.dt Guy Harris, The Runaway by Harry Castlemon—A Project Gutenberg eBook

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.ca “<sc>For once that day, Guy was supremely happy.</sc>”
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[Illustration: “For once that day, Guy was supremely happy.”]
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<sc>Guy Harris</sc>, || <fs=0.8em>THE RUNAWAY.</fs>
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<l><sc>By</sc> HARRY CASTLEMON,</l>


<s><i>Author of</i></s>


<s>“Julian Mortimer,” “The Boy Trapper,” “Sportsman’s Club Series,” “The
Gunboat Series,” etc., etc.</s>


ILLUSTRATED.
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NEW YORK:
A. L. BURT, PUBLISHER.
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<sc>Copyrighted 1887, by A. L. Burt.</sc>
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<xl>GUY HARRIS,</xl>

<l><b>THE RUNAWAY</b>.</l>
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CHAPTER I. || <fs=0.8em>THE AFFAIR OF THE MATCH-BOX.</fs>
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“WELL, Guy Harris, I have only one word to
say to you. If you think you can play off on
me in this way, you are very much mistaken.
I will post you among the fellows as a boy
who is too mean to pay his honest debts.”

“I don’t care if you do, George Wolcom. I’ll tell
the fellows in return that I have no debts hanging over
me, and that you are a boy who doesn’t do as he agrees.
I wanted a cross-gun; I tried to make one and failed.
You said you knew how to handle carpenters’ tools and
would make me one. I described to you just what I
wanted, and you told me that you could fill the bill, and
that the gun, when completed, would be worth half a dollar.
What sort of a thing have you given me? Look at
this,” continued the speaker, holding out at arm’s
length a piece of wood which might have been taken for
a cross-gun, although it looked about as much like a
ball-club; “I can make a better one myself.”

“Then you don’t intend to pay me?”

“Of course I do, when you bring me such a gun as I
told you I wanted.”

“But you won’t pay me for the one I have already
made for you?”

“No, sir, I won’t.”
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“Very well; but bear in mind that I am a boy who
never let’s one do him a mean trick without paying him
back in his own coin. I’ll be even with you for swindling
me.”

“Oh, Guy! I say. Guy Harris, hold on a minute.”

The two boys, between whom the conversation above
recorded took place, stopped when they heard these words,
and looking across the street saw Tom Proctor running
toward them. One arm was buried to the elbow in his
pocket, and under the other he carried a beautiful
snow-white dove, which was fluttering its wings and
trying to escape from his grasp.

“See here, Guy!” exclaimed Tom as he came up, “I
have just been over to your house, where I found my
pigeon, which I lost about a week ago. Your mother
said it came to your barn, and that you shut it up to
keep it for me. Now that was a neighborly act, and I
want to repay it. Here’s that box you have so often tried
to buy from me.”

As Tom said this he pulled his hand out of his pocket
and gave Guy the article in question, which proved to be
a brass match-box. It was not a very valuable thing, but
it had a revolving top secured by a curiously contrived
spring, was stamped all over with figures of wild ducks,
deer and rabbits, and was altogether different from anything
of the kind that Guy had ever seen before.

For some reason or other he had long shown a desire
to obtain possession of this box, but the owner could
not be induced to part with it.

Before he could express his thanks for the gift Tom
was half-way across the street on his way home.

“This is just the thing I wanted,” said Guy joyfully,
as he and George Wolcom resumed their walk. “I
shall think of Tom every time I look at this box when
I am out on the prairie.”

“When you are out on the prairie?” echoed George.
“What do you mean by that?”

“Oh, it is my secret. You may know it some day,
but not now. What do you suppose is the reason why
I want a cross-gun?”
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“Why, to kill birds with.”

“No, sir; I want to practice shooting at a mark. I
shall have use for a rifle every hour in the day before I
am many months older.”

“You will? Where are you going?”

“You needn’t ask questions, for I sha’n’t answer
them,” said Guy, shutting the box with a click, and
making a motion to put it into his pocket.

“Wait a second,” exclaimed George suddenly. “I
know why Tom Proctor was generous enough to give
you that box. It will be of no use to you for the spring
is broken.”

“It isn’t either,” replied Guy.

“Yes it is; I saw it. Hand it out here and I will
show you.”

Without hesitation Guy passed the box over to his
companion, who, after opening and shutting it a few
times, and making a pretense of examining the spring,
coolly put it into his own pocket. Guy looked at him
in great surprise, but George walked on without noticing
him.

“Now that’s the biggest piece of impudence I ever
witnessed,” said Guy at length. “I’d like to know
what you mean by it.”

“Didn’t I tell you that I always get even with a fellow
who does me a mean trick?” asked George, in reply.
“I’ll keep this box as part payment for the cross-gun I
made you.”

“Do you call this thing a cross-gun?” demanded
Guy, once more holding up the stick he carried in his
hand; “I don’t, and I sha’n’t pay you a cent for it
either. Give me that box.”

“Give me that half-dollar you owe me.”

“I don’t owe you any half-dollar. Here, take your
old cross-gun and give me my box.”

“It isn’t my gun—it is yours; and you can’t have
your box till I get my just dues. You may depend
upon that.”

A long and spirited debate followed this reply, and
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would most likely have ended in blows had the two
boys been of equal age and size, for Guy was a spirited
fellow, and always ready to stand up for his rights.

George was an overgrown lout of a boy, and plumed
himself on being the bully of his school. Guy knew
better than to attempt to take the box from him by
force, so he followed along after him, talking all the
while, and trying to convince him that he was in the
wrong, and that he showed anything but a manly spirit
in taking so unfair an advantage of a boy so much
smaller than himself.

But George, being pig-headed and vindictive, could
not be made to look at the matter in that light. He
kept tantalizing his companion by turning the box in
his hand, praising the beauty of the figures stamped
upon it, and asking Guy now and then if he had anything
else he could keep his matches in when he reached
the prairie.

Presently the two boys arrived in front of the house
in which Guy lived—a neat little edifice, with a graveled
carriage-way leading upon one side, and trees and
shrubbery growing all around it. Guy halted at the
gate, and George, believing that if his companion would
not pay him for his cross-gun he might be willing to
give half a dollar to get possession of the match-box
again, stopped also to argue the matter.

While the discussion of the points Guy had raised was
going on, the gate leading into the next yard was
opened, and a bright, lively-looking fellow, Henry
Stewart by name, and one of Guy’s particular friends,
came out. He greeted Guy pleasantly, and was about
to pass on, when he noticed the look of trouble on his
face, and stopped to inquire the reason for it. The matter
was explained in few words, and Henry turned and
gave the bully a good looking over. Being a great lover
of justice, he was indignant at the treatment his crony
had received.

“Well,” said George, returning Henry’s gaze with
interest; “you have nothing to do with this business,
and if you are wise you will keep out of it.”
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“I want that box!” said Henry firmly.

“If you get it before I am ready to give it to you,”
returned George, “just send me word, will you?”

Before this defiance had fairly left his lips the bully
was rolling over and over in the gutter, which was in a
very moist condition, owing to the heavy rain that had
fallen during the previous night, while his antagonist
stood erect on the sidewalk, flushed and excited, but
without even a wrinkle in his clean, white wristbands,
or a spot of mud on his well-blacked boots. In falling,
George dropped the match-box, which Henry caught up
and put into his pocket.

This proceeding was witnessed by two women—Henry’s
mother and Guy’s step-mother. The latter
made no move, but treasured up the scene in her memory
to be repeated in a greatly exaggerated form to Mr.
Harris when he came home to dinner, while Henry’s
mother hurried down the stairs and out to the gate. She
called to her son, who promptly answered the summons,
and in reply to her anxious inquiries repeated the story
of Guy’s troubles.

I do not know what his mother said to him, but I am
sure it could not have been anything very harsh, for a
moment afterward Henry came gayly down the walk,
winked at Guy as he passed, and looked pleasantly
toward the discomfited bully, who, having picked himself
up from the gutter, was making the best of his way
to the other side of the street, holding one hand to his
head and the other to his back, both of which had been
pretty badly bruised by the hard fall he had received.

“Now, that Hank Stewart is the right sort!” thought
Guy, gazing admiringly after the erect, slender figure of
his friend as it moved rapidly down the street. “If it
hadn’t been for him I should never have seen this box
again. I shouldn’t like to lose it, for I shall have use
for matches after I become a hunter and trapper, and I
shall need something to carry them in. This box is just
the thing. If I wasn’t afraid Hank would refuse, I
would ask him to go with me, I must have a companion,
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for of course I don’t want to go riding about
over those prairies on my wild mustang all by myself
while there are so many hostile Indians about, and Hank
is the fellow I’d like to have with me. He knows everything
about animals and the woods; he’s the best fisherman
in Norwall; he never misses a double shot at ducks
or quails; and I never saw a boy that could row or sail a
boat with him. Why, it wouldn’t be long before he
would be the best hunter and trapper that ever tracked
the prairie. I’ll think about it, and perhaps I shall
make up my mind to ask him to go with me instead of
Bob Walker.”

Thus soliloquizing Guy made his way through the
yard to the carriage-house and mounted the stairs leading
to the rooms above. There were three of them.
The first and largest served in summer as a place of
storage for Mr. Harris’ sleighs and buffalo-robes, and in
winter for his buggy and family carriage. The second
was the room in which the coachman slept, and the
third Guy had appropriated to his own use.

Here he had collected a lot of trumpery of all sorts,
which he called his “curiosities,” and of which he took
the greatest possible care. The members of the family,
and those of his young friends who had seen the inside
of this room, thought that Guy had shown strange
taste in making his selections, for there was not an
article in it that was worth saving as a curiosity, and
but few that could under any circumstances be of the
least use to him.

On a nail opposite the door hung a rubber blanket
with a hole in the center, so that it could be worn over
one’s shoulders like a cloak; from another was suspended
a huge powder-horn; and on a third hung a
rusty carving-knife, which one of Guy’s companions
had sold to him with the assurance that it was a hunting-knife.
Then there was a portion of an old harpoon
which Guy said was a spear-head, a pair of well-worn
top-boots, an old horse-blanket and a clothes-line
with an iron ring fastened to one end of it. This last Guy
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called a lasso. He spent many an hour in practicing
with it, whirling it around his head and trying to throw
the running noose over a stake he had planted in the
yard.

One corner of the room was occupied by a pile of old
iron, to which horseshoes, broken frying-pans and
articles of like description were added from time to
time. Whenever this pile attained a certain size it
would always disappear, no one seemed to know how
or when, and Guy would go about for a day or two
jingling some coppers in his pocket. When he had
handled them and feasted his eyes on them to his satisfaction,
he would stow them in an old buckskin purse
which he kept in his trunk.

In another corner of the room was a large bag, into
which Guy put everything in the shape of rags that he
could pick up about the house. When filled it was
emptied somehow, and Guy had a few more coppers to
be put away in his purse. It was well for our hero that
his father and mother did not know what he intended
to do with the money he earned in this way.

“Nobody except me sees any sense in all this,” said
Guy, as he closed the door behind him, and gazed about
the room with a smile of satisfaction. “There isn’t a
thing here that will not be of use to me by and by.
That rubber blanket will keep me dry when it rains.
That powder-horn I shall have filled at St. Joseph or
Independence, and, as a rifle requires but little ammunition,
it will hold enough to last me during a year’s
hunting. That knife will answer my purpose as well as
one worth two dollars and a half, for I can sharpen it, and
make a sheath for it out of the skin of the first buffalo or
antelope I kill. I must sell my iron again before long.
How the fellows laugh at me because I am all the while
looking out for old horseshoes and such things! But I
don’t care. I’ve made many a dime by it, and dimes
make dollars. I never neglect a chance to turn a
penny, but I haven’t yet saved a quarter of what I need.
I found half a dollar the other day by keeping my eyes
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turned down as I walked along the street, and that was
a big lift, I tell you.”

As Guy said this he opened a small tool-chest that
stood beside the pile of old iron. In this were stowed
away a variety of articles he had picked up at odd times
and in different places, and which he thought he might
find useful when he reached the prairie.

There was a small bundle of wax-ends, such as shoemakers
use. These would come handy when he needed
a pair of good leggings, or when his moccasins, saddle,
or bridle, got out of repair. There were several iron
and bone rings he could use in making lassos or martingales
for his horse; three or four pounds of lead for
his bullets, and a ladle to melt it in; half a dozen jackknives,
some whole and sound, others broken beyond all
hope of repair; a multitude of lines, fish-hooks, sinkers
and bobbers, which he intended to use on the mountain
streams and lakes of which he had read so much; a few
steel-traps, all bent and worthless, and also several “figure
fours” which he had made so as to have them ready
for use when he reached his hunting-grounds. In this
receptacle Guy placed his match-box, congratulating
himself on having secured another valuable addition to
his outfit. This done, he bent his steps toward his
house.

When he entered the dining-room he found his father
and mother seated at the table, and he knew by the expression
on their faces, as well as by the words that fell
upon his ear, that there was a storm brewing. His
mother had been relating the particulars of the encounter
between Henry Stewart and George Wolcom,
and repeating the discussion between Guy and the bully
that led to it, all of which she had seen and overheard
from her chamber window, and our hero came in just
in time to hear her declare:

“I never in my life saw boys behave so disgracefully.
Mrs. Stewart ran out of the house and tried to put a
stop to the disturbance, but they paid not the least
attention to her.”
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“Guy,” said Mrs. Harris, “where is that article,
whatever it is, that has been the cause of all this
trouble?”

“I have put it away,” was the reply.

“Go and get it immediately.”

Guy retraced his steps to the carriage-house, and taking
out the match-box, carried it to his father, who
looked at it contemptuously.

“This is a pretty thing to raise a fight about, isn’t
it?” he exclaimed. “Take it and throw it away.”

“But, father,” began Guy.

“Do you hear me?” demanded Mr. Harris fiercely.
“Throw it away.”

Guy knew better than to hesitate longer. Mr. Harris
was a stern man, and in his efforts to “bring his boy up
properly,” sometimes acted more like a tyrant than a
father.

Taking the box, Guy walked out of the door and disappeared
behind the carriage-house.

“I will throw it away,” said he to himself, “but I’ll
be careful to throw it where I can find it again. I never
heard of such injustice. I wasn’t in any way to blame
for the trouble, for I didn’t ask Hank to pitch into
George Wolcom and get my box for me; and neither did
Mrs. Stewart run out and try to put a stop to the fight.
It was all over before she showed herself. But that’s
just the way with all step-mothers, I have heard, and I
know it is so with mine. She runs to father with every
little thing I do, and seems to delight in having me
hauled over the coals. It isn’t so with Ned. He can do
as he pleases, but I must walk straight, or suffer for it.
I sha’n’t stand it much longer, and that’s all about it.
Stay there till I want you again.”

Guy threw the box into a cluster of currant bushes at
the back of the garden, and after noting the spot where
it fell, went slowly back to the dining-room and sat down
to his dinner.
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CHAPTER II. || <fs=0.8em>SOME SCRAPS OF GUY’S HISTORY.</fs>
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I MUST say before I go further, that Guy
Harris is not an imaginary character. He
has an existence as surely as you have, boy
reader. He is to-day an active professional
man, and he has consented to have the story of his boyhood
written in the hope that it may serve as a warning,
should it chance to fall into the hands of any discontented
young fellow who is tempted to do as he did.

Guy lived in the city of Norwall—that name will do as
well as any other—on the shore of one of the great lakes.
When he was a few months old his mother died, and a
year afterward his father married again. Of course Guy
was too young to remember his lost parent, and until he
was fourteen years old he knew nothing of this little
episode in the family history. Mr. and Mrs. Harris
never enlightened him, because they feared that something
unpleasant might result from it. Having often
heard the boy express his opinion of step-mothers in the
most emphatic language, and declare that he would not
live a day under his father’s roof with a stranger to rule
over him, they thought it best to allow him to remain in
ignorance of the real facts of the case. And Guy never
suspected anything. It is true that he was sometimes
sadly puzzled to know how it happened that he had
three grandfathers, while all the boys of his acquaintance
had only two; but when he spoke of it to his mother, she
always had the headache too badly to talk about that or
anything else.

Guy often told himself that his mother was not like
other boys’ mothers. He cherished an unbounded
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affection for her, and stood ready to show it by every
means in his power; but there was something about her
that kept him at a distance. There was not that familiarity
between him and his mother that he saw between
other boys and their mothers. There was a coolness in
her demeanor toward him that she did not even exhibit
toward strangers. There was a wonderful difference,
too, in her treatment of him and his half-brother, Ned,
who was at this time about nine years of age. Ned
came and went as he pleased. The front gate was no
barrier to him, and he always had a dime or two in his
pocket to spend for peanuts and chocolate creams. If
he wanted to go over to a neighbor’s for an hour’s visit,
or wished to spend an afternoon skating on the pond, he
applied to his mother, who seldom refused him permission.
If Guy desired the same privilege, he was told to
consult with his father, who generally said: “No, sir;
you’ll meet with bad company there;” or, “You’ll
break through and be drowned;” or, if he granted the
request, he would do it after so much hesitation, and
with so great reluctance that it made an unpleasant impression
on Guy’s mind, and marred his day’s sport.

At last a few scraps of the family history, which his
parents had been so careful to keep from him, came to
Guy’s knowledge. Through one of the neighborhood
gossips he learned, to his intense amazement, that Mr.
Harris had been twice married; that his first wife had
lain for almost fourteen years in her grave in a distant
State; and that the woman who sat at the head of the
table, who so closely watched all his movements during
his father’s absence, and whom he called mother, was
not his mother after all. Then a good many things
which hitherto he had not been able to understand became
perfectly clear to him. He knew now where his
three grandfathers came from, and could easily account
for the partiality shown his half-brother, Ned. But he
wanted proof, and to obtain it laid the matter before his
Aunt Lucy, who, after telling him how sorry she was
that he had found it out, reluctantly confirmed the
story.
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Guy felt as if he were utterly alone in the world after
this; but when he had thought about it a while, he took
a sensible view of the case. He loved his father’s wife,
and he did not allow the facts with which he had just
been made acquainted to make any change in his feelings
or demeanor toward her. Indeed, he was more
attentive to her than before; he tried to anticipate and
gratify her desires as far as lay in his power, and in
every way did his best to please her; but the result was
most discouraging. With all his efforts he could not
win one approving word or smile. His mother was
colder and more distant than ever, and from that time
Guy’s home was somehow made very uncomfortable
for him.

Mr. and Mrs. Harris were good people, as the world
goes. They were prominent members of the church,
and held high positions in society. Abroad they were
as agreeable and pleasant as people could be, but the
atmosphere of home grew dark the moment they crossed
the threshold. Mr. Harris, especially, was a perfect
thunder-cloud; his very presence had a depressing effect
upon the family circle. When he came home from his
place of business at night, he generally had something
to say in the way of greeting to his wife and Ned, but
Guy was seldom noticed, unless he had been doing something
wrong, and then more words were devoted to him
than he cared to listen to.

When supper was over, Mr. Harris sat down to his
paper, and until ten o’clock never looked up or spoke.
His wife sewed, read novels, or played backgammon
with Ned, and Guy was left to himself. His father
never talked to him about his sports and pastimes, his
boyish trials, disappointments, hopes and aspirations, as
other fathers talk to their sons. He never allowed him
to go outside the gate—except upon very rare occasions—unless
he was going to school or was sent on an errand.
He never gave him a cent to spend for himself, except
on Christmas, when, in addition to making him numerous
presents (which Guy was so repeatedly and emphatically
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enjoined to take care of that he almost hated them
as well as the giver), he opened his heart and presented
him with a quarter of a dollar. He wasn’t going to ruin
his boy by giving him money, he said.

Up to the time that he was fourteen years old Guy had
the making of a man in him. He was smart, honest,
truthful, generous to a fault, and attentive to his books,
it being his father’s desire, as well as his own, that he
should enter college. I wish I could take him through
my story with all these good traits about him; but candor
compels me to say that at the time he was presented
to the reader he was a different sort of boy altogether.
In the neighborhood in which he lived he bore an excellent
reputation. People called him a good boy, referred
to the fact that he was never seen prowling about the
streets after dark, and spoke of the promptness with
which he obeyed the commands of his parents. But the
truth was that at heart Guy was no better than any
other boy. He stayed at home of evenings, not because it
was a pleasant place and he loved to be there, but for the
reason that he was not allowed to go out; and he obeyed
his parents’ orders the moment they were issued, because
he knew that he would be whipped if he did not. All
his generous impulses had been crushed out of him by
the stern policy pursued by his father, who believed in
ruling by the rod, instead of by love. From being a
frank, honorable boy, above doing a mean action and
abhorring a lie, Guy became sneaking and sly—so sly
that it was almost an impossibility to fasten the guilt of
any wrong-doing upon him. He learned to despise his
home, with its thunder-clouds and incessant reprimands
and fault-findings, and longed to get off by himself
somewhere—anywhere, so that he could enjoy a few
minutes’ peace. He had hit upon a plan to rid himself
of his troubles, and now we will tell what it was, and
how it resulted.
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CHAPTER III. || <fs=0.8em>GUY’S HOME AND HENRY’S.</fs>
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AS CAN well be imagined, Guy felt very sore
after the affair of the match-box. His whole
soul rebelled against the petty tyranny and
injustice of his father, and while he was at
school that afternoon his mind dwelt so much upon
it that he stood “zero” in every one of his lessons, and
failed so miserably in his philosophy that he narrowly
escaped the disgrace—and it was considered a lasting
disgrace by the boys belonging to the Brown Grammar
School—of being kept after hours to commit his task.

When four o’clock came Guy drew a long breath of
relief, and chucked his books under his desk so spitefully
that he made a great deal of racket, which caused
the teacher to look sharply in his direction. Guy,
knowing that he was suspected, turned and stared at
Tom Proctor, who sat next behind him, as if to say,
“<i>There</i> is the guilty one,” and Tom gave the accusation
a flat denial by turning about and looking at the youth
who sat next behind <i>him</i>. This is a way that some
school-boys have of doing business, as you know. In a
case like this a scholar can “carry tales” and accuse a
school-mate of breaking the rules without saying a word.

When school was dismissed Guy was the first one out
of the gate. Some of the Delta Club were going over to
their grounds to engage in a practice game of ball, and
as Guy belonged to the first nine, of course he was
expected to accompany them; but he, knowing that he
must first go home and ask permission of his mother,
which would most likely be refused, replied that he had
something else to do, and hurried off as fast as his legs
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could carry him. Arriving at his father’s gate, he
slackened his pace and walked leisurely through the
yard into the garden. He went straight to the currant
bush, behind which he had thrown his match-box, and
finding his treasure safe, put it into his pocket and
returned to the carriage-house. When he thought he
could do so without being seen by any one, he bounded
up the stairs, entered his curiosity shop, and noiselessly
closing the door, locked himself in.

“Now then,” he exclaimed with a triumphant air,
“if mother and Ned will only let me alone for about
an hour, I can enjoy myself. I haven’t seen a minute’s
peace since twelve o’clock. Father thought he was very
sharp when he ordered me to throw this box away,” he
added, as he opened the small tool-chest and deposited
his recovered property therein, “but I am a little sharper
than he is. Whew! wouldn’t I get my jacket dusted
though, if he knew what I have done?”

As Guy said this, he unlocked a small compartment
in the tool-chest and took out a book bound in brown
and gold, and bearing the title, “The Boy Trappers of
the Platte.” Closing the chest, and seating himself upon
it, he opened the book, and for two hours reveled in
bear fights, adventures with the Indians, and hunting
and trapping scenes without number. For once that
day he was supremely happy. He forgot all his troubles,
and lived only among the imaginary characters and amid
the imaginary scenes presented to him on the printed
page. Two or three times while he was thus engaged,
Ned came up, tried the door, and called to him; but
Guy only stopped long enough to flourish his fist in the
air with a significant gesture, as if he would have been
glad of a chance to use it on Ned’s head, and then went
on with his reading, until the creaking of the gate, and
the sound of wheels on the carriage-way, told him that
his father had arrived.

“Dear me, how provoking!” exclaimed Guy, jumping
quickly to his feet and putting the book away in the
tool-chest, “Just as I get to the most interesting part
// 019.png
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of a chapter, I must be interrupted. I wish father had
stayed away ten minutes longer; or, better than that, I
wish he was like other fathers, and would let me take
this book into the house and read it openly and aboveboard,
as I should like to do. He is so opposed to
works of fiction that I wonder he lets Ned read Robinson
Crusoe. He talks of going to the White Mountains
this summer, and taking mother and Ned with him,
and leaving me at home to punish me for going in swimming
the other day. Don’t I hope he will do it, though?
It wouldn’t be punishment at all, if he only knew it.
I’d have more fun than I have seen for ten years. I’d
read every book in Henry Stewart’s library.”

Having closed and locked the tool-chest, Guy went
cautiously to the window, and when he saw his father
get out of his buggy and enter the house, he slipped
quietly out of the room and down the stairs. He passed
an uncomfortable quarter of an hour before the supper-bell
rang, strolling about the yard with his hands in his
pockets, and scarcely knowing what to do with himself.
It seemed so hard to come back to earth again after living
for two hours among the exciting scenes which his
favorite author had created for his amusement.

Supper over, there was another hour to be passed in
some way before the gas was lighted. His father talked
politics with the next-door neighbor; Ned played graces
with his mother; and wide-awake, restless Guy was as
usual left to himself. No one took the least notice of
him. He must have something to do—it wasn’t in him
to remain long inactive—and as there was a strong
breeze blowing, he thought he would raise his kite. He
could not go into the street for that purpose, so he
climbed to the top of the barn; but his father quickly
discovered him, and ordered him down.

Then he tried it in the garden, but the trees were
thick, and the kite’s tail was always in the way. It
caught in a cherry tree, and as Guy was about to mount
among the branches to disengage it, his father again interfered.
He wasn’t going to have his fine ox-hearts
// 020.png
.bn 020.png
// 021.png
.bn 021.png
broken down for the sake of all the kites in the world.

.if h
.il fn=frontis.jpg w=596px
.ca “<sc>For once that day, Guy was suprememly happy</sc>.”
.if-
.if t
[Illustration: “For once that day, Guy was suprememly happy.”]
.if-

By the aid of the step-ladder Guy finally released the
kite, and made one more attempt to raise it, this time
by running along the carriage-way; but by an unlucky
step he left the point of his boot on one of the flower-beds,
and that set his mother’s tongue in motion. His
father heard it, and turned sharply upon him.

“Guy,” said he, “what in the world is the matter
with you to-night? Put that kite away, and go into the
house.”

Guy’s under lip dropped down, and with mutterings
not loud, but deep, he prepared to obey.

His father’s quick eye noticed the drooping lip, and
his quick ear caught the muttering.

“Come here, sir,” said he angrily.

Guy approached, and his father, seizing his arm with
a grip that brought tears to his eyes, shook him until
every tooth in his head rattled.

“What do you mean by going into the sulks when I
tell you to do anything?” he demanded. “Straighten
out that face! Now, then,” he added after a moment’s
pause, during which Guy choked back his tears and assumed
as pleasant an expression as could be expected of
a boy whose arm was being squeezed by a strong man
until it was black and blue, “go into the house and stay
there.”

The father could compel obedience, but his son was
too much like himself to be easily conquered. He could
control his actions as long as he was in sight, but he
could not control his thoughts. Guy’s heart was filled
with hate.

“This is a fair sample of the manner in which I am
treated every day of my life,” he muttered under his
breath as he stowed his kite away in its accustomed
place. “They’ll think of it and be sorry some day, for
if I once get away from here I’ll never come back. I
never want to see any of them again. I can’t please
them, and there is no use trying. Nobody cares for me,
and the sooner I am out of the way the better.”
// 022.png
.bn 022.png

When Guy entered the sitting-room he found his
mother there reading a highly-seasoned novel by a popular
sensational writer, and Ned deeply interested in
“Robinson Crusoe.” The piano was open and Guy
walked to it and sat down. There was a piece of music
upon it, entitled “’Tis Home Where’er the Heart Is.”
As Guy ran his fingers over the keys he thought of all
that had happened that day, and told himself that if
those words were true his home was a long way from
Norwall.

“That will do, Guy,” said his mother suddenly. “My
head aches, and it is not necessary that you should
practice now.”

Guy began to get desperate. He couldn’t sit around
all the evening and do nothing—no healthy boy could.
He went to the library, and knowing that he was doing
something that would certainly prove the occasion of
more fault-finding, took a book from some snug corner
in which he had hidden it, and sat down to read.

In a few minutes his father came in. He picked up
his paper and was about to seat himself in his easy chair
when he caught sight of Guy and stopped. The latter
did not look up, but watched his father out of the corner
of his eye.

“Guy,” said Mr. Harris sharply.

“Sir!” said the boy.

“What have you there?”

“‘Cecil,’” was the reply.

“Cecil who? Cecil what?”

“That’s the name of the book.”

“Let me see it.”

Mr. Harris took the volume and ran his eye over the
pages, while a look of contempt settled on his face.
Had he taken the trouble to read the book he would
have found that it was the history of a youth who was
turned out into the world at an early age by the death
of his parents; that it described the trials and temptations
that fell to his lot, and told how he made a man
of himself at last. But Mr. Harris, like many others,
// 023.png
.bn 023.png
condemned without knowing what he was condemning.

Three words on the title-page told him all he cared
to know about the work. It was a “Book for Boys.”
All books for boys were works of fiction, and he never
intended that Guy should read a work of fiction if he
could prevent it.

“Where did you get this?” demanded Mr. Harris.

“I borrowed it of Henry Stewart. His father
bought it for him last week, and he is a member of your
church, too,” answered Guy, seizing the opportunity to
put in a home-thrust.

“I don’t care if he is. I have no objection to your
associating with Henry, for he is a good boy in some respects,
although it is the greatest wonder in the world
to me that he hasn’t been ruined by his father’s ignorance
beyond all hope of redemption. I am surprised
at Brother Stewart—I am really. What’s that sticking
out of your pocket?”

“It is a copy of the New York <i>Magazine</i>.”

“Let me see it.”

Guy handed out the paper, and as Mr. Harris slowly
unfolded it the sneer once more settled on his face. He
handled the sheet with the tips of his fingers, as if he
feared that the touch might contaminate him.

“‘Nick Whiffles!’” said he, reading the title of one of
the stories. “Who is he? Who owns him?”

“I borrowed the paper of Henry Stewart. His father
has taken it for years, and says he couldn’t do without
it.”

“I don’t care what his father says. His opinions
have no weight with me. Who’s Nick Whiffles?”

“He was a famous Indian-fighter and guide.”

“Oh, he was, was he? Well, you just guide him out
of this house, and never bring him or anybody like him
here again. I won’t have such trash under my roof.
Guy, it does seem as if you were determined to ruin
yourself. Don’t you know that the reading of such
tales as this unfits you for anything like work? Don’t
you know that after a while nothing but this light reading
will satisfy you?”
// 024.png
.bn 024.png

“No, sir, I don’t,” replied Guy boldly. “Henry
Stewart told me that he didn’t care a snap for history
until he had read the ‘Black Knight.’ Through that
story he became interested in the manners and customs
of the people who lived during the Middle Ages, and
he wanted to know more about them. He read everything
on the subject that he could get his hands on,
and Professor Johnson says he is better posted in history
than half the teachers in the public schools.”

“And all through the reading of a novel?” exclaimed
Mr. Harris. “I know better. There’s not a
word of truth in it. This bosh has a very different
effect upon you at any rate. You waste all your spare
time upon it, and the consequence is, you are getting to
be a worthless, disobedient boy.”

“But, father, I must have something to read.”

“Don’t I know that; and don’t I get you a new book
every Christmas? Where’s that volume entitled
‘Thoughts on Death; or, Lectures for Young Men,’
that I bought for you three weeks ago? You haven’t
looked into it, I’ll warrant.”

Mr. Harris was wrong there. Guy <i>had</i> looked into
it, and he had tried to read it, but it was written in such
language that he could not understand it. At the time
his father gave him this book he had presented Ned
with a box of fine water-colors—the very thing Guy had
long wished for. Why had not Mr. Harris consulted
the tastes and wishes of the elder, as well as those of the
younger son?

“Return that book and paper to their owner at once,
and don’t bring anything like them into this house
again,” repeated Mr. Harris.

“May I visit with Henry a little while?” asked the
boy.

“Well—I—y-es. You may stay there a quarter of an
hour.”

“It’s a wonder,” thought Guy, as he picked up his cap
and started for Mr. Stewart’s house. “Why didn’t he
tell me that home is the place for me after dark? That’s
the reply he generally makes.”
// 025.png
.bn 025.png

As Guy climbed over the fence that ran between his
father’s yard and Mr. Stewart’s he heard a great noise
and hubbub. He listened and found that the sounds
came from the house he was about to visit.

As he drew nearer he saw that one of the window curtains
was raised, and that he could obtain a view of all
that was going on in Mr. Stewart’s back parlor. The
occupants were engaged in a game of blind-man’s buff.
Mr. Stewart, his eyes covered with a handkerchief, and
his hands spread out before him, was advancing cautiously
toward one side of the room, evidently searching
for Henry, who had squeezed himself into one corner,
with a chair in front of him. The other children were
probably trying to divert their father’s attention, for
two of them were clinging to his coat-tails, while the
eldest daughter would now and then go up and pull his
whiskers or pat him on the back. Mrs. Stewart sat in
a remote corner sewing and smiling pleasantly, seemingly
unmindful of the deafening racket raised by the
players.

“Humph!” said Guy, “it will be of no use for me to
ask Henry to go with me. I wouldn’t go myself if I
had a home like this. How would my father look with
a handkerchief over his eyes, and Ned and me hanging
to his coat-tails? And wouldn’t mother have an awful
headache though, if this was going on in her house?”

It certainly was a pleasant scene that Guy looked in
upon, and he stood at the window watching the players
until he began to be ashamed of himself. Then he
mounted the steps and knocked at the door.

Mrs. Stewart admitted him, and he entered the parlor
just in time to see Henry’s father pounce upon him and
hold him fast.

“Aha! I’ve caught you, sir,” said Mr. Stewart, with
a laugh that did one’s heart good, “and now we had better
stop, for we are arousing the neighbors. Here’s Guy
come in to see what’s the matter.”

“No, sir,” replied the visitor, “I just came over to
return a book and paper I borrowed of Henry.”
// 026.png
.bn 026.png

“Why, you haven’t read them, have you?” asked his
friend. “I gave them to you only yesterday.”

“I know it; but father told me to bring them back.
He won’t permit me to read them. He says they are
nothing but trash.”

Henry elevated his eyebrows and looked at his father,
who in turn looked inquiringly at Guy.

“Does your father ever read the New York <i>Magazine</i>?”
asked Mr. Stewart.

“No, <i>sir</i>!” replied Guy emphatically.

“Ah! that accounts for it. If he would take the
trouble to look at it, he might change his opinion of it.
A paper that numbers ministers among its contributors,
that advocates temperance and reform, and shows up
the follies of the day in its stories, can’t be a very dangerous
thing to put into the hands of the youth of the
land. Here is an article by a minister in the paper we
have been reading to-night. Take it over and show it to
your father.”

“I wouldn’t dare do it, sir,” returned Guy blushing.
“He told me to guide Nick Whiffles out of the house,
and never guide him in again.”

“Oh, that’s where the shoe pinches, is it? Well, <i>I</i>
think Nick very good in his place. Indeed, I confess to
a great liking for the old fellow.”

“He’s just splendid,” said Henry.

“All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, you
know,” continued Mr. Stewart. “After you and Henry
have sat for six long hours on your hard desk at school,
a game of ball or a sail on the lake does you a world of
good. If you should live a week or two on corn bread
and bacon, or pork and beans, you would be glad to have
a piece of pie or cake, wouldn’t you? The mind requires
recreation and change as much as the body, and where
can you find it if it be not in a good story by some
sprightly author? Of course the thing can be carried to
excess, and so can eating. One can read himself into an
unhealthy frame of mind as easily as he can gorge himself
into dyspepsia.”
// 027.png
.bn 027.png

When Mr. Stewart had said this much he stopped and
took up his paper. It wasn’t for him to criticise or find
fault with the rules his neighbor had made regarding his
son’s reading.

Guy, having an object to accomplish before he returned
home, and knowing that time was precious, declined the
chair offered him, and after taking leave of the family,
intimated to Henry that he had something particular to
say to him. The latter accompanied him to the fence,
and Guy leaned upon it, utterly at a loss how to broach
the subject uppermost in his mind.
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.pb
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER IV. || <fs=0.8em>THE READING LESSON.</fs>
.sp 2
.di dropcapg.jpg 49 50 1.0
GUY DID not know how to begin the conversation.
He wanted to approach the subject
gradually, for he believed that some little
strategy would be necessary in order to bring
Henry to his way of thinking, but somehow the words
he wanted would not come, and seeing that his friend
was getting impatient, he plunged into it blindly:

“How would you like to be a hunter and trapper?”
he asked.

“I don’t know anything about trapping, but I like
hunting as well as any boy in the world,” said Henry.

“I mean how would you like to make a business of
it, and spend your life in the woods or on the prairie?”

“I don’t know, but I am going to try it a little while
this fall. Father owns some land in Michigan that he
has never seen, and about the first of September he and
I are going up to take a look at it. His agent writes
that game is abundant, and I am going to buy a rifle before
we start.”

“Well, if I had a chance like that I’d never come
back again. I’d stay in the woods.”

“Oh, my father wouldn’t let me.”

“I don’t suppose he would, but you could do as I intend
to do—run away.”

Henry straightened up and looked at his companion
without speaking.

“Oh, I mean it,” said Guy with a decided nod of his
head. “I am tired of staying here. I am weary of
this continual scolding and fault-finding, and am going
to get away where I can take a little comfort. I have
// 029.png
.bn 029.png
always wanted to be a hunter. I have got my plans all
laid, and I want some good fellow for a companion, for
I should be lonely if I were to go by myself. I’d rather
have you than anybody else, and if you will go we’ll
take the ‘Boy Trappers’ with us. That book will tell
us just what we will have to do. It tells how to build
wigwams, how to trap beaver and otter, and catch fish
through the ice; how to make moccasins, leggings and
hunting-shirts; how to catch wild horses; how to preserve
the skins of wild animals—in fact, everything we
want to know we will find there.”

“Where do you want to go?” asked Henry.

“Out to the Rocky Mountains.”

“What will you do when you get there?”

“We’ll hunt and trap during the spring and fall, and
when summer comes we’ll jump on our horses, take our
furs to the trading-posts and sell them.”

“And what will we do during the winter?”

“We’ll have a nice little cabin in some pleasant valley
among the mountains, such as the boy trapper had, and
we’ll pass the time in curing our furs and fighting the
Indians. That is what they did, you know. I tell you,
Hank,” said Guy with great enthusiasm, “it wouldn’t
be long before we would become as famous as either Kit
Carson or Captain Bridges! What’s the matter with
you?” he added, looking suspiciously at his friend, who
seemed on the point of strangling.

