Rupert's Ambition

"Yes, I may have something for you to do. How are you getting on?"

"Not at all, squire. I'm a dreadfully unlucky man."

"So should I have been if I had been as lazy as you."

"What's the use of workin'? Things allus goes ag'inst me."

"I don't believe you would succeed under any circumstances. Do you know what makes the difference between you and me?"

"I reckon you was born to be rich."

"I was not rich till I came to Colorado, but when I came here I went to work."

Ben shrugged his shoulders.

"I've worked, too," he said, "but what's the good of it all?"

"Not much good in your case, I admit. However, I don't suppose you can be made over again, and if you could I don't think I would undertake it. There's one thing you do understand, and that's hunting. You've been pretty much all over Colorado."

"Yes, squire."

"I have a young friend here who would like to spend a week among the hills. He may not do much in the way of hunting, but he will carry a gun with him. He would like to explore the country a little under your guidance. I believe that is the only kind of work you are willing to undertake."

"Yes," answered Ben, in a tone of satisfaction. "I don't mind that."

"Then I'll tell you what I will do. You will take my young friend with you—his name is Rupert Rollins—and see that he has a good time."

"I'll do that, squire."

"I will furnish you with provisions sufficient to last you both a week, and will give you three dollars a day for your trouble. If there are any other expenses, Rupert will have money and will pay them. You won't need to spend anything, so there is no reason why you shouldn't save all your wages. How is your wife?"

"Oh, she's allus complainin'. She's had the fever'n ager last week."

"It is fortunate you have no children, for you don't seem to provide for even your wife."

"That's because I ain't lucky."

"Luck doesn't often come in the way of a shiftless man like yourself. Well, do you accept my offer?"

"Yes, squire. I'll be glad to do it."

"Send your wife here to-morrow morning. I will give her a part of your wages, so that she will have enough to carry her through while you are away."

"Give it to me, squire. I'll give it to her."

Giles Packard regarded him keenly.

"I can't trust you," he said. "If I give her the money I shall be sure she gets it."

"How much are you goin' to give her?"

"Two days' pay—six dollars. When you return, if you are away seven days there will be fifteen dollars for you."

Ben Boone grumbled some. He thought three dollars would be enough for his wife, but Mr. Packard was obstinate. He understood Ben thoroughly and had very little confidence in him.

"You may be surprised, Rupert, that I should send you with such a man, but, shiftless and lazy as he is, he understands his business. He will prove a good guide, and will make you acquainted with some of the wonders of Colorado."

"I am quite satisfied, Mr. Packard."

"Uncle John, if you wish to join the party I am entirely willing, and will pay your expenses also."

"No, Giles, I am getting too old for adventure. I have got to an age when a man prefers the chimney corner to camping out. It will do very well for Rupert, but I am about fifty years older than he is, and fifty years make a great difference. He can tell me till about his trip when he comes back."

"So I will, Mr. Plympton," said Rupert, with a smile.

Rupert looked forward to the journey with eager interest. He had always been fond of out-of-door sports, and the hunting expedition seemed to promise an experience entirely new to him. He little imagined what shape a portion of this experience would take.

CHAPTER XXXII.

AN UNPLEASANT BEDFELLOW

Rupert was provided with a hunter's outfit and a gun by his host, and in company with his guide started out on Monday morning.

"I suppose you won't mind roughing it, Rupert?" said Mr. Packard.

"No, that is what I shall like. I remember when I lived in the country I went with some other boys to a point fifteen miles away, and camped out for a week. I wish I could see the boys now. There was Harry Bacon, and George Parker, and Eugene Sweetland, and—but you won't be interested in hearing about it."

"I am glad you have had some experience in that kind of life. Of course you won't have the comforts of home, but you may meet with adventures. At any rate, if you get tired you can start for home any time."

"Mr. Boone," said Rupert, when they were fairly on their way, "are you related to Daniel Boone?"

"I don't think there was any Daniel in our family," answered Ben, in a matter-of-fact tone. "Where did he live?"

"In Kentucky."

"I never was in Kentucky myself, though my wife has a cousin who lives there somewhere."

