem was whom to make his second victim.

It would not have occurred to him to rob Jefferson Pettigrew, of whom he stood in wholesome fear, but for the admission that he was an unusually sound sleeper; even then he would have felt uncertain whether it would pay. But the display of the bag of money, and the statement that it contained six hundred dollars in gold proved a tempting bait.

“If I can capture that bag of gold,” thought Wheeler, “I shall have enough money to set me up in some new place. There won’t be much risk about it, for Pettigrew sleeps like a top. I will venture it.”

Jefferson Pettigrew’s chamber was on the same floor as his own. It was the third room from No. 17 which Mr. Wheeler occupied.

As a general thing the occupants of the Miners’ Rest went to bed early. Mining is a fatiguing business, and those who follow it have little difficulty in dropping off to sleep. The only persons who were not engaged in this business were Louis Wheeler and Rodney Ropes. As a rule the hotel was closed at half past ten and before this all were in bed and sleeping soundly.

When Wheeler went to bed he said to himself, “This will probably be my last night in this tavern. I will go from here to Helena, and if things turn out right I may be able to make my stay there profitable. I shan’t dare to stay here long after relieving Pettigrew of his bag of gold.”

Unlike Jefferson Pettigrew, Wheeler was a light sleeper. He had done nothing to induce fatigue, and had no difficulty in keeping awake till half past eleven. Then lighting a candle, he examined his watch, and ascertained the time.

“It will be safe enough now,” he said to himself.

He rose from his bed, and drew on his trousers. Then in his stocking feet he walked along the corridor till he stood in front of Jefferson Pettigrew’s door. He was in doubt as to whether he would not be obliged to pick the lock, but on trying the door he found that it was not fastened. He opened it and stood within the chamber.

Cautiously he glanced at the bed. Mr. Pettigrew appeared to be sleeping soundly.

“It’s all right,” thought Louis Wheeler. “Now where is the bag of gold?”

It was not in open view, but a little search showed that the owner had put it under the bed.

“He isn’t very sharp,” thought Wheeler. “He is playing right into my hands. Door unlocked, and bag of gold under the bed. He certainly is a very unsuspicious man. However, that is all the better for me. Really there isn’t much credit in stealing where all is made easy for you.”

There seemed to be nothing to do but to take the gold from its place of deposit and carry it back to his own room. While there were a good many lodgers in the hotel, there seemed to be little risk about this, as every one was asleep.

Of course should the bag be found in his room that would betray him, but Mr. Wheeler proposed to empty the gold coins into his gripsack, and throw the bag out of the window into the back yard.

“Well, here goes!” said Wheeler cheerfully, as he lifted the bag, and prepared to leave the chamber. But at this critical moment an unexpected sound struck terror into his soul. It was the sound of a key being turned in the lock.

Nervously Wheeler hastened to the door and tried it. It would not open. Evidently it had been locked from the outside. What could it mean?

At the same time there was a series of knocks on the outside of the door. It was the signal that had been agreed upon between Mr. Pettigrew and Rodney. Jefferson had given his key to Rodney, who had remained up and on the watch for Mr. Wheeler’s expected visit. He, too, was in his stocking feet.

As soon as he saw Wheeler enter his friend’s chamber he stole up and locked the door on the outide. Then when he heard the thief trying to open the door he rained a shower of knocks on the panel.

Instantly Jefferson Pettigrew sprang out of bed and proceeded to act.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded, seizing Wheeler in his powerful grasp.

“Where am I?” asked Wheeler in a tone of apparent bewilderment.

“Oh, it’s you, Mr. Wheeler?” said Jefferson. “Don’t you know where you are?”

“Oh, it is my friend, Mr. Pettigrew. Is it possible I am in your room?”

“It is very possible. Now tell me why you are here?”

“I am really ashamed to find myself in this strange position. It is not the first time that I have got into trouble from walking in my sleep.”

“Oh, you were walking in your sleep!”

“Yes, friend Petttigrew. It has been a habit of mine since I was a boy. But it seems very strange that I should have been led to your room. How could I get in? Wasn’t the door locked?”

“It is locked now?”

“It is strange! I don’t understand it,” said Wheeler, passing his hand over his forehead.

“Perhaps you understand why you have that bag of gold in your hand.”

“Can it be possible?” ejaculated Wheeler in well counterfeited surprise. “I don’t know how to account for it.”

“I think I can. Rodney, unlock the door and come in.”

The key was turned in the lock, and Rodney entered with a lighted candle in his hand.

“You see, Rodney, that I have a late visitor. You will notice also that my bag of gold seems to have had an attraction for him.”

“I am ashamed. I don’t really know how to explain it except in this way. When you displayed the gold last night it drew my attention and I must have dreamed of it. It was this which drew me unconsciously to your door. It is certainly an interesting fact in mental science.”

“It would have been a still more interesting fact if you had carried off the gold.”

“I might even have done that in my unconsciousness, but of course I should have discovered it tomorrow morning and would have returned it to you.”

“I don’t feel by any means sure of that. Look here, Mr. Wheeler, if that is your name, you can’t pull the wool over my eyes. You are a thief, neither more nor less.”

“How can you misjudge me so, Mr. Pettigrew?”

“Because I know something of your past history. It is clear to me now that you were the person that stole John O’Donnell’s money.”

“Indeed, Mr. Pettigrew.”

“It is useless to protest. How much of it have you left?”

Louis Wheeler was compelled to acknowledge the theft, and returned one hundred dollars to Jefferson Pettigrew.

“Now,” said Jefferson, “I advise you to leave the hotel at once. If the boys find out that you are a thief you will stand a chance of being lynched. Get out!”

The next morning Jefferson Pettigrew told the other boarders that Louis Wheeler had had a sudden call East, and it was not for a week that he revealed to them the real reason of Wheeler’s departure.

CHAPTER XXXII

RODNEY FALLS INTO A TRAP

Rodney had reason to be satisfied with his position as landlord of the Miners’ Rest. His pay was large, and enabled him to put away a good sum every month, but his hours were long and he was too closely confined for a boy of his age. At the end of three months he showed this in his appearance. His good friend Pettigrew saw it and said one day, “Rodney, you are looking fagged out. You need a change.”

“Does that mean that you are going to discharge me?” asked Rodney, with a smile.

“It means that I am going to give you a vacation.”

“But what can I do if I take a vacation? I should not like lounging around Oreville with nothing to do.”

“Such a vacation would do you no good. I’ll tell you the plan I have for you. I own a small mine in Babcock, about fifty miles north of Oreville. I will send you up to examine it, and make a report to me. Can you ride on horseback?”

“Yes.”

“That is well, for you will have to make your trip in that way. There are no railroads in that direction, nor any other way of travel except on foot or on horseback. A long ride like that with hours daily in the open air, will do you good. What do you say to it?”

“I should like nothing better,” replied Rodney, with his eyes sparkling. “Only, how will you get along without me?”

“I have a man in my employ at the mines who will do part of your work, and I will have a general oversight of things. So you need not borrow any trouble on that account. Do you think you can find your way?”

“Give me the general direction, and I will guarantee to do so. When shall I start?”

“Day after tomorrow. That will give me one day for making arrangements.”