Bob Burton

CHAPTER XVII

WOLVERTON'S POOR TENANT

Bob hired a couple of extra hands, and made haste to finish harvesting his wheat, for he was anxious to start on the trip down the river as soon as possible. His anticipations as to the size of the crop were justified. It footed up fourteen hundred and seventy-five bushels, and this, at two dollars per bushel, would fetch in market nearly three thousand dollars.

"That's a pretty good crop for a boy to raise, mother," said Bob, with pardonable exultation. "You haven't lost anything by allowing me to run the ranch."

"Quite true, Robert. You have accomplished wonders. I don't know what I could have done without you. I know very little of farming myself."

"I helped him, missis," said Clip, coveting a share of approval for himself.

"Yes," said Bob, smiling. "Clip has been my right-hand man. I can't say he has worked very hard himself, but he has superintended the others."

"Yes, missis; dat's what I done!" said Clip, proudly.

He did not venture to pronounce the word, for it was too much for him, but he was vaguely conscious that it was something important and complimentary.

"Then I must buy Clip a new suit," said Mrs. Burton, smiling.

"I'll buy it in St. Louis, mother."

When the grain was all gathered in Bob began to load it on the ferry-boat. Wolverton sent Sam round every day to report progress, but did not excite his nephew's suspicions by appearing to take unusual interest in the matter.

To prepare the reader for a circumstance which happened about this time, I find it necessary to introduce another character, who was able to do Bob an important service.

In a small house, about three-quarters of a mile beyond the Burton ranch, lived Dan Woods, a poor man, with, a large family. He hired the house which he occupied and a few acres of land from Aaron Wolverton, who had obtained possession of it by foreclosing a mortgage which he held. He permitted Woods, the former owner, to remain as a tenant in the house which once belonged to him, charging him rather more than an average rent. The poor man raised vegetables and a small crop of wheat, enough of each for his own family, and hired out to neighbors for the balance of his time. He obtained more employment on the Burton ranch than anywhere else, and Mrs. Burton had also sympathized with him in his difficult struggle to maintain his family. But, in spite of friends and his own untiring industry, Dan Woods fell behind. There were five children to support, and they required not only food but clothing, and Dan found it uphill work.

His monthly rent was ten dollars; a small sum in itself, but large for this much-burdened man to pay. But, however poorly he might fare in other respects, Dan knew that it was important to have this sum ready on the first day of every month. Wolverton was a hard landlord, and admitted of no excuse. More than once after the rent had been paid there was not a dollar left in his purse, or a pinch of food in his house.

A week before this time Dan was looking for his landlord's call with unusual anxiety. He had been sick nearly a week during the previous month, and this had so curtailed his earnings that he had but six dollars ready in place of ten. Would his sickness be accepted as an excuse? He feared not.

Wolverton's call was made on time. He had some expectation that the rent would not be ready, for he knew Dan had been sick; but he was resolved to show him no consideration.

"His sickness is nothing to me," he reflected. "It would be a pretty state of affairs if landlords allowed themselves to be cheated out of their rent for such a cause."

Dan Woods was at work in the yard when Wolverton approached. He was splitting some wood for use in the kitchen stove. His heart sank within him when he saw the keen, sharp features of his landlord.

"Good morning, Dan," said Wolverton, with suavity. His expression was amiable, as it generally was when he was collecting money, but it suffered a remarkable change if the money was not forthcoming.

"Good-morning, sir," answered Woods, with a troubled look.

"You've got a nice, snug place here, Dan; it's a fine home for your family."

"I don't complain of it, sir. As I once owned it myself, probably I set more store by it than a stranger would."

"Just so, Dan. You get it at a very low rent, too. If it were any one but yourself I should really feel that I ought to raise the rent to twenty dollars."

"I hope you won't do that, sir," said Woods, in alarm. "It's all I can do to raise ten dollars a month, with all my other expenses."

"Oh, well, I'll let it remain at the present figure as long as you pay me promptly," emphasizing the last words. "Of course I have a right to expect that."

Dan's heart sank within him. It was clear he could not expect any consideration from such a man. But the truth must be told.

"No doubt you are right, Mr. Wolverton, and you've found me pretty prompt so far."