"This Daniel Boone was a great hunter," explained Rupert, rather surprised that Ben had not heard of him.

"Then he must be a relation to me. All my family were fond of hunting."

At the end of ten miles they struck a river, which was pleasant, as it afforded them a change of travel. They had brought with them a skeleton skiff, a sort of framework, with skins to cover it, and they were able to launch it on the river. The stream was narrow, and bordered on one side by mountain scenery. The channel seemed to be deep, and as the skiff moved rapidly on, with comparatively slight exertion in the way of rowing, Rupert felt that he was indeed in a wonderful land.

The country seemed very sparsely settled. Once in a great while they caught sight of a rude cabin, which appeared to contain but one room.

"Have you ever been on those mountains, Mr. Boone?" asked Rupert.

"Well, I've never been to the top of any of the peaks. I reckon I've been half-way up Pike's Peak (that's north of us) and Long's Peak. It's dreadful hard climbing, and there don't seem to be any good in it when you've done it. Did you want to climb up any of the mountains?"

"Well, I might like to some time, but perhaps I'd better wait till another trip."

"I reckon you'd better."

It was clear that Mr. Boone had no desire to go mountain-climbing. He was not fond of exertion; it was easier getting over level ground.

They kept to the river for as much as fifty miles. Occasionally they landed, and made a little trip into the woods, but after a while they returned again to the river. At night they slept on the ground, covering themselves with blankets. They shot a few birds, but thus far they had met with no large game.

One morning Rupert had a fright. It was about four o'clock, and the light was indistinct. As he turned from one side to the other he was startled by finding that he had a bedfellow. There, coiled at his side, was a large rattlesnake, apparently asleep.

Rupert did not start up suddenly. He did not dare do so, for fear of rousing his unpleasant neighbor, and perhaps receiving a bite. Rupert was naturally a brave boy, but he turned very pale, and his heart came up in his mouth.

With extreme caution he moved somewhat to the opposite side, and managed to raise himself to his feet. He was not sure whether rattlesnakes had a quick sense of hearing, and this made him unusually circumspect. He wondered that the snake, which must have taken his position after he was asleep, had not attacked him before.

"But I suppose he was not hungry," he reflected, and then he shuddered as he thought that, had he slept two or three hours longer, the snake might have waked up and felt ready for breakfast. In that case, he would have been a ready victim.

However, he was on his feet and unhurt. Ben Boone lay ten feet away. He was snoring loudly, so loudly that Rupert wondered he had not waked up the rattlesnake, who could hardly be accustomed to sounds of that nature.

He approached his companion, and, bending over, called out, "Mr. Boone," but Ben never moved. He was a sound sleeper.

Rupert shook him, first gently, afterwards more roughly, till at last he opened his eyes, but seemed dazed and not quite conscious.

"Eh? Eh? What's the matter?" he ejaculated at length.

"Look there," said Rupert, pointing to the rattlesnake.

"Oh, yes, a rattlesnake," returned Ben, wholly without excitement. "There's a good many of 'em in these parts."

"That one coiled himself up close to where I was lying."

"Yes, it's a way they have. Seems as if they liked company," answered Ben, coolly.

"But—aren't they dangerous?"

"Well—they might be, if you interfered with 'em," drawled Boone. "As long as you lay still and didn't meddle with 'em they'd be all right."

"But suppose in my sleep I'd thrown out my arm, as I sometimes do, and hit the snake?"

"Then there'd be a chance of his biting you."

"And I suppose that would be fatal?"

"I've been bit myself," said Ben, in a reminiscent tone.

"And did you die?"

It was upon Rupert's lips to say this, but it occurred to him that it would be rather an absurd question, so he changed it to, "How did you get over it?"

"I filled myself full of whiskey—it's the only way. I was never so drunk in my life. But when I got over it, I was all right."

"I suppose the whiskey neutralized the poison," suggested Rupert.

"I reckon so," answered Boone, who was not quite clear in his mind as to the meaning of the word which Rupert had used. "What time is it?"

Rupert consulted his watch.

"It is fifteen minutes past four."