Henry, who had listened in utter amazement to what
Guy had to say, could control himself no longer. Clinging
to the fence with both hands he threw back his head
and broke out into a shout of laughter that was heard
full a block away.

“I don’t see anything so funny about it,” said Guy
indignantly. “I am in earnest.”

“Oh, dear!” said Henry, after he had laughed until
his jaws and sides ached. “I know this will be the
death of me. Why, Guy, what in the world put such a
ridiculous notion into your head?”

“I don’t call it a ridiculous notion. If the boy
// 030.png
.bn 030.png
trappers could live that way I don’t see why we couldn’t.
I guess we are as smart and as brave as they were.”

This set Henry to going again. It was some minutes
before he could speak.

“Do you believe that book is true?” he asked.

“Of course I do.”

“Why, Guy, I didn’t think you were such a dunce.
The idea that three boys, the oldest of them only seventeen
years of age, could live as they did, surrounded by
savage beasts and hostile Indians, and get into such
scrapes as they did, and come out without a scratch.
Common sense ought to teach you better than that.
Those boy trappers never had an existence except in the
brain of the man who wrote the book.”

“Then why did he write it?” demanded Guy.

“What makes you play base-ball and cricket, and
why do you go fishing and boat-riding every chance you
get? Such sports are not necessary to your existence—you
could live without them—but they serve to fill up
the time when you don’t feel like doing anything else.
That’s one reason why books like ‘Boy Trappers’ are
written—to keep you in the house and help you while
away a leisure hour that you might otherwise spend in
the streets with bad boys. Oh, Guy! Guy!”

“Now, don’t you begin your laughing again,” said his
companion.

At this moment a door opened and the boys heard Mr.
Harris calling.

“Guy!” he shouted.

“Sir!” was the response.

“Come in now.”

“What’s the matter?” asked Henry.

“Oh, we have a reading lesson every night, and I
have to help,” replied Guy with great disgust. “We’re
reading Bancroft’s History of the United States, and I
despise it. I can’t understand half of it, but father
makes me read aloud twenty minutes every night, and
scolds because I can’t tell him the meaning of all the
hard words. Now, Hank, are you going with me or
not?”
// 031.png
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“Of course I am not. I’ll not give up such a home,
and such a father and mother as I’ve got for the sake of
living in a wilderness all my life.”

“Well, you won’t repeat what I have said to you, will
you?”

“No, indeed; but you must promise me that you will
give up that idea.”

“All right, I will.”

“You’ll never speak of running away from home
again, or even think of it?”

“No, I never will—honor bright.”

“Then you may rely upon me to keep your secret.
Now I have a plan to propose: Let’s go fishing on the
pier to-morrow—it’s Saturday, you know—and talk the
matter over. I can convince you in five minutes that
you had better stay at home. Come over early—say five
o’clock.”

“I’ll see what father says about it; good-night. I
might have known better than to ask him to go with
me,” added Guy mentally, as he walked slowly toward
the house. “If I had as pleasant a home as he has I
wouldn’t go either. Why don’t my father and mother
take some interest in me, and talk to me as Mr. and Mrs.
Stewart talk to Hank? I haven’t changed my mind,
and I never shall. I promised that I would never again
think of running away from home, but I did it just to
keep Hank’s mouth shut. As long as he thinks I have
given up the idea, he won’t say a word to anybody.
He’ll be astonished some fine morning, for I shall leave
here as soon as I can scrape the money together. I wish
I could find a pocket-book with a hundred dollars in it.
I’d never return it to the owner, even if I found him. I
must try Bob Walker now.”

When Guy entered the sitting-room he found his
father and mother waiting for him. The former handed
him an open volume of Bancroft’s History and Guy,
seating himself, began reading the author’s elaborate
description of the passage of the Stamp Act and the
manner in which it was received by the colonists—a
// 032.png
.bn 032.png
subject in which he was not in the least interested. His
father often took him to task for his bad reading and
pronunciation, but he managed to get through with the
required twenty minutes at last, and with a great feeling
of relief handed the book to his mother and moved his
chair into one corner of the room. In forty minutes
more the lesson was ended and Mr. Harris turned to
question Guy on what had just been read. To his surprise
and indignation he saw him sitting with his feet
stretched out before him, his chin resting on his breast
and his eyes closed. The boy was fast asleep.

“Guy!” Mr. Harris almost shouted.

“Sir!” replied his son, starting up quickly and rubbing
his eyes.

“This is the way you give attention to what is going
on, and repay the pains I am taking to teach you something,
is it?” demanded his father. “Do you think
ignorance is bliss? You don’t know anything a boy of
your age ought to know. Tell me how many distinct
forms of government this country has passed through.”

“I can’t,” replied Guy.

“Who was the third President of the United States?”

“I don’t know.”

“What were the names of the two men who were
hanged in effigy by the Massachusetts colonists when the
news of the passage of the Stamp Act was received?”

“I don’t know,” said Guy again.

“And yet that is just what we have been reading
about to-night. I saw a picture in that paper you had
in your possession a little while ago,” continued Mr.
Harris with suppressed fury. “It was a man dressed in
furs, who stood leaning against a horse, holding a gun
in one hand and stretching the other out toward a dog
in front of him. Who was that man intended to represent?”

“Nick Whiffles,” said Guy promptly.

“What was the name of his dog?”

“Calamity.”

“Did his horse have a name?”
// 033.png
.bn 033.png

“Yes, sir—Firebug; and he called his rifle Humbug.”

“There you have it!” exclaimed Mr. Harris with a
sneer. “You know all about that, and you’ve no business
to know it either, for it will do you more harm than
good. If we had been reading that trash to-night you
would have been wide-awake and listening with all your
ears; but because we were reading something worth
knowing—something that would be of benefit to you in
after life, if you would take the trouble to remember it—you
must needs settle yourself and go to sleep. Now,
then, draw up beside this table and read five pages in
that history; and read them so carefully, too, that you
can answer any question I may ask you about them to-morrow.”

Guy, so sleepy that he could scarcely keep his eyes
open, staggered to the chair pointed out to him and sat
down, while his father once more picked up the evening
paper and his mother resumed her needle.

When he had read the required number of pages and
looked them over two or three times to fix the names and
dates in his memory, he arose and put the book away in
the library.

“Father,” said he.

“Don’t you know that it is very rude to interrupt a
person who is reading?” replied Mr. Harris, looking up
from his paper. “What do you want?”

“May I go fishing with Henry Stewart on the pier to-morrow?”

“No, sir, you may stay at home. A boy who behaves
as you do deserves no privileges. I have learned
that I cannot trust you out of my sight.”

Knowing that it would not be safe to show any signs
of anger or disappointment, Guy kept his face as
straight as possible and turned to leave the room. But
when he put his hand on the door-knob his father called
to him.

“Guy,” said he, “where are you going?”

“I am going to bed.”
// 034.png
.bn 034.png

“And do you intend to leave us with that frown on
your face and without bidding us good-night? One or
the other of us might die before morning and then you
would be sorry you parted from us in anger. I’ve a good
mind to whip you soundly, for if ever a boy deserved it
you do. Come back here and kiss your mother.”

Almost ready to yell with rage, Guy returned and
kissed his mother, who presented her cheek without
raising her eyes from her novel, bid his father good-night,
and this time succeeded in leaving the room without
being called back.

When he was safe out of his father’s sight he turned
and shook his fist at him, at the same time muttering
something between his clenched teeth that would have
struck Mr. Harris motionless with horror could he have
heard it. He went to bed with his heart full of hate,
and not until his mind wandered off to other matters,
and he begun to dream of the wild, free and glorious
life he expected to lead in the mountains and on the
prairies of the Far West, did he recover his usual spirits.
He fell asleep while he was building his air-castles, and
awoke to hear the breakfast bell ringing and to see the
morning sun shining in at his window.

When he descended to the dining-room he was met by
Ned, who was dressed in his best, and who informed him,
with evident satisfaction, that Henry Stewart had been
over to see if he was going fishing, and that his father
had said that he couldn’t go to the pier or do anything
else he wanted to do until he had learned to behave
himself. Ned added that he and his father and mother
were going to ride out to visit Uncle David, who lived
nine miles in the country, and that he, Guy, was to be
left at home because there was no room in the buggy for
him, and that he was not to stir one step outside the
gate until their return.

“I’ll show you whether I will or not,” said Guy to
himself. “It’s a pretty piece of business, indeed, that
I am to be shut up here at home while the rest of you go
off on a visit. I won’t stand it. I’ll see as much fun
// 035.png
.bn 035.png
to-day as any of you, and if I only had all the money I
need, you wouldn’t find me here when you return.”

Breakfast over, the buggy was brought to the door,
and Mr. Harris, after assisting his wife and son to get
in, turned to say a parting word to Guy.

He was to remain in the yard all day, bring no boys
in there to play with him, and be very careful not to get
into any mischief. If these commands were not obeyed
to the very letter there would be a settlement between
them when Mr. Harris came back.

Guy drew on a very long face as he listened to his
father’s words, meekly promised obedience and opened
the gate for his father to drive out. He watched the
buggy as long as it remained in sight and then, closing
the gate, jumped up and knocked his heels together,
danced a few steps of a hornpipe, and in various other
ways testified to the satisfaction he felt at being left
alone.

“I shouldn’t feel sorry if I should never see them
again,” said he. “I am my own master to-day, and I
am going to enjoy my liberty, too. But before I begin
operations I must put Bertha and Jack on the wrong
scent. They would blow on me in a minute.”

Guy once more assumed a very sober expression of
countenance, and walked into the kitchen where the
servant-girl was at work.

“Bertha,” said he, “I am going up to my curiosity
shop, and I don’t want to be disturbed. You needn’t
get dinner for me, for I sha’n’t want any.”

“I am glad of it,” replied the girl, “I am going visiting
myself to-day.”

Guy strolled out to the carriage-house, and here he
found Jack, the hostler and man-of-all-work, to whom
he gave nearly the same instructions, adding the request
that if any of his young friends called to see him, Jack
would say to them that Guy had gone off somewhere,
which, by the way, had Jack had occasion to tell it,
would have been nothing but the truth.

The hostler promised compliance, and Guy, having
// 036.png
.bn 036.png
thus opened the way for the carrying out of the plans he
had determined upon, went up to his curiosity shop,
locking the door behind him, and putting the key into
his pocket. He lumbered about the room for a while,
making as much noise as he conveniently could, to let
Bertha and Jack know that he was there, and then
stepped to the window that overlooked the garden and
peeped cautiously out. Having made sure that there
was no one in sight, he crawled out of the window, feet
first, and hanging by his hands, dropped to the ground.
As soon as he touched it he broke into a run, and making
his way across the garden, scaled a high board-fence,
dropped into an alley on the opposite side, and in a few
minutes more was two blocks away.

“There!” he exclaimed, as he slackened his pace and
wiped his dripping forehead with his handkerchief; “that
much is done, and no one is the wiser for it. Now, the
first thing is to go down to Stillman’s and buy a copy of
the <i>Journal</i>. I wrote to the editors of that paper three
weeks ago, telling them that I am going to be a hunter,
and asking what sort of an outfit I shall need, and how
much it will cost, and I ought to get an answer to-day.

“The second thing is to hunt up Bob Walker and feel
his pulse. He once told me that he would run away and
go to sea if his father ever laid a hand on him again, so
I know I shall have easy work with him. He won’t be
as pleasant a companion, though, as Henry Stewart, for
he swears, and is an awful overbearing, quarrelsome
fellow. But I can’t help it; I must have somebody with
me.”

A walk of a quarter of an hour brought Guy to Stillman’s
news-depot, where he stopped and purchased a
copy of the paper of which he had spoken. Seeing a
vacant chair in one corner of the store, he seated himself
upon it, and with trembling hands unfolded the sheet,
looking for the column containing the answers to correspondents.
When he found it he ran his eye over it
until it rested on the following paragraph:
// 037.png
.bn 037.png

.pm letter-start
“<sc>An Abused Dog.</sc>—If you are going to become a
hunter you will need an expensive outfit. A good rifle
will cost from $25 to $75; a brace of revolvers, from $16
to $50; a hunting-knife, $1.25 to $3.50. Then you will
need a hatchet or two, an abundance of ammunition,
blankets, durable clothing, horse, etc., which, together
with your fare by rail and steamer to St. Joseph, will
cost you at least $200 more. We know of no hunter or
trapper to whom we could recommend you, and neither
can we say whether or not you will be able to find a
wagon train that you could join. Now that we have
answered your questions, we want to offer you a word of
advice. Give up your wild idea, and never think of it
again. As sure as you are a live boy, it will end in nothing
but disappointment and misery. We are inclined to
believe that the story of your grievances is greatly
exaggerated; but even if it is not, you cannot better
your condition by running away from home. Your
parents have your welfare at heart, and if you are wise
you will remain with them, even though their requirements
do sometimes seem harsh and unnecessary. It
may be that you will some day be left to fight your way
through the world with no father or mother to advise or
befriend you, and then you will find how hard it is.
Take our word for it, if you live to be five years older,
you will laugh at yourself whenever you reflect that
you ever thought seriously of becoming a professional
hunter.”
.pm letter-end

Guy read this paragraph over twice, and then folded
the paper and walked slowly out of the store.
// 038.png
.bn 038.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER V. || <fs=0.8em>A SAIL ON THE LAKE.</fs>
.sp 2
.di dropcapi.jpg 50 50 0.5
IT IS beyond my power to describe Guy’s feelings
at that moment. He had never in his
life been more grievously disappointed. It
had never occurred to him that anybody who
knew anything would discourage his project, much less
the editors of his favorite journal, to whom he had made
a full revelation of his circumstances and troubles. And
then there was the expense, which greatly exceeded his
calculations. That was the great drawback.

“Humph!” soliloquized Guy, after he had thought
the matter over, “the man who wrote that article didn’t
know my father and mother. If he did, he wouldn’t
be so positive that everything they do is for the best. I
know better, and won’t give up my idea. I am determined
to succeed. There are plenty of men who
make a living and see any amount of sport by hunting
and trapping, and why shouldn’t I? Kit Carson is a
real man and so is Captain Bridges. So is Adams, the
great grizzly bear tamer. One of these days, when I am
as famous as they are, I shall laugh to think I <i>did</i> become
a professional hunter. But the money is what
bothers me now. I shall need at least three hundred
dollars. Great Cæsar! Where am I to get it? I’ve
worked and scraped and saved for the last six months,
and I’ve got just fifteen dollars. That isn’t enough to
buy a rifle. Where is the rest to come from? That’s
the question.”

Guy walked along with his hands behind his back and
his eyes fastened thoughtfully on the ground, revolving
this problem in his mind. His prospects did not look
// 039.png
.bn 039.png
nearly so bright now as they did an hour ago. He was
learning a lesson we all have to learn sooner or later,
and that is that we cannot always have things as we
want them in this world, and that the best laid schemes
are often defeated by some unlooked-for event. Three
hundred dollars! He never could earn that amount.
His rags brought him but two cents a pound, and
although he kept a sharp lookout and pounced upon
every piece of cloth he found lying about the house, it
sometimes took him a whole month to fill his bag, which
held just five pounds. Old iron was worth only a cent a
pound, and business in this line was beginning to get
very dull, for he had not found a single horseshoe during
the last two weeks, and he had purchased the last thing
in the shape of broken frying-pans and battered kettles
that any of his companions had to dispose of. He must
find some other way to earn money. He had thought
of carrying papers, which would add a dollar and a
quarter a week to his income, besides what he would
make out of his Carriers’ Addresses on New Years. But
Mr. Harris had vetoed that plan the moment it was proposed.

Guy did not know what to do next.

“Dear me, am I not in a fix?” he asked himself. “I
read in the paper the other day of a boy picking up five
thousand dollars that some banker dropped in the street.
Why wasn’t I lucky enough to find it? That banker
might have whistled for his money when once I got my
hands upon it. I <i>must</i> have three hundred dollars and
I don’t care how I get it.”

Guy was gradually working himself into a very dangerous
frame of mind. When one begins to talk to himself
in this way it needs only the opportunity to make a
thief of him. If Guy thought of this, he did not care,
for he continued to reason thus, and was not at all
alarmed when a daring project suddenly suggested itself
to him. Twenty-four hours ago he would not have
dared to ponder upon it; but now he allowed his
thoughts to dwell upon it, and the longer he turned it
// 040.png
.bn 040.png
over in his mind the more firmly he became convinced
that it was a splendid idea and that it could be successfully
carried out. He wanted to get away by himself
and look at the matter in all its bearings. With this
object in view he turned down Erie Street and bent his
steps toward Buck’s boat-house, intending to spend an
hour or two on the lake. In that time he believed he
could make up his mind what was best to be done.

Arriving at the boat-house, Guy entered and accosted
the proprietor, who stood behind his bar dispensing
liquor and cigars to a party of excursionists who had just
returned from a sail on the lake.

“Mr. Buck, is the Quail in?” asked Guy, giving the
name of his favorite sail-boat.

“Yes, she is,” replied a voice at his elbow; “but what
do you want with her?”

Guy recognized the voice and turned to greet the
speaker. He was a boy about his own age, who sat
cross-legged in an arm-chair beside the door, his hat
pushed on the side of his head rowdy fashion, one hand
holding a copy of a sporting paper, and the other a
lighted cigar, at which he was puffing industriously.
His name was Robert Walker. He was a low-browed,
black-haired fellow, and although by no means ill-looking,
there was something in his face that would have
told a stranger at the first glance that he was what is
called a “hard customer.” And his looks were a good
index of his character and reputation. He was known
as one of the worst boys in the neighborhood in which
Guy lived. Parents cautioned their sons against associating
with him, for he would fight, smoke, swear like
any old sailor, and it was even whispered about among
the boys belonging to the Brown Grammar School that
he had been seen rather the worse for the beer he had
drank. But Guy had always admired Bob; he was such
a free and easy fellow! Besides, he knew so much that
boys of his age have no business to know, that he was
looked upon even by such youths as Henry Stewart as a
sort of oracle. He and Guy represented two different
// 041.png
.bn 041.png
classes of boys—one having been spoiled by excessive
indulgence, and the other by unreasonable severity.

Robert’s father was Mr. Harris’ cashier and book-keeper,
and the two families would have been intimate
had not Bob been in the way. The fathers and mothers
visited frequently, but the boys never did; their parents
always tried to keep them apart. But in spite of this
they were often seen together on the streets, and a sort
of friendship had sprung up between them. This was
the boy Guy wanted for a companion on his runaway
expedition, now that Henry Stewart had declined his
invitation.

“The Quail is in,” continued Bob, extending his
hand to Guy, who shook it cordially, “but you are just
a minute too late. Mr. Buck is going to get her out for
me as soon as he is done serving these gentlemen. However,
seeing it is you, I’ll take you along, and we can
divide the expenses between us.”

“All right,” replied Guy. “Do you know that you
are just the fellow I want to see?”

“Anything particular?” asked Bob, knocking the
ashes from his cigar.

“Yes, very particular.”

“Well, that’s curious. During the last week I have
had something on my mind that I wanted to speak to
you about—it’s a secret, too, and one that I wouldn’t
mention to any fellow but you—but somehow I couldn’t
raise courage enough to broach the subject. We’ll go
out on the lake where we can say what we please without
danger of being overheard. Let’s take a drink before
we go. Come on.”

“I am obliged to you,” answered Guy, “but I never
drink.”

“Take a cigar, then.”

“No, I don’t smoke.”

“Nonsense. Be a man among men. Give me some
beer, Mr. Buck. Take a glass of soda, Guy. That
won’t hurt you, and it is a temperance drink, too.”

Guy leaned his elbows on the counter and thought
// 042.png
.bn 042.png
about it. This was a temptation that he had never been
subjected to before. What would his father say if he
yielded to it? But, on the whole, what difference did it
make to him whether his father liked it or not? He was
going away from home to be a hunter, and from what he
had read he inferred that hunters did not refuse a glass
when it was offered to them. If he was going among
Romans, and expected to hold a high place among them,
he must follow their customs. So he said he would take
a bottle of soda, and when it was poured out for him he,
not understanding the etiquette of the bar-room,
watched Bob and followed his motions—bumped his
glass on the counter, said “Here are my kindest
regards,” and drank it off.

“Now,” said Bob, smacking his lips over his beer,
“we’re all ready. I’ve got half a dollar’s worth of cigars
in my pocket, and they will last us until we get back.”

The boys followed Mr. Buck out of the house, and
along a narrow wooden pier, on each side of which were
moored a score or more of row and sail-boats of all sizes
and models. When they reached the place where the
Quail was lying they clambered down into her, Mr. Buck
cast off the painter, and the little vessel moved away.
Guy never forgot the hour he spent on the lake that day.
A week afterward he would have given the world, had
he possessed it, to be able to wipe it out or live it over
again.

As the harbor was long and narrow and the wind unfavorable,
considerable maneuvering was necessary, and
for the first few minutes the attention of Guy and his
companion was so fully occupied with the management
of their craft that they could find no opportunity to begin
the discussion of the subject uppermost in their
minds. But when they rounded the light-house pier
and found themselves fairly on the lake, Bob resigned
the helm to Guy, and relighting his cigar, which he had
allowed to go out, stretched himself on one of the
thwarts, and intimated that he was ready to listen to
what his friend had to say, adding:
// 043.png
.bn 043.png

“You may think it strange, but I believe I can tell
you, before you begin, what you want to talk about.”

“You can!” exclaimed Guy. “What makes you
think so?”

“The way you act, and the pains you are taking to
make money. Does your father know that you are a
dealer in rags and old iron?”

“Of course not.”

“I thought so. What do you want with the little
money you are able to make in that way? You don’t
see any pleasure with it, for you never spend a cent.
What are you going to do with that powder-horn you’ve
got hung up in your curiosity shop? It is of no use to
you, for your father won’t allow you to own a gun.
And then there’s that lead bullet-ladle, rubber blanket,
and cheese-knife. They are not worth the room they
occupy as long as you stay here. But you are laying
your plans to run away from home, young man—that’s
what you are up to. Indeed, you have almost as good
as said so in my hearing two or three different times.”

“Well, it’s a fact, and there’s no use in denying it,”
said Guy. “You won’t blow on me?”

“Certainly not. That’s just what I wanted to see
about, for I am going to do the same thing myself.”

“Are you? Give us your hand. We’ll go together.
I’m going to be a hunter.”

“I know you are; I’ve heard you say so. I had
some idea of becoming a sailor, but since I have thought
the matter over I have made up my mind that your
plan is the best. If one goes to sea he has to work
whenever he is ordered, whether he feels likes it or not;
but if he lives in the woods he is his own master, and
can do as he pleases. Have you any definite plan in
your head?”

“Yes. As soon as I get money enough. I am going
to step aboard a propeller some dark night and go to
Chicago. I can travel cheaper by water than I can by
land, you know, and money is an object, I tell you.
From Chicago I shall go to St. Joseph, purchase a horse
// 044.png
.bn 044.png
and whatever else I may need, join some wagon train
that is going to California, and when I reach the mountains
and find a place that suits me, I’ll stop there and
go to hunting.”

“That’s a splendid plan,” said Bob with enthusiasm.
“It is much better than going to sea. When do you
intend to start?”

“Ah! that’s just what I don’t know. I find by a
paper I bought this morning that I shall need at least
three hundred dollars; and that’s more than I can ever
raise.”

“By a paper you bought!” repeated Bob.

“Yes; there it is,” said Guy, taking it from his
pocket and tossing it toward his companion. “You see
I wrote to the editors, telling them just how I am situated
and what I intend to do, and they answered my
letter this week. Look for ‘An Abused Boy’ in the
correspondents’ column, and you will see what they
said.”

After a little search Bob found the paragraph in
question, and settled back on his elbow to read it.

When he finished, the opinion he expressed concerning
it was the same Guy had formed when he first
read it.

“It is rather discouraging, isn’t it?” asked the latter.

“Not to me,” answered Bob. “These editors don’t
know any more than anybody else. Why should they?
In the first place the man who wrote this is not
acquainted with our circumstances; and in the next, he
is not so well posted on the price of some things as I am.
He says a rifle will cost twenty-five dollars. Pat Smith
has a cart-load of them, good ones, too, that you can
buy for twelve dollars apiece.”

“Is that so?” asked Guy.

“Yes; and after we get through with our sail we’ll
go around and look at them. He has hunting-knives,
which he holds at a dollar and a quarter. I know, because
I asked the price of them. Blankets are not
worth more than five dollars per pair; and if you take
// 045.png
.bn 045.png
steerage passage on the steamer and a second-class
ticket from Chicago you can go through to St. Joseph
for twenty-five dollars. Then how are you going to
spend the rest of your three hundred? Not for a horse,
certainly; for I have heard father say that when he
went to California in ’49 he bought a very good
mustang for thirty dollars. However,” added Bob, “it
will be well enough to have plenty of money, for we
don’t want to get strapped, you know.”

“But where is it to come from?” asked Guy.

“I know. I have been thinking it over during the
last week, and I know just how to go to work. Perhaps
you won’t like it, and if you don’t you can go your
way and I’ll go mine. Here, smoke a cigar while I tell
you about it.”

“No, no! I can’t smoke.”

“What will you do when we are in the mountains?
There’ll be plenty of stormy days when we can’t hunt
or trap, and you’ll need a pipe or cigar for company.”

“It will be time enough for me to learn after I get to
be a hunter.”

“Perhaps it is just as well,” returned Bob, after a
moment’s reflection. “If I carry out my plans you
will have to help me, and you will need a clear head to
do it. Listen now and I will tell you what they are.”

Bob once more settled back on his elbow, and to Guy’s
intense amazement proceeded to unfold the details of
the very scheme for raising funds which he himself had
had in contemplation when he came to Mr. Buck’s boat-house,
and which Bob proposed should be put into execution
at once, that very day.

Guy trembled with excitement and apprehension
while he listened, and nothing but the coolness and confidence
with which his companion spoke kept him from
backing out. He had always imagined that the day for
the carrying out of his wild idea was in the far future,
and from a distance he could think of it calmly; but if
Bob’s plans were successful they would be miles and
miles away ere the next morning’s sun arose, and with
the brand of <i>thief</i> upon their brows.
// 046.png
.bn 046.png

He begun to realize now what running away meant.
He did not once think of his home—there was scarcely
a pleasant reminiscence connected with it that he could
recall—but now that the great world into which he had
longed to throw himself seemed so near, he shrunk back
afraid. This feeling quickly passed away.

The wild, free life of which he had so often dreamed
seemed so bright and glorious, and his present manner
of living seemed so dismal by contrast that, feeling as
he did, he could not be long in choosing between them.
He fell in with Bob’s plans and caught not a little of his
enthusiasm. He even marked out the part he was to
play in the scene about to be enacted, making some suggestions
and amendments that Bob was prompt to
adopt.

The matter was all settled in half an hour later, and
the Quail came about and stood toward the pier. When
she landed and the boys entered the boat-house, Bob reminded
Guy that it was his turn to stand treat. The
latter was prompt to respond, and won a nod of approval
from his companion by calling for a glass of
beer.

Having settled their bill at the boat-house the boys
started for the gunsmith’s. There they spent twenty
minutes in looking at the various weapons and accouterments
they thought they might need during their
career in the mountains, and Bob excited the astonishment
of his friend by selecting a couple of rifles, as
many hunting-knives, powder-horns, bullet-pouches
and revolvers, and requesting the gunsmith, with whom
he seemed to be well acquainted, to put them aside for
him, promising to call in an hour and pay for them.

“Isn’t that carrying things a little too far?” asked
Guy when they were once more on the street. “What
if we should slip up in our arrangements?”

“But I don’t intend to slip up,” returned Bob confidently.
“There’s no need of it. Why, Guy, what
makes your face so pale?”

“I feel nervous,” replied the latter honestly.
// 047.png
.bn 047.png

“Now don’t go to giving away to such feelings, for
if you do you will spoil everything. Remember that
our success depends entirely upon you. If I fail in
doing my part the fault will be yours. But I must
leave you here, for it won’t be safe for us to be seen together.
If you are going to back out do it now before
it is too late.”

“I’m not going to do anything of the kind. I’ll
stick to you through thick and thin.”

“All right. Remember now that when the South
Church clock strikes one I will be on the corner above
your father’s store, and shall expect to find you there all
ready to start.”

“You may depend upon me,” replied Guy. “I’ll be
there if I live.”

The two boys separated and moved away in nearly opposite
directions, their feelings being as widely different
as the courses they were pursuing. Bob, cool and careless,
walked off whistling, stopping now and then to exchange
a pleasant nod with an acquaintance, while Guy
was as pale as a sheet and trembled in every limb. It
seemed to him that every one he met looked sharply at
him, and with an expression which seemed to say his
secret was known. He felt like a criminal; and actuated
by a desire to get out of sight of everybody, and
that as speedily as possible, he broke into a run, and in
a few minutes reached his home.
// 048.png
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.pb
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER VI. || <fs=0.8em>A NARROW ESCAPE.</fs>
.sp 2
.di dropcapw.jpg 50 50 1.3
WALKING rapidly along the alley that ran behind
his father’s garden Guy climbed the
fence, dropped down into a thicket of bushes,
and stopped to take a survey of the premises.
There was no one in sight, and having fully satisfied
himself on this point he crept stealthily into the carriage-house
and up the stairs to his curiosity shop. Locking the
door behind him he took down from one of the
nails a dilapidated valise, which he had provided for
this very occasion, and throwing open his tool-chest began
bundling his valuables into it with eager haste.
He did not forget anything, not even the rubber
blanket, powder-horn, or rusty butcher-knife. When
the last article had been crowded into the valise he
closed it, and carrying it to the window that overlooked
the garden dropped it to the ground. Then he locked
the door of the curiosity shop, descended the stairs, and
picking up the valise carried it to the lower end of the
garden and concealed it under a quince tree.

This much was done, but he had still another piece
of work to perform, and that took him into the house.
He went to his mother’s room, and after considerable
fumbling in one of the bureau drawers took out something
wrapped up in a white paper, which, after he had
examined it to make sure that he had found what he
wanted, he put it into his pocket. Next he hurried to
his own room to secure the buckskin purse containing
the fifteen dollars he had with so much difficulty
scraped together. This done, he selected from his
abundant wardrobe a pair of heavy boots, a shirt or two,
// 049.png
.bn 049.png
a change of linen, a few pairs of stockings, and a suit
of his roughest and most durable clothing, all of which
he tied up in a handkerchief he had spread upon the
floor. Once during this operation he paused and looked
with rather a longing eye toward the pair of patent-leathers
and the natty broadcloth suit he was accustomed
to wear on extra occasions, but, after a little reflection,
he decided to leave them behind, consoling
himself with the thought that in the country to which
he was going buckskin was oftener seen than broadcloth,
and that fine boots and expensive clothing would
not look well on the person of a trapper.

Having tied his bundle he caught it up and ran out
of the house. His previous examination of the premises
had satisfied him that the coast was clear, so he did
not take any pains to conceal his movements. He went
directly to the place where he had concealed his valise
and spent ten minutes trying to crowd some of the
clothing into it; but it was already so full that there
was not room even for a pair of stockings, and Guy
found that he must either carry his bundle through the
streets wrapped up in his handkerchief or leave it behind.
He decided on the former course. Even trappers
must have clothes, and he feared that those he was
then wearing might not hold together until he could
capture and cure a sufficient number of deer hides to
make him a suit of buckskin.

Taking the valise in his left hand, and the bundle in
his teeth, Guy mounted to the top of the fence, and was
on the very point of swinging himself over, when happening
to cast his eyes up the lane, whom should he see
approaching but Henry Stewart. He had come up just
in time to catch him in the act of running away from
home.

So thought Guy, as he stood leaning on the top of
the fence, growing pale and red by turns, and utterly at
a loss what to do. He was well aware that the quick-witted
Henry would know in a minute what was going
on; he could not well help it if he made any use of his
// 050.png
.bn 050.png
eyes, for there was the evidence of Guy’s guilt in the
shape of his valise and bundle in plain sight. What
would Henry think of him for breaking the solemn
promise he had made the evening before—and more
than that, what would he <i>do</i>? But, unfortunately for
our hero, Henry not being as wide-awake as he usually
was, did not see him. I say unfortunately, because had
Henry received the least intimation of what was going
on, he would have saved his friend many an hour of
misery and remorse. He walked along, whistling
merrily, as though he felt at peace with himself and all
the world, carrying in one hand his jointed fish-pole,
stowed away in a neat bag of drilling, and in the other
a fine string of rock bass; and so completely was his
mind occupied with thoughts of the splendid sport he
had enjoyed on the pier that he had neither eyes nor
ears for what was going on near him.

Guy saw that he had a chance to save himself, and he
lost not an instant in taking advantage of it. As quick
as a flash he dropped his burdens behind the fence, and
in a moment more would have been out of sight himself
had not the noise the heavy valise made in falling
through the branches of a quince tree in the garden
aroused Henry from his reverie. He looked up just in
time to see Guy’s head disappearing behind the fence.

“Aha!” he exclaimed, “I saw you, old fellow. What
are you about there?”

Guy, finding that he was discovered, straightened up
and looked over the top of the fence again. “Halloo,
Hank,” said he, with an attempt to appear as cordial
and friendly as usual.

“What’s going on in here?” asked Henry, walking
up close to the fence and peeping through one of the
cracks. “I heard something drop.”

“It was my ball club,” replied Guy, who could
swallow a lie as easily as if it had been a strawberry.
“I was about to toss it toward you to attract your attention,
when it slipped out of my hand.”

“Oh,” said Henry. “But what’s the matter with
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you? Your face is as white as a sheet. Are you
ill?”

“No, only mad because father wouldn’t let me go
fishing this morning. I wish you would pass on and
attend to your business,” added Guy mentally. “I am
in an awful hurry.”

“I am sorry you couldn’t go, for we had the best of
sport,” said Henry. Then he exhibited his string of
fish, and went on to tell who were on the pier, and what
success each one had met with—how he had struck a
splendid black bass, and after an exciting struggle had
almost landed him, when his line broke and the fish
took himself off; how Charley Root, one of their school-mates,
hooked on to a yellow pike that he ought to have
lost, he handled him so awkwardly, but which, by the
united efforts of all the men and boys on the pier, was
safely landed at last, and when placed on the scales
pulled down the beam at nine pounds and a quarter—of
all of which Guy scarcely heard a dozen words,
although under any other circumstances he would have
listened with all his ears.

“As you must be lonely, I’ll come in and visit with
you a while,” added Henry.

“I wish you could,” answered Guy, “but father told
me before he went away to bring no one in the yard.”

“Then suppose you come over and see me.”

“I can’t. I have orders not to go outside the gate
to-day.”

“Have you finished reading the ‘Boy Trappers?’ If
you have, I’ll lend you another book.”

“No, I am not yet done with it. Perhaps I will
spend an hour or two with you this evening, after the
folks come home.”

“I wish you would. You know we want to talk
about something. Good-by.”

“Farewell—a long farewell,” said Guy to himself as
his friend moved away. “You’ll never see me again or
the ‘Boy Trappers’ either, for I’ve got it safely stowed
away in my valise. I need it more than you do, and
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you’ve so many you won’t miss it. But didn’t I come
near being caught, though?” he added, drawing a long
breath as he thought of his very narrow escape. “In
half a second more I’d have been over the fence and into
a scrape that I could not possibly have lied out of. But
what’s the odds? A miss is as good as a mile.”

Guy remained standing on the fence for ten minutes—long
enough to allow Henry time to reach home and go
into the house—and then jumped down into the garden
after his valise and bundle. This time he succeeded in
scaling the fence without being seen by anybody, and
with a few rapid steps reached the corner of the block,
where he stopped to take a last look at his home. He
ran his eye quickly over its familiar surroundings, and
without a single feeling of regret turned his back upon
it and hurried away. A walk of fifteen minutes brought
him to the corner above his father’s store, where he
found Bob waiting for him. The latter had a well-filled
valise in his hand, and was as cool and careless as ever.
He peered sharply into Guy’s face as he came up and
seemed satisfied with what he saw there.

“You look better than you did the last time I saw
you,” said he. “Have you got it?”

Guy replied in the affirmative.

“Father hasn’t left the store yet,” continued Bob,
“so we’ll have plenty of time to go down to the dock
and engage passage on a propeller. The Queen of the
Lakes sails to-night, and we’ll go on her.”

“All right,” said Guy with a show of eagerness he
was very far from feeling.

“We’ll have to leave our luggage somewhere, for
when we get our guns and other things we’ll have as
much as we can carry, and we might as well leave it on
board the steamer as anywhere else. We mus’n’t be seen
together with these valises in our hands, or somebody
will suspect something, so you had better go back and
go down Elm Street and I’ll go down Ninth. We’ll
meet at the foot of Portage Street, where the Queen of
the Lakes lies.”
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The two boys separated and pursued their different
routes toward the dock. Guy reached it ten minutes in
advance of his companion, and the first vessel he saw
was the propeller of which he was in search. Her name
was painted in large letters on her bow, and over her
rail was suspended a card bearing the words, “This
steamer for Chicago to-night.” Her crew were engaged
in rolling barrels and hogsheads up the gang-planks,
and Guy, watching his opportunity, dodged in and
ascended the stairs that led to the cabin.

“Now, then,” exclaimed a flashily-dressed young
man, who met him at the top and looked rather suspiciously
at the bundles Guy deposited on the floor of the
cabin, “what can I do for you?”

“Are you the steward?” asked the boy.

“I have the honor.”

“I want to go to Chicago on this boat.”

“Who are you, where do you live, and what is your
name?” demanded the steward with another sidelong
glance at Guy’s luggage.

The boy noticed the look, and took his cue from it.

“My name is John Thomas,” said he, “and I used
to live in Syracuse, but I am going West now to find my
uncle.”

“Where does your father live, and what business
does he follow?”

“I haven’t got any father or mother either. I am
alone in the world.”

The man’s face softened instantly. The next words
he uttered were spoken in a much kinder tone.

“The fare will be eight dollars,” said he.

“I had thought of taking steerage passage,” returned
Guy. “Money is not as plenty with me as it is with
some folks.”

“Then you can go for five dollars. Step this way.”

Guy picked up his valise and bundle and followed the
steward, who led the way along the deck toward the forward
part of the vessel, finally turning into an apartment
which looked very unlike the neatly furnished
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cabin they had just left. The floor was destitute of a
carpet, and the rough bunks that were fitted up against
the bulk-heads looked anything but inviting. Chests,
bundles, and bed-clothes were scattered about, and in
one corner were congregated a dozen or more persons of
both sexes, who were eating bread and bologna and talking
loudly.

Guy looked askance at them, and more than half made
up his mind that he wouldn’t take passage in the steerage.
He didn’t like the idea of being obliged to keep
such company for a journey of seven hundred miles.

“You may take this bunk,” said the steward, pointing
out the one he wished Guy to occupy.

“Where are the bed-clothes?” asked the boy.

“We don’t furnish them to steerage passengers.
Every man finds his own.”

