The Young Bank Messenger

"What did he say?"

"He said that he was so parched with thirst that he felt obliged to do it."

"Did you take his money?"

"No. I was short of change. You see I changed a gold piece for the boy yesterday. Besides, I wasn't sure the piece was good, seeing who offered it. I thought it might be bogus."

"Then he didn't get his whisky?"

"No. He went away disappointed. I don't doubt, Ernest, that the gold piece was one of yours. How did the fellow get in?"

"Through the window. I found it open when I woke up."

"You must have slept sound?"

"I did. I slept an hour later than I generally do."

"Was anything else taken?"

"Not that I could discover."

"Do you mean to say that your uncle had but ten dollars?" asked Joe incredulously.

"It was all he had in the trunk."

"I always thought him a rich man."

"He was not," said Ernest quietly.

"Was that all the money he had? He had the reputation of being a miser, with hoards of gold hidden in or near the cabin."

"I know of one sum of money he had concealed, but it was not a large amount. He told me about it before he died."

"I'm glad you won't be left penniless, lad; did he own the cabin?"

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

"Only a hundred dollars."

"What will you do? What are your plans?"

"I don't know. I haven't had time to think."

"I might find a place for you in the store. We wouldn't like to have you go away."

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

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

"He was not my relation at all."

"Why, you have always called him uncle."

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

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

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

"Did he tell you whether you had any kin?"

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

"How did that happen?"

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

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

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

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

"Probably we shall. He'll find his way back here sooner or later."

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

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

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

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

Thirst was not the only trouble with Tom Burns. He had not eaten anything for about twenty-four hours, and his neglected stomach rebelled. He tightened a girdle about his waist, and walked on in great discomfort. He had perhaps gone two miles when he came to a cabin similar in appearance to that of old Peter Brant. A woman stood in the door-way.

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

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

"I do, madam, yet I was once a thriving merchant."

"You don't look like it."

"I don't; I acknowledge it."

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

"By signin' notes for my brother. It swept off all my possessions."

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

"Madam, I am hungry, very hungry."

"Set right down on the settle, and I'll give you what's left of our breakfast."

Tom Burns obeyed with alacrity.

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

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

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

"I wish I had money to offer you–"

"Oh, never mind that, you're welcome. Can I do anything more for you?"

"I feel sick, and sometimes, though I am a temperance man, I take whisky for my health. If you had just a sup–"

"Well, we haven't, and if we had I wouldn't give you any."

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

"It's no matter what I think. You can't get any whisky here."

At Daneboro Tom fared better. He changed his gold piece, drank a pint of whisky, and the next day retraced his steps to old Peter's cabin. He felt satisfied that somewhere near the cabin there were treasures concealed, and he meant to secure them.

CHAPTER V.

THE TRAMP TURNS UP AGAIN

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

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

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

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

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

"A boy like you couldn't earn much. Wait till I am dead and then you can go where you like."

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

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

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

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

"I'll come back some day, Joe–that is, if I am prosperous, and can."

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

"I won't, Joe," said Ernest heartily.

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

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

"You may be sure that I won't forget either of you," he said.

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

"I shall get away to-morrow, I think, but where I shall go I can't tell yet."

"Do you need any money?"

"No; my uncle left me some."

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

He went alone, for he thought it best not to take anyone into his confidence. Indeed the only persons whom he would have thought of trusting were Joe Marks and Luke Robbins, and they were both employed, Joe in his store and Luke on a hunting expedition.

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

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

But Ernest was not the only one who regarded the gold pieces with satisfaction.

Hidden behind a tree only a few feet away was a person with whom we are already acquainted. It was Tom Burns, the tramp and vagabond.

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

"I wish I knowed where the old man hid his boodle," soliloquized Tom. "I can't dig all over."

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

"The boy must know. Likely the old man told him," he finally concluded. "I'll watch the boy."

He feared he might be too late. Had it been his own case, he would have searched for the gold immediately after the funeral. He naturally supposed that Ernest would do the same. He therefore lost no time in prowling around the cabin, with the especial object of watching Ernest's movements. He was especially favored, as he thought, when from a distance he saw Ernest leaving the cabin with the spade in his hand.

The tramp's heart was filled with joy.

"He is going to dig for the treasure," he said. "I'll keep him in sight."

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

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

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

"Why, that's where I was lying the other night!" thought Burns. "If I had only knowed! Why, the gold was right under me all the time. If I'd found it then, I should have gone off with it before this time. How ever, it isn't too late now."