"That's too early to get up. I'll have another nap."

"I can't sleep. I shall be all the time thinking of the snake."

"He won't do you any harm."

"You are more used to such sights than I. Can't we kill the snake?"

"We might, but it's likely there's more not far away."

"I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll go into the boat and see if I can't stretch myself out there."

"Just as you like," said Boone, drowsily.

He turned over, and in two minutes he was snoring as noisily as ever.

Rupert shared the repugnance that most persons have for snakes, and he had read so much about rattlesnakes and the fatal effects of their bite that he had an unusual dread of them. It would have been a relief if this particular snake were killed.

How would it do for him to shoot it in the head, which he judged was the most vulnerable part? Only, if he missed fire, and the snake were only wounded, he would probably be roused to anger, and in that case would become dangerous. Doubtless Ben could cope with him, but Rupert felt that it would be imprudent in him, a mere boy, and unaccustomed to hunting, to arouse such a dangerous antagonist.

So, giving up all thoughts of an encounter, he proceeded to the river, and lay down as well as he could in the boat. It was not very comfortable, but we felt relieved from all fear of the snake, and after a while he fell asleep.

When he woke up he got out of the boat and went on shore. He looked at the spot where the snake had been coiled, but could not see him. He had evidently waked up and vacated the premises.

Rupert glanced over to where the guide was lying and saw that he was still asleep. The fact that the rattlesnake was so near had not interfered at all with his ease of mind or his slumbers.

Rupert looked at his watch. It was already seven o'clock, and that was the hour when they generally got up.

"Seven o'clock, Mr. Boone!" he called out, giving Ben a shake.

"Oh! ah! is it?" and Ben stretched himself out in a sleepy way.

"Yes. Isn't it time to get up?"

Ben took the hint, and rose from his recumbent position.

"Didn't you wake me some time ago?" he asked. "What was it all about?"

"There was a rattlesnake lying beside me."

"Where is it now?"

"It's gone."

"Then there's no harm done."

Ben Boone was not only the guide, but the cook of the little party. They had brought with them materials for camping-out meals, and it was his work to make a fire and prepare their simple repasts. Sometimes they caught a fish or two in the river, and it made a pleasant addition to their fare.

Rupert found that in this new life he always had a good appetite for breakfast—more, even, than for their other meals. He had never had so good an appetite at the Somerset House, though the cook at that establishment was probably superior to Ben Boone in his chosen line.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

BEN BOONE'S TEMPTATION

The reader may naturally expect to hear something of Rupert's experience as a hunter. But so far as this story is concerned, this is not called for. He had other experiences which will speedily be set forth.

For, after all, it was not so much the hunting that Rupert cared about. He thoroughly enjoyed his opportunity to travel through the wild scenery of Middle Colorado. It was camping out in a much more interesting way than when, as a boy, he went but a little way from home, and knew that only a few miles intervened between him and his ordinary life.

Then he was interested in his guide. At the East he had never met such a man as Ben Boone. He seemed a product of the country. As for Ben, he carried out his contract, and served as a guide, philosopher and—I was about to say friend, but on the whole we'll substitute companion.

Though Ben was a skillful hunter and mountaineer he did not particularly enjoy his work. He was a thoroughly lazy man, and would prefer to have remained at home in the rude cabin which passed for such, and, lying on his back with a pipe in his mouth, have drowsed and dreamed away his time. He did not understand, for his part, why city people who could live comfortably should want to rough it, incurring the fatigue of hunting just for the sake of amusement.

"I am tired," he said, on the night after Rupert's adventure with the snake.

"Yes," said Rupert, "I am tired, too. We have come a good many miles."

"Do you like it?"

"Oh, yes," said Rupert enthusiastically; "it is grand."

"I don't see what good it is," rejoined Ben, lying back with a sense of exquisite enjoyment in his chance to rest. "You are not making any money."

"No," replied Rupert, laughing, "but I enjoy the wild mountain scenery; don't you?"

"No; a mountain isn't much to see."

"Then there are the valleys, the woods and the waterfalls."

"Oh, I've seen plenty of them. I don't care for them."