“But I haven’t got any,” said Guy, “and I can’t
sleep on those hard boards. I think I had better wait
a while. I have a friend, Ned Wheeler, who is going
with me, and perhaps he will decide to take a cabin
passage.”

The steward, not deeming any reply necessary,
turned on his heel and walked out, leaving Guy alone
with the emigrants. He did not know that it would be
quite safe to leave his luggage there with no one to
watch it, but after a little hesitation he decided to run
the risk; and, pitching his valise and bundle into the
bunk the steward had pointed out to him, he hurried
below to watch for his expected companion. He wanted
to post him. In a few minutes Bob made his appearance.

“Look here,” said Guy, as he ran to meet him,
“your name isn’t Bob Walker any longer—at least
while we remain on board this propeller.”

“I understand,” said Bob. “Let me see; I’ll call
myself——”

“I have told the steward that your name is Ned
Wheeler, and that my name is John Thomas.”

“It seems to me that you might have found better
ones if you had tried.”
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“No matter; they will answer our purpose as well as
any others. You see our names will have to go into the
passenger list, and if our fathers should suspect that we
have gone up the lakes, they would have no difficulty in
tracing us as far as Chicago, if we gave our true names.”

“I understand,” said Bob again. “Have you picked
out a berth yet?”

“No; but I have seen the steerage, and it is a horrible-looking
place. Come on; I’ll show it to you.”

Bob was not very favorably impressed with the
appearance of things in the steerage. He looked at the
dingy deck, the empty bunks, the ragged, dirty group
in the corner, and stepped back and shook his head.

“I can’t go this, Guy,” said he. “I have been used
to better things. Get your bundles, and we’ll take
cabin passage. We shall have money enough to pay
for it.”

The steward being hunted up, showed the boys to a
state-room in the cabin, in which they deposited their
luggage, after which they hurried ashore to carry out
their plans.

Now came the hardest part of the work, and Guy
would have been glad to shirk it, could it have been
accomplished without his assistance.

It was dangerous as well as difficult, and there was
dishonor connected with it. More than that—and this
was what troubled Guy the most—there was a possibility
that the crime they intended to commit, even if they
were successful in it, would be discovered before they
could leave the city, and then what would become of
them?

While Guy was thinking about it, they arrived within
sight of his father’s dry-goods store.

“Now, then,” said Bob, giving him an encouraging
slap on the back, “keep a stiff upper lip, and remember
that everything depends upon you. Do your part
faithfully, and I’ll do mine.”

With a beating heart Guy walked into the store, and,
stopping before the counter, drew a small package from
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his pocket. He tried to look unconcerned, but he
trembled violently, and his face was white with excitement
and apprehension.

The clerk who stepped up to attend to his wants
stared at him in astonishment.

“What’s the matter, Guy?” he inquired.

“Nothing—nothing whatever, Mr. Fellows. What
made you ask?”

“Why, you look as though you had been sick for a
week. And see how your hand shakes.”

“Well, I don’t feel remarkably lively for some cause
or other, that’s a fact,” returned Guy. “Mother sent
me down here to see if you could match this piece of
silk,” he continued, unfolding the package and displaying
its contents.

“No, I cannot,” answered the clerk, and Guy knew
very well what he was going to say before the words left
his lips. “I told Mrs. Harris the last time she was in
that our new stock would not arrive before Monday.”

“Mother is in a great hurry and can’t wait a day
longer. Can’t you send out to some other store?”

“Certainly,” said the clerk, taking a pair of scissors
from his pocket and cutting the silk in twain. “Here,
Thompson, take this up to Kenton’s and see if they can
match it; and, Jones, you take this piece and go over
to Sherman’s.”

When Guy had seen the two clerks depart on their
errand he drew a long breath of relief. A part of his
work was accomplished, and it had been, too, just as he
and Bob had planned it. The next thing was to keep
Mr. Fellow’s employed in the front part of the store for
a few minutes longer.

“Won’t you be kind enough to look over your stock
again?” said Guy. “Mother is positive there is a remnant
of that silk somewhere in the store.”

“I’ll do it, of course, to please her,” replied the
clerk, “but I know I sha’n’t find it. Ah! Here’s Mr.
Walker. Perhaps he knows something about it.”

At the mention of that name Guy started as if he had
// 057.png
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been shot. Bob’s father was the very man of all others
he did not want to see just then, for he belonged in
the back of the store, and Bob was there. Guy had a
presentiment that something disagreeable was about to
happen.
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.pb
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER VII. || <fs=0.8em>ADRIFT IN THE WORLD.</fs>
.sp 2
.di dropcapw.jpg 50 50 1.7
“WHY, GUY, what’s the matter with you?”
asked Mr. Walker, giving the boy’s hand a
cordial grip and shake. “Been sick?”

“No, sir,” stammered Guy.

“Then you’re going to be. I never saw you look so
pale before. What was it you said to me?” added Mr.
Walker, addressing himself to the clerk.

“Mrs. Harris has sent down that piece of silk again,”
answered Mr. Fellows. “Can we match it?”

“No; and there’s not a piece like it in the city,” said
Mr. Walker. “But we’ll have some on Monday sure,
for I ordered——”

The gentleman suddenly paused, and looking sharply
toward the back part of the store, bent forward in a
listening attitude.

Guy listened also, and was almost ready to drop with
terror when he distinctly heard a faint, grating noise
like that which would be made by turning a key carefully
in a lock. It seemed to come from behind the
high desk which fenced off the office from the main part
of the store.

Mr. Walker stood for an instant as if profoundly
astonished, and, with an inquiring glance at the clerk,
started on tiptoe toward the office. Mr. Fellows was
close at his heels, and Guy, impelled by a curiosity that
he could not have resisted if he had tried, brought up
the rear. He saw Mr. Walker disappear behind the
high desk, and jumping upon a chair and looking over
it, he had a full view of the scene that transpired on the
other side.

Bob was kneeling in front of an open safe, and was in
the very act of crowding a large package of money into
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his pocket. So intent was he upon what he was doing,
that he did not hear his father’s stealthy approach.

Mr. Walker was utterly confounded. Hardly able to
believe the evidence of his eyes, he stood for a moment
as if deprived of all power of action; then springing forward
with a quick bound, he wrenched the package from
his son’s grasp, and sunk helpless and almost breathless
into the nearest chair.

“Oh. Robert! Robert!” he exclaimed, while the tears
he could not repress coursed down his cheeks. “Is this
the way you repay my kindness and indulgence? How
could you do it! How could you do it!”

A death-like silence followed. Mr. Walker leaned his
head upon his hands and shook like a man with the
ague. Bob, having recovered his perpendicular—for his
father, in his excitement, had thrown him headlong into
the nearest corner—stood sullen and motionless. The
clerk rubbed his eyes, and looked from one to the other
in silent amazement; and Guy, stunned and bewildered,
staggered off the chair, and walking like one in a dream,
moved slowly out of the store and down the street. He
did not know where he was going, and what was more
he did not care. When he came to himself he was
standing in the upper story of an elevator, gazing in a
stupid, benumbed sort of way at the monster wheel as it
slowly revolved, bringing up an endless chain of loaded
buckets from some dark abyss beneath him. He was
able now to think over the incident that had just happened
at the store, and as he was not yet fully hardened,
he felt his situation most keenly.

“It is all over with me now,” said he, with a calmness
that surprised himself, “for of course the part I have
played in this miserable business will be known when the
folks come home, even if it isn’t known already. Mother
will say that she didn’t send me down there to match
that piece of silk, and in that way my guilt will be
exposed. Besides, Bob is cornered, and I know him too
well to indulge in the hope that he will take all the
blame upon himself and shield me. I can’t stay here,
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for I am forever disgraced. I <i>must</i> go, and with only
fifteen dollars in my pocket, too. Now that I think of
it, I am glad Bob didn’t succeed in stealing that
package. I shall at least have the satisfaction of knowing
that what little money I have, I have earned honestly.”

How Guy managed to exist during that long afternoon
was a mystery to himself. He wanted to keep out
of sight of everybody, and the loft of the elevator was
as good a place of concealment as he could have found.
No one intruded upon him during the five hours he
spent there. He passed a portion of his time in walking
about with his hands in his pockets, thinking over his
situation and wondering what should be his first move
now that he was fairly adrift in the world, and the remainder
in standing at the front window watching the
crew of the Queen of the Lakes, who were still busily
engaged in loading their vessel.

During the afternoon several passengers arrived, some
on foot and some in carriages, and Guy always held his
breath in suspense while he sharply scrutinized the face
of every one who ascended the gang-plank, and was as
often greatly relieved to find that there were none among
them he had ever seen before.

At length, to his great joy, he discovered a thin cloud
of smoke, which grew thicker and blacker every moment,
ascending from the propeller’s chimney.

The men who were loading the vessel became quicker
in their movements and rolled the freight along at a
more rapid rate, encouraged by the voices and gestures
of the mates.

Finally one of the planks was drawn in and the after
gangway closed, and just as it begun to grow dark two
of the four lines that held the steamer to the wharf were
cast off and the whistle was blown.

Guy now had another disagreeable piece of business to
perform, and that was to transfer himself from the loft
of the elevator to the deck of the propeller.

Drawing in a long breath and calling all his courage
// 061.png
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to his aid he ran swiftly down the stairs, paused a moment
at the door and then bounded across the wharf and
up the gang-plank. He went directly to the upper
deck, and seating himself upon the rail over the gangway,
looked closely at every one who came on board the
propeller, intending, if he saw Mr. Walker or any of his
father’s clerks approaching, to beat a hasty retreat. But
all Mr. Harris’ employees were doing just what Guy
ought to have been doing—attending to their business.
Had they known where he was and what he was about to
do, it is probable that some of them would have interested
themselves in the matter; but as they did not, Guy
was left to his own devices.

At last, to the boy’s intense relief, everything was
made ready for the start. The whistle shrieked again,
the captain took his stand upon the wheel-house, the
lines were handed aboard, and the Queen of the Lakes
moved slowly down the harbor.

As soon as clear water was seen between the boat and
the wharf Guy told himself that he was safe from pursuit,
and settling into a comfortable position on the rail,
he prepared to take a last look at the city of Norwall.

As it was already dark he could not see much of it
except the lights. These faded out of his sight one by
one, and finally when the steamer, after passing the
breakwater and the light-house swung around and
headed up the lake, they were all shut out from his view.

Then Guy begun to feel lonely and chilly, too, for a
keen, cutting wind was blowing and he had no overcoat.
As he arose to his feet, intending to go into the cabin
where it was warmer, some one suddenly laid a hand
upon his shoulder.

Guy started violently, and so surprised and frightened
was he that he lost his balance, and would certainly have
fallen overboard had not the hand been quickly shifted
from his shoulder to his arm, griping it with sufficient
force and strength to haul him on board and enable him
to recover his equilibrium. As soon as he was fairly on
his feet he looked up and was astonished beyond measure
// 062.png
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to find himself confronted by Bob Walker, who was
comfortably wrapped up in an overcoat, held a lighted
cigar in his teeth, and wore his hat on one side in the
same old rowdy style. He did not look much like a boy
who had been caught in the act of robbing a safe.

“Why, Guy,” said he with a laugh, “you are as
nervous as an old woman. You must get over that before
you reach the mountains, or Kit Carson and Captain
Bridges will never have a rival in you. Did you think I
was a policeman?”

“Bob,” exclaimed Guy gleefully, “you don’t know
how glad I am to see you. I little expected to find you
here.”

“What did you think I would do?” demanded Bob.
“You didn’t imagine that I would stay in Norwall after
being caught in such a scrape, did you? I am not quite
so green. I tell you, Guy, if father had stayed away just
five minutes longer we’d have been rich. That package
I held in my hand had five hundred dollars in it.”

“Great Scott!” exclaimed Guy, catching his breath.

“It’s a fact. The amount was marked on the wrapper.”

“What did your father say to you?”

“He told me to go home, and I did; but I didn’t stay
there long. I got my overcoat and came back to the
boat. I’ve been on board ever since two o’clock waiting
for you.”

“And I was hiding in the elevator all the while.
But, Bob, do you know I am glad that you didn’t get
out of the store with that money? It is bad enough to
run away from home; it would be worse if we were
thieves!”

“Bah!” exclaimed Bob contemptuously, “you’re losing
courage already, and you’d better not, for you
will have need of all you can muster before we get
through with this business. We’ve got to earn money
now to buy an outfit, and how are we going to do it?
But let’s go into the cabin. It’s cold out here.”

Bob strutted off with as much dignity as if he had
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been the owner of the vessel, and Guy slowly followed.
The cabin was a blaze of light, and most of the passengers
had congregated there to escape from the cold wind
that was blowing. They sat around in little groups,
some reading, others conversing with their friends, and
everybody seemed to be happy except Guy. He was
indeed losing courage; and if he could have blotted out
the events of that afternoon, he would have given everything
he ever hoped to possess to have been safe under
his father’s roof again. He had not yet got fairly out
into the “wide, wide world,” of which he had so often
dreamed, had encountered none of its trials and vicissitudes,
and yet he knew as well as though he had already
tried it, that the struggle he was about to commence
would prove too much for him. The longer he thought
about it the more nervous and uneasy he became, until
at last he could not sit still, or bear to remain in the
cabin. The air seemed hot and almost stifling, and
the merriment of the passengers grated harshly on his
ears. Arising to his feet he made his way to the deck,
and for four long hours paced back and forth, all unmindful
of the wind and the big drops of rain that now
and then dashed into his face.

At last, overcome with fatigue and excitement, he
sought his state-room. Bob had already turned in, and
was snugly tucked away in the lower bunk. He appeared
to be asleep, for his eyes were closed and he
breathed heavily.

Guy hastily divested himself of his damp garments,
and hanging them upon the hooks that were screwed
into the bulk-head, climbed into his bunk and was soon
in a deep slumber. He was aroused once during the
night by some one moving about the room; but it was
only Bob, who, in reply to an inquiry from Guy, said
that he had been on deck to see how things were going,
and that it was raining buckets and blowing great guns.
Guy quickly went off into the land of dreams again,
lulled by the rocking of the vessel, but about daylight
was awakened by the pangs of seasickness.
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All that forenoon he suffered greatly, and was a most
forlorn-looking object indeed. Bob, who was as lively
as a cricket, faithfully attended to all his wants, and
shortly after dinner brought him a lemon and a piece of
toast. When he had taken a little of the juice of the
former, and a few mouthfuls of the latter, he felt better,
and was able, with Bob’s help, to put on his clothes and
go on deck. While the two boys were conversing and
watching the white-caps as they rolled toward them,
the steward approached, and addressing himself to Guy,
said:

“Please walk up to the clerk’s office.”

“To pay your fare, you know,” added Bob, seeing
that Guy did not quite understand. “I settled mine
this morning.”

“Oh, yes. I have been so sick that I forgot all about
that. Lend me your arm, please. I haven’t yet got my
sea legs on.”

Bob complied, and in a few minutes the two boys were
standing before the clerk, who drew the book containing
the passenger list toward him, and asked, as he held his
pen poised in the air:

“What name?”

“Guy—John Thomas,” replied the seasick runaway,
who would have given his true name had not Bob
pinched his arm just in time to prevent it.

“Guy John Thomas,” repeated the clerk, as he entered
the name in his book. “Where to?”

“Chicago.”

“Eight dollars.”

Guy thrust his hand into the pocket of his trousers,
and a look of blank amazement suddenly overspread his
pale face. The pocket was empty. He felt in the
other, and finally searched everywhere about his clothes,
but nothing in the shape of a purse could be found.

“My gracious!” gasped Guy.

“What’s the matter?” asked his companion.

“Matter!” Guy almost shouted; “matter enough.
I’ve lost my pocket-book.”
// 065.png
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“No!” exclaimed Bob, looking surprised.

“But I say <i>yes</i>!” shrieked Guy; “and with it I have
lost every cent I had in the world. Oh! what shall I
do?”

“It can’t be possible,” said Bob, feeling of his
friend’s pockets. “Look again.”

“Oh, haven’t I looked everywhere already?” demanded
Guy, the tears starting to his eyes as he begun
another thorough examination of his clothing. “It’s
lost, I tell you.”

“Perhaps you left it in your valise. Let’s go and
look.”

“No, I didn’t. I put it in my pocket yesterday, and
I didn’t once take it out. Oh, dear! oh, dear!”

The clerk laid down his pen, leaned his elbows on
the desk before him, and waited to see what Guy was
going to do about it, and the latter, having satisfied
himself that the money was not to be found about his
person, allowed Bob to lead him off to his state-room.
With frantic haste he overhauled the bundle and tumbled
the contents of his valise upon the floor, but no
purse rewarded his search. Then he looked under his
pillow, and into every corner in the room, but with no
better success.

“It’s no use; it’s gone,” screamed Guy, throwing
himself upon Bob’s bunk and giving away to a torrent
of tears, “and here I am without a copper in my
pocket, and no friend to help me! I can’t go back
home, and I don’t know what to do. I wish I was
dead. Have you got any money, Bob?”

“Not a dollar; not even half a dollar. I had just
enough to pay my fare, and expected to look to you for
a few dimes. We’re in a fix, that’s certain. When we
reach Chicago we shall be strapped as flat as pancakes,
and in a strange city, too. I’ll go and speak to the
skipper. Perhaps he can do something for you.”

Bob easily found the captain, who listened patiently
while he stated his friend’s case, and accompanied him
to the presence of Guy, to whom he propounded a few
inquiries: Had he any idea where he lost his money?
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Might he not have dropped it or had his pocket picked
before he came on board the propeller. Had he seen
any stranger in his room the night before? and had he
any relatives or friends in Chicago? To all these questions
Guy replied in the negative. The captain looked
thoughtfully at the floor for a moment, said it was a
hard case, but he didn’t see that he could do anything,
and turning on his heel he left the room, while Bob
seated himself on the edge of his bunk, and looked at
his friend with a very sympathizing expression on his
countenance.

A dozen times that afternoon Guy searched all his
pockets, examined the contents of his valise and bundle,
and peeped into every part of the state-room, hoping
that in his hurry and excitement he had overlooked
the purse, and that it would yet come to light; but he
as often abandoned the search in utter despair, and threw
himself upon the bunk to indulge in a fresh burst of
tears. Bob lent willing assistance, and tried to utter
words of consolation, but these did not help Guy. He
did not want sympathy, but money.

About four o’clock the door opened, admitting the
steward.

“Have you found it yet?” he asked.

“No,” sobbed Guy, “and I never shall.”

“Did you lose all you had?”

“Every red cent.”

“Then, of course, you can’t pay your fare to Chicago.
I have been talking to the captain about you, and he
says you must go ashore the first landing we make,
which will be at Saginaw. In the meantime you will
have to give up this room and go into the steerage.
You will find an empty bunk there.”

“Oh, I haven’t got any bed-clothes, and how am I
to sleep on those hard boards?” exclaimed Guy.

“I don’t know I am sure. But you will have it to do,
if you sleep at all. We have three or four passengers
who slept on chairs in the cabin last night, and I must
put one of them in here.”

Guy covered his face with his hands and cried lustily.
// 067.png
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“Come, come! Shoulder your dunnage and clear out!
I am in a hurry,” said the steward sharply.

Guy saw that he had no alternative. Slowly arising
from his bunk he picked up his valise, while Bob took
his bundle, and together they went their way to the
steerage. It looked ten-fold more dingy and forbidding
now than it did when Guy first saw it. He did not
think he could live there, and told Bob so.

“Nonsense!” said his companion. “You will live in
worse places than this before you see the Rocky Mountains.
But I’d be a man if I were you, Guy. Choke
down your tears.”

“Oh, yes; it’s all well enough for you to talk, for
you’ve nothing to trouble you. Your passage is paid
and you’ve a nice room to sleep in. But you won’t go
to Chicago, will you?”

“Why not?”

“And leave me alone?”

“I don’t see that I can help it. I have paid my passage,
and I might as well go on.”

“But, Bob, what shall I do without you?”

“A fellow can’t live in this world without money,
Guy, and if I go ashore in the woods how am I going to
earn any?”

“How am <i>I</i> going to earn any?” retorted Guy with
more pluck and independence than he had yet exhibited.
“But I see what you are at very plainly. You
want to go back on me.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do; and I don’t care either. If you want
to desert me while I am in trouble, do it. I don’t ask
any odds of you. All I want you to do is to keep away
from me from this time forward. Don’t speak to me,
or even look at me. But bear one thing in mind—we
must both struggle for an existence now, and I’ll come
to the top of the heap first.”

As Guy said this he snatched the bundle from Bob’s
hand, pitched it, with the valise, into one of the empty
bunks, and turning square about left the steerage.
// 068.png
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.pb
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.h2
CHAPTER VIII. || <fs=0.8em>GUY FINDS A FRIEND.</fs>
.sp 2
.di dropcapp.jpg 47 50 0.9
POOR GUY! his misfortunes were following
close upon the heels of one another. He had
looked upon the loss of his money as the
greatest of calamities, but now a worse had
befallen him. He was at swords’ points with Bob
Walker, and he did not see how he could get on without
him. Bob was so self-reliant, and could so easily adapt
himself to circumstances that Guy had already learned
to lean upon him. Fully sensible of his own lack of
courage and independence, he wanted somebody to advise
and sympathize with him. Longing to get away
by himself where he could brood over his sorrows to his
heart’s content, he hurried out of the steerage, and was
making his way aft, when he ran plump into the arms
of some one. It was the steward.

“Ah! this will never do,” said the officer. “Steerage
passengers are not allowed abaft the waist.”

“Eh?” exclaimed Guy.

“Come here,” said the steward, “and I will explain
what I mean. Do you see this gangway that runs
athwartships? Well, you mustn’t come any nearer the
stern than that. Go for’ard now.”

Guy started in obedience to his command, and just
then the supper-bell rung. The first to answer the
summons was Bob Walker, who went into the wash-room
and tucked up his sleeves preparatory to performing
his ablutions. Guy went in also, and followed
his movements.

Having recovered from his seasickness by this time,
he was, of course, very hungry, and the savory odors
// 069.png
.bn 069.png
that came from the cabin every time the door was
opened served to quicken his appetite. He hung up
his cap, and was about to turn on the water, when the
ubiquitous steward once more appeared.

“Now, pard, this won’t do, either,” said he, taking
hold of the boy’s arm and waving his hand toward the
door.

“Why not?” demanded Guy, trying to throw off the
steward’s grasp. “I want to wash before supper,
don’t I?”

“If you do you will find plenty of buckets on the
main deck.”

“I am not in the habit of washing in buckets, and I
sha’n’t do it,” replied Guy, greatly astonished.

“Oh, that’s the way the wind sets, is it?” exclaimed
the steward, changing his tone and manner in an instant.
“You’re standing on your dignity, are you, you dead
beat? Now mark you,” he added, shaking his finger in
the boy’s face, “if I catch you as far aft as this gangway
again I’ll walk you for’ard by the nape of the neck.
Now get out o’ this! Out you go, with a jump.”

Guy did not go with a jump exactly, but he went
with a very strong push, for the steward, exerting all
his strength, flung him headlong through the door, and
kicked his cap after him. Bob stood by, wiping his
hands, and, as Guy made his hasty exit, he chuckled
audibly, and gave the steward an approving wink.

When he went into the cabin to supper he jingled
some silver in his pocket, and shook his head in a very
wise and knowing manner.

“You’ll come out at the top of the heap before I do,
will you?” he soliloquized. “It looks like it now, does
it not? You’re not sharp enough to make your way in
this wicked world, my innocent young friend. I was as
poor as you were yesterday morning, and now I’ve got
forty dollars to help me along. A fig for such fellows
as you! I am better off without you.”

Guy, filled with rage and grief, picked up his cap and
made his way forward. He fully realized now what it
// 070.png
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was to be adrift in the world. With no money in his
pocket, no friend to whom he could go for advice or
assistance, and with the prospect before him of being
put off the boat in a strange place and among strange
people, his situation was indeed a trying one.

He glanced into the steerage as he walked by the door,
but could not make up his mind to enter. It looked
gloomy in there, and the occupants stared at him so
rudely that he hurried on, anxious to get out of their
sight.

“A man is no man unless he has money in his
pocket,” said the runaway to himself. “Everybody is
down on me now, because I am broke. It beats me
where that purse could have gone so suddenly. I know
it was in my pocket last night when I hung up my
clothes, for I heard it strike against the bulk-head. If
it were not for that safe scrape I’d work my way home
on some vessel, take the whipping I know I’d get, and
settle down with the determination to behave myself.
But I shall never see home again, for I shall starve to
death. I brought no provisions with me, and I can’t
raise the money to buy a seat at the second table. I
sha’n’t get a bite to eat until I reach Saginaw, and then
I shall have to beg it.”

A bright prospect this for the boy who had so confidently
expected to find nothing but fair weather and
plain sailing before him! Instead of leaving all his
troubles at home, he was running into others that he
had never dreamed of.

“Here you are!” exclaimed a cheery voice at his
elbow. “Come in and take a bite with us.”

Guy, who had been walking along with his eyes fastened
thoughtfully on the deck, looked up and found
himself in front of an open door that led into the
quarters occupied by the crew of the propeller, who
were engaged in eating their supper. In one corner of
the room was a huge mess-chest, which did duty as a
table, and the sailors sat around it, holding their plates
on their knees.
// 071.png
.bn 071.png

Guy stopped and took a good look at the man whose
voice had aroused him from his reverie, and recognized
him at once as one of the wheelsmen. He was a man
rather past the prime of life, with grizzly hair and
whiskers, and hands and face as brown as an Indian’s.
Although he was somewhat better dressed than the majority
of his companions, and had doubtless bestowed a
little pains upon his toilet before sitting down to supper,
he was a rough-looking fellow, but still there was
something in the mild blue eye which beamed from
under his shaggy brows that won Guy’s heart at once.

“You’re the lad who lost his money, ain’t you?”
continued the sailor.

“Yes, I am,” replied Guy, almost ready to cry again.

“Haven’t you nary shot in the locker?”

“Not one. I’m dead broke.”

“Never mind,” said the sailor kindly, seeing that
Guy’s eyes were rapidly filling with tears. “I’ve known
many a man in my time in the same fix. Why, bless
you, when I was your age I used to think no more of it
than I did of eating my regular allowance of salt horse
or standing my trick at the wheel. Haven’t had any
supper, have you?”

“No; nor I can’t get any, either.”

“Yes, you can. Walk up to that table and call for
what you want. We’ve four darkey waiters, but they’ve
all gone out to the galley after the plum-pudding.
They’ll be in directly. When you have greased your
jaw-tackle with some of our turkey and other fine fixings,
tell us how you come to be out here so far from
shore without a cent in your pocket for ballast.”

Guy understood the invitation thus conveyed, and did
not hesitate to accept it. He did not wait for the
darkies to come in with the plum-pudding, and neither
did he find “turkey and other fine fixings” on the
chest; but there was an abundant supply of good,
wholesome food, and Guy having found an empty plate
helped himself most bountifully. His spirits rose a
little as his appetite became somewhat appeased, and in
// 072.png
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compliance with the wheelsman’s repeated request he
related the story of his loss, to which everybody listened
with interest. When he came to tell that the steward
had taken his room from him, and that the captain had
ordered that he must go ashore at the steamer’s first
landing-place, he could scarcely restrain his tears.

After he had finished his narrative some of the sailors
questioned him in regard to his history, but when they
got through they knew no more than when they begun,
for Guy gave anything but truthful answers. The
wheelsman said nothing. He seemed to be thinking
busily. When he had laid aside his plate and filled a
short, black pipe, which he drew from his pocket, he
beckoned to Guy, who followed him to the main deck.

“Now, then,” said the wheelsman as he and the
runaway seated themselves beside an open gangway, out
of earshot of everybody, “you say your name is John
Thomas. Mine’s Dick Flint, and I’m glad to see you.
How are you?”

“Well enough in body, but rather uncomfortable in
mind,” replied Guy as he took the sailor’s hand and
shook it cordially. “But, after all, I feel better than I
did an hour ago, for I’ve had something to eat.”

“I know how it seems to be hungry,” said the wheelsman.
“Now, maybe you wouldn’t lose nothing if you
was to tell me your plans. What are you going to do
when you reach the Western country? Got any folks
there?”

“I have an uncle, as I have already told you,” replied
Guy, “but I don’t know where he is. Indeed, I
don’t much care; for since I left Syracuse I have
changed my mind about trying to find him. I am going
to be a hunter and trapper.”

“You are!” exclaimed Flint, measuring the boy with
his eye.

“Yes. I am going out to the Rocky Mountains to
fight Indians and grizzly bears and make myself famous.
There’s plenty of fun and excitement to be found in
that life, and I have always wanted to follow it.”
// 073.png
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“If it is excitement you are after you had better go
to sea. You’ll find it there, take my word for it. I
don’t know anything about this hunting business, but
you’ll need guns and traps, won’t you? And how are
you going to get them with your locker empty?”

“Yes, I shall need at least three hundred dollars; but
where it is to come from I don’t know. I must go to
work and earn it somehow.”

“Did you ever follow any kind of business?”

“No; I have been to school all my life.”

“Well, you had better go a-sailoring with me. You
can earn the money you want in that way. You see, I
don’t run here on the lakes—I belong outside.”

“Outside?” repeated Guy.

“Yes, out on the ocean. I have sailed the blue
water, man and boy, for thirty-five years, and if I live I
expect to sail it thirty-five more. I left an old mother
in Ohio when I went to sea—I ran away from her, like a
fool as I was—and for twenty years I never heard from
her. At last I found myself in Boston with a few hundreds
in my pocket, and I thought I would go back to
the old place, and, if my mother was still above hatches,
the money I had saved would make her comfortable for
the rest of her days. But I didn’t find her,” said Flint,
while a sorrowful expression settled on his face—“never
had a chance to tell her how sorry I was that I had
treated her so, and that if she would forgive me and
own me as her son once more I would try and make up
for it. She had been under the sod ten years, and the
old place was in the hands of strangers. Nobody knew
me or ever heard of me. Of course I couldn’t stay
there, and hearing that there was a schooner in Chicago
loading for Liverpool, I went up and engaged a
berth on her. Finding that she wasn’t ready to sail, I
shipped as wheelsman in this tub to go one trip to Buffalo
and back. The schooner will be off the ways and
have her cargo aboard by the time we get there, and if
you say the word maybe I can work you in as cabin-boy
or something.”
// 074.png
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“But you forget that I must leave this boat at Saginaw,”
said Guy.

“No, I don’t. There’s more’n one way to get around
that. Will you go? That’s what I want to know?”

“I will, and I am under great obligations to you for
the offer.”

“Belay that,” said the sailor. “I know what it is to
be without money or friends—I am used to it, but you
ain’t, I can see that plain enough, and I want to help
you out. Now about your money—when did you see it
last?”

The loss of the purse was a matter that the wheelsman
inquired into very particularly. He questioned
Guy closely for ten minutes, and having finished his
pipe, knocked the ashes from it and arose to his feet.

“I must go on watch now,” said he. “When you
get ready to go to bed, tumble into my bunk. There’s
room enough in it for both of us, and any of the boys
will show you where it is. Keep up a good heart and
you’ll come out all right. I’ll make a sailor man of
you.”

Flint walked off, leaving Guy sitting silent and
thoughtful. His mind was relieved of a great load of
anxiety, for he had found somebody to lean upon. And
this new friend was more to his liking than the one he
had lost, for he had more confidence in him. Having
been a wanderer upon the face of the earth for thirty-five
years, Flint of course knew all about his position
and was fully competent to give advice in any emergency.
But still there was one objection to him. Guy
would have thought more of him if he had been a hunter
instead of a sea-faring man. He did not want to go
before the mast for he was too firmly wedded to his idea
of living in the woods. He had thought and dreamed
of it for years, and he clung to it still.

“This sailoring will be a merely temporary business,”
thought Guy, “and perhaps it is after all the best thing
I could do. I am well enough acquainted with city life
to know that I can’t make much money at anything just
// 075.png
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now, having no trade or profession. The only course
open to me is to go into a store or office, and there I
could command but three or four dollars a week, out of
which I should have to pay my board, so I could not
save anything. I may be able to earn eight or ten dollars
a month as cabin-boy, and as I shall be under no
expense for board of course I shall have all my money
at the end of the voyage. Besides, while I am earning
the three hundred dollars I need, I shall be getting used
to hard fare and hard weather, and consequently I shall
be in better condition to begin my career as a hunter. I
shall adopt Flint’s plan, for I don’t think I could do
better.”

Having come to this conclusion Guy made his way to
the sailors’ quarters and went to bed in a very happy
frame of mind.
// 076.png
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.h2
CHAPTER IX. || <fs=0.8em>THE BUCKSKIN PURSE.</fs>
.sp 2
.di dropcapd.jpg 49 50 1.0
DURING the next two days Guy was as light
of heart as a boy could possibly be. He
messed and bunked with the sailors, and soon
begun to feel so much at home among them
that he would not have gone back into the cabin if he
had been allowed the privilege. It is true he sometimes
told himself that these unkempt, swaggering fellows in
blue flannel shirts and canvas trousers were not just the
sort of men that he had been in the habit of associating
with at home. But after all he cared very little for
that. He expected to mingle with rough characters and
lead a rough life all his days, and the sooner he commenced
the sooner he would get used to it.

He saw the steward occasionally, but that worthy
never noticed him. He knew of course that Guy could
not leave the steamer until she made a landing, and if
in the meantime the crew were disposed to take him and
care for him, it was no concern of his. All he wanted
of Guy was to keep away from that part of the vessel
devoted to the use of the cabin passengers.

Guy also saw Bob Walker every day, but never spoke
to him. Indeed he was not allowed an opportunity, for
whenever Bob caught a glimpse of him he would throw
up his head, stick his cigar (and he always had one in
his mouth) up toward his right cheek, and walk off
with all the independence imaginable. This always
made Guy very angry.

“He thinks he is some, but he’ll be glad to sulk away
and hide himself before we reach Chicago,” soliloquized
Guy. “He smokes at least ten or a dozen cigars every
day; and twelve cigars at ten cents each amount to a
dollar and twenty cents—in two days, two dollars and
// 077.png
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forty cents. He told me he didn’t have half a dollar in
his pocket; and if that was the truth, where does he get
those cigars? I don’t wonder Flint suspects him. I
would have suspected him myself if I had been sharp.”

On the evening of the fourth day after leaving Norwall,
Flint hurried into the crew’s quarters, where Guy
was dreaming away the time in his bunk, and shook him
roughly by the shoulder.

“Roll out now,” said he. “Saginaw is close by.
We shall be alongside the pier in half an hour, and you
must be ready to get off. Where’s your dunnage?”

“Here it is,” said Guy, pulling his valise and bundle
out of an empty berth.

“What have you got in that carpet-sack? I heard
something rattle, and you lift it as though it was
heavy.”

“So it is. I’ve got my hunting equipments in here.”

“Roll ’em out, and let’s have a look at ’em.”

Guy accordingly produced the key and unlocked his
valise. The sailor looked into it, examined the contents,
and said:

“You can’t take them things on board ship with you,
and you might as well get rid of them one time as
another. Chuck ’em overboard.”

Guy was astonished, and at first felt like flatly refusing
to obey the order. He had been to considerable
trouble and some expense to collect the articles comprising
the outfit, and he could not bear to part with them.
But after a little reflection he thought better of it, and
gathering them all up in his arms, he went to the door,
looked up and down the deck to make sure that there
was no one in sight, and threw them into the water.

The hunting-knife, on the handle of which he had
intended to score a notch for every grizzly bear he
“rubbed out;” the lead, which, melted into bullets, was
to have created such havoc among the buffaloes and
antelopes of the prairie; the traps that were to have
made him rich and famous—all went down among the
fishes. The rubber blankets alone remained afloat, and
// 078.png
.bn 078.png
after giving a melancholy flap or two, as if bidding him
farewell, faded from his view in the fast-gathering
twilight.

“Now,” said the wheelsman, when Guy came back to
him, “what’s in that bundle? Your clothes? Well,
put ’em into your carpet-sack, and while you’re doing it,
listen to what I have to say. I must talk fast, for both
me and my partner have to be at the wheel when we
make a landing. By the time we reach the pier it will
be pitch dark. As soon as the gang-plank is out, take
your dunnage and go ashore. Follow a long wood-pile
which you will find on the pier until you come to the
shore end of it, and then round to and come back to the
propeller on the opposite side. Do you understand? I
shall be relieved from the wheel by that time, and I’ll be
standing on deck just over the after gangway. You’ll
see me, and you must keep watch of me, too, for when
the coast is clear I’ll wave my hat, and you must run up
the gang-plank and dodge into the engineers’ locker.
You know where that is, don’t you?”

“Yes; but what will the engineers say if they see me
going in?”

“Nothing. I’ve talked it all over with them, and they
said I might stow you away in there. They’re sorry for
you because you lost your money. Behind the door of
the locker you’ll find a chest with a blanket and pillow
in it, and all you’ve got to do is to turn in and keep still.
You can lay there as snug as a bug in a rug, for nobody
except the engineers ever goes near that locker, and they
won’t bother you.”

“Flint!” shouted the mate on watch at this moment.

“Ay, ay, sir!” answered the sailor. “I must go to
the wheel now. Can you remember what I have said?”

“Yes, I can,” replied Guy.

“Be careful that no one sees you when you come
aboard,” said Flint earnestly, “or you’ll get me and the
engineer in hot water.”

So saying, the wheelsman hurried away, and Guy sat
down on one of the bunks near the door to wait until
// 079.png
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the propeller reached the shore. She had scarcely
touched the pier when the steward came up.

“Ah, here you are!” he exclaimed, slapping Guy
familiarly on the shoulder. “I have been looking for
you. It is time you were making yourself scarce about
here.”

“I am going as soon as the gang-plank is shoved out,”
replied Guy.

“But I want to <i>see</i> you go. I am well posted in the
tricks of you dead-beats, and can’t be fooled easy. Come
on. That isn’t all your baggage,” he added as Guy
picked up his valise. “You had a bundle when you
came on board.”

“If you are better acquainted with my business than
I am, you had better attend to it,” replied the boy, who
did not like the steward’s domineering tone. “I guess
I know what I am doing.”

He pushed past the officer as he spoke, and started
down the stairs. On the way he met with Bob Walker,
who was loitering around on purpose to see him off.

Bob winked at the steward and nodded familiarly to
Guy, who returned the recognition with a savage scowl.
When the latter disappeared down the stairs, Bob seated
himself on the railing, and drawing a buckskin purse
from his pocket, shook it in his closed hands, and
smiled complacently. If one might judge by the loud
jingling of its contents, the purse was well filled.

“Now, my young boy,” said the steward, when he and
Guy had descended the gang-plank that led to the pier,
“I shall stand here until I see you safely ashore.
Good-by, and the next time you start out on your
travels, be sure you’ve got money in your pocket.”