"So I have, Dan. I know you wouldn't be dishonest enough to make me wait."

Dan's heart sank still lower. It was becoming harder every minute to own that he was deficient.

"Still, Mr. Wolverton, bad luck will come – "

"What!" exclaimed Wolverton, with a forbidding scowl.

"As I was saying, sir, a man is sometimes unlucky. Now, I have been sick nearly a week out of the last month, as you may have heard, and it's put me back."

"What are you driving at, Dan Woods?" demanded Wolverton, severely. "I hope you're not going to say that you are not ready to pay your rent?"

"I haven't got the whole of it, sir; and that's a fact."

"You haven't got the whole of it? How much have you got?"

"I can pay you six dollars, Mr. Wolverton."

"Six dollars out of ten! Why, this is positively shameful! I wonder you are not ashamed to tell me."

"There is no shame about it that I can see," answered Dan, plucking up his spirit. "I didn't fall sick on purpose; and when I was sick I couldn't work."

"You ought to have one month's rent laid by, so that whatever happens you could pay it on time."

"That's easy to say, Mr. Wolverton, but it takes every cent of my earnings to pay my monthly expenses. There's little chance to save."

"Any one can save who chooses," retorted Wolverton, sharply.

"Shall I get you the six dollars, sir?"

"Yes, give it to me."

"And you will wait for the other four?"

"Till to-morrow night."

"But how can I get it by to-morrow night?" asked Dan in dismay.

"That's your lookout, not mine. All I have to say is, unless it is paid to me to-morrow night you must move the next day."

With these words Wolverton went off. Dan Woods, in his trouble, went to Bob Burton the next day, and Bob readily lent him the money he needed.

"Thank you!" said Dan, gratefully; "I won't forget this favor."

"Don't make too much of it, Dan; it's a trifle."

"It's no trifle to me. But for you my family would be turned out of house and home to-morrow. The time may come when I can do you a service."

"Thank you, Dan."

The time came sooner than either anticipated.

CHAPTER XVIII

WOLVERTON'S WICKED PLAN

Wolverton was somewhat puzzled when on his next call Dan Woods paid the balance due on his rent.

"So you raised the money after all?" he said. "I thought you could if you made an effort."

"I borrowed the money, sir."

"Of whom?"

"It isn't any secret, Mr. Wolverton. I borrowed it of a neighbor who has always been kind to me – Bob Burton."

Wolverton shrugged his shoulders.

"I didn't know he had money to lend," he said.

"He always has money for a poor man who needs it."

"All right! I shall know where to go when I need money," responded Wolverton, with a grin.

"It suits me well enough to have the boy throw away his money," Wolverton said to himself. "It will only draw nearer the time when he will have to sue me for a favor."

That day Wolverton read in a St. Louis paper that wheat was steadily rising, and had already reached two dollars and six cents per bushel.

"I could make a fine thing of it if I had only received the Barton wheat at a dollar and a half a bushel," he reflected, regretfully. "If I had only the widow to deal with, I might have succeeded, for she knows nothing of business. But that confounded boy is always putting a spoke in my wheel. If he carries out his plan, and markets the wheat, it will set him on his feet for the year to come."

This reflection made Wolverton feel gloomy. There are some men who are cheered by the prosperity of their neighbors, but he was not one of them. He began to speculate as to whether there was any way of interfering with Bob's schemes. Generally when a man is seeking a way of injuring his neighbor he succeeds in finding one. This was the plan that suggested itself to Wolverton: If he could set the ferry-boat adrift when the grain was all stored it would float down stream, and the chances were against its being recovered. It would be mean, and even criminal, to be sure. For the first, Wolverton did not care; for the second, he would take care that no one caught him at it. He did not think of employing any one else in the matter, for he knew of no one he could trust; and he felt that he could do it more effectually than any agent, however trustworthy.

Wolverton was so full of the plan, which commended itself to him as both simple and effective, that he took a walk late in the evening from his house to the point on the creek where the boat was tethered.

Now, it so happened that Dan Woods, who had been employed all day, had occasion to go to the village in the evening to procure a few groceries from the village store. He delayed for a time, having met an old acquaintance, and it was half-past nine when he set out on his return homeward.