"I suppose that is why you don't care for them. You are too familiar with them."

"I reckon so," drawled Ben.

"Don't you enjoy seeing anything? Is there anything you would rather see than this wild and romantic scenery?"

"Yes. I would rather see cities. Where do you live when you are at home?"

"In New York."

"That is a wonderful city, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"I expect it is a great deal larger than Denver?"

"Yes; forty or fifty times as large."

At this time Denver probably had a population of less than thirty thousand.

Ben Boone's eyes opened.

"And I suppose there are some grand buildings?" he said, inquiringly.

"Yes," and Rupert told his guide something about the great city, of the horse-car lines, the elevated trains running thirty feet above the ground, the big hotels, the Brooklyn bridge, and other marvels, to which Ben Boone listened with rapt attention.

"I should like to see New York before I die," he said.

"Have you ever been there?"

"No."

"But you have probably seen other cities—St. Louis, or Chicago?"

"No; I have only seen Denver. Well, yes, I saw St. Louis when I was a boy. It seemed a large city to me then, but I reckon New York is much bigger."

"Yes, it is a great deal larger—several times as large as St. Louis was when you saw it."

"Does it cost a great deal of money to go to New York?"

"I think one might go there for fifty dollars, ten less by second class."

"Second class is good enough for me."

"Yes, you would be a good deal more comfortable traveling second class than we are on our hunting trip."

"Then I should be satisfied. I ain't used to living first class."

"I should think you would like to go to New York. Is there any reason why you should not go?"

"There's the money."

"But, as I told you, it doesn't cost a very large sum."

"Fifty dollars is a good deal to me. I never had so much money in my life."

"Because you don't save up your money."

"I don't know how to save money," said Ben Boone in a listless manner.

"But you could. Now how much money is Mr. Packard paying you for going with me?"

"Three dollars a day."

"Now suppose we are out ten days—that will make thirty dollars, won't it?"

"Yes; but I had to leave some money with my wife."

"You will at any rate have twenty-five dollars. Now, why can't you put that aside, and add to it when you can. Then by and by you will have money enough to go to New York. When you get there you can find work and earn enough to keep you and pay your expenses back."

"Yes, I reckon I might," said Ben, not knowing how to controvert Rupert's statement.

"If you really try hard to save, I will give you something toward your expenses myself."

"Are you rich?" asked Ben, looking up quickly.

"No, but I have some money."

"How much?"

This question Rupert did not care to answer. Ben Boone was a very good guide and hunting companion, but he was not exactly the kind of man he would choose as a confidant.

"I think everybody is rich that lives in New York," said Ben, with a touch of envy.

"What makes you think that?"

"I have had New York people with me before. I have traveled with them, and hunted with them. They always seemed to have plenty of money."

"It may be so with those who come out here, but there are plenty who never travel at all, who live in poor houses in a poor way, who earn small wages, and are no better off than you, perhaps not so well off. I was very poor myself once, and had scarcely money enough to buy myself food."

"But you got over it. You got rich after a while."

Rupert protested that he was not rich, but Ben Boone was incredulous, though he did not say so. He talked more and more about New York. He seemed to want to learn all he could about it.

Rupert was not surprised. He remembered that when he was a boy in the country, he, too, thought and dreamed a great deal about the great city. After he lived there and grew familiar with its marvels, he became indifferent to it, as much so as Ben Boone was to the wonderful mountain scenery. He felt disposed to joke a little about is.

"There is one thing you have here that we don't have in New York," he said with a laugh.

"What is that?"

"Rattlesnakes."

"No. I reckon not. I shouldn't miss rattlesnakes."

Ben Boone said this so gravely that Rupert could not forbear laughing.

"Nor I," he said. "I am willing that Colorado should keep all her rattlesnakes."

Ben Boone, for a wonder, lay awake beyond his usual time. He could not get New York and its wonders out of his head. The more he thought of it the more he longed to see it.

And there wasn't so much time, either. He was forty-nine years old, and yet he had never been on the other side of the Mississippi River. Yet here was Rupert, who couldn't be more than sixteen or seventeen years old, who had actually lived in New York, and now had wandered to the far West and seen that also. If a boy could have those happy experiences, why not he?