Guy bolted off without saying a word in reply. The
extraordinary interest the steward took in his movements
was something he had not bargained for, and he
was very much afraid that he might not succeed in returning
to the steamer without being seen by him or
some one else who would order him ashore again.

What could he do in that case? Saginaw, what little
// 080.png
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he was able to see of it by the aid of the light from the
lanterns and torches on the pier, was not a cheerful-looking
place. More than that, he did not know a
soul there; and where could he go to pass the night and
find a breakfast the next morning? The only friend he
had that side of Norwall was the wheelsman, and sooner
than lose him he would do something desperate.

Casting his eye over his shoulder occasionally, he saw
that the steward was not only keeping watch of him,
but that he was following him to see that he went
ashore.

There were two others watching him also—Bob
Walker, who was perched upon the rail, and Dick
Flint, who stood at the foot of the stairs leading to the
wheel-house.

“Bob is very anxious to see the last of me,” said Guy
to himself, “and that, in my opinion, is another proof
that he stole my money. But he isn’t as smart as he
thinks he is, and neither is the steward. With Flint’s
help I can fool them both. There’s no use in spoiling
things by being in too great a hurry. The crew are
getting ready to wood-up, so I shall have plenty of
time.”

Guy made his way along the wood-pile, but when he
reached the end of it he could not “round to and come
up on the other side,” as the sailor had told him to do,
so he kept straight ahead, and having reached the shore,
stopped in the shadow of a warehouse. Neither Bob
nor the steward could see him there, but as the pier and
the steamer were brilliantly lighted up, he could observe
their every movement.

He saw the steward, who had followed him to the end
of the wood-pile, gaze steadily at the warehouse for a
few minutes, and then turn about, go back to the propeller,
and disappear in the gangway. Bob also left his
perch after a little delay, and that was a signal to Guy
to bestir himself.

He ran quickly down the bank to the pier, and throwing
himself on his hands and knees behind the wood-pile,
// 081.png
.bn 081.png
made his way toward the steamer, dragging his
valise after him. In a few seconds more he was crouching
close at the edge of the pier, waiting impatiently for
a sign from Dick Flint, who was walking slowly up and
down the deck.

Bob Walker, having seen Guy disappear behind the
warehouse, drew a long breath of relief, and pulled a
fresh cigar from his pocket.

“He has gone at last,” said he, “and I am safe. His
presence for the last three days has been a perfect torture
to me; but from this time forward I shall stand in
no fear of discovery. There comes the steward, and I
might as well have a glass of ale.”

Bob was very observing, and the Queen of the Lakes
had not been many hours out of the port of Norwall before
he began to learn something. He noticed that
there were two or three gentlemen among the cabin
passengers who made regular hourly visits to some
place abaft the cabin, and that when they came back
they were either smoking fragrant cigars or wiping
their lips as if they had something good to eat or drink.
Bob made it his business to follow them on one of their
excursions, and found that they stopped in front of a
little bar kept by the steward. After that Bob went
there on his own responsibility, and became one of the
best customers at the bar. As he always paid for what
he got, and seemed to have plenty of money, the steward
cultivated his acquaintance, and was ready to serve
him with a cigar or a glass of ale at any hour of the day
or night.

On this particular evening, as Bob made his way aft,
a sailor followed him at a respectful distance. While
he stood at the bar, the man, who was partially concealed
behind a stanchion, took off his hat and waved it
once or twice in the air, whereupon a figure which was
crouching at the end of the wood-pile sprung up and
darted into the gangway like a flash. It was Guy
Harris.

Rapid as his movements were, however, he did not
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succeed in entering the gangway without discovery;
for Bob, having received some change from the steward,
who at once closed the bar and went off, faced about,
and while putting the money away in his purse, happened
to cast his eye toward the pier just in time to see
Guy jump up from behind the wood-pile. He thought
he recognized him, and to make sure of it leaned quickly
over the side and obtained a good view of him.

“Now that plan won’t work, my young friend,” he
exclaimed, and so astonished was he that he spoke the
words aloud. “It will never do to let you stay here.
I’ll have you put off again before you are five minutes
older.”

Bob hastily put the purse into his pocket and was
hurrying forward when he found himself brought to a
stand-still by a burly fellow who suddenly stepped before
him and blocked up his path.

“Hold hard there!” said the latter. “Where are you
going?”

“I want to find the steward,” answered Bob, trying
to crowd by the sailor.

“Hold hard there, I say!” repeated the man, seizing
Bob by the collar and pushing him back. “What do
you want to see the steward for?”

“What’s that to you, you insolent fellow? Let me
pass, and don’t dare put your hand on me again. If
you do, I will report you to the captain.”

“Oh, you will, will you? Come on, there’s the old
man on the pier.”

Flint, for it was he, linked his brawny arm through
Bob’s and made a motion to pull him toward the stairs,
but the boy drew back.

“Why don’t you come on?” cried the wheelsman.
“I thought you wanted to report me to the cap’n.
What have you got to say to the steward, I ask you?”

“There’s a fellow below who is going to steal a ride
to Chicago,” replied Bob, alarmed at the man’s tone
and manner.

“No, he hain’t,” said Flint. “He’s only come back
to get his money. Hand it out here.”
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Bob’s assurance was pretty well frightened out of him
by these words. His secret was not safe after all. He
made a strong effort to keep up his courage.

“Hand what out?” he asked, trying to assume a look
of injured innocence.

“Oh, you don’t know nothing about it, do you? I
want that buckskin purse that you just put into your
pocket. There’s fifteen dollars in it, or ought to be,
and you stole it from your room-mate on the first night
out from Norwall. Hand it over, I say.”

“I didn’t steal any money. You didn’t see me put
any buckskin purse into my pocket, and I haven’t got
any, either. The best thing you can do is to let me
pass.”

“You needn’t put on no frills with me, ’cause they
won’t go down. You didn’t know that the curtain of
the window of your state-room was up that night, did
you? You didn’t think I saw you when you took that
purse out of your room-mate’s pocket, did you? Well,
I did; and I heard you tell him when he asked you what
you were doing, that you had been out on deck to see
how things were going on, and that it was raining
buckets and blowing great guns butt-end foremost.
Aha!” he added, seeing that an expression of unbounded
astonishment overspread Bob’s pale face. “I know all
about it, don’t I? I stood here, too, while you were
loafing at that bar, and saw you take that same purse
from your pocket and pay for a glass of something out
of it. And there it is, right there,” said Flint, making
a sudden dash at the boy’s pocket and clutching it and
its contents with a firm grasp. “Now hand it out
without no more words, or I’ll walk you down to the
old man and have you locked up for a thief. I sha’n’t
ask you again.”

Bob was utterly confounded. The conversation between
him and Guy on the first night out had taken
place just as the sailor had repeated it, and that was the
time he had stolen the purse from his friend’s pocket.
But how in the world could the theft have been found
// 084.png
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out? Guy did not see him take the money, for he was
asleep. Beyond a doubt Flint told the truth when he
said that he had observed the whole proceeding. Overcome
with fear and rage Bob could not speak. Mistaking
his silence for obstinacy, the wheelsman seized him
by the collar and began dragging him toward the stairs,
intending to take him before the captain. Then Bob
found his tongue very speedily.

“Hold on,” he cried. “If I give you the money will
you promise that you won’t blow on me?”

“I’ll keep still if you do; but if I hear you lisp a word
about a fellow’s trying to steal a ride to Chicago I’ll have
you locked up as sure as you’re alive. Now,” he added,
as Bob placed the purse in his hands, “how much have
you spent out of it?”

“Just ten cents.”

“Well, hand it out here. I must have fifteen dollars.
Not a red less will satisfy me.”

“I have nothing smaller than a dollar.”

“Then give me that. I’ll take it for interest.”

Bob did not dare refuse. He gave the money to the
wheelsman, who said, as he put it away in the purse:

“Now go into your room, and don’t show your face on
deck again until this vessel is well under way. Keep a
still tongue in your head and I’ll do the same.”

Bob, glad enough to get out of the man’s sight, at
once started for the cabin. Flint watched him out of
sight and then rolled off toward the wheel-house, winking
and nodding his head as if he were highly gratified
at what he had done.
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.h2
CHAPTER X. || <fs=0.8em>WHAT BOB FOUND IN CHICAGO.</fs>
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GUY HAVING, as he supposed, made his way
on board the propeller without being seen by
anybody, ran with all possible speed toward
the engine-room, keeping a good lookout on
all sides for fear of meeting the steward who, as he had
learned to his cost, had a way of turning up most unexpectedly.
That officer was not in sight, however, but
somebody else was, as Guy found when he entered the
engineer’s room. It was the striker, who was busy oiling
the machinery.

The runaway stopped, undecided what to do. The
man, hearing the sound of his footsteps, looked up, and
after casting his eyes all about him, nodded encouragingly,
and pointed with his thumb over his shoulder
toward the door of the locker, which stood invitingly
open. This reassured Guy, who started forward again,
and in less time than it takes to tell it, was snugly curled
away in the box behind the door.

The engineer came in soon afterward to put away his
oil can, and when he went out he locked the door after
him.

Guy felt perfectly safe then, and told himself that
there was no danger of discovery. No one came near the
locker until the propeller was well out from Saginaw,
and then Flint appeared, carrying under his arm a
bundle wrapped up in a newspaper.

“Well, our plans worked all right, didn’t they?” said
he, and he seemed as highly elated as Guy himself.
“You couldn’t have a better hiding-place than this.
The steward would never think of looking for you here,
// 086.png
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even if he knew you were on board, which he doesn’t.
There’s only one in the secret beside me and the
engineers, and that’s the friend who stole your money.”

“Bob Walker!” gasped Guy. “How did he find it
out?”

“He saw you when you came aboard.”

“Then my cake is all dough,” said Guy in great
alarm. “He’ll blow on me sure.”

“I’ll risk him, and insure his silence for a dime,” returned
Flint. “He’s afraid of me, and he’d better be;
for if I hear of his trying to get you into trouble, I’ll
have him before the cap’n in less time than he could say
‘hard a port’ with his mouth open. Here’s your purse.
I knew he had it.”

“Flint, you’re a good fellow,” said Guy, so overjoyed
that he could not speak plainly. “I never can repay
you. How did you get it?”

“I saw him have it in his hand, and scared it out of
him. I made him believe that I was looking through
the window when he took it out of your pocket, and told
him that if he didn’t hand it over, I’d have him locked
up. He spent ten cents of the money, but I made him
give me a dollar, so you’ve got ninety cents for interest.
Here’s some bread and cold meat I brought you,” said
Flint as he deposited his bundle in one corner of the
chest. “You will have to live on it until we reach
Chicago, for it won’t be safe for me to come here very
often. Somebody might see me. You can walk around
a little of nights, but don’t show your face outside the
locker in the day-time. Good-by.”

“Now that’s a friend worth having,” said Guy to himself,
after the wheelsman had gone out. “Nobody need
tell me again that it is such hard work to get on in the
world. It’s sheer nonsense. One can always find somebody
to lend him a helping hand. I am as comfortable
as I care to be, and wouldn’t go home if I had the
chance. I am my own master, and can do as I please
without asking anybody’s permission. I only wish Flint
was a hunter instead of a sailor.”
// 087.png
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While these thoughts were passing through Guy’s
mind, he was rummaging about in the chest (it was as
dark as a pocket in the locker), searching for the bundle
Flint had left. Having found it, he ate a few slices of
the bread and meat, and then pulling the blankets over
his head, curled up and went to sleep.

Before twenty-four hours had passed over his head
Guy found occasion to change his mind in regard to
some things. He learned that it was exactly the reverse
of comfortable to be shut up in such close quarters.
He grew weary of this confinement, and longed
to get out where he could see what was going on; but
he followed Flint’s instructions to the very letter. He
ventured out occasionally at night for five or ten minutes,
but during the day remained closely concealed, passing
the time in sleeping and pacing up and down his narrow
prison. While he was taking his exercise he was
always on the alert, and the moment a key was inserted
into the lock or a hand placed upon the door-knob, he
would jump into his box and cover himself up with the
blankets. Three days and nights were spent in this way,
and then Flint once more made his appearance.

“It’s all right now, my hearty,” said he cheerfully.
“We’ll be in Chicago in another hour, and you mustn’t
waste any time in getting off after the boat is made
fast, for I sha’n’t breathe easy until I know you are
safe ashore.”

“Does anybody suspect anything?” asked Guy anxiously.

“Nobody except that friend of yours. He hasn’t
said a word, and it is just as well for him that he didn’t;
but he’s been all over the steamer a dozen times looking
for you. How have you enjoyed yourself, anyhow?
Grub all gone yet?”

“Yes; and I’m as hungry as a wolf.”

“Never mind; we’ll have a good supper before long.
Be careful that no one sees you when you go off the
boat.”

With this piece of advice Flint went out, and Guy,
// 088.png
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having placed his valise close at hand, walked impatiently
up and down the locker, waiting for the propeller
to make the landing.

Time moves on laggard wings when one is in a hurry,
and Guy thought he had never passed so long an hour
before; but at last the engineer’s bell rang, the jarring
and rocking of the boat subsided into a gentle, gliding
motion, the capstan overhead began to groan and rattle,
and finally a heavy bump or two announced that the
wharf had been reached. Guy heard the men come
down to shove out the gang-plank, and at the same
moment one of the engineers pushed open the door of
the locker and nodded to him—a signal previously
agreed upon between him and Flint that the coast was
clear.

Guy picked up his valise and ran quickly through the
engine-room, but when he came within sight of the
gangway he saw that the propeller was still moving
ahead, and that the gang-plank had not yet been pushed
out. More than that, his own enemy, the steward, was
coming slowly down the stairs, and Guy caught sight of
him just in time to avoid discovery by dodging into a
dark passage-way.

As soon as the steamer’s headway was checked by the
lines the gang-plank was shoved out, and a man on the
pier, who had been waiting for an opportunity to come on
board, ran up and was cordially greeted by the steward.

“Halloo, Boyle!” exclaimed the officer as the two met
at the foot of the stairs, “what do you want here? Are
you looking for anybody?”

“Yes, I am,” replied the man.

“It isn’t me, is it?” asked the steward with a laugh.

“No, not this time. I am after a couple of boys who
are supposed to have taken passage on this steamer from
Norwall. Good-looking young fellows they are, I judge
from the description I have of them. One is tall and
slender, with light hair and blue eyes, is dressed in black
and wears a straw hat. His name is Guy Harris.”

“Great Scott!” thought the listening runaway, “it is
all over with me now.”
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“I don’t know any boy of that name,” replied the
steward, “but we certainly had one aboard who answered
to that description. He got off at Saginaw, or
rather, we put him off because he had no money. What
is the matter?”

“Nothing, only these two young rascals have run
away from home, and I am directed to detain them until
their fathers arrive—that’s all. Harris got off at Saginaw,
you say? I don’t care; his father is rich, I hear,
and the more trouble I have to catch him the more
money I shall make. The other is short and thickset,
with black hair and eyes, wears a blue beaver overcoat,
carries a small black valise, and is much given to smoking
good cigars. His name is Robert Walker.”

“I don’t know him by that name, but there is such a
boy on board, and here he comes now,” said the steward,
as the sound of footsteps was heard at the top of the
stairs.

The steward and his companion turned their backs
and appeared to be very deeply interested in something
that was occurring on the wharf, while Guy, trembling
with excitement and alarm, drew himself into as small
a compass as possible, and waited to see what was going
to happen. He was in momentary fear of discovery,
for the two men were scarcely more than twenty feet
away, and must have seen him if they had once turned
their eyes in his direction.

The footsteps sounded nearer, and presently Bob
Walker appeared, smoking as usual. He carried his
valise in one hand, and the other, being thrust into the
pocket of his trousers, held back his overcoat so as to
show the gold watch-chain that hung across his vest.

.if h
.il fn=p091.jpg w=452px
.ca “<sc>The footsteps sounded nearer and presently Bob Walker appeared smoking.</sc>”
.if-
.if t
[Illustration: “The footsteps sounded nearer and presently Bob Walker appeared smoking.”]
.if-

He nodded familiarly to the steward, and was about
to pass down the gang-plank when he who had been addressed
as Boyle suddenly turned and faced him. He
gave a stage start, opened his eyes to their widest extent,
looked fixedly at the boy for a moment, and then
slowly extended his hand, greeting him with:

“Why, Bob, is it possible? How do you do? How
// 090.png
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// 091.png
.bn 091.png
<i>do</i> you do, Bob Walker? How’s your father and mother
and all the rest of the good people of Norwall? I
didn’t expect to see you here. Give us a shake.”

Bob, taken completely by surprise, involuntarily extended
his hand, but suddenly recollecting himself, as
quickly withdrew it.

“I didn’t expect to see you either,” said he; “but, as
it happens, you’ve made a mistake. My name is
Wheeler.”

Bob’s attempt to appear easy and unconcerned was a
miserable failure. He knew who the man was, and
what brought him there, for he accidentally caught a
glimpse of something on the under side of the lapel of
his coat. It was a detective’s shield!

Although his heart almost came up into his mouth,
he did not lose his courage. He tried to “brave it
out,” but, of course, overdid the matter, and his behavior
was enough to have removed the last doubt as to
his identity, had any existed in the mind of the detective.

“And more than that,” continued Bob, “I don’t live
in Norwall. My home is in Omaha. Good-evening!”

“<i>Good</i>-evening,” said the detective. “No offense, I
hope?”

“None whatever,” replied Bob politely. “We are
all liable to make mistakes.”

“You don’t happen to have a good cigar about your
clothes, do you?” said the officer.

Of course Bob had, for he was always well supplied,
and promptly produced one.

The detective put it between his teeth, and accepting
Bob’s cigar, applied the lighted end to his own, and
puffed away until it was fairly started, all the while running
his eye over the face and figure of the boy before
him.

“Thank you,” said he; “we’ll smoke as we go along.
If you are all ready, I am. I see you understand the
situation, so there’s no use in wasting time in words.
Your father will be along some time to-morrow, and
// 092.png
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any little explanations you may want—why, he’ll give
’em to you. I guess we had better be walking along
now.”

“Haven’t you instructions to arrest somebody else?”
asked Bob, with wonderful courage and self-possession.

“Yes; but he doesn’t seem to be here. He was put
off at Saginaw.”

“I know he was, but he didn’t stay put off. He is
somewhere on this boat now.”

“My gracious!” gasped Guy, squeezing himself closer
against the bulk-head.

“Oh, you’re mistaken,” said the steward, with some
surprise in his tones. “I saw him go off myself.”

“And I saw him come back,” insisted Bob. “He is
concealed somewhere among the cargo.”

“Humph!” exclaimed the engineer, who, while he
pretended to be very busy rubbing down the machinery,
was listening to every word of the conversation. “How
could he live three days without a bite to eat or a drop
to drink?”

“That’s easy enough done when one makes up his
mind to it,” said Bob. “He’s on this vessel, and I
know it. He is as deep in the mud as I am, and I don’t
want to go back without him. Won’t you look for him,
Mr. Officer?”

“No, I guess not,” answered the detective, who put
more faith in the steward’s story than he did in Bob’s.
“I’ll find him, sooner or later—you needn’t worry about
that. We’d better go along now. Come on.”

Bob might still have continued to argue the matter,
had not the detective taken him gently but firmly by the
arm and led him down the gang-plank.

Guy, from his place of concealment, watched him
until he disappeared in the darkness, and that was the
last he ever saw of him.

And what became of Bob after that? His adventures
would make a long story; but with them we have at
present nothing to do. It will be enough to say that he
went home with his father, who arrived in Chicago the
// 093.png
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next day; but he did not long remain with him. Although
he heard nothing to induce the belief that the
attempt he had made upon Mr. Harris’ safe was known,
there were plenty who were acquainted with the fact that
he had run away from home, and that made him very
discontented. The war broke out shortly afterward, and
Bob went into the service, enlisting as landsman in the
Mississippi squadron.

In two years, by bravery and sheer force of character
(it is not always the good who are prosperous, except in
novels), he raised himself to the rank of acting ensign,
and held the position of executive officer of one of the
finest “tin-clads” in the fleet. But he was not satisfied
with this. The evil in his nature was too strong to be
kept down, and with his captain he entered into a conspiracy
to surrender his vessel to the rebels for a large
amount of cotton—some say four hundred and fifty
thousand dollars’ worth.

Bob’s conspiracy was defeated through the vigilance
of a young officer, whose name is known to but few, and
whose exploit, as far as I have been able to learn, was
never mentioned in the report of the Secretary of the
Navy.

Their villainous plot being discovered, Bob and his
commanding officer made their escape from the vessel
one dark night, and that was the last that was ever seen
of them.

Guy saw all that transpired, and listened to the conversation
between Bob and the detective like one in a
dream. He now looked upon the temporary loss of his
money as a blessing in disguise, for had he paid his passage
to Chicago his arrest would have been certain. But
he felt comparatively safe, for Boyle had been put on a
wrong scent. It would take him two or three days to go
to Saginaw and back, and by that time, if the schooner
was ready to sail, Guy and his friend would be miles on
their way toward the Atlantic Ocean.

So fearful was he, however, that the detective might
yet return and take him into custody, or that he might
// 094.png
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be waiting on the wharf ready to receive him when he
came out, that Guy dared not leave his hiding-place.

He saw the steward go back up the stairs and the cabin
passengers come down and go ashore, but he did not
move until the engineer stepped up and tapped him on
the shoulder.

“Look here, my friend,” said he, with some impatience
in his tone, “we’ve done all we could for you, and
now you’d better be making tracks. We don’t want you
here any longer.”

The man’s looks indicated very plainly that, if he did
not go off the boat of his own accord and at once, he
would be helped off, so Guy lost no time in putting himself
in motion. He caught up his valise, and without
stopping to thank the engineer for his kindness in allowing
him to use his locker for a hiding-place during the
voyage, hurried down the gang-plank, and stopped in
the shadow of a building on the opposite side of the
wharf. There he was safe from observation, and there
he remained until he saw the wheelsman come ashore
with his dunnage slung over his shoulder.
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CHAPTER XI. || <fs=0.8em>THE BOARDING-HOUSE.</fs>
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“OH, FLINT!” exclaimed Guy, running to meet
the sailor, “you don’t know how glad I am to
see you. I have had a narrow escape, I tell
you. I just got away from an officer who
captured Bob by the skin of my teeth.”

With this introduction Guy began the story of his recent
adventure, to which his companion listened with all
his ears. He was surprised as well as delighted to hear
what had happened to Bob Walker, and hastened to calm
the fears of his young friend by assuring him that as long
as he followed in his (Flint’s) wake he was in no danger.
In the first place, he would take him where no detective
would ever think of looking for him; and in the second,
they would remain in the city but a day or two at the
very furthest, and by the time Boyle could go to Saginaw
and back, they would be on their way to Liverpool and
safe from pursuit.

Flint fulfilled the first part of his promise by conducting
Guy to a sailors’ boarding-house in an obscure
street, where they ate supper and took lodgings for the
night. After breakfast the next morning they set out
in company to call upon the agent, whose business it
was to ship the crew that was to man the schooner during
her voyage to Liverpool. They found him at his
office, and after listening to some astonishing stories
from Flint, who declared that Guy understood his
business as cabin-boy, having just been discharged from
the propeller Queen of the Lakes, where he had served
in that capacity for the last two months, the agent was
finally induced to add the boy’s name to the shipping
articles and pay him his advance. Then, after a visit
// 096.png
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to a cheap clothing store, where Flint purchased an
outfit for Guy, they returned to the boarding-house
and thence made their way to their vessel, the Ossipee,
which was almost ready to sail.

During the first part of the voyage Guy had but little
to complain of. Although he was kept busy all the
time, his duties were comparatively light, the officers
were kind, the food abundant and well cooked, and the
weather mild and agreeable. Guy even begun to think
that a career on the ocean-wave was, after all, very pleasant
and desirable, and sometimes had serious thoughts
of abandoning his idea of becoming a hunter and spending
the remainder of his days upon the water. But
even a sailor’s life has its dark side, as he discovered
when they reached the Gulf of St. Lawrence.
During a violent gale the schooner sprung a leak,
and from that time until she reached a port in Nova
Scotia, into which she put for repairs, Guy never
once closed his eyes in sleep. He was kept at the pumps
until every bone and muscle in his body ached with
fatigue, and when relieved from them it was only to
perform some other duty equally laborious. It was all
the crew could do to keep the schooner afloat, and for
five long, dreary days Guy stood face to face with death
in one of its most appalling shapes.

And what a change that storm made in the disposition
of every man on board! The officers raved and
swore, and hastened obedience to their orders by threatening
to knock the men overboard with handspikes and
belaying pins. Guy, bewildered by the confusion and
noise, and frightened almost out of his senses by the
danger he was in, was forever getting into somebody’s
way, and of course came in for the lion’s share of abuse.
He was kicked and cuffed every hour in the day and
pushed about as if he had no more feeling than the
freight which was so unceremoniously thrown overboard.
Once the mate ordered him to “lay for’d and
lend a hand at the jib down-haul,” and while Guy was
looking about to see which way to go, the officer picked
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up a rope and brought it down across his shoulders with
a sounding whack. It might have fared hard with Guy
then had not Flint, who happened to overhear the
order, saved him from further punishment by hurrying
forward and executing it for him.

Port was reached at last, and we can imagine how relieved
Guy was and with what feelings of delight he
listened to the speech the captain made to the crew, in
which he informed them that the vessel was so badly
damaged that she must go into the dry-docks again and
that the hands were to be discharged with three months’
pay. He packed up his dunnage with great alacrity,
and as he followed Flint over the side, declared that he
had seen enough of salt water to last him as long as he
lived, and that the rest of his life should be on shore.

“Why, you haven’t seen anything of a sailor’s life
yet,” said his companion. “I know we’ve had rather a
rough time for the last week, but that’s nothing. Of
course one must work if he goes to sea, and so he must
if he follows any other business. You’ll see better times
when you are once fairly afloat.”

“But just look at the danger,” said Guy.

“Humph! look at the danger you’re in now while you
are ashore,” returned Flint. “Suppose, while we are
passing along this row of buildings, that a brick should
fall from one of the chimneys and strike you on the head!
Where would you be? Or suppose you should accidentally
put yourself in the path of a runaway horse!
Wouldn’t you be in danger then? The safest place in
the world is on shipboard. That’s a sailor’s doctrine.”

“But it isn’t my doctrine,” said Guy. “And another
thing. I don’t like to have a man swear at me and say
that for two cents he would throw me into the drink.
If I am to be cuffed and whipped and jawed every day
I might as well be—somewhere.”

Guy was about to say that he might as well be at
home, for he had run away from it on purpose to escape
such discipline. He came very near exposing himself,
for he had told Flint that he had no home, and he
// 098.png
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knew that was the reason the sailor was so kind to him.

“And don’t you remember how that mate beat me
with a rope?” added Guy. “If you hadn’t taken my
part he might have been pounding me yet, for I didn’t
know where to go to find the jib down-haul.”

“Oh, that’s nothing,” said Flint encouragingly. “A
boy who goes to sea may make up his mind to one thing,
and that is, he’s going to get more kicks than ha’pence.
And it may not be his fault; but if he gets ’em after he
learns his duties, then it <i>is</i> his fault. You didn’t see
me struck or hear anybody say he’d throw me overboard.
That’s ’cause I know my business and ’tend to it. But
you will see better times after we get fairly afloat.
Halloo! let’s go in here and see what’s going on.”

Flint’s attention was attracted by the sound of voices
and shouts of laughter which issued from a very dingy-looking
building they were at that moment passing.
Guy glanced up at the sign and saw that it was a sailor’s
boarding-house.

Flint opened the door that led into the public room,
and Guy followed him in. The boy did not like the
looks of the apartment, for it too vividly recalled to
his mind the quarters occupied by the steerage passengers
on board the Queen of the Lakes. It was not
much like the steerage in appearance, but it was fully as
gloomy and uninviting.

One side of the room was occupied with tables and
chairs, and the other by a small bar, at which cheap
cigars and villainous liquors were kept for sale. The
floor was covered with sawdust, and littered with cigar
stumps and “old soldiers,” and the walls were discolored
by tobacco smoke, which filled the room almost to
suffocation.

A party of sailors were seated at one of the tables, engaged
in a game of “sell out,” now and then laying
down their cards for a few seconds to bury their noses
in tumblers of hot punch, which they kept stowed away
on little shelves under the table. They looked up as
Flint and his companion entered, and a man who was
// 099.png
.bn 099.png
standing behind the bar, and who seemed to be the proprietor
of the house, came forward to relieve them of
their bundles, and inquired what he could do for them.

“Can you grub and lodge us ’till we find a ship?”
asked Flint.

“Of course I can,” said the proprietor. “This is
the very place to come. Supper will be ready in an
hour. Will you sit down by the stove and have a drop
of something warm?”

“I don’t mind. We’ve had a rough time outside for
the last week, and hain’t got warmed up yet.”

The sailor and his young companion drew a couple of
chairs near the stove, and sat down, whereupon a short,
thickset man, who, seated in a remote corner of the
room, had been regarding them rather sharply ever
since they came in, arose and pulled his chair to Flint’s
side.

“Did you say you want to ship?” he asked in a low
tone, at the same time casting a quick glance toward the
card players.

“Yes,” replied the sailor, running his eye over the
man; “but we hain’t in no hurry about it.”

“Well, I am in a great hurry to raise a crew, and
should like to get one to-night. I am second mate of
the clipper Santa Maria, bound for Honolulu—forty
dollars advance. Better say you’ll put your name down.
Best ship you ever sailed in, and you’ll find every thing
lovely aboard her. The cap’n’s a gentleman. Ask him
for a chaw of tobacco, and you’ll have to mind your eye
or get knocked overboard with a whole plug of it, and
the mates ain’t none of your loblolly boys neither.
What do you say?”

“Say no, mate,” exclaimed one of the card players,
all of whom had paused in their game to hear what the
mate had to say to Flint. “Don’t go near the bloody
hooker.”

“What’s the matter with her?” asked Flint.

“Why, she’s got a crew aboard she never discharges,
and who don’t sign articles,” answered the sailor.
// 100.png
.bn 100.png

“Then I guess I won’t ship,” said Flint, picking up
his chair and moving it nearer the players.

“You’d better not. She’s been trying for three days
to find a crew—the cap’n, both the mates, and all the
shipping agents in port have been running about the
streets looking for hands, but everybody who knows her
is shy of her. She has borne a hard name from the day
she was launched.”

“And all through just such fellows as you are!”
cried the mate, jumping to his feet, his face red with
anger. “Don’t I wish I had you with me just one
more voyage? I’d haze you until you were ready to
jump overboard.”

“But you’ll never have me with you another voyage,”
said the sailor, with a laugh. “One cruise in the Santa
Maria is as much as I can stand. Ay, you had better
go!” he continued, as the mate buttoned his coat and
hurried toward the door. “You’re no good here, and
you’ll never raise a crew until you call on the sharks.”

“Look out that I don’t get you in that way, my
hearty,” exclaimed the mate, as he slammed the door
behind him.

The sailors once more turned to their cards, and Flint
moved back beside Guy. At this moment the landlord
came up, bringing on a tray two glasses filled with some
steaming liquor. Flint took them off the tray and
placed them on the floor behind the stove.

“What did that sailor mean when he said that the
Santa Maria had a crew who don’t sign articles?” asked
Guy in a whisper.

“He meant ghosts,” replied Flint.

“Ghosts?” repeated Guy. “Humph!”

“Hold on there, and don’t say ‘humph’ till you
know what you’re talking about,” said the sailor
sharply.

“Why, Flint, there are no such things. You surely
don’t believe in them?”

“I surely do, though.”

“You have never seen one.”
// 101.png
.bn 101.png

“Avast there!” exclaimed Flint.

“Have you, really? What did it look like?”

“They take different shapes. I’ve seen them that
looked like rats, and I’ve seen ’em that looked like black
cats. Sometimes you can’t see ’em at all, and them kind
is the worst, for they’re the ones that talks. Once, when
I was a youngster, a little older than you, I sailed in a
ship out of Boston. One night it blew such a gale that it
took twenty-six of us to furl the mainsail, and we were
almost an hour in doing it, too. We lost one man overboard
while we were about it, and every night after that
when the order was given to lay aloft to loose or furl the
sails, we were certain to find Dave Curry there before us
working like a trooper. Oh, it’s gospel,” said Flint
earnestly, seeing that an expression of incredulity settled
on the face of his young companion; “’cause I saw him
often with my own eyes, and what I tell you I have seen,
you may put down as the truth. Shortly after that I
sailed in a brig whose bell every night when the mid-watch
was called struck four times, and no one ever
went near it.”

“Who struck it then, if no one went near it?” demanded
Guy, not yet convinced.

“The ghost of a quartermaster, and a man-o’-wars
man who was lost overboard when the brig made her first
cruise. The last voyage I made was in a ship bound
around the Cape. When the time came we begun to
prepare for bad weather by sending down the royal yards
and mast and getting in the flying jib-boom. One of
the hands was out on the boom and had just sung out,
‘haul in!’ when a sea broke over the bows and he was
never seen afterward. But every night we used to hear
him, as plain as I can hear myself speaking now, calling
out as if he were tired of waiting, ‘haul in!’ We kept a
good lookout, but although we could never see any one,
we always heard the voice. What are you looking at
them glasses so steady for? You don’t want to drink
that stuff, do you?”

“No; I drink nothing stronger than beer.”
// 102.png
.bn 102.png

“And if you know when you are well off you will let
that alone,” said Flint earnestly. “It never does nobody
no good. It takes your money as fast as you can
earn it, and gets you into scrapes. I know by experience.”

“Why don’t you empty one of the glasses?” asked
Guy.

“Do you think I’m fool enough to drink anything in
this house?” inquired Flint, in a low whisper. “Didn’t
you hear that fellow tell the mate that he’d never ship a
crew till he got the sharks to help him.”

“Yes, but I don’t know what he means.”

“You never saw a two-legged shark, did you?”

“No, I never did.”

“Well, there’s one,” said Flint, jerking his thumb
over his shoulder toward the bar.

“Who? Where? You don’t mean the landlord?”

“Don’t I, though? I don’t mean nobody else. I can
tell one of them fellows as far as I can see him. He’ll
have a crew for the Santa Maria before many hours, now
you see if he don’t. That’s what he’s up to, and that’s
why I don’t drink the stuff in that glass. Them fellows
playing cards are all fools. They’ll be out of sight of
land some fine morning, now you see if they don’t—to-morrow
may be.”

Flint settled back in his chair, nursed his right leg,
and winked knowingly at Guy.

“I don’t understand,” said the boy. “They won’t
ship aboard the Santa Maria, will they?”

“Yes, they will.”

“They needn’t do it unless they choose.”

“Ah! needn’t they though? That shows all you
know. You see the landlord is keeping them here by
dosing ’em with something strong—a sailor is always
ready to stay where he can get plenty to drink—and by
the time it comes dark they’ll be half-seas over. Then
the landlord will drug ’em to sleep by putting something
in their drinks, and get help and carry them aboard the
Santa Maria. By the time they get their senses again
they’ll be miles away.”
// 103.png
.bn 103.png

“But they can’t do duty if they’re drugged,” said
Guy.

“No matter. If they can’t do duty to-day they can
to-morrow, and the cap’n ’ll take ’em so long as they ain’t
dead.”

“Let’s get away from here and go somewhere else,”
said Guy in great alarm. “I don’t want to stay with
such a man. I’m afraid of him.”

“Well, you needn’t be. All we’ve got to do is to keep
clear heads on our shoulders, and we’re all right. Just
bear one thing in mind. As long as you stay in this
house don’t drink nothing, not even water.”

“Supper!” cried the landlord at this moment. “Walk
right into the dining-room, boys. Why, what’s the
matter, mates?” he added, glancing from Flint and his
companion to the untasted glasses on the floor; “don’t
they suit you?”

“No; they’re too stiff and got too much sugar in
’em.”

“Then step right up to the bar and let me mix you
another glass. It sha’n’t cost you a cent.”

“Never mind now,” said Flint. “We’ll wait until
after supper.”

Guy, who had not had a square meal for a week, was
delighted to find himself seated at a well-filled table
once more. He fell to work in good earnest and made
ample amends for his long fast. There were two drawbacks
to the full enjoyment of the meal, and one was,
he could not drink anything. Forgetting himself on
several occasions he raised his cup of coffee to his lips,
but being checked by a look or a sly nudge from Flint,
always put it down untasted. The other drawback was
the company in which he found himself.

The sailors knew little of the etiquette of the table,
and cared less. They were merry and quarrelsome by
turns, pounded on the table with their fists until the
dishes jumped up and performed jigs and somersaults in
the air, and talked, laughed, and swore at the top of
their voices. The landlord seemed accustomed to all
// 104.png
.bn 104.png
this, and never interfered with his guests except when
it was necessary to keep them from coming to a free
fight.

The sailors left the table one after the other, as their
appetites were satisfied, and returned to the public room,
whither they were followed by Flint and Guy, the
former leading the way. As they were passing along
the hall that led to the bar-room, the sailor suddenly
paused, looked steadily at something before him for a
moment, and then drew back.

“It’s come, and sooner than I thought for,” said he,
in an excited whisper.

“What has come?” asked Guy.

“Stick your head out of that door and see for yourself.
Be careful to keep out of sight of the landlord.”

Guy advanced cautiously toward the door, wondering
what it could be that had so excited his companion, and
Flint followed close to his heels, rolling up his sleeves
and making other preparations indicative of a desire or
intention to fight somebody.
// 105.png
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.pb
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XII. || <fs=0.8em>IN THE COURT-ROOM.</fs>
.sp 2
.di dropcapg.jpg 49 50 1.1
GUY expected to see something startling, but
was disappointed. The public room was as
quiet and orderly as it had been at any time
since he entered it. The sailors had resumed
their game, and the landlord was standing behind
the bar with a row of glasses ranged on a shelf before
him, into each of which he was putting a small portion
of a white powder that he took from a paper he held in
his hand. Then he filled all the glasses with some kind
of liquor, stirred them with a spoon, and placing them
upon a tray started toward the table at which the sailors
were sitting. “It is my treat now, lads,” said he, “and
here is something to make your suppers set easy.”

“Don’t touch it,” shouted Flint, suddenly starting
forward. “Knock him down, some of you. That
stuff is doctored.”

Guy did not understand just what Flint meant by
this, but it was plain that the sailors did. They all
jumped to their feet in an instant, while the landlord
put down the tray and looked at Guy’s companion with
an expression on his face that was perfectly fiendish. A
moment afterward a glass propelled by his hand came
sailing through the air, and was shivered into fragments
against the wall close beside Flint’s head.

“I’ll be at you in a second,” said the latter, as he
coolly made his way behind the bar. “There’s the
stuff that’s in your glasses, mates,” he added, throwing
upon the counter the paper that contained the remainder
of the drug. “If there is a ’pothecary among you,
may be he can tell you what it is—I can’t.”