His way led him not only by the Burton homestead, but by the river bend where Bob kept his rowboat – the same point also where the ferry-boat was tied.

As he approached, he caught sight of a man's figure standing on the bank. Who it was he could not immediately distinguish on account of the darkness.

"It may be some one bent on mischief," he thought to himself. "I will watch him and find out, if I can, who it is."

He kept on his way stealthily till he was within a dozen feet, when he slipped behind a tree. Then it dawned upon him who it was.

"It's Aaron Wolverton, as I'm a living man," he ejaculated, inwardly. "What can he be doing here?"

It was Wolverton, as we know. The old man stood in silence on the bank, peering through the darkness at the shadowy form of the ferry-boat, which already contained half the wheat crop of Burton's Ranch – the loading having commenced that morning. He had one habit which is unfortunate with a conspirator – the habit of thinking aloud – so he let out his secret to the watchful listener.

"Sam tells me they expected to get half the crop on board to-day," he soliloquized. "I sent him over to get that very information, though he don't know it. It is too early to do anything yet. To-morrow night the whole cargo will be stored, and then it will be time to cut the rope and let it drift. I should be glad to see the boy's face," he chuckled, "when he comes down to the creek the next morning and finds the boat gone. That will put him at my mercy, and the widow, too," he added, after a pause. "He will repent too late that he thwarted me. I will work in secret, but I get there all the same!"

Wolverton clasped his hands behind his back and, turning, walked thoughtfully away. He did not see his tenant, who was crouching behind a tree not over three feet from the path.

Dan Woods had no very favorable opinion of Wolverton, but what he had heard surprised and shocked him.

"I didn't think the old man was as wicked as that!" he said to himself. "He is scheming to ruin Bob and his mother. Why should he have such a spite against them?"

This is a question which we can answer, but Woods became more puzzled the more he thought about it. One thing was clear, however; he must apprise Bob of the peril in which he stood. Even if he had not received the last favor from our hero, he would have felt in duty bound to do his best to defeat Wolverton's wicked plan.

The next morning, therefore, he made an early call at Burton's Ranch, and asked for a private interview with Bob. He quickly revealed to him the secret of which he had become possessed.

"Thank you, Dan," said Bob, warmly. "You have done me a favor of the greatest importance. I knew Wolverton was my enemy, and the enemy of our family, but I did not think he would be guilty of such a mean and wicked action. If he had succeeded, I am afraid we should have lost the farm."

"You won't let him succeed?" said Dan Woods, anxiously.

"No; forewarned is forearmed. I shall be ready for Mr. Wolverton!" And Bob closed his lips resolutely.

He deliberated whether he should let his mother know of the threatened danger, but finally decided not to do so. It would only worry her, and do no good, as whatever measures of precaution were to be taken, he must take. He did not even tell Clip; for though the young colored boy was devoted to him, he was lacking in discretion, and might let out the secret. Bob did not want to prevent the attempt being made. He wished to catch Wolverton in the act.

He did, however, take into his confidence a faithful man who had worked for his father ever since the ranch was taken, thinking it prudent to have assistance near if needed.

That day the rest of the wheat was stored on the ferry-boat. All would be ready for a start the next morning, and this Bob had decided to make. He sent Clip to bed early, on the pretext that he must have a good night's sleep, as he would be called early. If Clip had had the least idea of what was in the wind he would have insisted on sitting up to see the fun, but he was absolutely ignorant of it.

Wolverton had learned from Sam, who was surprised that his uncle should let him spend almost all his time with his friends, Bob and Clip, that the cargo had been stored.

"When do they start?" he asked, carelessly.

"To-morrow morning, uncle," Sam answered.

"If I had thought of it," said Wolverton, "I would have asked young Burton to take my wheat along, too."

"I don't think he would have room for it, Uncle Aaron. The boat is about full now."

"Oh, well; I shall find some other way of sending it," said Wolverton, carelessly.

About nine o'clock Wolverton stole out in the darkness, and made his way stealthily to the bend in the creek. He had with him a sharp razor – he had no knife sharp enough – which he judged would sever the thick rope.

Arrived at the place of his destination, he bent over and drew out the razor, which he opened and commenced operations. But there was an unlooked-for interference.