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

"I wonder how much there is," thought Burns. "There ought to be as much as a thousand dollars. Perhaps there's two or three. But even if there is only a thousand, it will set me on my feet. I'll soon get out of this neighborhood. I'll go to Chicago or New York, and I'll live in clover. I'll make up for lost time. I've been a vagabond long enough. I'll buy some new clothes, and set up as a respectable man."

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

"Only a hundred dollars?" he soliloquized. "What's a hundred dollars? The old man ought to be ashamed of himself. Why, it isn't respectable!"

However, one thing was certain. A hundred dollars was better than nothing. It would take him to Chicago, and enable him to live in comfort for a while. Besides, he might multiply it many times at the gaming table, for Tom Burns had been a gambler in his day. He certainly did not propose to disdain the sum which fortune had placed in his way simply because it was so small. Oh, no, Tom Burns was not that sort of a man.

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

"Look here, boy, I'll trouble you to hand over that money."

CHAPTER VI.

A CRITICAL SITUATION

Ernest turned and regarded the tramp in amazement.

"What do you mean?" he demanded.

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

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

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

"Do you want to rob me?" he asked.

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

"How do you make that out?"

"The man who put it there owed me money."

"Do you think I am a fool to believe that ridiculous story?"

"You'd better be careful how you talk," said Burns menacingly. "What I say I mean."

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

"I don't know anything about your trunk," said Burns mendaciously. "But I have no time to talk–I want that money."

Ernest looked about him, hoping to see some one to whom he could appeal for help, but no one appeared in sight. Next he looked at the tramp, to note if he were armed. To his relief Burns did not appear to have any weapon with him. Rapidly he determined not to give up the money without a struggle.

"I won't give up the money to a thief," he said boldly.

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

Tom Burns uttered an execration and prepared to pursue him.

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

"You'll pay for this, boy," he growled. "Just let me catch you."

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

"I've caught you!" he cried, triumphantly. "Now give me the money."

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

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

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

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

"It was my money," he whined.

"Your money, you owdacious liar! Don't tell me that or I'll treat you worse."

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

"What's the truth of the matter, Ernest?" asked Luke.

"It was money that Peter Brant had hidden away. He told me on his deathbed where to look for it."

"I thought it was Peter's."

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

"Did he say he hid it there?"

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

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

"I hid it there!" said the tramp, doggedly.

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

"Because I didn't think he would believe that I hid it."

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

"No. I don't know anything about it."

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

"If I had done it he would have seen me."

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

"Don't shoot! Spare my life, Mr. Robbins!" cried the tramp, in great alarm.

"Humph! I don't see the good. Your life is of no value to the world."

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

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

"Tom Burns."

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

"Yes, yes," answered the tramp, earnestly.

"You'd better keep that promise. If I ever catch sight of you again, I'll shoot with out asking you any questions. Now get!"

Tom Burns got up and started away with celerity. He thought it wise to put as great a distance as possible between himself and the tall and stalwart hunter, fearing that he would repent his leniency and end his life by a stray bullet.

"I'll scare him a little," said Luke.

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

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

Luke Robbins laughed.

"That is my parting message," he said. "Well, Ernest, where do you want to go? What are your plans?"

"I don't know," answered Ernest, gravely. "I am not sure that I have any plans. I feel upset completely."

"Sit down here and I'll talk to you."

He pointed to a little ridge which would serve as a seat.

The two sat down together.

"Now, how much money have you got?"

"A hundred dollars,"

"It isn't much. Is that all your uncle left?"

"I think so. He said nothing about having more."

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

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

"But you have no trade."

"Have you?"

"No, Ernest. You've got me there. I am only a hunter, but I don't make much of a living. I don't recommend you to follow in my steps. I'd like to keep you with me, but it wouldn't pay you."

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

"Where do you want to go, lad?"

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

"No, lad, but if I had my choice I'd go westward. I've heard fine stories of California. I think I should like to see that land, and push on to the Pacific ocean."

"Why don't you go?"

"Stop a minute! Let me think!"

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

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

Finally Luke looked up.

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

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

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

"I will go anywhere with you, Luke."

"Then it is agreed. We will start to-morrow."

CHAPTER VII.

ON THE ROAD

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

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

"My lad," he said, "I am afraid I can't go with you, after all."

"Why not, Luke?"

"Because you're rich, compared with me."

"I have but a hundred dollars."

"And I well, lad, I'm ashamed to say so, but I have only fifteen."

"We'll share and share alike, Luke."

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

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

Luke brightened up.

"That puts a different face on it, Ernest. If you think you need me, I'll go."

"I do need you."

"Then go I will; but one thing is understood–I won't take any of your money."

"There won't be any trouble on that score, Luke."

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

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