The sailors had, while at the supper table, given
abundant evidence that they were in just the right
// 106.png
.bn 106.png
humor for a row, and this was all that was needed to
start one going. As Flint came out from behind the
counter to pay his respects to the landlord in return
for the glass the latter had thrown at his head, that
worthy retreated toward the dining-room shouting
lustily for help. It came almost immediately in the
shape of three or four villainous-looking fellows who
were armed with bludgeons. Their sudden appearance
astonished Guy. He had seen no men about the house,
and he could not imagine where they sprung from so
quickly.

“There’s a man who wants to raise a fight,” cried the
landlord, pointing to Flint. “Down with him.”

“Stand by me, mates,” said Flint, throwing off his
hat, and pushing back his sleeves, “and we will clean
the shanty.”

The opposing parties came together without a
moment’s delay, and the noise and confusion that followed
almost made Guy believe that pandemonium had
broken loose. Having never witnessed such a scene before
he was overcome with fear and bewilderment.
Deprived of speech and the power of action, he stood
watching the struggling men, all unconscious of the
fact that he was every moment in danger of being
stricken down by the glasses which whistled past his ears
like bullets. At last the lights were extinguished, and
this seemed to arouse Guy from his trance of terror.
As quick as a flash he darted into the dining-room, and
jerking open a door that led into the street, soon put a
safe distance between himself and the combatants.

“Great Scott!” panted Guy, seating himself under a
gas-lamp to rest after his rapid run. “I didn’t bargain
for such things as this. I’d rather be at home a great
sight. Why, a man’s life isn’t safe among such people.
I am tired of the sea, and homesick besides; and I think
the best thing I can do is to start for Norwall while I
have money in my pocket.”

Had Guy acted upon this sensible conclusion, he
might have saved himself from a great deal of misery
// 107.png
.bn 107.png
that was yet in store for him. While he was thinking
about it—trying to picture to himself the commotion
his unexpected return would create in his father’s house,
and wondering what sort of a reception would be extended
to him—he heard some one coming rapidly
down the sidewalk; and fearing that it might be the
landlord, or some of his assistants, who were searching
for him, he sprung up and darted down a cross street
that led to the dock. He was running directly into
more trouble, if he had only known, it—trouble that he
was not to see the end of for months; and he brought it
all on himself by so simple a thing as going to the dock.

While he was running along at the top of his speed,
intent on getting out of hearing of the footsteps that
seemed to be pursuing him, he suddenly became aware
that there was something exciting going on in advance
of him. He stopped to listen, and the blood seemed to
curdle in his veins when he heard the sounds of a fierce
struggle and a faint, gasping cry for help.

He looked in the direction from which the sounds
came, and by the aid of the light from a gas-lamp, a
short distance behind him, he could distinguish the
forms of three men, who, clasped in a close embrace,
were swaying back and forth, and so near the edge of
the wharf that a single misstep on the part of one of
them would have precipitated them all into the water.

“Another free fight,” thought Guy, whose first impulse
was to turn and take to his heels. “These sailors
are a dreadful set, and I’ll not stay among them a day
longer.”

“Help! help!” shouted one of the men, his cry being
almost instantly choked off by a strong grasp on his
throat.

“Give up the money,” said a hoarse voice, “or over
you go.”

A light suddenly dawned upon Guy’s mind; he begun
to understand the matter now.

Two ruffians had set upon somebody with the intention
of robbing him and throwing him into the harbor,
// 108.png
.bn 108.png
and he was fighting hard for his life and property. Instantly
Guy’s tongue was loosed, and he begun shouting
at the top of his voice:

“Police! police!” he yelled. “Fire! murder! help!”

“There, we’re discovered,” exclaimed one of the robbers.
“Let’s throw him over and run.”

Guy’s frantic appeal met with a prompt and most encouraging
response—the rattle of a policeman’s club on
the pavement. It was given probably as a warning to
the robbers that there was somebody coming, and they
had better be making off if they wished to avoid arrest.
They acted upon the friendly hint by releasing their
prisoner and trying to run away; but he, being strong
and determined, seized them both with the intention of
preventing their escape, at the same time awakening a
thousand echoes among the deserted warehouses by his
lusty cries for help, in which he was ably seconded by
Guy. The robbers finally succeeded in throwing off
their victim’s grasp, and one of them ran down the
dock, while the other dodged into a door-way just as a
policeman made his appearance around the corner.

“What’s the matter here?” demanded the officer with
becoming dignity and imperiousness. “Is this you, Mr.
Heyward?” he added, peering sharply into the face of
the rescued man. “What’s all this row about?”

“Two men were trying to rob me,” replied Mr. Heyward,
feeling in his pockets to satisfy himself that his
purse and watch were safe.

“Well, where are they now? Why didn’t you hang
onto them till I came?”

“I couldn’t. They broke away from me and ran off.”

“And one went that way and the other in there,”
said Guy, pointing with his right hand down the dock,
and with his left toward the door-way into which one of
the highwaymen had fled for concealment. “I saw
them both.”

The guardian of the night darted into the door-way,
closely followed by Mr. Heyward, and presently Guy
heard the sounds of a desperate fight going on in the
// 109.png
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dark. But it was over in a few seconds, and the policeman
and his assistant reappeared, dragging the robber
between them.

“That’s the man,” said Guy. “I know him by his
fur cap.”

“Will you swear to him?” asked Mr. Heyward. “I
think I recognize him; but, to tell the truth, he and his
comrade assaulted me so unexpectedly, and kept me so
busy, that I didn’t have a chance to take a good look at
either of them.”

“Of course I’ll swear to him,” replied Guy. “I would
know him anywhere.”

“All right. I shall want you for a witness to-morrow.
What is your name and where do you live?”

“I don’t live anywhere. I’m a sailor,” said Guy, who
did not think it best to answer the first part of the question.

“Then I shall have to take you with me,” said the
policeman. “Come on.”

“Where must I go?”

“Why, to the station, of course.”

“To the watch-house!” exclaimed Guy, greatly amazed.
“Oh, now, what must I go there for? I haven’t been
doing anything.”

“I know it,” said Mr. Heyward. “No one accuses
you. But I intend to prosecute this ruffian to the full
extent of the law, and you will be the principal witness
against him—in fact, the only one whose evidence will
amount to anything. In order to convict him I must
have some one to swear positively that he is the man
who attempted to rob me. I can’t do it, and neither
can the policeman.”

“Come on, and don’t waste any more words over it,”
commanded the officer.

Guy, whose courage had been completely frightened
out of him by the scenes of violence he had witnessed,
timidly obeyed. He fell in behind the officer and Mr.
Heyward, who led the robber toward the police headquarters.
// 110.png
.bn 110.png

Guy had read in the papers that lodgings were sometimes
furnished at watch-houses, and that night he
learned what it meant. He found that those who were
accommodated with quarters at the expense of the city
were not provided with comfortable beds and private
apartments, as they would have been had they put up at
a first-class hotel. He was thrust into a room with a
lot of homeless wanderers, and lay all night on the hard
floor, with no covering, and nothing but his tarpaulin
to serve as a pillow. How homesick he was, and how
heartily he wished himself under his father’s roof once
more!

Very frequently, as he rolled about, trying to find a
plank soft enough to sleep upon, he would raise himself
upon his elbow, look around at the ragged, slumbering
men by whom he was surrounded, and think of the
neat little bedroom and soft, warm couch to which he
had been accustomed at home. While brooding over
his boyish troubles and trials he had never thought of
the comforts and privileges that fell to his lot, but he
thought of them now, when it was too late to enjoy
them.

He passed a most miserable night, and was glad indeed
when day began to dawn and the lodgers to disperse;
but he was not allowed to leave the station, not even
long enough to get his breakfast. He was kept under
lock and key until ten o’clock, when Mr. Heyward’s case
came up for trial. When he was conducted into the
court-room, which was packed with loungers and embryo
lawyers, as justices’ courts almost always are, he
felt and looked more like a criminal than the hardened
wretch who sat in the dock. He had never been in a
court-room before, and he knew so little of the manner
in which proceedings are conducted there that he was
shown the witness-stand three different times before he
could be made to comprehend that he was expected to
occupy it.

“You seem to be very dull, young man,” said the
justice sharply. “What is your name?”
// 111.png
.bn 111.png

The tone of voice in which the question was propounded,
accompanied as it was by a fierce frown on the
judicial face, was enough to frighten away what few wits
Guy had left about him. He did not know what reply
to make. If he gave his own name it might go into the
papers and be seen by everybody who knew him, and if
he gave a fictitious one, the judge might find it out in
some way and punish him.

“Witness, did you hear my question?” demanded the
justice. “What is your name?”

“Guy Harris,” answered the boy.

“Well, why couldn’t you have said so at once and not
kept me waiting so long? Swear him.”

A red-faced gentleman, with a long nose and ruffled
shirt, arose and mumbled a few words which Guy did
not understand, and when he sat down, another, who
proved to be a lawyer, took him in hand and went at
him in a way that completed his discomfiture. He reminded
Guy that he was on his oath, informed him that
he should expect the truth and nothing but the truth
from him, and ended his exordium by asking him where
he lived—another question that Guy did not care to
answer.

And it was so all through the examination. The lawyer
insisted upon knowing all about matters that Guy
wanted to keep to himself, and the consequence was that
in less than five minutes he was completely wound up,
and stammered, hesitated and blushed in a way that
made everybody believe that he was not telling the truth.
At the end of half an hour he was told that he might
step down, and he was very glad to do it, for he was
perspiring as if he had been engaged in some severe
manual labor, trembling in every limb and so weak that
he could scarcely remain upon his feet. He had seen
quite enough of a court-room, and anxious to get out of
it as soon as possible, began elbowing his way through
the crowd toward Mr. Heyward, who was sealed beside
his lawyer.

I know I might make this part of my story more
// 112.png
.bn 112.png
interesting by saying that Mr. Heyward, who beyond all
doubt owed his rescue entirely to Guy, was a rich merchant;
that to show his gratitude to his preserver he
took him home with him and dressed him like a gentleman;
that he gave him a situation in his store, and that
Guy was so smart and quick to learn that he became a
full partner in two years and married the merchant’s
beautiful and only daughter, and that the merchant
finally died, and left him heir to two millions of dollars.
That would be a grand way to wind up the career of our
hero, but unfortunately he is a bad boy, and it is only
the good ones whose lines fall in such pleasant places.

Guy had a very different future before him. Mr. Heyward
did not even thank him for the service he had
rendered, and Guy did not expect it. All he cared for
was to get out of the court-room and that as quickly as
possible.

“Are they through with me now?” he asked, when he
reached Mr. Heyward’s side.

“Yes, for the present,” was the answer.

That was enough for Guy, who began crowding his
way toward the door, paying little heed to the growling
of those whose toes he trod upon or whose sides he
jammed, with his elbows. He breathed, easier when he
reached the street, and hurried away looking for a restaurant
where he might find something to satisfy his
appetite, for it was now twelve o’clock and he had had
no breakfast.

“Thank goodness, I am out of there at last!” said he,
wiping his dripping forehead, “and I’ll never go near
a place like it again if I can help it. If I see a fight
going on, I’ll run away and not stop to learn who comes
out first best. How savagely that prisoner looked at
me while I was giving my evidence! There was an expression
in his eye which said, as plainly as words, ‘I’ll
pay you for that some day, my boy!’ I wonder what
they are going to do with him anyhow?”

To explain what happened afterward it is necessary to
answer this question. The prisoner was convicted on
// 113.png
.bn 113.png
Guy’s evidence and held to bail to answer to a higher
court for an assault with intent to commit robbery.
Bail was speedily found by his friends, and the man was
at liberty to go where he pleased until the following
month, when his case would come up for trial.

As soon as this decision was rendered, Mr. Heyward,
who was resolved that the robber should not escape
punishment, began looking about for his witness, intending
to have him locked up until the day of trial.
But the boy was not to be found about the court-room,
and a policeman was sent out to hunt him up.

The runaway little dreamed that he had a prospect
before him of being shut up in jail for a whole month.

Guy found an eating-house at last, and entering,
stood at the counter while he drank a cup of muddy
coffee, ate a cold boiled egg and a ham sandwich, and
thought over his prospects—or rather his want of them.
He was alone in the world once more, for Flint, his only
friend, was gone. He had not seen him since the fight
at the boarding-house. Guy was afraid to go back there
after him, or to get his luggage, and more than that, he
was not certain that he could find his way there, even if
he wanted to go. Of one thing he was satisfied, and
that was, that if Flint was still alive and at liberty, the
place to look for him was on the dock in the neighborhood
of the shipping. Thither Guy accordingly bent
his steps as soon as he had finished his breakfast.
// 114.png
.bn 114.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XIII. || <fs=0.8em>“JOHN THOMAS, A. B.”</fs>
.sp 2
.di dropcapw.jpg 50 50 1.2
WHEN he found his friend Flint, Guy did not
know just what he would do. Probably
he intended to be governed entirely by his
advice, for he had already thought better of
his resolution to return at once to Norwall.

It is true that he had seen the rough side of the world
so far during his wanderings, but he believed that it had
better things in store for him. At any rate he would
find Flint and ask him if it hadn’t. The sailor was so
jolly and hopeful, and spoke so encouragingly whenever
Guy told him of his troubles, that it was a pleasure to be
in his company.

Guy spent an hour in unavailing search for his friend,
but he discovered the Ossipee, which was discharging
her cargo preparatory to going into the dry docks, and
by taking her as a point of departure succeeded at last
in finding the boarding-house at which he had eaten
supper the night before.

He approached it with the utmost caution, momentarily
expecting to come suddenly upon some signs of the
terrible fracas that had taken place there a few hours
ago, such as broken skulls, dissevered limbs, and lifeless
bodies; but nothing of the kind was to be seen. The
place was as quiet as the station-house he had just left,
and Guy had half a mind to go in and ask for Flint, but
hesitated when he thought of the landlord, with his
fierce mustache and closely-cropped head. He did not
want to see the landlord again, or that worthy might demand
to know what he meant by running out of his
house in that unceremonious manner and leaving his
supper bill unpaid.

While Guy was wondering how he could answer such
// 115.png
.bn 115.png
a question without wounding the landlord’s feelings, a
hail came to him from the opposite side of the street.

“Halloo there! Hold on a minute!” exclaimed a voice.

Guy looked up and saw a stranger coming toward him.
He was dressed in broadcloth, wore a shining plug hat
on his head, and well-blacked boots on his feet; rings
sparkled on his fingers, something that looked like a
diamond glittered in his shirt bosom, and a heavy gold
watch-chain dangled across his crimson waistcoat.
Taken altogether he reminded Guy of the steward of
the Queen of the Lakes. He approached with some
eagerness in his manner, and as he came up thrust out
his hand and greeted the boy with:

“Why, Jenkins, how are you? Glad to see you;
when did you come in? Just been down to your ship
looking for you. How are you, I say?”

The stranger smiled so good-naturedly, shook his
hand so warmly, and appeared so delighted to see him,
that Guy was rather taken aback. As soon as he could
speak, he replied:

“I came in night before last in the schooner Ossipee
from Chicago; but my name isn’t Jenkins.”

The stranger started, and looked at Guy a moment
with an expression of great surprise on his face.

“Well, I declare, I have made a mistake—that’s a
fact!” said he. “But you look enough like Jenkins to
be his brother. You see, he’s a particular friend of
mine, and I am always on the lookout to do him a
neighborly turn. I wonder if you are as good a sailor as
he is.”

“I am a sailor,” replied Guy.

“Of course you are. I can tell that by the cut of your
jib.”

These words went straight to Guy’s heart, and vastly
increased his importance in his own eyes. He straightened
up, thrust his hands deep into his pockets, and
took a few steps up and down the sidewalk, rolling from
side to side as he had seen Flint do.

“Think I don’t know a sailor man when I see him!”
// 116.png
.bn 116.png
exclaimed the stranger. “Why, I have been one myself.
Take something warm this frosty morning?”

“No, sir,” emphatically replied the boy, who had
already seen enough of the evils of strong drink. “You
don’t get anything warm down me.”

“Good resolution!” cried the man, giving Guy’s hand
another cordial shake, and slapping him familiarly on
the back. “Stick to it. Do you know that that is one
of the things that keeps you sailor men before the mast
all your lives? It is the sober, intelligent ones, just such
fellows as I see you are, who get to be mates and captains.
Now, I can put you on a vessel where you will be
pushed ahead as fast as you can stand it. You want a
berth, don’t you?”

“No, I don’t,” replied Guy. “I want to find my
mate; and if I don’t succeed, I am going home.”

“Your mate!” exclaimed the stranger. “Oh, I know
him—know him well. It’s Jack a—Jack a——”

“No, it isn’t Jack; it’s Dick Flint.”

“Why, so it is. How stupid in me to forget his
name! I saw him with you yesterday, come to think.
Let me see,” added the stranger, placing his finger on
his forehead and looking down at the ground in a brown
study; “didn’t I ship him last night on board the Santa
Maria? Of course I did.”

“Of course you didn’t. He don’t ship on no such
vessel, and neither do I. She’s got a crew aboard of her
who don’t sign articles,” said Guy glibly, making use of
some expressions he had heard at the boarding-house.
“I don’t want to ship with ghosts. I have seen too
many of them in my time.”

“Have you, though?” said the stranger. “I knew
you were an old salt as soon as I put my eyes on you.”

“Yes,” said Guy, pushing his tarpaulin on one side of
his head, thrusting his hands deeper into his pockets,
and making a motion with his tongue as if he were turning
a quid of tobacco in his mouth. “The last voyage
I made was in a ship bound around the Cape. When
the time came we began to get ready for bad weather by
// 117.png
.bn 117.png
sending down the royal-yards and masts, and taking in
the flying jib-boom. One of the hands—my chum he
was, too, and the best fellow and finest sailor that ever
chewed biscuit—was out on the boom, and had just sung
out ‘haul in!’ when a big sea broke over the vessel, and
that was the last we ever saw of him—that is, alive.
But every night after that when the mid-watch was
called, and the order was given to haul in the flying jib-boom,
we were sure to find that fellow out there before
us, working like a trooper. No, sir, I don’t ship in any
more vessels that carry ghosts, if I know it.”

Guy pushed his hat further on the side of his head,
turned his back partly to the stranger and looked as wise
as possible, thinking no doubt that he had made an impression
on his auditor. He did not know that he had
got his narrative somewhat mixed up, but that the
stranger did was evident. There was a roguish twinkle
in his eye, and he was obliged to bite his lips to keep
from laughing outright. Controlling himself with an
effort he leaned toward Guy and said, in a low, confidential
tone:

“I don’t blame you. The Santa Maria does bear a
hard name, that’s a fact, and I wouldn’t sail in her myself.
I’ve got another vessel on my books—the clipper
Morning Light, bound up the Mediterranean, and I
know that’s the very place you want to go. Isn’t it
now, say?” he exclaimed, hitting the boy a back-handed
slap on the chest.

“Yes,” answered Guy. “I should like to go.”

“Of course you would. Everybody wants to go, but
only a few can get the chance. I tell you it takes influence
to get a berth on board a Mediterranean trader,”
said the man, who knew that he could impose upon
Guy to his heart’s content. “Wealthy country that,
and if you don’t come back rich, it will be your own
fault. Ostrich feathers are plenty and worth a hundred
dollars a pound on this side of the Atlantic. Diamonds,
pearls, nuggets, and gold-dust, are to be had for the picking
up. Everybody fills his pockets, from the captain
// 118.png
.bn 118.png
down to Jemmy Ducks. Come and put down your
name. Where’s your dunnage?”

“Hold on,” said Guy, as the stranger seized his arm
and tried to pull him away. “I want to find Flint, and
see what he has to say about it.”

“I know where he is, and can find him for you in
less than ten minutes,” said the stranger, who had
about as clear an idea of Flint’s whereabouts as Guy
himself. “All I ask of you is to put down your name.
Where’s your dunnage?”

“I left it in there last night,” said Guy, pointing toward
the boarding-house.

“Why, the landlord didn’t ship you, did he? That
is, he didn’t find a vessel for you?”

“No, I didn’t give him a chance. They had a fight
in there, and I ran away.”

“A fight. Oh, that’s nothing. It’s all settled now,
I’ll warrant. Come with me. I’ll get your dunnage for
you.”

Guy did not hesitate to enter the boarding-house
under the protection of the stranger, and indeed he
need not have been afraid to go in there alone.

There was but one man in the bar-room, and that
was the second mate of the Santa Maria, who was probably
on the lookout for a crew for his vessel.

“Morning, Rupert,” said the stranger, as he and
Guy entered; “I believe my young friend here left
something with you last night.”

“Ah, yes; here it is,” replied the landlord, handing
Guy’s bundle over the counter and smiling pleasantly
upon the boy. “What made you dig out in such a
hurry? Did the fellows scare you?”

“Yes, they did,” replied Guy.

“You need not have been alarmed. You were my
guest, and of course I should have protected you. You
see, Smith,” added the landlord, turning to the shipping
agent, “the boys had a bit of a blow-out here last
night, and one or two of them came to a clinch. It was
all over in a minute, and we took a few drinks all
// 119.png
.bn 119.png
around and made it up. It didn’t amount to anything.”

“I think it amounted to a good deal,” said Guy,
looking around at the walls where the plastering had
been knocked off by the flying glasses. “It frightened
me, I tell you. Where is Flint now?”

“Flint?” repeated the landlord interrogatively. “Do
you mean the man who came here with you. Oh,
he’s up-stairs with the rest, sleeping it off.”

“I’d like to see him,” said Guy.

“Of course you can, if you wish, but I wouldn’t
trouble him if I were you. Let him sleep. He’ll be
down to supper, and then you can talk to him.”

“By the way,” said Smith suddenly, “Flint has
shipped aboard the Morning Light, hasn’t he?”

Smith looked steadily at the landlord as he said this,
and the landlord looked steadily at Smith. The two
worthies evidently understood one another.

“Yes,” was the landlord’s reply. “He’s signed articles,
and got his advance fair and square.”

“There, now,” said the shipping agent, turning to
Guy; “are you satisfied? Your mate has shipped
aboard my vessel, and if you will come with me I will
ship you. You’ll see splendid times up the Mediterranean,”
he added, with a sly wink at the landlord.

“Finest country in the world,” observed that gentleman.

“Such chances to make money,” suggested the agent.

“Never saw the beat,” said the landlord. “Been up
there myself, and that’s the way I got my start in the
world. Went out cabin-boy, and came back sailing my
own vessel.”

“Do you hear that?” exclaimed the agent, triumphantly.
“Didn’t I tell you so? Come with me, and I’ll
put you in the way to make a man of yourself.”

Before Guy could reply the agent assisted him to
shoulder his bundle, and gently forcing him into the
street, locked arms with him and led him away, talking
rapidly all the while, and giving the boy no chance to
// 120.png
.bn 120.png
put in a word. In a few minutes more he found himself
seated in a small, dark room, which the agent called
his office; and the latter, having placed before him on
the table a large sheet of ruled paper, which contained
several names—taking care, however, to keep his hands
spread out over the top of it—nodded his head toward a
pen that was sticking in an inkstand close by, and told
Guy to put down his name.

As the boy was about to comply it occurred to him
that it might be a good plan to find out what sort of a
paper it was that he was expected to sign. But just as
he was on the point of asking some questions concerning
it, he was checked by the thought that by such a proceeding
he would show his ignorance, and beside, it
would look too much as though he doubted his gentlemanly
friend, the shipping agent. So he said nothing,
signed a name to the paper, and was held for a voyage
to—well, it was to some place a long way from the shores
of the Mediterranean.

“John Thomas; that’s all right. You are a good
penman, and ought to be something better than a foremast
hand. When your ship comes back to this port,
if you don’t tell me that you have made yourself rich by
the voyage, and that you are at least a second mate, I
shall be ashamed of you. Now, then,” said the agent,
laying his pocket-book on the table and taking the pen
from the boy’s hand, “what shall I put after your name—A.
B.?”

“What’s that?” asked Guy.

“Why, you’re an able seaman, are you not!”

“No—that is, yes; of course I am. But I want to go
as cabin-boy. I like that better.”

“I can’t ship you as cabin-boy; got one already.
You will get more money by going before the mast, and
you want to make all you can, don’t you? I’ll fix it for
you.”

The agent dipped his pen into the ink and wrote A.
B. after the name Guy had signed, and Guy, ignoramus
that he was, never tried to prevent him. If he could
// 121.png
.bn 121.png
make more money by going as an able seaman of course
it was to his advantage to do it. That was the way he
looked at the matter then, but before many hours had
passed over his head he took a different view of it. He
learned through much tribulation that honesty is the
best policy one can pursue, even though he be a sea-faring
man.

The agent having prevailed upon Guy to sign articles,
seemed on a sudden to lose all interest in him. It is
true that after he paid him his advance he accompanied
him to a store and assisted him in making some necessary
additions to his outfit, but he hurried through the
business, his every action indicating that he was impatient
to be rid of Guy. When all the purchases had
been made he took a hasty leave of the boy and told him
to go to Rupert’s boarding-house and stay there, holding
himself in readiness to go aboard his vessel at six
o’clock that night. If he was not on hand when he was
wanted, he would find the police after him.
// 122.png
.bn 122.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XIV. || <fs=0.8em>SHIPPING A CREW.</fs>
.sp 2
.di dropcaph.jpg 50 50 1.4
“HUMPH!” said Guy to himself, as he shouldered
his bundle and started toward Rupert’s
boarding-house, “there is no danger that I
shall have the police after me. If Flint is
going out in the Morning Light of course I must go too,
for he is the only friend I have in the world, and I am
bound to stick to him. I don’t see what made that
shipping agent grow so very cold and distant all of a
sudden. I wish now, since he has shown himself so
very independent, that I had examined that paper before
I signed it. He was very polite until he got me to
put down my name, and then he was almost ready to
insult me. I can’t imagine what need I shall have of
all these thick clothes he made me buy,” added Guy, as
he shifted his heavy bundle from one shoulder to the
other. “I thought it was warm up the Mediterranean.
I knew he tried to fool me when he told me about the
pearls and diamonds, but I don’t care. I shall see something
of the world and be my own master, and perhaps
when I return I will have money enough to take me out
to the Rocky Mountains. I haven’t given up my idea
of being a hunter, and I never shall.”

Guy passed a dreary afternoon at the boarding-house,
in spite of the friendly efforts of the landlord to make
things pleasant for him. That gentleman talked incessantly
and told wonderful stories about the rapid
promotions and sudden fortunes that were sure to fall
to the lot of everybody who was fortunate enough to go
up the Mediterranean on the clipper-ship Morning
Light. But Guy, green as he was, did not believe them.
He did not care to talk either, for he was very lonely
and wanted to see Flint. Contrary to the landlord’s
// 123.png
.bn 123.png
promise, the sailor did not make his appearance at the
supper table, the host accounting for his absence by telling
Guy that Flint did not feel very well and wanted to
sleep as long as he could.

“May I see him?” asked the boy.

“No, he doesn’t want to be disturbed,” was the reply.
“I have just been to his room to tell him you
were here, and he asked me to tell you to go aboard
your vessel at six o’clock, and he will come as soon as
he awakes.”

Guy was not at all pleased with this arrangement.
He did not believe that Flint had sent him any such
instructions, and neither did he want to go away without
seeing him. But he could not help himself, for at
six o’clock precisely Smith, the shipping agent, appeared
and ordered him to shoulder his bundle and come on.

The boy was obliged to obey. He followed the agent
to the dock and into a yawl manned by two sailors, who
immediately shoved off toward a vessel lying at anchor
in the harbor.

Guy did not like the looks of her. If she was a clipper,
he had hitherto had very erroneous ideas of marine
architecture, he told himself. She looked more like the
pictures he had seen of Dutch galliots.

When they reached her Guy followed the agent over
the side, and one of the sailors threw his bundle up
after him.

“Here’s an A. B. I have brought you,” said the
agent, addressing himself to a man who came up to
meet them.

“All right,” was the reply. “What’s his name?”

Guy started and looked sharply at the speaker. He
was certain that he had seen him before. He was
dressed like the man who had introduced himself to
Flint as the second mate of the Santa Maria, and his
voice was wonderfully like the mate’s, too. Guy tried
to get a glimpse of his face, but it was effectually concealed
by a tarpaulin and a heavy woolen muffler.

“His name is John Thomas,” said the agent, seeing
that Guy did not answer the question.
// 124.png
.bn 124.png

“Take your dunnage into the forecastle, Thomas,
and be ready to turn to at any moment,” said the man.

“I declare, he’s an officer,” thought Guy, “and I
really believe he’s the second mate of the Santa Maria.
If he is, how came he here on board the Morning
Light? Dear me, I wish Flint would come.”

“Good-by, Jack,” said the agent, shaking the boy’s
hand. “I’ve got you into tidy quarters, and shall expect
to hear a good report of you.”

“What do you suppose keeps Flint?” asked Guy anxiously.

“I am sure I can’t tell. I have nothing to do with
him, you know. Rupert shipped him—I didn’t. No
doubt he’ll be aboard directly. Good-by.”

The agent disappeared over the side and Guy shouldered
his dunnage and went down into the forecastle.
Three or four of the bunks were already occupied, and,
selecting one of the empty ones, Guy made up his bed
in it, and then went on deck to look about him and
await the arrival of Flint.

There were a few men on deck, the owners of the
beds he had seen in the forecastle, but they did not notice
Guy, and he was too much interested in his own
affairs to have anything to say to them. Flint’s absence
was the source of great anxiety to him. He could
not account for it, and neither could he explain the remarkable
resemblance between the man who met him
as he came over the side and the second mate of the
Santa Maria, whom he had last seen in the public room
of the boarding-house.

“Could it be possible,” he asked himself—and at the
thought the blood went rushing back upon his heart,
leaving his face as pale as death itself—“that the agent
had made a mistake and brought him to the Santa
Maria instead of the Morning Light?”

“Great Cæsar!” thought Guy, catching his breath,
“if that is the case I’m among the ghosts in spite of
myself. I’ll ask some of these men. Of course they
know the name of the vessel.”
// 125.png
.bn 125.png

As Guy was about to act upon this resolution his attention
was attracted by the sound of oars, and running
to the side he saw a large yawl approaching the ship.

His hopes arose wonderfully, but fell again when he
discovered that there were but three men in the boat—two
plying the oars and the other sitting in the stern
with his hands on the tiller.

“Boat ahoy!” said the mate, leaning over the rail and
speaking almost in a whisper.

“Rupert!” was the answer, given in the same cautious
tone.

“All right,” exclaimed the officer. “I thought you
were never coming. Stand by there, one of you, to
catch the painter. Cap’n,” he added, thrusting his
head down the companion way, “the boat’s come.”

Guy, being the nearest at hand, caught the painter as
it came whirling up to him, and as he drew the boat up
to the ladder that was quickly lowered over the side, he
was surprised to see that she was loaded almost to the
water’s edge.

A number of bundles and chests were piled in the
bow, and the bottom was covered with men—probably a
dozen or fifteen of them in all—who appeared to be
asleep. Of those who managed the yawl one was
Rupert, the boarding-house keeper, and the others were
two of his assistants, who had rushed into the bar-room
to quell the fight, or rather to help it along.

Guy recognized them at once. He wondered what
they were going to do with the men who were lying on
the bottom of the boat, and was not long in finding out.

The men must have been slumbering heavily, for the
landlord and his assistants made no effort to arouse
them, but lifting them in their arms, one after the
other, carried them up the ladder and laid them in a
row on the deck, as if they had been dead men.

The last one who was brought over the side was Dick
Flint, limp and lifeless like the rest. Guy was greatly
horrified and disgusted to see his friend in such a condition.
He had been almost twenty-four hours trying to
// 126.png
.bn 126.png
sleep off the effect of the “blow out” at which he had
assisted. He must have been very drunk indeed.

“I wish to goodness I had stayed ashore,” said Guy,
almost ready to cry with vexation. “I don’t want a
drunkard for my companion, and I’ll tell Flint so at the
very first opportunity. I believe home is the best place
for a boy after all. If he gets whipped and scolded
sometimes when he doesn’t deserve it, he always has
plenty to eat, a good bed to sleep in, and isn’t obliged to
associate with such wretches as these. Halloo! what is
the captain up to, I wonder?”

The men had all been carried to the deck by this time,
and now a piece of iniquity was enacted that struck Guy
dumb with amazement. The captain and his mate, accompanied
by the boarding-house keeper, approached
the place where the sailors were lying. The former
held in his hands a pen and a roll of paper, which proved
to be the shipping articles Guy had signed in the agent’s
office; the mate carried an inkstand and Rupert a
lantern.

“What is this man’s name?” asked the captain, stopping
at the head of the row and pointing with his pen
toward one of the prostrate sailors.

“Richard Flint,” replied the landlord, “and he is an
able seaman.”

The captain wrote Flint’s name and rate on the shipping
articles, and then kneeling down beside him, placed
the pen between his nerveless fingers, and seizing his
hand in his own, described a cross with it upon the shipping
articles. This done, the captain passed the pen
over to his mate, who signed his own name opposite
Flint’s, and the latter stood on the shipping articles in
this way:

.in 4
.nf l
        his
<sc>Richard X Flint</sc>, A. B.
       mark

          <sc>Jacob Schwartz</sc>,

    Second Mate, and witness to signature.
.nf-
.in 0
// 127.png
.bn 127.png

Although the whole proceeding was most outrageous,
the form was according to law, and Flint, had he recovered
his senses at that moment, would have been held
for the cruise in spite of himself. Remonstrance would
have been of no avail, and resistance would have rendered
him liable to punishment.

But this was not all the wickedness that was perpetrated
upon the unconscious seaman. While the mate
was signing his name to the articles the captain produced
his pocket-book and counted out forty dollars in
bills, which he placed in Flint’s hand, and closing his
fingers over them, turned to the man who lay next
to him, and whom he shipped and paid in the same
manner.

Guy had been a puzzled witness of the whole proceedings,
but now he thought he begun to understand it.

“I have been lied to and cheated,” said he to himself.
“Rupert and Smith both told me that Flint had signed
articles and received his advance all fair and square; and
if that was the truth, how does it come that he is being
shipped and paid over again? I am afraid I have got
myself into a scrape.”

Guy did not know just what sort of a scrape he had
got into, and he could not stop to think about it then,
for another matter demanded his attention. He was interested
in Flint’s affairs, and knowing that the sailor
could not take care of his money while he was in that
condition, he started toward him, intending to take possession
of it, and give it to him when he became sober;
but what was his surprise to see Rupert step up to the
insensible man, and coolly unclasping his fingers, put the
money in his own pocket. In other words, he deliberately
robbed Flint, and that, too, before the face and
eyes of the captain and his mate, who, although they
must have observed the act, did not pay the least attention
to it. This was more than Guy could stand. He
walked up to the captain and boldly charged Rupert
with the theft.

“Captain,” said he, “do you see what this landlord is
// 128.png
.bn 128.png
doing? He is stealing the advance as fast as you pay it to
the men.”

The result of this exposure of the boarding-house
keeper was just what Guy might have looked for had he
taken time to consider the matter before acting. He
supposed, in his simplicity, that the landlord would turn
pale and tremble, like the guilty wretch he was, and that
the captain, after compelling him to return the money,
would arrest him on the spot, or unceremoniously kick
him off his vessel. But nothing of the kind happened.
Rupert looked a little surprised, but only gave Guy one
quick glance and held the lantern lower, so that the captain
could see to sign another name. The latter, however,
arose hastily, placed his pen between his teeth, and
seizing Guy by the throat, choked him until he was black
in the face; and then, with a strong push, sent him
sprawling on deck.

“There, now,” said he, “that’s the first lesson; and
if it don’t learn you to keep a civil tongue in your head,
and speak when you’re spoken to, I’ll give you another
that’ll sink deeper. Turn to and carry that dunnage
into the forecastle.”

The severe choking to which Guy had been subjected,
and the jarring occasioned by his heavy fall on deck, had
well-nigh proved too much for him. His head whirled
about like a top, sparks of fire danced before his eyes,
and his legs for the moment refused to support him.
He was in no condition just then to carry heavy burdens,
but he had heard the order and dared not disregard it.
His last week’s experience on board the Ossipee had
taught him that instant obedience and unquestioning
submission is the whole duty of a foremast hand. He is
looked upon as a slave, a beast of burden, an unreasoning
brute, who has no right to any desires, feelings, or
will of his own. If he receives a blow from a handspike
that would brain an ox, he has no business to become insensible
or get sick over it, but must jump up at once
and resume his work with cheerfulness and alacrity.
Guy, however could not do this, for he had not yet been
// 129.png
.bn 129.png
sufficiently hardened. He pulled himself up by the fife-rail
and clung to it several minutes before his head became
steady, so that he could walk.

Was this the beginning of the “better times” which,
according to Flint, he was to enjoy when once he was
“fairly afloat?” Guy asked himself; and then seeing the
captain looking his way, he released his hold on the fife-rail,
and staggered toward the bundles belonging to the
sailors, which lay where Rupert and his assistants had
thrown them. With great difficulty, for he was still
very weak, he raised one of them to his shoulder, and
carrying it to the forecastle, threw it into one of the
empty bunks.

As he was about to return to the deck he met two of
the crew coming down the ladder carrying the insensible
form of Dick Flint between them. They did not
handle him very gently, but pitched him into one of the
bunks as if he had been a log of wood, and laughed and
passed some rough joke when his head came in contact
with the hard boards.

“You ought to be ashamed of yourselves!” said Guy,
indignantly. “This man is my friend, and too good a
fellow to be jammed about in that way, even if he is
drunk.”

“Well, now, who are you that comes here giving
orders and making yourself so free?” demanded one of
the men, turning fiercely upon Guy.

“I am a sailor like yourself, and a better one than
you dare ever be,” retorted the runaway, little dreaming
how soon he would be called upon to make good his
boast.

“I ain’t saying nothing against that,” said the man,
with a little more respect in his tones; “but I’d like to
know what port you have sailed out of all your life that
you can’t tell the difference between a man that’s drunk
and one that’s drugged!”

“Drugged!” exclaimed Guy, utterly confounded.

“Yes; that’s what’s the matter with your mate. The
last glass he took was doctored. You might pound him
to death with a belaying-pin and never hurt him.”
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“Drugged!” repeated Guy, some scraps of the conversation
he had held with Flint at the boarding-house
coming vividly to his mind. “What ship is this?” he
asked suddenly.

“Why, didn’t you sign articles?”

“Yes, but I’m afraid I’ve been cheated.”

“No, I guess not,” said the sailor. “You came
aboard with a clear head on your shoulders, so you’re
all right.”

But Guy was quite positive that he was <i>not</i> all right.
He would have given a month’s wages to know the
name of the vessel he had shipped on, but dared not
press the man to give a direct answer to his question, for
fear that some strong suspicions that had suddenly
arisen in his mind would be confirmed.