A light, boyish figure sprang from behind a tree, and Bob Barton, laying his hand on Wolverton's shoulder, demanded, indignantly:

"What are you doing here, Mr. Wolverton?"

Wolverton started, dropped the razor in the river, and, with an expression of alarm, looked up into Bob's face.

CHAPTER XIX

MR. WOLVERTON MEETS TWO CONGENIAL SPIRITS

"What are you doing here, Mr. Wolverton?" repeated Bob, sternly.

"Oh, it's you, Bob, is it?" said Wolverton, with assumed lightness. "Really, you quite startled me, coming upon me so suddenly in the dark."

"I noticed that you were startled," responded Bob, coolly. "But that isn't answering my question."

By this time Wolverton was on his feet, and had recovered his self-possession.

"What right have you to put questions to me, you young whelp?" he demanded, angrily.

"Because I suspect you of designs on my property."

"What do you mean?" snarled Wolverton.

"I will tell you; I think you meant to cut the rope, and send my boat adrift."

"How dare you insult me by such a charge?" demanded the agent, working himself into a rage.

"I have reason to think that you meant to do what I have said."

"Why should I do it?"

"In order to injure me by the loss of my wheat."

"You are a fool, young man! I am inclined to think, also, that you are out of your head."

"If you had any other purpose, what is it?"

Wolverton bethought himself that in order to avert suspicion, he must assign some reason for his presence. To do this taxed his ingenuity considerably.

"I thought I saw something in the water," he said. "There it is; a twig; I see now."

"And what were you going to do with the razor?"

"None of your business!" said Wolverton, suddenly, finding it impossible, on the spur of the moment, to think of any reason.

"That is easy to understand," said Bob, significantly. "Now, Mr. Wolverton, I have a warning to give you. If anything befalls my boat, I shall hold you responsible."

"Do you know who I am?" blustered Wolverton. "How do you, a boy, dare to talk in this impudent way to a man who has you in his power?"

"It strikes me, Mr. Wolverton, that I hold you in my power."

"Who would believe your unsupported assertion? sneered the agent."

"It is not unsupported. I brought with me Edward Jones, my faithful assistant, who has seen your attempt to injure me."

At this, Edward, a stalwart young man of twenty-four, stepped into view.

"I saw it all," he said, briefly.

"You are ready to lie, and he to swear to it," said Wolverton, but his voice was not firm, for he saw that the testimony against him was too strong to be easily shaken.

"I don't wonder you deny it, Mr. Wolverton," said Bob.

"I won't remain here any longer to be insulted," said Wolverton, who was anxious to get away, now that his plan had failed.

Bob did not reply, and the agent slunk away, feeling far from comfortable.

"What cursed luck sent the boy to the creek to-night?" he said to himself. "I was on the point of succeeding, and then I would have had him in my power. Could he have heard anything?"

Wolverton decided, however, that this was not likely. He attributed Bob's presence to chance, though his words seemed to indicate that he suspected something. He was obliged to acknowledge his defeat. Yet it would be possible for him to return in an hour or two, and carry out his evil plan. But it would be too hazardous. The crime would inevitably be traced to him, and he would be liable to arrest. No, hard though it was to bring his mind to it, he must forego his scheme, and devise something else.

When the agent had left the scene, Bob Burton said: "Edward, you may go home. I mean to stay here on guard."

"But you will not be in condition to start to-morrow morning. You will be tired out."

"I can't take any risks this last evening, Edward."

"Then let me take your place. I will stay here."

"But it will be hard on you."

"I will lie later to-morrow morning. You can relieve me, if you like, at four o'clock."

"Let it be so, then! Too much is at stake for us to leave anything to chance. I don't think, however, that Wolverton would dare to renew his attempt."

Meanwhile Wolverton retraced his steps to his own house. There was one lonely place on the way, but the agent was too much absorbed in his own reflections to have room for fear. His occupation of mind was rudely disturbed, when from a clump of bushes two men sprang out, and one, seizing him by the shoulder, said, roughly: "Your money or your life!"