Why not?

The question was easily answered. The difference between them was money. He didn't know how much money Rupert had, but probably he had more than the sum necessary to carry him to New York. Ben felt that it was not fair that a mere boy should have so much and he so little.

This was a dangerous path of thought, and led to a strong temptation. This temptation was increased when, waking at an early hour, he looked across at Rupert, lying not many yards away, and noticed that his pocketbook had in some way dropped out of his pocket and was lying on the grass beside him.

Ben's eyes sparkled with unholy excitement. An eager curiosity assailed him to learn how much money the pocketbook contained. It was a temptation which he did not seem able to resist.

He looked over towards Rupert again. The boy was sleeping calmly, peacefully. There was little chance that he would wake up.

Ben rose cautiously from his couch, and with a stealthy step he made his way to the sleeping boy.

He stooped down and picked up the wallet and then opened it, peering eagerly at the contents.

There was a thick roll of bills. He counted them in a quick, stealthy way, and his heart beat with excitement when he ascertained that the roll contained eighty-one dollars.

"Why, that will take me to New York," he thought.

Yes, it would take him to New York. There would be no weary waiting, no probable disappointment in the end. The dream of his life might be realized, and at once.

Ben was not naturally dishonest. If he had not had a special use for the money it would not have tempted him. But he wanted to go to New York, and the temptation seemed too great for him to resist.

His resolution was taken. With one backward glance at the sleeping boy he thrust the wallet into his pocket and started for the river, where the skiff awaited him.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

RUPERT'S PREDICAMENT

Rupert did not wake till later than usual. The previous day had been unusually fatiguing and nature had asserted her rights.

He turned over and mechanically looked over to where his companion lay at the time he went to sleep. He was a little surprised to find that he was not visible. Usually Boone slumbered till Rupert went over and waked him up.

"Ben has gone to take a walk," he said to himself. "It must be later than usual."

He looked at his watch and found that it was eight o'clock.

"Well, I did oversleep myself," he said, as he rose to his feet. "No wonder Boone got the start of me."

Upon reflection he decided that Ben had probably gone down to the boat, which was tied to a small tree on the river bank not more than five minutes' walk distant. He turned his steps in that direction. When he reached the place where the skiff was fastened, a surprise awaited him.

The boat was not there!

Still he had not the faintest suspicion that his guide had played him false and deserted him in the wilderness.

"Ben must have taken a row himself," he decided. "It is rather strange, for he isn't generally enterprising enough for that. He must have had a headache or something that prevented his sleeping. Well, I might as well take breakfast."

There was something left from supper of the night before. Rupert ate this with a hearty relish. He did not stop to make any hot coffee. Ben usually attended to this duty, and he was likely to appear at any moment.

"I will wait for Ben to come," Rupert said to himself. "I hope he hasn't gone very far."

After eating he lay back on the ground, for he still felt a little tired.

"It seems odd to be alone," he reflected.

He had not formed any particular attachment to Ben Boone, but he had a certain satisfaction in his companionship. They had become closely acquainted, and though Ben was not especially sociable, they had had some long talks together, so that Rupert felt a certain interest in his rough companion.

Half an hour passed, and Rupert began to feel impatient, as well as solitary.

"Why doesn't Ben come?" he asked himself. "It is very strange that he should go away so early and stay away so long."

As this thought came to him he happened to put his hand into the pocket where he usually kept his money.

The pocket was empty.

A suspicion for the first time dawned upon him that startled and alarmed him. He made a hurried examination of the ground around him, for he knew that it was possible that the pocketbook had slipped out of his pocket.

But his search was fruitless. The pocketbook was nowhere to be seen.

Was it possible, he asked himself, that he had been robbed? Was Ben capable of such black treachery?

The thought that his companion had proved false disturbed him more at first than the sense of his loss, but he began almost immediately to realize his predicament.

Probably he was a hundred miles away from the ranch of his friend Giles Packard. Not only this, but he was without money and without provisions, except the small supply of food which remained over from his frugal breakfast.