“I just know this is the Santa Maria,” said the boy
to himself, at the same time casting a quick glance
around the dimly lighted forecastle. “I know it as
well as I know that I am alive. Everything goes to
prove it. In the first place the men Rupert brought
here in his boat are the same ones I saw playing cards
in his house. Flint predicted that they would all be
drugged and shipped aboard the Santa Maria, and
things have turned out just as he said they would. But
how did Flint himself manage to be caught in the trap?
That’s what beats me. In the second place the mate,
who witnessed the signatures on the shipping articles,
is the same man I saw at Rupert’s, and who said he was
an officer of the Santa Maria. I know him in spite of
his tarpaulin and woolen muffler, for he’s got the same
clothes on. Dear me! I wish Flint would wake up and
tell me what to do.”

While Guy’s thoughts were running in this channel,
he was working industriously at his task of carrying
the sailors’ bundles into the forecastle, and finally he
found Flint’s among them.

Hastily untying it, he took out two blankets, and
rolling up one of them to serve as a pillow, he put it
under his friend’s head and spread the other over his
// 131.png
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shoulders. As he was making his way up the ladder
to bring down the last bundle, he heard the splashing of
oars close by, and running to the side, saw a yawl
approaching.

“Ship ahoy!” cried one of the men in the yawl.

“Halloo!” replied the mate.

“What ship is this?”

Guy listened with all his ears to hear the mate’s reply,
but the officer leaned as far over the rail as he
could, and spoke in a tone so low that Guy could not
catch his words.

“When are you going to sail?” asked the man in the
yawl.

“Just as soon as we can haul up our mud-hook,” replied
the mate.

“Got your crew all aboard?”

“Yes.”

“Have you one among your hands of the name of
Guy Harris?”

“Merciful Heavens!” thought Guy. “Who in the
world can that be, and what does he want of me? Is
it the detective who arrested Bob Walker in Chicago?
Great Scott!”

Guy did not wait to hear any more of the conversation,
but hastily catching up the bundle, threw it
over his shoulders and ran into the forecastle.
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CHAPTER XV. || <fs=0.8em>AN UNWELCOME DISCOVERY.</fs>
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GUY REMAINED in the forecastle just long
enough to rid himself of his bundle, and
then ran back up the ladder. Frightened as
he was, he was possessed by an irresistible
desire to learn who it was that wanted to see him. He
intended to return to the deck and crouch down by the
side, where he could hear what was said; but when he
had ascended the ladder a few steps he heard the sound
of voices near by, and saw that the occupants of the
yawl had boarded the vessel. There were four of them,
three were policemen and the other was Mr. Heyward.
The latter held the shipping articles in his hand, and
by the aid of Rupert’s lantern was looking for Guy’s
name. The captain and his mate stood at a little distance
looking on.

“The name don’t seem to be on the list,” said one of
the officers, who was looking over Mr. Heyward’s
shoulder.

“I told you it wasn’t!” growled the skipper. “If
you ain’t satisfied, search the ship. What has the man
been doing, anyhow?”

“It isn’t a man I am after, but a boy,” said Mr. Heyward.
“He is an important witness in a case I intend
to bring before the courts next month.”

“Who told you he was aboard my ship?” demanded
the captain.

“No one. He slipped out of the court-room this
morning before I knew it, and as he cannot be found
about the city, it struck me he might be on board some
vessel, for he is a sailor. If I find him I shall have him
locked up. I am satisfied that he is not here,” said Mr.
Heyward, handing the shipping articles to the mate.
“I am all ready, Mr. Officer, if you are.”
// 133.png
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“I want to ask the captain just one question before I
go,” answered the policeman. “How long has your
vessel been lying here?”

“About four days.”

“Have you kept a watch on board all the while?”

“Of course I have,” replied the captain testily.
“Do you think I am fool enough to leave a ship with a
valuable cargo without a watch?”

“I merely asked for information. Those burglars who
broke into that jewelry store night before last—you
heard about it, didn’t you?”

“Yes. Did they get anything?”

“They made a big haul. There is a heavy reward
offered for them, but they have disappeared very mysteriously.
We have positive proof that they have not
left the city, and it may be that they have concealed
themselves on some vessel which they have reason to believe
is about to sail.”

“If you think they are here you had better look
around,” said the captain. “I don’t want any such
passengers with me.”

“Oh, if you have had a watch aboard your vessel all
the time they could not have got here without your
knowledge, so there’s no use in searching the ship.
Good-by, captain. I wish you a pleasant voyage.”

Seeing that Mr. Heyward and his companions were
about to go over the side, Guy ducked his head and
beat a hasty retreat into the forecastle.

“Whew!” he panted, drawing his coat-sleeve across
his forehead, “wasn’t that a narrow escape? I don’t
think much of such laws as they have in this country,
anyhow. I haven’t done anything to be punished for,
and yet Mr. Heyward, if he could have found me, would
have had me locked up in jail for a whole month. It’s
lucky I didn’t sign my right name to the articles.”

Guy was aroused from his reverie by the sound of
bustle and hurry on deck, and while he was wondering
what it was all about he was summoned from his hiding-place
by the hoarse voice of the second mate. When
// 134.png
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he reached the deck he found that preparations were
being made to get the ship under way. There were
four sober men in the crew—those Guy had found on
the vessel when he first came aboard—and Guy and the
mate made six. There were fourteen sailors in the
bunks below, so that the vessel’s company, counting in
the captain and leaving out the first officer, who for
some reason or other had not yet made his appearance,
numbered twenty-one men.

“Now, then, look alive.” said the mate. “There’s
only a few of us to do this work to-night, but there’ll
be more in the morning. Here, Thomas, clap on to
the standing part of that messenger, lead it aft, and
make it fast to a ring-bolt on the starboard side.”

Every word of this command was Greek to frightened
and bewildered Guy, who stood looking about the deck
undecided which way to turn. He had heard of “messenger-boys,”
but he did not know that there were any
on board, unless he was one, and he couldn’t see the use
of leading himself aft and making himself fast to a
ring-bolt, whatever that might be.

“Sir?” said he, as soon as he had collected himself so
that he could speak.

“<i>Sir!</i>” echoed the mate with a terrific oath. “I
spoke plainly enough, didn’t I? Where’s your ears?”

“They’re on my head. But I don’t see any messenger-boy.”

“Messen——Who said anything about a messenger-boy?”
roared the mate. “What’s this, you lubber?” he
continued, picking up a rope which led from the place
where they were standing through a block made fast to
the cable and thence to the capstan. “What is it, I
say? But look here, my hearty, didn’t you ship for an
able seaman?”

“Yes, I—no; no, I didn’t.”

“Yes, he did, Mr. Schwartz,” said the captain, who
had been a witness to the whole proceeding. “He did.
Lay that messenger over his shoulders, and do it so
smartly that he will know one the next time he sees it.”
// 135.png
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The mate swung one end of the heavy rope in the air,
and Guy, with a piercing cry of terror, sprang away
and took to his heels; but not in time to escape the
blow. The rope fell across his shoulders with such
crushing force that Guy wilted under it as if every bone
in his body had been broken by the concussion. As he
scrambled to his feet he was met by the captain.

“Go for’ard—don’t come back here,” said that officer,
emphasizing his command with a push that once more
made Guy measure his length on deck. “You don’t
belong here. Go for’ard, you lubber.”

“Come here,” said the mate, shaking his fist at Guy.
“Come here and get a handspike.”

Guy understood this order. He knew what a handspike
was and what to do with it after he had got it.
Dodging around the other side of the deck to avoid
passing the mate, he found one of the implements, and
shipping it into the capstan began heaving around with the
rest, who were by this time at work hoisting the anchor.
He kept one eye on the mate all the while, for he was
afraid that he might have more punishment in store for
him. And he had. When Guy came around within
reach of him the officer suddenly lifted a short rope
which he had kept concealed behind him, and rained
the blows upon the boy’s shoulders in a perfect shower.
Guy endured it until he believed that the mate had determined
to beat him to death, and then he dropped the
capstan bar and run for his life.

“Come back here!” shouted the mate.

“Murder! murder!” screamed Guy, crouching close
against the side, and holding both hands before his face.

“Yes, yes,” said the officer, seizing him by the collar
and throwing him back toward the capstan. “You’ll
sing that tune a good many times before you see the last
of me. I’ll learn you how to rate yourself the next time
you ship.”

“I didn’t want to ship as able seaman,” sobbed Guy,
“but Smith——”

“Heave ahead, there!” interrupted the mate, again
// 136.png
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raising the rope. “No back talk allowed here. I’m
going to haze you beautiful.”

That was a long and dreary night to Guy, and he
scarcely knew how he lived through it. He did not
understand a single order that was issued, and of course
could lend no hand in the working of the vessel.

He did his best, fearing the rope’s-end, but his clumsy
efforts only got him deeper into trouble. The sailors
swore at him and pushed him roughly out of the way,
and the mate cuffed and kicked him every time he came
within reach. Guy really thought he was doomed. He
never expected to live to see the sun rise again.

The vessel was kept under way about three hours,
and at twelve o’clock came to anchor under the lee of a
high, wooded point which jutted out into the sea.

Guy drew a long breath of relief when he heard the
cable rattling through the hawse-hole, and told himself
that his labors and troubles were over for that night at
least. But as usual he was disappointed.

The captain, not caring to go to sea short-handed, had
stopped here to wait until his crew should become sober,
and to perform some necessary work, such as getting on
chafing gear, lashing spars and water-butts and stowing
the boats. And Guy, with all the rest, was kept busy
until half-past three o’clock, when he was ordered below
to sleep until five. But he never once closed his eyes—he
was in too much agony, both mentally and physically.
He passed the hour and a half in rolling about in his
bunk bemoaning his hard fate, and resolving over and
over again that if he were spared to put his foot on shore
once more he would never, as long as he lived, go within
sight of salt water.

As the first gray streaks of dawn were seen in the east
two men came down into the forecastle. Guy gave a
start of surprise when his eyes rested on them, for he
knew them both.

The first was the mate, of whom he had already
learned to stand in abject fear, and he knew now what
he had all along suspected—that he was the same man
// 137.png
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whom he had met at the boarding-house. He recognized
him in a moment, for his face was not concealed
as it had been the night before. Guy wondered what
evil genius had sent him aboard the Morning Light.

In regard to the identity of the mate’s companion
there was no sort of doubt in the boy’s mind, although
he took two good looks at him, and then rubbed his eyes
and looked again before he was willing to credit the
evidence of his senses. He knew those gray clothes
and that mottled face and fur cap. He had seen them
all in the court-room the day before. The man to whom
they belonged was the robber against whom he had testified,
and who had looked at him so savagely while he
was giving his evidence.

This man, as the sequel proved, was the first mate of
the vessel, who had left his bondsmen in the lurch. He
had just come off in a shore boat, not having considered
it safe to join the vessel while she was in the harbor, for
fear there might be some one on the watch. Guy, of
course, <i>knew</i> nothing of this, but having become very
suspicious of late, he made a remarkably shrewd <i>guess</i>
as to the real facts of the case.

A thrill of terror run through the boy’s frame like a
shock of electricity when he reflected that he was completely
in this villain’s power, and that if he felt disposed
to take revenge on him for the evidence Guy had
given against him he would have every opportunity to
do it.

With a cautious movement Guy pulled the blanket
over his head, leaving a little opening through which he
could watch the movements of the two men. They had
come down there to arouse the crew. They stepped up
to one of the bunks and seizing the occupant by the
shoulder shook him roughly.

“Halloo!” exclaimed the first mate, “this is one of
our old hands, Jim Upham, and dead as a log yet.”

“Yes,” returned his companion with a chuckle, “and
if he knows when he is well off he will stay that way as
long as he can. I’ve a fine rod in pickle for him and
// 138.png
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his mate yonder in the next bunk, for it was owing to
them that we were four days in finding a crew.”

The two officers proceeded to make the circuit of the
forecastle, stopping at each bunk long enough to give
the occupant a good sound shaking. The sober ones—those
who had been on duty the night before—quickly
responded, and as soon as they were dressed were ordered
to rig the head-pump and get ready to wash down the
deck; but the others—those who had been brought off
in Rupert’s yawl—could not be aroused. The effects of
the drug, whatever it was, that the landlord had put into
their “last glass,” had not yet been slept off.

“Never mind,” said the first mate, “if they don’t
come around directly we’ll put them under the pump.
Who’s this?” he added, pulling the blankets off Guy’s
head.

“Oh, he’s a young sneak who has come aboard to be
hazed. He shipped for a sailor man, and don’t know a
marlinspike from the starboard side of the vessel.”

“Eh?” exclaimed the first mate, stepping back a little
out of the light and bending over until his face almost
touched Guy’s, “haven’t I seen this young—oh, he’s a
lubber, is he? Well, roll out and turn to.”

The expression in the mate’s eye and the tones of his
voice indicated that he was about to say something else;
but he recollected himself just in time. Guy knew that
he had been on the point of referring to the scene in the
court-room, and he was afraid that he might yet hear
from the man concerning it, and at no distant day
either. He did hear of it before a quarter of an hour
had passed away. While he was busy at work washing
the deck the first mate came up, handed him a swab,
and under pretense of showing him where to use it, led
him out of earshot of the sailors at the pump.

“I didn’t think I should have a chance to square yards
with you so soon, my lad,” said he, with a savage
emphasis. “Now I am going to make you think this
ship is a frying-pan; and if I hear you lisp a word about
what happened yesterday, <i>I will kill you</i>. Do you understand
that? Answer me; do you understand it?”
// 139.png
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“Yes, sir,” Guy managed to reply.

“Well, bear it in mind, for it is gospel. I mean just
what I say—no less.”

Guy did not doubt it in the least. A man who carried
a face like that of the mate was capable of any atrocity.
Between him and the second officer it was very probable
that the ship would be made a great deal warmer than a
frying-pan. He knew that he was utterly defenseless,
and that there was no possible way to avoid the punishment
the mates intended to inflict upon him. The only
thing he could do was to perform his duty to the best of
his ability, and that too with the disheartening conviction
all the while forcing itself upon his mind, that no
matter how hard he tried, the officers would find some
excuse for using a rope’s end on him.

While Guy was busy with his swab, performing his
work as well as he could see to do it through eyes blinded
with tears, he happened to glance toward the forecastle
and saw Flint slowly ascending the ladder. Guy could
hardly believe that it was he. The sailor looked, as he
afterward said he felt—“as dilapidated as a last year’s
bird’s nest.” His hair was disheveled, his face haggard
and pale, his eyes blood-shot, and had he been seen in
the woods just then, he would have been taken for a wild
man. Never in his life had Guy seen such an expression
of utter amazement and bewilderment as that which his
friend’s face wore as it arose slowly above the combings
of the hatchway. Flint was lost, and it took him some
time to get his bearings. He looked around the deck,
and finally his eyes fell upon Guy.

“Halloo, mate!” said he, with a sickly smile and an
abortive attempt to appear cheerful; “I knew you were
somewhere about, for I couldn’t think of anybody else
who would put a blanket under my head for a pillow,
and spread another over me to keep me warm. What
ship is this?”

“The clipper Morning Light,” said Guy. “You
don’t know how glad I am to see you in your sober senses
again. I want to talk to you.”
// 140.png
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“Clipper be—blessed,” said Flint, looking all around.
That wasn’t just the word he used, but it is as strong
a one as we care to put in print. “Where are we
bound?”

“Up the Mediterranean.”

“Mediterranean be blessed!” said Flint again. “Liverpool
or the Horn more likely. But, Jack, how did I get
aboard, and when?”

“You came last night. The landlord—Rupert is his
name—brought you and the rest off in a yawl, and you
were as drunk as a beast,” said Guy reproachfully, at the
same time hoping that Flint could clear himself of the
charge.

“No, I wasn’t,” answered the sailor emphatically.
“You nor nobody else ever saw me drunk on a pint of
brandy, and that’s all I took.”

“A pint!” cried Guy in surprise—“a whole pint?”

“Heavens and earth! what’s the matter?” exclaimed
Flint sharply. “I know to a drop how much I can stow
away. I can sail on and never keel under a quart. I
was doctored.”

“But what made you touch it? You said you
wouldn’t.”

“I know it, but I had to do it to settle the fight we
got into. The landlord said if we’d take a drink all
around he’d call it square, and we did. I tried to keep
the others from falling into a trap, and fell into it
myself. How did you come here, Jack?”

“I shipped aboard this vessel because I was told you
had done so.”

“What’s your rate?”

“The agent put me down as an A. B.,” said Guy
hesitatingly.

“He did!” exclaimed Flint, opening his eyes in
amazement. “Well, you are a soft Tommy, that’s a
fact. What made you let him do it? You’ve got
yourself into hot water.”

“I know it,” replied Guy, with tears in his eyes.
“I’ve been whipped a dozen times already, and the second
// 141.png
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mate says he’s going to haze me beautifully. What
does that mean, Flint?”

“He says that, does he?” cried the sailor. “Then you
had best jump over the side while you’ve got the
chance. He’s going to haze you, is he? That means
that he won’t let you have a minute’s peace as long as
this voyage lasts, and that you won’t get a wink of sleep
more than just enough to keep you alive. I pity you,
my boy.”

Guy thought he stood in need of sympathy. He
knew that there were hard times before him, but he
had never dreamed of anything so dreadful as this.
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CHAPTER XVI. || <fs=0.8em>STILL ANOTHER.</fs>
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FLINT looked at the boy for a moment with
an expression of great concern on his haggard
face, and continued:

“I was in a ship once when the whole crew
was hazed, and I wouldn’t go through it again for no
money. It was awful.”

“But why did you submit to it?” asked Guy, in surprise.
“Were there not enough of you to whip the
officers?”

“Yes, but that would have been mutiny; and if we
had tried it we would have been shot down like dogs.
There’s no way out of the scrape, Jack, unless you go
overboard. You’re held as tight as if you were in jail.”

“But I haven’t yet told you all,” said Guy, who
seemed to find a gloomy satisfaction in talking about his
troubles. “The first mate is an enemy of mine, too.
You remember, do you not, that when you had the fight
at the boarding-house I ran out? Well, I went to the
dock, and there I found a man who was being robbed.
I saved him by calling the police, and through me one
of the robbers was captured. I was taken to the watch-house
and locked up until the next morning, when I
appeared as a witness against the prisoner; and who do
you suppose he turned out to be? I was never more
astonished in my life. Don’t say a word about it,
Flint, for he threatens to kill me if I lisp it, but it was
our first mate. He says he is going to make me think
this ship is a frying-pan.”

“And he will keep his promise, too; you can bet high
on that,” said Flint, greatly amazed. “Have you told
me the worst yet?”

“Yes, I think I have. Haven’t I told you enough?”
// 143.png
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“I should say so. I told you that a boy who goes to
sea always gets more kicks than ha’pence, and now you
find that I spoke the truth.”

“But is there nothing I can do?” asked Guy anxiously.

“Nothing—nothing in the world. You must take
your kicks and say not a word. One of these days,
when you are an officer, you can take it out of the green
hands who ship under you. That’s your only chance to
get even.”

Flint, having offered Guy all the consolation in his
power—and very poor consolation it was, too—now bethought
him of his own troubles. Thrusting his hand
under his shirt he drew out his “monk-bag”—a small
leather purse which was suspended from his neck by a
string. The last time he saw the purse it was well filled
with bills and coin, but now it was empty.

“I have been eased of my wealth,” said he. “Do
you know what has become of it? I had eighty dollars
in here, and never spent a cent of it.”

“Is that gone, too?” exclaimed the boy, astonished at
the calmness with which his friend announced the discovery
of his loss. “I don’t know any thing about it,
but I do know where your advance went.”

With this Guy begun, and hurriedly described the
scene that had been enacted when Flint and his insensible
companions were first brought on board, dwelling
with much indignation on the fact that he had seen
Rupert steal his friend’s money, and had tried to make
him give it up, but had only succeeded in bringing down
upon himself the wrath of the captain, who choked him
until he could scarcely see.

When Guy finished, he looked at Flint, expecting
that he would be very angry, and that he would at once
seek the skipper and demand satisfaction for the manner
in which he had been treated; but the sailor did
nothing of the kind. He simply smiled, and said, with
an effort to appear cheerful:

“I’ve seen that same trick done more’n once, but it
// 144.png
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was never played upon me before, and never shall be
again.”

“But what are you going to do about it?” asked Guy.

“What <i>can</i> I do?”

“Why, arrest Rupert for robbery. I will be a witness
against him.”

“Ha!” laughed the sailor. “He’d bring a dozen men
to prove that I owed him every cent of my advance, and
more too. Besides, there’s no telling where Rupert will
be by the time our cruise is ended.”

“But you need not go on this voyage. You were not
legally shipped. You don’t remember of signing articles,
do you?”

“Of course not; but it will do no good to make a fuss
about it, for the old man will say I had too much liquor
in me when I did it to remember anything.”

“Suppose he does. I have heard my father say that a
note obtained from a person in a state of intoxication is
not good in law, and the same principle ought to apply
in this case.”

“Well, it won’t,” said Flint. “Law was made for
land-lubbers, not for sailors. Nobody cares for a sailor.”

Guy begun to think so, too. It was utterly incomprehensible
to him that men who had been kidnapped and
robbed, as Flint and his companions had been, must put
up with it, having no redress in law. He could not see
why it was so.

Just then there was a movement in one of the bunks
below, and presently a head appeared at the foot of the
ladder. Another of the sailors had slept off the effects
of the drug, and was coming up to see where he was.
He was a man considerably older than Flint, and his hair
and whiskers were as white as snow.

Guy’s heart bled for him. That a man at his time of
life should be treated worse than a brute, and be obliged
to submit to it too, it was——Guy’s indignation got
the better of him, and he could only wish that he could
be the master of the vessel for an hour or two. Wouldn’t
he straighten out things in a hurry?
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The old sailor came slowly up the ladder, taking no
notice of Guy and his friend, and swept his eyes over the
deck. No sooner had he done so than he started as if he
had seen something frightful, took another good look,
and his face turned ghastly pale.

“What ship is this?” he asked, backing down the ladder
a step or two.

“The clipper Morning Light, bound up the Mediterranean,”
replied Guy.

“Morning Light be blessed!” said the old sailor. “I
know her. She’s the Santa Maria.”

Guy’s under jaw dropped, and the swab fell from his
hand. His worst fears were confirmed.

He did not have time to digest this most unwelcome
piece of news; for the second mate, thinking that he was
devoting considerable time and attention to swabbing
that particular part of the deck—for he had kept
steadily at work during his conversation with Flint—came
forward to see about it. He might have said or
done something not altogether pleasant to Guy’s feelings,
had he not been diverted from his object by the
discovery of the two sailors on the ladder.

“Well, my hearties, you have slept it off at last, have
you?” he exclaimed. “Then tumble up and turn to.”

Flint and the gray-headed sailor promptly obeyed the
order, while the mate went into the forecastle to renew
his efforts to arouse the sleepers.

This time he was successful. One by one the poor fellows
came up the ladder, all of them, as Guy noticed,
wearing the same expression of blank amazement which
he had observed on Flint’s face, and, seeming to understand
their situation as well as if it had been explained
to them, went to work without uttering a word of complaint.

As soon as the deck was washed down the ship was got
under way, and, when studding-sails had been set alow
and aloft, the men were mustered on deck and divided
into watches. This done, the captain stepped before
them and said, in a stentorian voice, as if he were hailing
the mast-head:
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“Now, men, we have shipped together for a long
voyage, and whether or not it is to be a pleasant one depends
entirely on yourselves. You all claim to be able
seamen, and if you do your duty cheerfully and without
any grumbling, you will find me the easiest ship-master
you ever sailed under; but if there’s any nonsense among
you, I’ll make this vessel the hottest place for you this
side of——” Here the captain pointed with his finger
toward the deck, indicating, no doubt, the regions below.
“The rule of this ship is, the forenoon watch
below, and all hands on deck in the afternoon; and if
that regulation is changed, it will be your fault. Mark
you, now: That gentleman, Mr. Evans, is my first mate,
and that one there, Mr. Schwartz, is my second mate.
I’m the captain; and when you have taken a good look
at me, go for’rd. That’s all I have to say to you.”

“Go below, the watch,” commanded the second mate.

Guy, Flint, the gray-headed sailor, and the others belonging
to the port watch, lost no time in obeying the
order. There were none among them who felt like doing
duty. Guy certainly did not, for he was so completely
exhausted that it did not seem possible he could live to
draw another breath. He threw himself upon his hard
bed, drew the blankets over his shoulders, and listened
to the conversation of the sailors, who now had leisure
to talk over their situation.

To Guy’s great surprise there was not one of them
who exhibited the least indignation, or had a harsh
word to say against the author of their troubles. Some
flung themselves helplessly upon their bunks as if it
mattered little to them whether they ever got up again
or not, others overhauled their bundles or chests to see
if any of their dunnage was missing, and the faces of
all wore a look of sadness and dejection that was painful
to see. The furtive glances that they cast about the
forecastle, and the listening attitudes they assumed
whenever any unusual sound was heard, was enough to
satisfy Guy that they were all aware that they had been
shipped aboard the very vessel they had been most anxious
to avoid.
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“You needn’t be a looking and a listening now,
lads,” said the gray-haired sailor, whose name was Upham,
and who had made one voyage in the ship. “The
Santa Maria is as quiet as old Davy’s locker in the day-time,
but wait until midnight, if the wind freshens a
bit, then you’ll hear something,”

“The creaking and groaning of the cordage, most
likely,” said Guy. “I’ve heard it often aboard the Ossipee.”

“You’d better take a sheep-shank in that tongue of
yours,” said Upham sharply. “When you have sailed
the blue water till your hair is as white as mine, you’ll
know more than you do now.”

So saying the sailor drew the blankets over him, and
with a sigh of resignation turned his face to the bulk-head
and prepared to go to sleep. The rest of the
watch, one after the other, followed his example, and
Guy was left to commune with his own thoughts. He
would have been glad to know just how and when the
ghosts of the Santa Maria were accustomed to appear,
so that he might be on the lookout for them; but Upham
did not seem inclined to say more on the subject,
and he had shown himself to be such a gruff, irritable
old fellow that Guy did not care to ask him any questions,
being certain of getting a sharp and unsatisfactory
reply. While he was thinking about it he fell into
a deep, untroubled slumber.

Guy that day learned by experience what “hazing”
meant, and he found, too, that Flint’s description of
this mode of punishment was not in the least exaggerated.
Long before night came he was so nearly exhausted
that the fear of the rope’s end, with which the
second mate constantly threatened him, was the only
thing that kept him moving.

It was his watch below from six to eight o’clock, but
he was too tired to sleep, and the time was so short that
he got very little rest. He was called on deck again at
eight o’clock, and kept busy until midnight, for the
wind which arose at sunset freshened rapidly, and on
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several occasions it was found necessary to shorten sail.
Of course Guy could lend no assistance in the execution
of this work, but he bustled about in response to
every order that was issued, and only succeeded in getting
himself into trouble by his misdirected activity
and zeal.

Once, when he was sent headlong against the rail by
a push from an angry sailor, he clung to it for a moment
with a half-formed resolution in his mind to
jump into the waves which were tossing the vessel so
widely about, and put an end to his misery at once, but
prudence stepped in in time to prevent him from doing
anything rash.

“The voyage can’t last forever,” thought Guy, trying
hard to keep up his courage. “We must reach some
port at last, and in less than half an hour after we are
tied up to the wharf I shall be missing. I am going to
desert. I have money enough in my pocket to keep me
in food until I can find something to do. I’d rather be
a wood-sawyer than a sailor.”

Midnight came at last, and the starboard watch was
called. Guy happened to be standing near the heel of
the bowsprit as they came up the ladder, and he was astonished
to see that every one of them was as white as
a sheet. When they reached the deck they all cast suspicious
glances back into the forecastle, as if they were
afraid that there might be something following them.
Beyond a doubt the ghosts had manifested themselves
in some way. So thought Guy, and his opinion was
confirmed by some whispered words he overheard.

“What is it, mate?” asked Flint of the sailor who was
the first to reach the deck. “Your face is as white as
a landsman’s Sunday shirt.”

“And maybe your face will be white, too, after you
have been down there a few minutes,” answered the
man, who was the gray-haired sailor’s crony, and who,
like him, had made one voyage in the Santa Maria.
“Where’s Upham?”

“Here,” replied the owner of that name. “Have
you seen ’em?”
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“No; but I’ve heard ’em. He’ll be up directly.”

“He! Who?” asked Flint uneasily.

“Why, the ghost of the man who was lost overboard
a few years ago,” said Upham. “You see, one night,
during a gale, some of the crew were sent aloft to cut
away the main topsail, for it was blowing too hard to
furl it. One man was lost overboard—he was blown
fairly off the foot-rope, they tell me—and every night
after that his ghost used to get up on the main-topsail
yard and sing out: ‘Stand from under!’ I never heard
him speak, but I’ve seen him often.”

“So have I,” said Upham’s crony. “He looks like a
rat.”

“But what did you see in the forecastle?” asked
Flint.

“Nothing; but we heard ’em talking and going on.
They’re in the hold now.”

“Go below, you lubbers!” shouted the second mate.
“This is the third time I have spoken to you, and if
you don’t pay some attention I’ll start you down faster
than you want to go.”

The men belonging to the port watch ran quickly
down the ladder to avoid the handspike which the officer
began to swing about in close proximity to their
heads.

Guy was the last to leave the deck. Tired and utterly
discouraged as he was he would rather have spent the
rest of the night in work than go into the forecastle.
He scouted the idea of ghosts, but when such men as
Flint and Upham showed signs of fear, he believed that
it could not be without good reason, and that there must
be something to be afraid of. He trembled violently,
and his face was as pale as those of the rest of the watch.

“Aha! see him now, mates!” exclaimed the gray-headed
sailor pointing to Guy as he came down the
ladder. “Here’s the chap that knows more’n all the
rest of us put together!—a regular sea-lawyer. Now
look at him!”

“Listen! listen!” said one of the watch suddenly.
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The sailors all held their breath, and a silence deep
as that of the grave reigned in the forecastle. This continued
for a few seconds, and then a low, moaning
sound, like the wail of some one in intense bodily agony,
fell upon their ears with startling distinctness. It
seemed to come to them through the bulk-head that
separated the forecastle from the hold.

Guy listened in great amazement. The cold chills
begun to creep all over him, and his face grew a shade
paler than ever.

“Don’t be afraid, my son,” said Upham mockingly.
“It’s only the creaking and groaning of the rigging.
You’ve heard it often, so it needn’t scare you.”

“No, it isn’t the rigging,” said Guy; “it’s the boxes
of freight rubbing against one another.”

“Well, I never knew before that boxes of freight
could talk,” said one of the watch. “Just listen to
that!”

“Oh, heavens! I can’t stand it! I can’t stand it!”
came in muffled tones from the hold. “Take it off, or
I shall die!”

This was followed by a low, murmuring sound, as of
several persons in earnest conversation, and then all was
still.

Guy’s philosophy was not proof against such a manifestation
as this. There was something in the hold beyond
a doubt, and what else could it be but the ghostly
crew the Santa Maria was supposed to carry?

“There’s been awful things done aboard this craft,”
said Upham, shaking his gray head solemnly. “Nobody
knows how many poor fellows have been knocked overboard
on dark nights by them two mates.”

“Great Scott!” soliloquized Guy, jumping into his
bunk and drawing the blankets over his head. “I
never thought of that. Who knows but that the first
mate may be watching for a chance to knock me overboard?”

The old sailor’s words had excited a train of serious
reflections in Guy’s mind. A man who could deliberately
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attack another with the intention of robbing and
throwing him into the harbor, would be none too good
to make an end of the boy who had given evidence
against him. There was but one thing he could do in
his helpless situation, he told himself, and that was to
watch the mate closely and be in readiness to seize the
first opportunity to desert the vessel.

The night wore slowly away, and another miserable
day dawned for the runaway. He was kept very busy,
for the mates always found some work that he could do,
but still he had leisure to observe that there was something
unusual going on among the men. They gathered
in little groups to converse when the officers were not
looking at them, and Upham talked privately with
every one of the crew, Guy alone excepted. He seemed
to be urging some sort of a movement among the sailors,
but what it was Guy could not find out, for no one, not
even Flint, would enlighten him.

Was it a mutiny? Guy hoped it was, and placed a
handspike where he could seize it at a moment’s warning.
If force were resorted to, he would get in at least
a blow or two in return for the barbarous treatment to
which he had been subjected.

Nothing was done until three o’clock, and then the
captain came on deck as usual to smoke his after-dinner
cigar. His appearance seemed to be the signal the
sailors were waiting for. They dropped their work at
once and, headed by Upham, marched aft in a body.
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.h2
CHAPTER XVII. || <fs=0.8em>THE GHOSTS OF THE SANTA MARIA.</fs>
.sp 2
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“HALLOO! what do you want here, you lubbers?”
demanded the captain, as the sailors,
headed by Upham, ranged themselves on the
quarter-deck in front of him and took off
their caps. “I don’t allow any such doings as this
aboard my ship. Go for’ard where you belong.”

“We haven’t come for any mischief, cap’n,” said
Upham, who had been chosen to do the talking for his
companions. “We’re all sailor men, and know our
duty.”

“Then go for’ard and do it,” said the skipper angrily.
“Away you go.”

“We’re ready to obey orders, cap’n, and you sha’n’t
have a word of fault to find with none of us, if you will
only think up some way to git rid of them other fellows.
It’s more than human flesh and blood can stand to have
them aboard here.”

“What other fellows?”

“Why, them in the hold that keeps up such a wailing
and groaning all the while.”

“Get out o’ this!” shouted the captain, looking about
the deck as if he were searching for something to throw
at Upham’s head. “I’ve heard enough. You pulled
the wool over the eyes of a lot of soft Tommys on shore
and kept us waiting three days for a crew, but you can’t
talk any of your ghost stories into me. Go to your
duty.”

“We’ve done our duty since we’ve been aboard,
cap’n,” returned Upham, “and we’re ready to keep on
doing it if you will only get rid of that other crew, but
not a tack or sheet do we touch till this thing has been
looked into. We’ve all made up our minds to that.”
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“Oh, you’re going to mutiny, are you?” roared the
skipper, his face growing purple with fury. “I’ll show
you how I deal with such men. Mr. Schwartz, just step
down into the cabin and bring up my pistols.”

The second mate started in obedience to the order,
but the sailors, who were drawn up in line across the
deck, moved forward as one man, and stood between
him and the companion-way.

Things were getting serious, and Guy, who stood on
the outskirts of the crowd, began edging his way toward
the bow. Was he going after his handspike? No; he
intended to dodge into the forecastle, where he would
be safe. If the captain was going to use fire-arms to
bring his crew to their senses, he did not want to be
found in the way of the bullets.

The skipper’s actions indicated that he was in just the
right humor to do something desperate. He stamped
about the deck and swore at the top of his voice, but it
was plain that, in spite of all his bluster, he was cowed
by the bold front of his crew. When he paused to take
breath, Upham spoke.

“We don’t want to go agin yer, cap’n,” said he,
“and we don’t want to talk no ghost stories into you,
neither. All we ask of you is to come down into the
forecastle and listen to ’em with your own ears. I’ve
heard ’em, and I hain’t a boy to be scared at nothing. I
snuffed salt water before you ever saw daylight.”

The captain seemed on the point of making an angry
reply, but just then the second mate, after holding a
short consultation with the first officer, stepped up and
said something to him in a whisper. The sailors could
not hear what it was, but they saw the skipper’s face
brighten at once.

“It may be possible,” said he, aloud. “I did not
think of that. Come on, men; I’ll soon get at the bottom
of the matter.”

The captain led the way into the forecastle, and the
sailors flocked down the ladder after him, Guy bringing
up the rear.
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“Now fetch on your ghosts,” said the skipper, seating
himself on one of the bunks.

“Avast heaving a minute, cap’n, and you’ll see ’em,”
said Upham.

The silence that followed continued so long that the
sailors began to get impatient, but not so the captain.
The few words the second mate whispered in his ear had
aroused some suspicions in his mind, and he was resolved
that they should either be confirmed or entirely
set at rest before he left the forecastle.

Ten minutes passed, and then the groans that had
startled the crew the night before were distinctly
heard, followed by the low murmur of conversation.
The captain seemed very much annoyed. He arose
from his seat, and placing his ear close against the bulk-head,
stood there listening intently until the sounds
ceased.

“They’re there sure enough, cap’n,” said Upham.
“You see that we wasn’t complaining of nothing.”

“I am satisfied of it now,” was the reply. “Get lanterns,
a couple of you, and all the port watch come with
me into the hold. Bring handspikes every mother’s son
of you.”

“Handspikes won’t do no good,” growled Flint, after
the captain had ascended from the forecastle.

“No,” assented Upham. “I never yet heard of a
ghost being knocked down and put in irons.”

Judging by the expression on the faces of the sailors,
there was not a man in the port watch who did not wish
that somebody besides himself had been called upon to
accompany the captain. The alarm that prevailed
among them was contagious, and even Guy began to
give way to it. He believed, with Flint and Upham,
that there was something in the hold that could not be
overcome with weapons, and when he went aft with his
watch, armed like the rest with a handspike, he stationed
himself at the heels of the captain with the determination
to keep close to him. He had faith in the
skipper’s courage and prowess, and, moreover, he saw
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that the latter carried pistols in his pockets. Pistols
were better than handspikes any day, even in an encounter
with ghosts.

In obedience to the orders of the mate, one of the
hatches was opened, and the captain descended into the
hold, followed by the port watch. Slowly they made
their way along a narrow passage toward the place where
the water-butts were stowed, and when they came
within sight of them they stopped, astonished by the
scene presented to their gaze. Some of the sailors took
just one look, and then uttered exclamations of alarm
and turned to retreat. Guy would have done the same,
only he could not. He was so badly frightened that he
could neither move nor speak.

A portion of the cargo had been broken out, forming
a clear space about six feet square and as many feet
deep, and in it were seated the objects that had excited
his alarm—not ghosts, but living men, who held cocked
pistols in their hands, and whose faces denoted that
they were anything but pleased at the discovery of their
hiding-place. In the center of this clear space was a
fourth man, lying flat on his back, and pinned down by
a box of goods which had doubtless been thrown upon
him by the lurching of the vessel. The box was so
large and heavy, and his companions had so little room
to work in, that they had not been able to release him;
and there the poor fellow had lain for long hours suffering
intense agony, which was increased by every lurch
the vessel gave. He it was who had given utterance to
the groans which had so greatly alarmed the crew. The
men, whoever they were, had come on board prepared
for a long voyage, for they had brought with them a
large bag of provisions, and had tapped one of the
butts to get a supply of water.

“Well,” said the captain, as soon as the volley of exclamations
which arose from the sailors had subsided,
so that he could make himself heard, “this thing has
turned out just as I expected it would. You’re the lads
that robbed the jewelry store, I suppose.”
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“Why, so they are!” exclaimed Guy, who now comprehended
the matter perfectly; “I knew they couldn’t
be ghosts.”

“Who and what we are is no business of yours,” answered
one of the men gruffly.

“It isn’t, ’eh?” exclaimed the captain. “I am master
of this ship, if you only knew it. Come up out of
that.”