Wolverton was not a brave man, and it must be confessed that he was startled by this sudden summons. But he wasn't in the habit of carrying money with him in the evening, and an old silver watch, which would have been dear at four dollars, was not an article whose loss would have seriously disturbed him. So it was with a tolerable degree of composure that he answered: "You have stopped the wrong man."

"We know who you are. You are Aaron Wolverton, and you are a rich man."

"That may and may not be, but I don't carry my money with me."

"Empty your pockets!"

Wolverton complied, but neither purse nor pocket book was forthcoming.

"Didn't I tell you so?" he said, shrugging his shoulders.

"We won't take your word for it."

The first highwayman plunged his hand into the agent's pockets, but his search only corroborated Wolverton's statement.

"You, a rich man, go without money!" he exclaimed with rough contempt.

"Perhaps I might have expected such a meeting," Wolverton replied, with cunning triumph.

"You must have a watch, at any rate!"

"I have one that I will sell you for four dollars."

As he spoke, he voluntarily produced the timeworn watch, which had served him for twenty years.

The thieves uttered an exclamation of contempt. Their disappointment made them angry. They hurriedly conferred as to the policy of keeping Wolverton in their power till he should pay a heavy ransom, but there were obvious difficulties in the way of carrying out this plan.

Aaron Wolverton listened quietly to the discussion which concerned him so nearly. He smiled at times, and did not appear particularly alarmed till one, more bloodthirsty than the other, suggested stringing him up to the nearest tree.

"My friends," he said, for the first time betraying a slight nervousness. "I can't see what advantage it would be for you to hang me."

"You deserve it for fooling us!" replied the second highwayman, with an oath.

"In what way?"

"By not carrying any money, or article of value."

"I grieve for your disappointment," said Wolverton, with much sympathy.

"If you mock us, you shall swing, any way."

"Don't mistake me! I have no doubt you are very worthy fellows, only a little unfortunate. What sum would have paid you for your disappointment?"

"Fifty dollars would have been better than nothing."

"That is considerable money, but I may be able to throw it in your way."

"Now you're talking! If you are on the square, you'll find us gentlemen. We are ready to hear what you have to say."

"Good! But I expect you to earn the money."

"How?" inquired the first gentleman, suspiciously. The word earn might mean work, and that was not in his line.

"I'll tell you."

There was an amiable conference for twenty minutes, but this is not the place to reveal what was said. Enough that it nearly concerned Bob Burton, and involved a new plot against the success of his enterprise.

CHAPTER XX

AN UNEXPECTED PASSENGER

The next morning the boys were up bright and early. It was a glorious morning, and Bob accepted it as auspicious of a pleasant and prosperous trip.

Clip was in wild spirits. He was naturally vivacious and fond of change, and the prospect of the river trip made him very happy. Bob, as a practical joke, put on a grave face and said: "Clip, I don't know but I shall have to leave you at home."

"What fo', Massa Bob?" inquired Clip, his face assuming a look of dismay.

"I am afraid my mother won't be able to get along without you. There are so many things to attend to on the ranch."

"I can't do no good on the ranch," said Clip, eagerly. "I'm only a lazy, good-for-nothing nigger."

"Then I don't see how you can help me, Clip," returned Bob, his eyes twinkling as he listened to this candid confession.

"Dat's different, Massa Bob. I ain't no good on the ranch, but I'm powerful help on the river. Please take me along, Massa Bob," pleaded Clip.

"Just as likely as not you'll get lost, Clip. Besides, you might meet your old master from Arkansas."

"He won't catch dis nigger," said Clip, shaking his head, resolutely. "Please let me go, Massa Bob."

"Your arguments are so cogent, Clip, that I suppose I shall have to give in."

Instantly Clip's face was radiant. He didn't know what cogent arguments were, but as long as they had accomplished his desire he was content to remain in ignorance.

"But if you give me any trouble, Clip," Bob added, seriously, "I may have to put you ashore, and let you walk home."

Clip gave the most emphatic assurance of good conduct, and was informed that he could go.

There was much to do, even on the last morning, and though the boys were early risers, it was fully ten o'clock before they were ready to start.

Half an hour before this Bob had a surprise.

Sam Wolverton was seen approaching on a run, breathless and without a hat. He arrived at the landing, just as Bob was putting off in the flat-bottomed boat, with a load of provisions for the voyage.