“No, we’ll not go up, and if you know when you are
well off you’ll not come down to us, either. We are
all armed, as you see, and the first man who makes a
move to lay a hand on us will get a bullet through his
head.”

“Cap’n,” said Flint, who was brave enough now that
he knew they had live men and not dead ones to deal
with, “just say the word and I’ll jump down there and
toss that fellow out before he knows what is the matter
with him.”

“No, no,” said the captain. “Stay where you are.
I know how to deal with ’em. Where are you lads
going?” he added, holding one of the lanterns over the
robbers’ hiding-place and taking a good survey of it.

“We’re going wherever the ship goes,” was the surly
reply.

“Well, you’ll have a good long ride. This cargo will
not be broken out under seven or eight months. Have
you got provisions enough to last you that long?”

“You needn’t lose no sleep in worrying about that.”

“I won’t, for it’s your lookout, not mine. Hadn’t
you better let me rig a whip and hoist that box off that
man? It’s a pity to keep him in that fix.”

“And after you get it hoisted off you would try to
come some of your sailor tricks over us,” said the robber.
“We ain’t quite so green as that. You just go
off and attend to your own business. We’ll take care
of him.”

“All right. Mark you now, my fine lads, I’m going
to close and batten down my hatches, and they sha’n’t
be opened again until we reach port, no matter what
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happens. If the ship goes to the bottom you go with
her, and without a chance to save yourselves.”

The skipper turned and crawled back toward the
hatchway as he said this, and the watch followed him.
They found their companions on deck impatiently
awaiting their return, and when they heard what the
captain had to say to his mates, and learned that the
men in the hold were not ghosts, as they had supposed,
but a gang of burglars, who, in spite of the vigilance
of the watch, had succeeded in smuggling themselves
on board before the ship left port, their surprise knew
no bounds. Their faces, too, as well as the long, deep
sighs which came up from their broad chests showed
that their relief was fully as great as their astonishment.

Guy and the four men he had found on board the
Santa Maria when he first joined her, knew more about
the matter than anybody else, except the officers, they
having been on deck while the policeman was talking
with the captain about the burglars. They were obliged
to repeat all they had heard over and over again, first
to one and then to another, and Guy always wound up
by declaring that that was the way all ghost stories
turned out—they could be explained easily enough if
people would only take the trouble to look into them.

“Avast there!” said Upham, who happened to overhear
this last remark. “You ain’t done with the old
Santa Maria yet. You hain’t seen the ghost who gets up
on the main-topsail yard every night during a gale and
says:

“Stand from under!”

By the time the hatches had all been closed and
securely fastened, the captain came up out of his cabin,
where he had been busy with his chart. A few rapid
orders, which Guy, as usual, failed to comprehend, were
issued, and the ship stood off on another course.

“The old man isn’t letting grass grow under his feet,”
said Flint to Guy, as he came down out of the top.
“He’s going to get rid of them fellows.”
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“What is he going to do with them?” asked Guy.

“He’s going to put ’em ashore. We’re heading for
some port now.”

“Are we?” exclaimed Guy, highly delighted at this
piece of news. “I wish we were there now,” he added,
sinking his voice to a whisper, and looking all about to
make sure that there was no one within hearing. “You
wouldn’t see me in half an hour from this time. I am
going to desert.”

“And I don’t blame you,” said Flint.

“You will go with me, won’t you?”

“What are you going to do?” asked the sailor; “find
another ship?”

“No, sir,” said Guy emphatically. “If I ever put
my foot on the deck of another vessel as a foremast
hand, I hope she will go to the bottom with me. I am
going to stay ashore; you may depend upon that.”

“Then I don’t see what good it will do me to go with
you, Jack. I’d have to ship again at once, for I’ve got
no money, and I couldn’t find any work to do ashore,
not being a landsman. I might as well stay here. Now
that I know we’ve got no ghosts aboard I shall like the
Santa Maria as well as any other ship.”

“Then I shall have to go alone, I suppose,” said Guy.
“I don’t like to leave you, Flint, but I can’t stand this
any longer. I am black and blue all over from the
poundings I have received.”

“And you’re getting as thin as the royal yard,” said
Flint. “You’ll be bait for the crows if you stay aboard
this craft till we reach the Sandwich Islands, and that’s
where we’re bound.”

“The Sandwich Islands!” repeated Guy. “I thought
we were going up the Mediterranean.”

“Oh, that’s only one of the pack of lies that shipping
agent told you,” said the sailor, with a laugh. “If you
had looked at the articles you signed, you would have
found out all about it. We’re going to discharge our
cargo at San Francisco, take another from there to Honolulu,
and fill up again for New Orleans. Where we
shall go after that I don’t know.”
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“We’re going round the Horn, I suppose?”

“Of course. They don’t take ships over the isthmus
yet.”

“Then I understand why Smith made me buy so
many thick clothes. He said perhaps I’d see some cold
weather.”

“And so you will,” said Flint. “I’ll help you to get
off if I can, but I don’t see the use of going with you.
I’d have to leave you again, unless you would go to sea
in some other vessel.”

“And that I’ll never do. I’ll starve on shore first.”

“And I’ll stay aboard the Santa Maria. Have you
got any money?”

“Yes, I have sixty dollars and a little over. Do you
want some of it?”

“No, I don’t,” said the sailor quickly. “I sha’n’t
need any while I am at sea, but you’ll need it ashore.
Here,” he added, taking off his monk-bag and handing
it to Guy, “keep this to remember me by. Put your
money in it, and tie it around your neck, and you won’t
be likely to lose it. You can’t take your bundle with
you, of course, so when we reach port you had better put
on another suit of clothes under those you’ve got on now,
and stow away all the dunnage about you that you can
without making yourself look too fat. If you put on too
much you might as well try to leave the ship with a chest
on your shoulder, for the mates will know in a minute
what you’re up to. They’re posted in all sailor tricks.
We sha’n’t be long in port, so you had better be in a
hurry. Whatever you do, don’t be caught, or you’ll sup
sorrow with a spoon as big as a water-butt.”

This made Guy open his eyes. He had not expected
to find any serious obstacle in his way. If the ship came
to anchor in the harbor to which they were bound,
especially if they arrived there during the night, it
would be but little trouble for him to drop overboard
from the fore-chains and swim ashore, provided the distance
were not too great; and if she were made fast to
the dock, it would be still less trouble to leave her. But
// 160.png
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now he knew that the officers would be on the watch,
that they well understood every device that could be resorted
to by deserters, and that if he were caught in the
act of leaving the vessel, the treatment he had hitherto
received would be mild in comparison with the punishment
that would be inflicted upon him. The thought
almost took Guy’s breath away, but it did not discourage
him. He had fully made up his mind to desert the vessel
if it were within the bounds of possibility, and was
not to be easily frightened from his purpose.

He conferred with Flint at every opportunity, and
made all necessary preparations, selecting the clothes he
intended to take with him, and tying them up in a separate
bundle together with the “Boy Trappers,” the
book that belonged to Henry Stewart. This book Guy
had carefully preserved. It was the only thing he had
left of the hunting outfit which he had brought with him
from home.

On the third day after the discovery of the robbers in
the hold, land was in sight once more, and at nine o’clock
in the evening the Santa Maria entered the port toward
which the captain had shaped her course, and was made
fast to the wharf.

Guy did not know what the name of the town was or
what country it was in, and he did not think to inquire.
All he cared for was to get safely off the vessel; he could
get his bearings afterward.

As soon as the ship touched the dock the captain
jumped ashore, and hurried away in the darkness—he
was going after some officers to arrest the men in the
hold, Flint said—and Guy ran into the forecastle to
make ready for his attempt at desertion. He hastily
pulled on the clothes he had selected, secured the “Boy
Trappers” about his person, and having examined his
monk-bag to make sure that his money was safe, presented
himself before his friend, who nodded approvingly.

“It’s all right,” said the sailor. “You’ll pass in the
dark. Now stand here by the side, and I’ll go aft and
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keep an eye on the mates. When I see that they are not
looking toward you, I’ll cough this way—here Flint gave
an illustration—and do you jump ashore, and run as if
Old Nep was after you with his three-pronged pitchfork.
I can’t shake hands with you for fear they’ll see me and
suspect something; but you won’t forget me, will you,
Jack?”

“Never,” replied Guy. “You have been very kind
to me, and I wouldn’t leave you under any other
circumstances.”

Flint, who did not care to prolong the interview,
walked leisurely aft, and Guy leaned over the side and
impatiently waited for the signal.
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CHAPTER XVIII. || <fs=0.8em>ON SHORE AGAIN.</fs>
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FOR TEN minutes—it seemed an hour to him—Guy
stood there with his hands on the side
waiting for the signal which was to tell him
that the moment had arrived for him to make
a strike for his liberty; but Flint did not give it.

Guy began to get impatient. He looked about the
deck, but although the crew were in sight, none of them
seemed to be paying any attention to him or his movements.
The first mate was standing at the head of the
companion ladder, gazing toward the light-house at the
entrance of the harbor, and the second mate, the one he
most feared, was nowhere to be seen. But for all that,
he was close by, and on the watch, too. Flint saw him,
and that was the reason he did not give the signal for
which Guy was so impatiently waiting.

The vigilant officer, who seemed to see everything that
took place on board the vessel, knew Guy’s plans as well
as he knew them himself, for he had crouched at the
head of the ladder and looked down into the forecastle
while Guy was preparing for his attempt at escape.

The mate’s first thought was to seize him as he came
on deck and shake him out of his superfluous clothing;
but after a little reflection he decided to adopt another
mode of punishment. He would wait until Guy was
about to leave the ship and then give him a lesson that
he would remember as long as he lived.

As Flint turned away after taking leave of his young
friend, he saw the mate crouching behind the long boat,
holding in his hand a stick of wood which he had
caught up as he passed the galley.

The sailor knew in an instant why he was there,
and would have turned back to warn Guy, but the
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officer, divining his intention, made an impatient gesture
with his hand, and Flint was obliged to pass on.

Guy waited and listened, growing more and more impatient,
until at last he could no longer control himself.
The wharf was almost within reach of him, and if his
feet were once firmly planted upon it, his escape could
be easily accomplished. A few quick bounds would
carry him out of sight in the darkness, and if he were
followed, he could creep into some alley or door-way
and remain there until the danger was past. He resolved
to try it.

He put one leg over the rail, paused an instant to
make sure that the movement had not attracted attention,
then threw the other over, and lowered himself slowly
toward the wharf. His feet had almost touched it, and
Guy was already congratulating himself on his escape,
when a stick of stove-wood, propelled with all the force
of a sinewy arm, whistled through the air, and striking
the rail within an inch of his head, bounded off, and fell
into the water. Had it struck him, as the mate fully
intended it should when he sent it flying from his hand,
it would have knocked him senseless.

While Guy was looking all around to see where the
missile came from, the officer arose from his concealment
and showed himself.

“That was a pretty good shot,” said he, “but the
next one will come closer than that. Crawl back, you
lubber. Now,” he added, as the boy tremblingly
obeyed, “go below, and stay there till I call you.”

As Guy started off in obedience to the order, the mate
hastened his movements by aiming a blow at him with
his fist, and following it up by a vicious kick with his
heavy boot; but the boy, having learned to be always on
the lookout for these favors, nimbly eluded them both.

“I wish I were a man for a few minutes,” thought
Guy, as he ran down the ladder into the forecastle and
began pulling off his extra clothing; “I’d settle with
you, Mr. Schwartz, and pay you back in your own coin.
I’ve failed once, but I’ll not fail the next time I try it.
// 164.png
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I’ll have more time at San Francisco, for Flint says
we’re going to discharge our cargo there. Perhaps it is
just as well, after all,” he added, determined, to look on
the bright side, if there was any, “because when I reach
San Francisco I shall be but a short distance from the
Rocky Mountains, and can begin the life of a hunter as
soon as I please. Don’t I wish I was there now with a
good horse and gun, and such a dog as the boy trappers
had? Never mind, I’ll have them one of these days, if
I only live to get off this vessel.”

About the time Guy was ordered below by the second
mate, the captain returned, accompanied by three or
four policemen. Guy heard them open the hatch and
go into the hold, and remembering that the robbers had
promised to make a desperate resistance, he listened to
their movements with no little anxiety, momentarily expecting
to hear the sounds of a fierce struggle going on
among the freight, but nothing of the kind happened.

The sight of the locusts and badges borne by the officers
of the law took all the courage out of the burglars,
who quietly passed up their weapons and allowed handcuffs
to be slipped on their wrists. The box was then
hoisted off the other burglar, and he was placed upon a
stretcher and carried ashore. It was all done in five
minutes, and when Guy was ordered on deck to assist in
getting the vessel under way—or rather to stand by
and look on while the others did it—the policemen
and their prisoners had disappeared in the darkness.

This was the last incident worthy of record that happened
while Guy remained on board the Santa Maria.
Nothing occurred to break the monotony of the voyage,
which continued two hundred and ten days, and which
our runaway afterward looked back upon as the dreariest
part of his existence.

With the robbers disappeared all traces of that “other
crew” of which the sailors stood so much in fear. The
most superstitious among them kept a close watch for a
few nights, starting at every unusual sound; and when
the wind freshened during the mid-watch, casting
// 165.png
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anxious glances toward the main-topsail yard, where the
ghost who shouted “Stand from under!” was accustomed
to station himself. But nothing startling was
ever seen or heard, and the men finally ceased to speak
or think of the matter.

Flint came in for some slight punishment for assisting
Guy in his attempt to desert the vessel, and Upham
and his crony were hazed for a day or two for keeping
the ship waiting in port for a crew; but the mate’s ill-will
seemed to wear itself out at last, and then things
went on smoothly with everybody except the runaway.

Mr. Schwartz could not forget that Guy had tried to
impose upon him by rating himself as able seaman,
when he scarcely knew the maintruck from the kelson,
and he did not intend that Guy should forget it either.
He never allowed him a moment’s peace while he was
on duty, and sometimes, when he felt particularly vindictive,
he would keep him on deck long after the rest of
the watch had gone below. Guy’s life almost became a
burden to him. The only pleasure he found was in
looking at the pictures in the “Boy Trappers,” and
dreaming of the easy, glorious existence he would lead
when once he became a hunter.

When he tumbled into his bunk he would lie awake
for hours building his gorgeous air-castles. Under the
influence of his lively imagination the walls of his dingy
quarters would seem to widen out and loom up until
they became lofty, snow-capped mountains; the dreary
forecastle, smelling of tar and bilge-water, would become
a beautiful glade decked with flowers and embowered
with trees; the smoky lantern would grow into a
cheerful camp-fire; the weather-beaten walls would
change into tall, broad-shouldered hunters and trappers;
the chests, which were ranged on one side of the forecastle,
would take the shape of horses staked out to
graze; and the clothing hanging about would be transformed
into buffalo humps and juicy haunches of
venison.

Then Guy would imagine himself stretched out on
// 166.png
.bn 166.png
his blanket among these wild, congenial spirits, wearing
a coonskin cap and dressed in a full suit of buckskin,
gaudily ornamented (he couldn’t be a full-fledged hunter
without a coonskin cap and a suit of buckskin, especially
the latter, which, according to the cheap novels
he had read, always set off the wearer’s “slender, well-knit
frame to such good advantage”), his “deadly rifle,
with which he could drive a nail or snuff a candle at
sixty yards’ distance,” lying by his side; his tomahawk,
hunting-knife and lasso hanging from a tree over his
head, his fierce wolf-dog that could pull down a buck or
throttle an Indian with all ease, reposing at his feet,
and his horse, an animal which had carried him safely
through many a desperate fight with savages and wild
beasts, and which for speed and endurance was never
equaled, grazing a little apart from the others and rendered
conspicuous by his great size and exceeding beauty.

“And suppose this horse was the celebrated white
pacer of the plains,” soliloquized Guy, carried fairly up
to the seventh heaven of happiness by his wild dreamings;
“a horse that no living man had ever ridden until
I caught him with my own lasso and tamed him with
my own hands! Ah! And suppose these men were
government scouts and I was the chief of them? ‘The
Boy Chief of the Rough Riders of the Rocky Mountains!’
Whew! Wouldn’t that be a sounding title,
though? Oh, I’m bound to make myself famous before
I am ten years older. Dear me, I wonder if this miserable
vessel will ever reach San Francisco?”

When Guy dropped to sleep at last it would be to revel
in such scenes as this, until the hoarse voice of the
second mate brought him back to the realities of earth
again. He lived in this way just seven months—how
careful he was to count the days as they dragged slowly
by—and when at last he was beginning to despair and
to believe that the voyage never would have an end,
Flint one day pointed out something in the horizon
which looked like a cloud, but which he said was land,
adding that he had heard the first mate say that if they
// 167.png
.bn 167.png
had no bad luck they would pass the Golden Gate in
about three days.

Guy had been waiting most impatiently for this announcement,
and now he could not have told whether
he was glad or sorry to hear it. He longed to feel the
solid ground under his feet once more, but there was an
obstacle in the way of his getting there that he dreaded
to encounter.

That was the second mate, whose eyes followed every
move he made while he was on deck. Since he detected
the boy in his attempt to desert the vessel, the
officer had been more brutal than he was before; and he
had promised, too, that if he caught Guy in any more
tricks of that kind he would knock him overboard the
very first good chance he got.

Guy believed that the mate fully intended to carry it
out. Flint thought so, too, and advised extreme caution.
He and Guy held many a long consultation, but
could decide upon no definite plan of operations. The
only thing the boy could do was to be governed by circumstances,
and this time be careful not to act in too
great a hurry.

On the afternoon of the fourth day after land was discovered
the Santa Maria entered the harbor of San
Francisco and came to anchor, where she was to remain
a day or two—so Guy heard—before she was hauled into
the wharf. No sooner had she swung round to her
anchor than one of the boats was put into the water,
and when it had been manned the captain came on
deck carrying a basket on his arm.

“Pass the word for Thomas,” said he.

Guy heard the call, and was hurrying aft in response
to it when he was met by the second mate.

“Look here, my hearty,” said the officer, “you’re to
go ashore to carry the captain’s basket. But listen
now—no nonsense. I know every hole and corner in
’Frisco, and if you don’t come back with the old man
I’ll be after you with a sharp stick, and if I catch you—well,
you know me.”
// 168.png
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The mate finished with a peculiar nod of his head,
which had a peculiar meaning in it.

Guy picked up the captain’s basket in obedience to a
gesture from that gentleman, and followed him into the
boat. His mind was in such a whirl of excitement and
uncertainty that he took no note of what was going on
around him. Here was a chance for liberty, but he did
not know whether to improve it or not. He had nothing
with him except his money, and that he always
carried in his monk-bag, which was slung around his
neck. The blankets and extra clothing which he would
probably need before he could have time to earn others,
were in his bundle in the forecastle, and so was that
book of Henry Stewart’s, which was to him what chart
and compass are to the mariner.

Guy set great store by that book. It would, he thought,
be of as much service to him as the blankets and extra
clothing, for he knew nothing about hunting and trapping;
in fact, he had never fired a gun half a dozen
times in his life, and he could make but poor headway
until he had received instructions from some source.

Having no mind of his own and knowing next to
nothing outside of school books, he had leaned upon
somebody ever since he had been away from home—Bob
Walker first, and then Flint—and he had expected
when he left the vessel to have the book for a counselor.
It told how to build camps, how to cook squirrels and
venison on spits before the fire, how to travel through
the thickest woods without the aid of a compass or the
sun, and how he ought to conduct himself in all sorts of
terrible emergencies, such as fights with Indians and grizzly
bears. It would be a rather risky piece of business for
him to depend on his own judgment and resources, and
it would be equally risky to wait for another opportunity
to desert, for it might never be presented.

Guy did not know what to do, and there was no one
to whom he could go for advice.

“Thomas, you stay here till I come.”

These words aroused Guy from his reverie. He
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looked up and found himself standing at the foot of a
long, wide stairway leading up into a building which
looked like a warehouse. The Santa Maria was hidden
from his view by the masts and rigging of the vessels
lying at the wharf, the boat in which he had come ashore
was out of sight, and so was the captain, who went
quickly up the stairs and disappeared through a door,
which he slammed behind him. Now or never was the
thought that passed through Guy’s mind, and without
stopping to dwell upon it an instant, he dropped the
basket and darted away as fast as his legs could carry
him, turning down every street he came to, and putting
as many corners as possible between himself and the
harbor.

Guy had learned at least one thing during the eight or
nine months he had been on the water, and that was that
in all seaport towns the sailors’ quarters are located near
the docks, hence his desire to leave that part of the city
behind him in the shortest possible space of time. He
never wanted to meet a sea-faring man again—he had
learned to despise the name as well as the calling. Besides,
he knew that if the second mate fulfilled his threat
of searching the city for him, that part of it to which the
sailors most resorted would be the very first place he
would visit. Guy wondered if there was a hunters’
boarding-house in town. The officer would never think
of looking for him there.

The deserter made remarkably good time for a boy who
had been worn almost to a shadow of his former self by
hard fare and harder treatment, settling down in a rapid
walk at intervals, and then breaking into a run again
when he reached a street in which there were but few
people to observe his movements, and was finally brought
to a stand-still by a sign which caught his eye—J.
Brown, gunsmith.

The words drove all thoughts of the mate out of his
mind, and suggested to him a new train of reflections.
He was out of danger for the present—he had been running
fully half an hour, as nearly as he could guess at the
// 170.png
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time—and had leisure to ponder upon a question which
just then arose in his mind. Here was a chance to provide
himself with as much of a hunter’s outfit as his
limited supply of money would purchase. Should he
improve it, or wait until some future day? It was a
matter that could not be decided on the spur of the moment,
so Guy seated himself on a dry-goods box in front
of a store opposite the gunsmith’s, and thought about it.

After he had recovered a little of his wind, and got his
brain in working order, Guy walked across the street and
looked in at the gunsmith’s window. He saw there
everything a hunter could possibly need—rifles, shotguns,
hunting-knives, revolvers, game-bags, traps, and
fishing-tackle—such a variety, in fact, that Guy could
not at once make up his mind what he wanted most.
The window on the other side of the door was filled with
saddles, bridles, blankets, spurs and ponchos. As Guy
looked at them a second question arose in his mind.

“Now, how am I going to get my horse?” he asked
himself. “I must have one, for I never heard of a
hunter traveling about on foot. It wouldn’t look well.
Besides, what if I should happen to get into a fight with
Indians or grizzly bears? Why, I’d be rubbed out sure.
And if I can think up some way to get a horse, how am
I going to earn the money to buy a saddle and bridle for
him? Great Scott! there’s always some drawback to my
plans.”

And this seemed to be a serious drawback, too. Whenever
Guy had indulged in his day-dreams, he had always
imagined himself a prosperous and famous hunter, with
all the comforts and luxuries of his calling at his command.
The question had sometimes forced itself upon
his mind, how was he to get all these things? But it
was always an unwelcome one, and was dismissed with
the comforting reflection that it would be time enough
to worry about such little matters when he stood in need
of them. That was the way he disposed of the horse
question now.

“I’ll get my gun and other things I need, and think
// 171.png
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about a horse some other time,” he thought. “Perhaps
I can buy one already trained from some friendly Indian
for a plug or two of tobacco; and, by the way, I guess I
had better get some tobacco for that purpose. Or, I may
find a hunting-ground so well stocked with game that I
can trap and shoot enough beaver and otter in a few days
to pay for a good horse. But the mischief of it is, I don’t
know how to hunt and trap those animals, and there’s
that book I need so much on board the Santa Maria. No
matter, I’ll wiggle through some way. What I want
just now is a shooting-iron.”

So saying, Guy opened the door and went into the
gun-shop.
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CHAPTER XIX. || <fs=0.8em>THE RANCHMAN.</fs>
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“I’D LIKE to look at a rifle,” said Guy to the
gunsmith, who came up behind the counter
to attend to his wants.

“Something pretty nice?” asked the man.

“No, sir. I can’t afford anything fancy.”

“You want a squirrel-rifle, I suppose?”

“No, I don’t,” replied Guy. “I don’t waste time
on such small game. I want one carrying a ball large
enough to knock over a buffalo or a grizzly bear.”

“Oh!” said the gunsmith. He looked curiously at
Guy for a moment, and then opening a glass door behind
him, took out a plainly finished rifle, and handed
it over the counter. “There’s one carrying fifty to the
pound,” said he, “and I’ll warrant it to shoot two hundred
yards with accuracy. Only fifteen dollars.”

Guy took the weapon, and it was so much heavier
than he expected to find it that he came very near dropping
it on the floor.

The gunsmith said it weighed twelve pounds, but his
customer thought he meant to say forty, for when he
lifted it to his shoulder and glanced along the barrel as if
he were taking aim at something, it was all he could do
to hold it, and the muzzle “wobbled” about so violently
that it was doubtful if he could have hit the side of a
barn at twenty paces. He noticed, too, that the weapon
was provided with two triggers and two sights, and he
did not see what use they could possibly be; but of
course he could not ask questions without showing his
ignorance.

“I want something I can depend upon in any emergency,”
said Guy after he had looked the rifle over
with an air of profound wisdom. “A man who follows
// 173.png
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the business of a hunter sometimes finds himself in a
tight place.”

“Why, I thought you were a sailor,” said the gunsmith.
“You look like one.”

“A sailor!” repeated Guy contemptuously. “Well,
I have been, that’s a fact,” he added, suddenly recollecting
that he had not yet donned his coonskin cap and
suit of buckskin; “but I’m a hunter now. Did you
never hear of the Wild Rough Riders of the Rocky
Mountains?”

This was the name Guy intended to give to his band
when he got it organized, and he thought he might as
well begin to let people hear of it.

“No,” said the man, looking at Guy as if he were on
the point of laughing outright, “I never did.”

“Well, I am one of them, and I want a good rifle.”

“This is a weapon I can recommend,” said the gunsmith.
“Here are the molds that go with it. You
can see that it carries a large ball. If a bear gets one
of them in his head, it will be the last of him.”

“I’ll take it,” said Guy. “Now I want some other
things to go with it.”

The gunsmith, who was all attention, handed out the
other articles as Guy called for them—a game-bag, a
powder-horn (which he filled with rifle-powder), a box
of caps, a hunting-knife, two pounds of bullets to fit
the rifle, as many pounds of bar lead and a ladle to melt
it in, and also a poncho and a Mexican blanket, which he
tied up in a bundle so that Guy could carry them over
his shoulder. The trading was all done in twenty minutes,
and when Guy walked out of the store he had
thirty-five dollars less in his purse, and his first hunter’s
outfit on his back.

“Now I begin to feel like somebody,” thought the
boy, as he lifted his rifle to his shoulder and hurried
down the road. “Mr. Schwartz has laid a rope’s end
over my back for the last time. Don’t I wish I could
see him just now? I’d show him how we rough riders
are going to clean out the Indians. I’ll turn into the
// 174.png
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first hotel I find, get a square meal, and go to bed,
knowing that there’ll be no one to awaken me with,
‘All you port watch, ahoy! Roll out lively, Thomas,
or I’ll be down there after you.’ But after to-night I
shall live in the open air altogether. I wish I had a
horse. Those mountains seem a long way off. I shall
find my first hunting-grounds among them.”

Guy trudged along the dusty road for the next two
hours indulging in such thoughts as these, and very
pleasant traveling companions he found them. Now
and then he would be aroused by the sound of wheels,
when he would wake up long enough to step out of the
way of some passing vehicle, and then he would go on
with his dreaming again.

At last he found what he was in search of—a hotel,
the existence of which was made known to him by a
faded sign swinging from the top of a high post, and
which conveyed to those who passed that way the information
that entertainment for man and beast was
there furnished by Tom Davis. The hotel itself was
a weather-beaten, tumble-down sort of a building, and
was better calculated to repel than to attract customers;
but Guy did not stop to look at it. If it could furnish
him with plenty to eat and a bed to sleep in, that was
all he cared for.

Attracted by the sound of voices, he turned the corner
of the building where the principal entrance seemed
to be, and found himself in the presence of a dozen or
more men who were congregated on the porch, some
lounging on benches, and others sitting with their chairs
tipped back against the side of the house and their feet
elevated on the rounds. They were all taking loudly,
and the appearance and actions of some of them indicated
that they had had something besides water to
drink. They raised their eyes as the boy appeared
among them, and after giving him a good looking over,
went on with their conversation.

The landlord was among them, and he made himself
known to Guy by pointing with his thumb over his
// 175.png
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shoulder toward the open door—an invitation for him
to enter and make himself at home. At any rate Guy
took it as such and acted upon it. In the bar-room he
found another rough-looking individual, who relieved
him of his rifle and pack and asked what he could do
for him.

“I want a room and something to eat,” said Guy.

“I don’t know how it’ll be about a room,” replied the
man. “We’re pretty full—we always are—but I can
give you a shake-down somewhere. Grub is plenty,
and you look as though you needed a good tuck-out.”

“So I do,” said Guy. “I am almost starved to
death. I haven’t eaten anything but salt horse and
hard-tack for the last seven months.”

The man showed some curiosity to know where Guy
had been that he was obliged to live on such fare, and
the latter told him as much of his history as he cared to
have him know. He did not tell him, however, where
he was going and what he intended to do, for fear the
man might laugh at him. He had a suspicion that the
gunsmith laughed at him when he was buying his outfit.
Indeed, everybody who knew that he wanted to be
a hunter thought the notion a wild one—they looked it
if they did not say it—and Guy could not bear to have
his grand idea made sport of.

Guy passed a comfortable night at the hotel in spite
of its unpromising exterior, enjoyed a good sleep, which
was something he really needed, ate a hearty breakfast
the next morning, and felt more like himself than he
had felt for many a long day. Having settled his bill
he stood for a moment on the porch with his rifle in his
hand and his pack over his shoulder, looking down the
long, straight road before him and wondering how many
steps it would take to bring him to his hunting-grounds,
when he was accosted by one of the guests of the house
who sat on a heavily loaded wagon with his whip and
reins in his hand.

“I say, stranger, if you’re travelin’ my way, you
might as well get up an’ ride,” said he.
// 176.png
.bn 176.png

“Are you going to the mountains?” asked Guy.

“Wal, I’m goin’ down to the San Joaquin.”

“Is there any hunting there?”

“Huntin’! Now you’re talkin’. Thar’s bars an’
antelope till you can’t rest.”

“Then that’s the place I’m looking for, and I’ll
ride.”

So saying Guy handed up his rifle and pack and
mounted beside the man, who cracked his whip and
drove off.

Mr. Wilson, for that was the man’s name, was an old
miner, having immigrated in ’49. Like many others of
his class, he believed that California was completely
“petered out,” now that the placer diggings had failed,
and he had taken to farming, not because he liked
it or it was a profitable business, but because he had to
do something for a living, and nothing else offered.
He did not own an acre of land, but he raised any number
of fine horses and cattle for market, and had one of
the best paying stores in the San Joaquin valley. He had
been to ’Frisco for supplies, and was now on his way
home.

Guy learned this much from two hours’ conversation
with his new acquaintance, and during that same time
Mr. Wilson had heard all about Guy’s history and intentions.
He must have had a high opinion of the boy,
too, if he believed all he said, for Guy, like everybody
else who tries to make himself appear something better
than he really is, was a great boaster. The stories he
told of the wonderful feats he had performed with his
rifle, and his skill in catching and breaking wild horses,
were enough to make one open his eyes.

Guy should have known better than this. He had
received a lesson that ought to have broken him of his
propensity to boast. He had induced Smith, the shipping
agent, to rate him on the articles as an able seaman,
and that one act, performed in five minutes’ time,
had brought him seven long months of hazing. But
Guy never thought of it now. The privations he had
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undergone, and the cruel treatment he had received
while he was on board the Santa Maria, seemed to him
like a troubled dream. Besides, Mr. Wilson would
never have an opportunity to catch him in any of his
falsehoods, for in a few days Guy expected to leave
him, never to meet him again.

“So you’re a hunter,” said the ranchman at length.
“You don’t look to me like you was made of the right
kind of stuff fur that business. It takes them who has
been born in it to foller it. I don’t know nobody about
here who makes a livin’ at it. Even the Injuns don’t.”

“They don’t?” exclaimed Guy. “How do they
make a living then?”

“Why, they work on the ranches—herd cattle an’
sheep, an’ raise garden truck. If I was goin’ to be a
hunter I’d go at it right.”

“That’s just what I intend to do,” said Guy. “I am
going to hunt about here till I get a horse and find a
companion, and then I’m going to strike for the plains.”

“Then my man Zeke is jest the feller you want to
see,” said the ranchman. “He’s a reg’lar hunter, an’
you’d know it the minute you sot eyes onto him, fur
you have to get a tree in line with him when he’s movin’
to see if he’s goin’ ahead any. He’s the laziest man I
ever see, an’ I’ve seed a heap. He b’longs out on the
prairy, kills buffaler fur a livin’. Last season he shot
two thousand an’ better. Got a dollar apiece fur the
hides, an’ come down to ’Frisco to see the elephant. He
seed him, too, I reckon, fur when I found him he was
flat busted, an’ as hungry as a wolf. He’s herdin’ cattle
fur me now to get a hoss an’ a new outfit, an’ when he
gets ’em he’s goin’ back to the plains.”

“Did you say he was working for a horse?” asked
Guy.

“Wal, he’s arned the hoss already, an’ now he’s
workin’ fur a kit—a rifle, blankets an’ so on. He takes
’em outen my store, you know.”

“Have you any other horse you’d like to sell?”

“Wal, I dunno,” said the ranchman with a smile.
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“I’ve got a matter of six or seven hundred, mebbe, an’
might spar’ one more.”

“What do you ask for them?”

“All prices—twenty-five to seventy-five dollars.”

“I should like to get one,” said Guy, “and I am
willing to work for it.”

“Wal, I’ve got plenty that you can do—I never yet
heard that work was scarce in this country—an’ if you’ve
a mind to set in with me, I’ll give you twenty dollars a
month an’ find you.”

“Find me?” repeated Guy. “Am I going to get
lost?”

“Eh? Lost! No. I mean I’ll give you twenty dollars
a month an’ all the grub you want to eat an’ all the
hosses you need to ride. I give Zeke thirty dollars, but
you don’t know nothin’ about herdin’ cattle. You talk
like a high larnt boy. Did you ever have any schoolin’?”

“Oh, yes,” said Guy. “I’ve been to school all my
life—that is almost all my life. I’ve been a hunter five
years, you know.”

“Then mebbe you’re jest the feller I want to tend
store fur me. Did you ever do anything of the kind?”

It would not be safe to boast now, for there a was a
chance of being found out, so Guy gave a truthful
answer.

“No, I never did,” said he, “but I know I could
learn.”

“Sartin you could. It’s easy larnt. Now I’ll tell
you what I’ll do. If you’re a mind to work about the
ranch on week days an’ tend store on Sundays, I’ll give
you what I told you an’ let you have your pick of my
hosses, an’ I’ve got some good ones, too. Only you
must promise one thing—if you want to leave me you
must give me a month’s notice, so that I can get somebody
to fill your place. I make that bargain with all
my hands.”

“All right,” said Guy, “I’ll do it.”

And so the matter was settled. Guy had found a
way to get the horse he so much needed, and he was in
ecstasies over it.
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The journey to Mr. Wilson’s ranch occupied nearly a
week, and during that time Guy learned something of
the outdoor life he expected to lead all the rest of his
days. The change from the close, cramped forecastle
of the Santa Maria to the freedom of the country was a
most agreeable one, and he thoroughly enjoyed his
liberty. He talked to Mr. Wilson every day about Zeke,
and made up his mind that he should like him. If he
only proved to be a genial, talkative companion and as
good a hunter as Flint was a sailor, Guy would ask
nothing more of him. Every day he grew more and
more impatient to meet him, and was glad indeed when
Mr. Wilson pointed out a house in advance of them
and informed him that when they reached it they would
be at their journey’s end.

“All this land you see here,” said the ranchman,
waving his whip toward the broad, level plain which
stretched away on both sides of the road, “used to be
Congress land. When I first squatted here I had it all
to myself, but other fellers kept comin’ in all the while
with their hosses an’ cattle an’ locatin’ their farms right
in the best part of my pastur’, an’ at last they got to
crowdin’ me so heavy that I had to send Zeke with the
most of my stock about forty miles farther down the
valley. I’m goin’ to send you down to him to-morrer
with some supplies.”

“But what if I should get lost?” said Guy. “You
must remember that I don’t know the country yet.”

“You can foller a plain trail, can’t you?”

“Yes, I can do that.”

“Then you needn’t get lost unless you’re a mind to,
’cause the road’s as plain as daylight. Besides, I’ll put
the pack on the ole clay-bank, an’ she knows every step
of the way.”

So saying, Mr. Wilson cracked his whip, and urging
his tired horses into a trot brought his heavy wagon up
before the door of the rancho in fine style.

The rancho was a roomy, rambling structure built of
unplaned boards, and like the hotel at which Guy had
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stopped in San Francisco, gave promise of anything but
comfortable accommodations. The inside proved on
closer acquaintance to be quite as cheerless as the exterior.
There was no stove, no fire-place, no chairs, not
even a bedstead in the house that Guy could discover.
It looked perfectly poverty-stricken. But nevertheless
the rancho, and its occupants, too, were as clean as new
pins. The earthen floor had evidently just been swept;
the table and the benches which served in lieu of the
chairs were as white as sand and water could make
them; the Mexican wife of the proprietor was neatly
dressed, and the children, who crowded about him as he
jumped down from the wagon, had just received a
thorough scrubbing in anticipation of their sire’s return.

Guy carried his rifle and pack into the house, and
during the next half-hour worked hard enough to get
up a splendid appetite for supper, although an unpleasant
incident that happened drove it all away again.

The first thing Mr. Wilson did was to take a key from
a nail under the porch, and open a door leading into a
small room adjoining the main building. This proved
to be the store of which he had spoken. Here the
ranchman kept a variety of useful and salable articles;
among the latter tobacco and grape brandy, which, as he
told Guy, formed his principal stock in trade. He
further informed his new hand that although the rancho
was dull enough on week days, it was the very reverse on
Sundays, for then it was the headquarters of all the
ranchmen and Indians for fifteen miles around, who
congregated there to drink, shoot, and run horses. Mr.
Wilson liked to join in these sports, and he wanted
somebody to take care of the store, so that he could give
his undivided attention to them.

After the wagon had been unloaded and the contents
stowed away in the store, Guy assisted Mr. Wilson in
taking care of the horses. This was done in a very few
minutes, for all that was necessary was to unharness
them and turn them loose on the prairie.
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“Are you not afraid they will stray away?” asked
Guy.

“I don’t care if they do,” replied the ranchman.
“I’ve got plenty more.”

“But you might lose them altogether.”

“No fear of that. They’ve got my brand on ’em, an’
everybody knows it. Now,” he added, throwing the
harness into the wagon, and leading the way toward a
small corral into which twenty or thirty horses had just
been driven by an Indian vaquero, “I’ll show you the
hoss I’m going to sell you. You can try him now an’
see how you like him, an’ to-morrer you can ride him
down to Zeke.”

If there was any part of his hunter life on which Guy,
during his day-dreaming, had dwelt with more satisfaction
than another, it was that which he expected to
spend in the saddle. Although he had never mounted
a horse in his life, he had somehow got it into his head,
along with his other foolish notions, that he had in him
the qualities of which accomplished and fearless riders
are made. He would render himself famous, not only
by shooting grizzly bears and Indians, but by riding
horses that nobody else dared to mount. He hoped during
his wanderings to meet that celebrated white pacer,
which, according to a certain cheap novel he had read,
had often been captured by strategy but never ridden.
This famous horse always threw those who attempted to
mount him, trampled them to death, and then made off,
fairly distancing the fleetest nags that could be brought
in pursuit of him.

Guy believed in the existence of this animal as firmly
as he believed in the existence of the boy trappers, and
hoped some day to own and subdue him; but now that
he had a chance to begin his career as a rough rider, he
felt very much like backing out. He found that there
is a vast difference between thinking about things and
doing them. The actions of the horses in the corral
frightened him. They were such restless fellows! They
danced and curveted, reared, flourished their heels in the
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air, and dashed about the inclosure like veritable wild
horses.

The vaquero, in obedience to his master’s order, entered
the corral, lasso in hand, and in a few minutes
came out again leading a small, clean-limbed horse,
which seemed very much averse to leaving his companions,
and showed his disapproval of the whole proceeding
by furious kicks and plunges.

“Thar he is!” exclaimed the ranchman. “Twenty-five
dollars fur him, an’ that’s dog cheap. Gentle as a
kitten, as anybody can see.”

“No,” said Guy, “<i>I</i> can’t see it.”

“Oh, he’s lively, of course. He hain’t been doin’
nothing fur three or four months, you know, an’ never
had a saddle on him but two or three times. If he
hain’t the next thing to a lightnin’ express train, you
jest take my hat an’ say no more about it. Purty as a
red wagon wheel, too, he is. Jump? I should say he
could. <i>And</i> last! You can’t tire him down. He’s
made of iron. Thar he is. Jump on him an’ put him
through his paces.”

While this conversation was going on, the vaquero
had with wonderful dexterity slipped a bridle over the
horse’s head, strapped a deep Spanish saddle on his back,
and now stood holding him in readiness for Guy to
mount.
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.pb
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XX. || <fs=0.8em>GUY, THE ROUGH RIDER.</fs>
.sp 2
.di dropcapg.jpg 49 50 1.0
GUY HEARD scarcely a word of Mr. Wilson’s
glowing description of the merits of his
horse, for his mind was busy with something
else. He was trying to think up some good
excuse for declining to mount the animal. He made
one praiseworthy resolution then and there, and that was
that he would never again indulge in boasting. He
had never done it yet without being exposed.

“Thar he is!” repeated the ranchman. “Jump on!
an’ if he don’t take you through San Joaquin a leetle
trifle faster than you ever traveled afore on hoss-back
I’ll give him to you for nothing. Hand us your foot
an’ I’ll throw you on.”

Guy’s pride was stronger than his fear. He could see
no way to get out of the difficulty into which he had
brought himself by his reckless boasting except by a
frank confession, and that, of course, was not to be
thought of. He noticed that the animal became quieter
since the bit was put into his mouth, and consoling
himself with the hope that perhaps he was not so bad
after all, Guy seized the horn of the saddle, gave his
foot to Mr. Wilson, and in a twinkling was seated on
the animal’s back.

The horse seemed astonished at his presumption.
He turned his head first one way and then the other,
looking at Guy over each shoulder, while the ranchman
and his vaquero begun to back away, as if in anticipation
of something that was about to happen.

“Put your feet in the stirrups,” said Mr. Wilson,
“an’ I’ll give him a good send off.”

.if h
.il fn=p185.jpg w=600px
.ca “<sc>‘Put your feet in the stirrups,’ said Mr. Wilson, ’an I’ll give\
him a good send off.</sc>’”
.if-
.if t
[Illustration: “‘Put your feet in the stirrups,’ said Mr. Wilson, ‘an’\
I’ll give him a good send off.’”]
.if-

Before Guy could obey the horse begun his antics.
He put his head down between his knees, humped up
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his back, brought his four feet together, and bounded
from the ground, coming down as solid as a rock, and
with a concussion that was terrific. Guy arose in the
air about a foot and a half, and then settled into the
saddle again with a jar that fairly made his teeth
chatter.

“Ha, ha!” laughed the ranchman, who appeared to
be as highly delighted as he would have been over an
exhibition of fancy riding in a circus; “that was well
done! He bucks beautiful, don’t he?”

“Ye—yes,” said Guy, who had not the least idea
what Mr. Wilson meant. “But why don’t he go
ahead? Get up here!”

The horse did get up—this time higher than before—and
he executed the movement with a vigor and viciousness
which showed that he meant business. He made a
most terrific stiff-legged jump—a “buck,” Mr. Wilson
called it—and when he came down, Guy, with his arms
and legs flying wildly about, went up like a rocket,
hung suspended in the air for a moment, and then
whirled over and came down on his head and shoulders
with a crushing force.

“Wal, I declar! he got you off’n him that time, didn’t
he?” exclaimed the ranchman, hastening to Guy’s assistance.
“Now I’ll try him, an’ if you will keep an eye
on me I’ll larn you how to ride a buck-jumper.”

Guy was too nearly senseless to keep an eye on anything.
He could not stand without holding fast to
something. Mr. Wilson leaned him up, against the side
of the corral as if he had been a stick of wood, and then
addressed an order in Spanish to his vaquero, who
hurried off to the house, presently returning with a
pair of huge Mexican spurs. These, with the assistance
of the Indian, the ranchman quickly fastened to his feet,
and walking up to the horse, which had scarcely moved
from his tracks since he rid himself of Guy, placed one
hand on his back, and with a quick bound, sprung into
the saddle. No sooner was he fairly seated than he
brought his armed heels against the sides of the animal,
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which sprung away at the top of his speed, and the last
Guy saw of him, he was making rapid headway across
the plain, while his rider was urging him to greater
efforts by merciless applications of his persuaders.

When the ranchman returned, at the end of a quarter
of an hour, he found his new hand stretched out on the
porch, suffering from a severe headache, and in no
humor to listen to his description of the manner in
which he had conquered the buck-jumper.

Guy had been hungry a few minutes before, but he
did not want any supper now. The tortillas, beans and
beef, with which the table was loaded, had no attraction
for him; he simply drank a cup of coffee, without any
milk (ranchmen in California raise cattle for the hides
and meat, and not for the sake of milk and butter), and
intimated to Mr. Wilson that he would be glad to be
shown to his room.

“Eh?” exclaimed the ranchman, as if he did not
quite understand his request.

“I say I should like to go to my room,” repeated
Guy. “I want to see if I can’t sleep off this headache.”

“Oh, you want to go to bed, do you? All right.”

As Mr. Wilson said this, he walked out into the yard
to light his pipe at the fire over which the supper had
been cooked, and when he came back he carried over his
shoulder a saddle, which he placed at one end of the
porch. Then he went into the house and brought out
Guy’s blanket and poncho; and when he had spread
them beside the saddle, the bed was made.

“Thar you are,” said he, “an’ you can tumble down
as soon as you please.”

Guy was astonished. The porch was the only room
he was to occupy while he remained in that house, and
his saddle and blankets were to form, his bed. This was
rather a primitive way of living, but it was the style at
Mr. Wilson’s rancho, as he found when the rest of the
family were ready to retire. The farmer’s wife and
children stowed themselves away somewhere in the
house, but the man himself made his bed a short distance
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from Guy’s, while two Indian herdsmen found
sleeping apartments at the opposite end of the porch.

The first part of the night Guy passed in anything but
an agreeable manner. The saddle proved to be a hard,
uncomfortable pillow for an aching head and, moreover,
one of the small army of dogs, which Mr. Wilson
kept about the house, insisted on occupying a portion of
his bed, and showed a disposition to be snappish if the
boy happened to crowd him as he tossed uneasily about.
Guy stood the imposition for a while, but becoming
angry at last, he kicked the dog off the porch, rearranged
his bed, folded his jacket and spread it over
the saddle, and then lay down again and slept soundly
until he was awakened by footsteps and the continued
murmur of conversation.

He opened his eyes to find that it was broad daylight,
and that preparations were being made to start him off
on his journey. There was the “old clay-bank,” a
cream-colored mare, which was to carry the supplies to
Zeke, the buffalo hunter, and act as Guy’s guide at the
same time. A large pack-saddle was strapped on her
back, and if one might judge by the appearance of it, it
was well filled. The buck-jumper was there, too, standing
quietly by the horse-trough, saddled and bridled,
and waiting for his rider. Guy’s rifle leaned against
the wall at the head of his bed, with his powder-horn,
game-bag, a pair of spurs, and a long rawhide hanging
from the muzzle.

“Halloo! you’re awake at last, are you?” exclaimed
the ranchman, who just then stepped out of the house
to arouse Guy. “I thought that seein’ you had the
headache I’d let you sleep this mornin’, but it’s time to
get up now.”

Guy scrambled to his feet, looking none the worse for
his accident of the night before, and when he had
dipped his head in the horse-trough a few times, he felt
as sprightly and vigorous as though he had never told a
lie, and received in consequence the hardest fall of his
life.
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The morning was fresh and glorious, as mornings always
are in California at that season of the year, the air
was exhilarating—every breath of it seemed to infuse
new life into him—and Guy was elated with the prospect
of a pleasant journey and an interview with the
buffalo hunter, who was the very man he most wished to
see. He could have looked forward to a day of uninterrupted
enjoyment but for one thing, and that was the
presence of the buck-jumper. It had a depressing effect
upon him. He did not see why the ranchman
should give him that horse to ride when he had so nearly
dashed his brains out the night before.

“Come in an’ get some coffee an’ slapjacks,” said Mr.
Wilson, at the same time tossing Guy a piece of a gunny
sack on which to wipe his hands and face.

The boy’s appetite having come back to him by this
time, he made a hearty breakfast, and while he was eating
it, listened to his employer’s advice and instructions
concerning the journey he was about to undertake.

“Zeke is forty miles away, as I told you,” said the
ranchman, “an’ as your trail, part of the way, leads
over the mountains, you won’t be able to travel very
fast; but the ole clay-bank is a right smart walker, an’
if you have no bad luck you had oughter be in Zeke’s
camp by four this arternoon. About midday you’ll
cross Deer Run, an’ thar the mar’ will want to stop an’
pick about a bit, an’ while she’s doin’ it, you can set
down under a tree an’ eat your dinner. You’ll see
plenty of antelope thar, an’ you’ll have no sort of trouble
in knockin’ over one fur your dinner, if you know how
to hunt ’em; but fur fear you don’t. I’ve put a leetle
something in your game-bag. You’d best kill an antelope,
howsomever, if you get the chance, ’cause mebbe
it’ll help you to make friends with Zeke.”

“How shall I know him when I see him?” asked
Guy.

“Know him!” said the ranchman. “The mar’ll know
him, an’ he’ll know the mar. The fust question he’ll
ask you will be, ‘You got any tobacker in that thar
// 189.png
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pack-saddle?’ When you see a man who says that to
you, tell him ‘hallo.’ ’cause that’s Zeke. He’ll be a leetle
trifle cross an’ ugly at fust, ’cause he’s been outen tobacker
now three or four days; but a chaw or two will
set him all right, an’ you’ll find him a mighty palaverin’
sort o’ feller. I want you back by to-morrer night so
that you can take your fust lesson in the store on Sunday.”

“I should be much more eager to undertake the journey
if I had a gentler horse to ride,” said Guy.

“A gentler hoss!” repeated the ranchman, opening
his eyes in amazement. “It can’t be found on this
farm nor in Californy nuther, a gentler hoss than that
thar hoss can’t. Why, a baby could ride him.”

“But I am out of practice, you know,” said Guy
meekly.

“Yes, I seed that; but you won’t have no trouble
while the ole clay-bank is with him. He’ll go along
like an old cow.”

Guy’s fears were by no means set at rest by this assurance,
but he raised no further objections to the horse,
and having satisfied his appetite, he arose from his chair
and begun preparations for his journey, in which he was
assisted by the ranchman. His poncho and blanket
were rolled up and strapped behind his saddle; the
game-bag containing his dinner was suspended from the
pommel; his spurs were adjusted; the long rawhide,
which was intended as a persuader for the clay-bank,
was tied to his wrist by a thong of buckskin; and when
Guy, after the display of a great deal of awkwardness,
had managed to seat himself in the saddle, the farmer
handed him his rifle and spoke to the mare, which set
off at a rapid walk, the buck-jumper following quietly
at her heels.

Guy ought to have been supremely happy now, for
he was in the very situation he had so often dreamed of
and longed for. He had a “good horse under him,” a
“trusty rifle on his shoulder,” and everything that was
necessary to set him up in business as a hunter. But
// 190.png
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still things were not just to his liking—there were always
some drawbacks.

In the first place horseback-riding was by no means
the easy, agreeable way of getting over the ground that
he had imagined it to be, particularly to one who was
entirely unaccustomed to it and who did not know how
to sit in a saddle.

The buck-jumper may have been very fleet, but he
was an uncommon hard traveler, especially when he
found it necessary to quicken his pace in order to keep
up with the fast-walking old clay-bank. On these
occasions he exhibited a style of progression peculiarly
his own, and which was perfect torture to his rider, who
was churned up and down, jerked backward and forward,
and jolted from side to side in a way that was
quite alarming.

Then, too, the horse showed by the way he sometimes
arched his back and looked over his shoulder at Guy
that there was plenty of mischief in him still, and every
few minutes he would further exhibit it by making a
jump to one side or the other, and doing it so quickly
that Guy would certainly have been thrown to the
ground had he not clung with all his strength to the
horn of the saddle. The reason for this was that Guy,
forgetting he had spurs on, kept his heels close to the
animal’s side in order to secure a firm seat, and thus the
rowels were pricking him continually.

Another thing that severely tested his patience and
endurance was his rifle. If it weighed twelve pounds
when he left the rancho, it weighed a hundred before he
had gone a quarter of a mile, judging by the way it
pressed into his shoulders and made his arms ache.

Guy felt a good deal of satisfaction in carrying the
weapon about with him, for it was the first thing of the
kind he had ever owned; but at the end of a mile he
wished most heartily that he had left it at the rancho.

At the end of two miles he told himself that if he were
ever required to make this journey again, he would leave
his horse at home and follow the clay-bank on foot. At
// 191.png
.bn 191.png
the end of three he came to the conclusion that he had
mistaken his calling; and by the time he had put four
miles between himself and Mr. Wilson’s rancho, he
wished from the bottom of his heart that he was back on
board the Santa Maria.

At last, when Guy could endure it no longer, he set
himself at work to find some way to alleviate his misery.
He saw hanging from the horn of his saddle a lariat with
which the thoughtful ranchman had provided him, so
that he might stake out his horse when he went into
camp. With this he formed a sling for his rifle, and
tied the weapon securely to his saddle. This eased his
arms and shoulders, and to relieve the rest of his tired
muscles he jumped down and walked a mile or two; and
so, by alternate riding and walking, finally reached Deer
Run, where he was to stop and rest while the clay-bank
was “picking about.”

Following the instructions of his employer, he staked
out his own horse, leaving the mare to do as she pleased,
and, too tired to eat or do anything else with comfort,
threw himself on the grass under the spreading branches
of a live oak, and heartily wished himself among civilized
people once more. He thought of the antelope which
the ranchman had told him he would here find in abundance,
but was much too dispirited to make any effort to
secure one. Besides, his rifle was empty, and he did not
know how to load it.

“And if it was loaded I would not know how to shoot
it,” thought Guy; “and neither do I know how to hunt
antelope. I’ve heard that it takes one who understands
their nature and habits to hunt them successfully, so I
guess I won’t bother with them. I’d rather rest. I believe
Mr. Wilson told the truth when he said that I
hadn’t the right sort of stuff in me to make a hunter or
trapper. They must be made of something besides flesh
and blood if they can stand such a jolting as I have had
to-day.”

Guy rolled restlessly about under the oak while the
clay-bank was cropping the grass, and when she had
// 192.png
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eaten her fill she gave him notice of the fact by slaking
her thirst at the run and setting off on her journey again
of her own accord. With a groan of despair Guy
mounted his horse and followed her.

The tortures he had already experienced were aggravated
ten-fold during the afternoon; for the trail, which
had hitherto led him over a level plain, now crossed a
range of hills almost high enough to be called mountains,
and the traveling was rough indeed. The sudden
springs and lunges which his horse made in going up the
steep ascent racked him in every muscle. Only once did
he dismount to walk, and then he was glad to scramble
back into his saddle again, for the tireless horses went
ahead at such a rate that he could not keep pace with
them. Up hill and down he went, through a wilderness
which seemed to have no end; and when at last he
became so exhausted that it was only by a strong exercise
of will that he could keep himself in his saddle, he was
electrified by the appearance of an apparition in greasy
buckskin, who came before him so suddenly that it
frightened him.

“Say, you!” it exclaimed, “you brought any tobacker?”

Guy had reached his journey’s end at last.
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CHAPTER XXI. || <fs=0.8em>THE BUFFALO HUNTER.</fs>
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AS GUY straightened up in his saddle he
took a good look at the man who had so suddenly
appeared before him. There was no
need that he should ask who he was, for he
knew, by his words of greeting, that he could be none
other than Zeke, the buffalo hunter. He was the first
hunter Guy had ever seen, and of course he gazed at him
with no little interest.

He was not very favorably impressed with the man’s
appearance, for he was certainly the roughest and most
repulsive specimen of humanity that Guy had ever put
eyes on. He could form no idea of the expression of his
features, for his face was so effectually concealed by
thick, bushy whiskers that nothing but a pair of eyes
and a low, retreating forehead could be seen. His hair,
coarse and matted, hung down upon his shoulders, and
his hands were terribly soiled and begrimed. He would
have been a tall man if he had stood erect, but he walked
almost half-bent, in an attitude similar to that a wild
beast might assume when about to spring upon its prey,
and moved along in a shambling, loose-jointed manner,
as if he had scarcely energy enough to keep himself from
falling to pieces. His garments were a strange mixture
of the civilized and savage, and Guy thought they ought
long ago to have been replaced by better ones. He wore
a tattered slouch hat on his head, held a rifle in his hand,
and carried a powder-horn and bullet-pouch over his
shoulder. Taken altogether, he was very unlike Guy’s
<i>beau ideal</i> of a hunter.

“Say, you!” repeated Zeke impatiently; “you got any
tobacker? That’s what I want ter know.”

“Plenty of it,” replied Guy. “You’ll find it in the
// 194.png
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pack-saddle. Mr. Wilson thought you would want a
good supply.”

“Then why didn’t he send it afore?” growled the
hunter.

“He sent it as soon as he could. He came from
Frisco only yesterday.”

Zeke leaned his rifle against the nearest tree, plunged
his hands into the pack-saddle, and while he was searching
for the tobacco, repeatedly ran his eyes over the face
and figure of the boy, who seemed to be a great curiosity
to him.

He said nothing, however, until he had found a plug
of the coveted weed, and thrust a good portion of it into
his cheek. After he had chewed on it a while the effects
became perceptible. The discontented, almost savage,
look his face had worn, gave place to an expression a
trifle more amiable, and when he spoke his voice
sounded more like a human being’s, and less like the
growl of an angry bear.

“Who be you?” he demanded. “I never seed you in
these parts afore.”

“No,” said Guy, “you never did. My name is Harris,
and I used to be a sailor; but I’m a hunter now.”

“You!” exclaimed Zeke, with undisguised contempt
in his tones and looks. “What do you hunt—squirrels?”

“Well, I have never hunted anything yet,” said Guy,
who thought it best to tell the truth; “but I want to be
a buffalo hunter like you; so I hope that we shall be
fast friends, and that you will teach me all you know.
Will you?”

“Humph!” grunted Zeke. “Let’s go to camp.”

“How far is it from here?” asked Guy.

“A matter of five mile, mebbe. I got tired of waitin’,
an’ come up to see if thar was anybody goin’ to fetch
me any tobacker.”

“Five miles?” echoed Guy. “I am almost tired out
with riding, and should be glad to walk if the horses did
not go so fast.”

“Let ’em go,” said Zeke. “I’ll walk with you. The
mar’ knows the way, an’ the other’ll foller.”
// 195.png
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Guy was glad to act upon this suggestion. While he
was dismounting, the hunter picked up his rifle and
examined it with a critical eye. Guy was astonished at
the ease with which he drew it up to his face, and
the steadiness with which he held it while glancing
along the barrel.

“This your’n?” asked Zeke.

“Yes; I bought it in Frisco—paid fifteen dollars for
it, and haven’t had time to shoot it yet. Suppose you
try it, and see if it is a good one. Here are the bullets,
powder and caps in my game-bag. It carries a ball
large enough to kill a buffalo—doesn’t it?”

“Sartin.”

“Well, I hope you will give me a chance to try it on
one some day, will you?”

“Humph!” was the answer Zeke deigned to give.

In accordance with Guy’s request the hunter proceeded
to load the rifle, and as the boy knew that it was
one of the first things he must learn, he kept a close
watch of his movements.

Zeke first took from the game-bag a bullet, which he
placed in the palm of his hand, and then from the horn
poured powder enough on it to cover it. This done he put
the bullet into his mouth, and after pouring the powder
down the barrel and hitting the weapon a knock or two
on the ground to drive it into the tube, begun searching
in Guy’s game-bag for something.

Failing to find the article, whatever it was, he took
from the string which hung suspended from his button-hole,
a small piece of thick cloth, which Guy saw was
greased on one side. This the hunter placed over the
muzzle of the rifle—the greased side down—put the
bullet upon it, and drove it home with the ramrod. It
was all done then except putting on the cap, and that
occupied scarcely more than a second’s time.

Taken altogether it was a complicated operation, Guy
thought, and he did not know whether he could remember
all the details or not. He found that he had forgotten
one thing, and that was the cloth which the
// 196.png
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hunter wrapped around the bullet. No doubt that was
the “patching” he had often read about.

When the rifle was loaded the hunter raised it to his
shoulder and started down the trail, Guy following with
his game-bag in one hand and Zeke’s rifle in the other.
He was anything but pleased at the manner in which his
advances had been received, but still he was not disheartened
by it.

No doubt the hunter was wearied with his day’s work—Guy
knew that he had been in the saddle ever since
sunrise watching the cattle under his charge—and perhaps
after the tobacco had had time to have its full
effect, and Zeke had taken a good supper and smoked
a pipe, he would be better-natured. Then Guy could
make another effort to work his way into his good
graces.

While on the way to the valley in which Zeke’s camp
was located, Guy had frequent opportunities to witness
his companion’s skill with the rifle. Squirrels were
abundant, and the hunter, without leaving the trail,
succeeded in bringing down a dozen or more, and every
one of them shot through the head. This was Guy’s
first lesson in hunting, and he watched every move
Zeke made. He now saw how the man came by that
stealthy, crouching style of progression which he had
noticed. He had practiced it so often while in pursuit
of game that it had become a part of his nature.

At the foot of the mountains the woods terminated,
and of course there were no squirrels to be found
on the open plain. By the time they reached this
point the tobacco, aided perhaps by the fine shooting
he had enjoyed, was beginning to tell upon the hunter,
who showed a disposition to throw off his reserve altogether.
He found his way to Guy’s heart by assuring
him that his rifle was as “fine a we’pon as he had
ever drawed to his face,” and followed it up by inquiring
very particularly into the boy’s history. And
Guy was quite willing to tell him everything he wanted
to know. He told him how long he had been away
// 197.png
.bn 197.png
from home, why he had left it, what he had done
since he had been adrift in the world, and what he
wanted to do next. Being anxious to make a friend
of the hunter he concealed nothing, not even the fact
that he had twenty-five dollars in money, which he
was willing to turn over to Zeke to be expended in
any way the latter saw fit, so long as it benefited
them both.

The hunter became more and more interested as Guy
proceeded, and the mention of the money and the sight
of the purse the boy carried about his neck broke down
the last barrier between them. Suddenly stopping and
facing Guy, he extended to him one of his huge, dirty
paws.

“Put it thar, pard,” said he. “I’ll take you.”

“Will you, really?” exclaimed Guy, almost beside
himself with excitement and delight.

“Sartin I will. I’ve been a-lookin’ an’ a-waitin’ fur
two years in hopes some feller would come along who
would do fur a chum, an’ here he is, come at last.
You’re just the chap fur me. I’ll make you the best
buffaler hunter that Kansas ever seed. I’ll larn you to
ride an’ shoot, an’ make a man of you.”

“And will you teach me how to fight Indians and
catch wild horses?” asked Guy.

“In course I will.”

“How far is Kansas from here?”

“Wal, it’s a right smart piece.”

“Shall we go there on horseback?”

“Sartin.”

“And camp out on the way?”

“In course.”

“When shall we start?”

“We’ll be on our way to-morrow night.”

“To-morrow night!” repeated Guy. “Why, Mr.
Wilson told me that he never hired a man without making
him promise to give at least a month’s notice when
he wanted to quit.”

“What do I care for Wilson?” asked Zeke contemptuously.
// 198.png
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“A free hunter does what he likes. I can trust
you, I reckon.”

“Certainly you can.”

“Cause if I can’t, I don’t want anything to do with
you,” said Zeke.

“Oh, you can trust me, I assure you,” declared Guy
earnestly, fearing that the hunter was about to go back
from his promise. “What do you want me to do?”

“I’ll tell you arter supper. I’ve got an idee in my
head an’ want to put on my thinkin’ cap an’ think it
out; so don’t say nothin’ to me till I speak. Let’s go
an’ eat some of them squirrels. In a few days from now
we’ll be livin’ on buffaler hump an’ marrer bones, an
that’s livin’, I tell you! I say agin, you’re jest the feller
I’ve been a-lookin’ fur.”

The hunter relapsed into silence, and so did Guy, who
marched along by his side, and although he carried a
ponderous rifle on his shoulder and a heavy string of
squirrels in his hand, he walked as if he were treading
on air. He forgot that he had that day ridden forty
miles on a rough-going horse. He did not bestow a
thought upon his weary body, for his mind was too fully
occupied with the future. In a few hours more, he kept
saying to himself, his bright dreams would all be
realized. He had got on the right side of the hunter at
last—there could be no doubt of that. Zeke was as
cordial as one could possibly be—more so, in fact, than
any man he had ever before met. Perhaps if Guy had
been more experienced in the ways of the world, this
would have aroused his suspicions and made him a little
more guarded in his intercourse with his new friend.
That caution was necessary, we can see by following
Zeke for a moment in his meditations.

“If I hain’t found a way outer this diffikilty now, I’m
a buffaler myself,” thought the hunter. “This onsuspectin’
leetle cub wouldn’t a-been more welcome to my
camp if he’d been a hangel loaded down with pipes an’
tobacker enough to do me all my life. I’m monstrous
tired of herdin’ cattle, ’cause it’s too hard work. I’ve
// 199.png
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done it fur a hull month, an’ all I’ve got to show fur it
is my hoss. The rifle I used, the powder, lead, an’
blankets, all b’long to Wilson, an’ has got to be paid fur.
It’ll take me two months longer to ’arn everything I
need, an’ I had oughter be on my way to the prairy
now. I had kinder thought that mebbe I’d steal the hull
kit an’ put out with it, but I’m a’most afeard to do it.
Wilson, he’s lightnin’ on wheels when his dander’s riz,
an’ he’d have all the settlers in the valley arter me so
quick that it would make a feller’s head swim; an’ if
they ketched me——”

Here Zeke threw his head over on his right shoulder
and made a motion with his hand as if he were winding
a rope about his neck and hauling himself up with it—a
proceeding which made Guy look at him in great surprise.

“I didn’t say nothin’,” said the hunter.

“I know it,” said Guy, “and I didn’t say anything
either.”

Zeke shifted Guy’s rifle to his other shoulder and went
on with his soliloquy.

“Now this cub has got a good fittin’ out, a fine rifle,
huntin’-knife, blankets, an’ powder’n lead enough to last
me as fur as Laramie anyways. When I get thar the
twenty-five dollars he’s got will buy me more powder’n
lead, an’ the traders will advance the other things I want.
I can steal everything he’s got an’ put out as easy as
failin’ off a log. He can’t foller me up an’ ketch me,
an’ he ain’t got no friends to do it fur him. I would be
off this very night, only I must first make things squar’
with Wilson, to keep him off’n my trail. Now how am
I goin’ to do it? That’s what I put my thinkin’ cap on
fur, an’ that’s what I want to think out.”

While Zeke was turning this problem over in his mind
he and his young companion arrived at his camp, which
was located under an oak tree near the middle of a beautiful
valley. Guy would not have known when he
reached it had he not seen his own horse and the mare
grazing near a third which was picketed a short distance
// 200.png
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from the tree, for there was but little to indicate the existence
of a camp—nothing, in fact, but a pair of
blankets, a small piece of beef hanging from one of the
branches of the oak, and a few embers and ashes which
marked the spot where a fire had once been kindled.

The hunter at once took possession of the blankets,
where he lay gazing intently into the branches above his
head, and Guy set about putting the camp in order. It
was novel business to him, but he liked to do it, and
Zeke, being too lazy to lift a finger unless it was absolutely
necessary, was perfectly willing that he should.

Guy first led the mare to the tree, and begun the work
of unloading the pack-saddle. The supplies, consisting
for the most part of coffee, tea, sugar, flour, and tobacco,
were piled about the roots of the tree and covered with
branches, as a slight protection from the weather and
any prowling beast that might happen along during the
hunter’s absence.

Then he relieved the mare of the pack-saddle, removed
the saddle and bridle from his own horse, and
after staking out both the animals and arranging his
bed, proceeded to kindle a fire and make ready his supper.

After a thorough search of the camp he found something
which had evidently done duty as a coffee-pot, and
when he had filled it with water and set it on the coals,
he stopped, not knowing what else to do. Tortillas he
could not make, and he had not yet learned the art of
skinning squirrels and cooking them before the fire on
spits. However, he could get on without the squirrels.
He had a supply of eatables in his game-bag, and the
cold bread and meat, with the addition of a cup of hot
coffee, would make him a good supper. If the hunter
wanted anything he could get up and cook it himself.

Guy, having arranged his table to his satisfaction,
poured some of the coffee into a cup which the ranchman
had been thoughtful enough to put into his game-bag
with luncheon, and settled back on his elbow, believing
that he could do full justice to the meal, not
// 201.png
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having tasted a mouthful since leaving the rancho shortly
after daylight.

All these movements had been closely watched by
Zeke, who was by no means so fully occupied with his
meditations as he pretended to be. Seeing that Guy
was eating the bread and meat with evident relish, he
crawled slowly off his bed and joined him at his meal.

The supper disappeared rapidly after that, Zeke using
both hands to crowd the food into his mouth, and
emptying Guy’s cup at a draught whenever he was
thirsty. In a very short space of time the last of the
bread and meat was out of sight and the coffee-pot
emptied.

Zeke gave a grunt of satisfaction, but had nothing to
say until he had filled his pipe and lighted it with a
brand from the fire. Then, between his long, deliberate
puffs, he managed to utter the words:

“I’ve got it.”

“Got what?” asked the boy.

“I know what we’ll do. I’ve thought my plans out.”

“All right, pard,” said Guy, who believed that if he
was going to be a hunter he might as well begin to use
the language of one. “What are they? Spit ’em out.”

“I can do that,” said Zeke, “an’ it won’t take me
long, nuther. In the fust place, I s’pose Wilson told
you to go back to-morrow, didn’t he? I thought so.
Wal, you go back ’cordin’ to orders, but instead of
ta-kin’ your own gun an’ huntin’ rig with you, take
mine an’ leave your’n. Understand? You see, the
rifle an’ things b’longin’ to it that I’ve got here ain’t
mine; they’re Wilson’s. I took ’em outen the store
agreein’ to work fur ’em an’ the other things I need to
take me back to the other side of the mountains whar
I b’long an’ whar I’ll stay if I onct git thar agin, I bet
you. But if I stop to ’arn everything I want it will take
me two months more, an’ by that time we must be
among the buffaler, if we’re goin’ to get any hides this
season. You’ve got things enough and money enough
to last us till we get to Laramie, an’ thar I can get what
// 202.png
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else we want from the traders. One rifle an’ one blanket
will last us till then.”

“Will one horse be enough?” asked Guy.

“No; we must have a hoss apiece, an’ I’ve got ’em—that
one that I ’arned from Wilson, an’ I’ve bought another
from a feller livin’ up the valley.”

It occurred to Guy right here to ask how Zeke could
have bought another horse, seeing that he had no
money and had been working for Mr. Wilson ever since
he had been in that part of the country, but before he
could speak the hunter went on;

“Now you go back to-morrow mornin’, like I was
tellin’ you, an’ take the rifle an’ all the other things that
b’longs to Wilson, an’ give ’em to him an’ tell him
thar’s his things—I don’t want ’em—an’ he must send a
man down here to onct to take care of these yere cattle,
’cause I hain’t goin’ to stay no longer. You needn’t
say nothin’ else to him, howsomever. Don’t tell him of
the bargain me an’ you has made, but when it comes
dark you slip away from the house an’ meet me at the
water-tank. You know whar that spoutin’ well is, don’t
you?”

“Yes,” said Guy, “I saw it last night.”

“Wal, you come thar as soon as it comes dark, an’
I’ll be on hand with two hosses—this one an’ another,
an’ all we’ll have to do will be to put off. Understand?”

“Yes,” replied Guy, “I understand it all.”

“Arter you leave here in the mornin’ I’ll go an’ get
my other hoss that I was a tellin’ you of,” continued
Zeke. “You see the reason why I am leavin’ Wilson in
this way, an’ without sayin’ nuthin’ to him, is ’cause I
agreed to give him notice when I wanted to quit, but I
can’t afford to waste a month’s time layin’ around here
doin’ nothin’, when the buffaler is comin’ in by thousands
an’ waitin’ to be shot. Understand, don’t you?”

Yes, Guy was sure he understood the hunter’s plans
and intentions perfectly, and Zeke was equally certain
he did not, and so he repeated them again and again,
until the boy knew them by heart. After that he
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launched off into glowing descriptions of buffalo hunts
and told of fights with Indians and bears, and adventures
with wild horses, until Guy was almost beside
himself with excitement and impatience. Then Zeke
said he was tired, and crawled back to his blankets, but
Guy tended the fire and sat by it for two hours longer,
thinking of the future; and when he went to sleep it
was to dream over the thrilling scenes the hunter had
just described to him.
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CHAPTER XXII. || <fs=0.8em>BUSTED AND DISGUSTED.</fs>
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THE NEXT morning, after a hearty breakfast,
during which he listened once more to Zeke’s
plans and instructions, Guy mounted his
horse, and led by the old clay-bank, set out
for Mr. Wilson’s rancho.

The journey did not seem nearly so long and tiresome
now as it did the day before, for he had something
beside his bodily aches and pains to think of. He
had seen a live hunter, had made a friend of him, and by
that time to-morrow, if nothing happened to prevent,
he would be on the way to his hunting-grounds. Dreaming
of the glorious life he was so soon to commence
made the way seem short to him.

About four o’clock in the afternoon he drew up
with his little train in front of Mr. Wilson’s house,
and found that gentleman waiting for him.

“Wal, you done it, didn’t you?” exclaimed the ranchman,
as Guy swung himself from the saddle, “an’
didn’t get lost, nor throwed, nuther. Whose rifle have
you got thar?”

“Zeke’s—or rather yours,” said Guy. “Zeke
doesn’t want it, for he can’t stay long enough to earn
it. He’s going back to his hunting-grounds, and
wants you to send a man down to relieve him.”

“Oh, he does, does he?” exclaimed Mr. Wilson.
“Whar’s your huntin’ kit?”

“I left it with Zeke. He wants to try the rifle.”

“Wal, if you hain’t the most confidin’ boy I ever see
in all my born days, I don’t want a cent,” said the
ranchman. “I told you that you’d find him a mighty
palaverin’ sort of a feller, an’ I thought that would put
you on your guard. You’ll never see them things of
// 205.png
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your’n agin. Zeke’s gettin’ ready to run away. I can
see that plain enough; but if he takes any of my property
with him, ef it’s even so much as a bar of lead, I’ll
have all the constables in the valley arter him in the
shake of a buck’s tail. He’s ’arned a hoss since he’s
been here, and that’s all he can take with him. I’ll
ride down myself, to-morrow, an’ see what he means
by such actin’.”

Mr. Wilson’s words made Guy rather uneasy. He
did not want to doubt the hunter—Zeke had been
so very cordial and so profuse in his promises of
friendship and assistance that the boy had implicit
faith in him—but still he begun to think that he had
been rather hasty in trusting him. If Zeke run away
with his hunting-kit, he would be just thirty-five dollars
out of pocket. But he need not have been under any
apprehensions. The hunter certainly intended to
possess himself of all Guy’s property, but he wanted
at the same time to get his hands on the twenty-five
dollars the boy carried in his monk-bag.

Mr. Wilson begun fishing up from the capacious
depths of the pack-saddle the things Zeke had stowed
away there, and Guy thought he looked a little disappointed
when he found that his property had all been
returned to him. The hunter, knowing the disposition
of the man with whom he had to deal, had sent back
everything.

The hours between four o’clock and dark passed away
very slowly. Knowing that he had many a mile of hard
riding yet to do before he could go to sleep, Guy refreshed
himself with a hearty supper, and then lay
down on a bench under the porch. He grew very restless
and impatient as the appointed time drew near, and
although he longed for its arrival, he almost dreaded to
have it come, for if Zeke broke his word, there was another
bright hope dashed to the ground.

It begun to grow dark at last, and Guy stepped down
from the porch, and walked slowly toward the “spouting
well,” as Zeke had called it, looking back every few
steps to make sure that he was not followed.
// 206.png
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He was not obliged to wait even a moment at the
water-tank, for his new friend, faithful to his promise,
was there with two horses. Guy was greatly relieved.

“Halloo, pard!” said he. “I’m glad you have come,
for I begun to feel a little shaky. Mr. Wilson told me
that I’d never see my things again.”

“You got that money with you?” asked Zeke.

“Of course I have.”

“Whar is it?”

“In my monk-bag around my neck. Have you got
my rifle and other things?”

“Sartin. We couldn’t well travel cl’ar to Kansas
without ’em, I reckon. So Wilson tried to make you
believe I was a-goin’ back on you, did he? What else
did he say?”

“He says he is going to ride down to see you to-morrow,
and find out what you mean by such actions.”

“All right. That will give us a hull day the start of
him if he tries to foller us. Here’s your hoss.”

Guy was aching in every bone and muscle after his
long ride (eighty miles in two days was quite an achievement
for a boy who had never ridden on horseback before),
and it was only after considerable trouble and
some assistance from the hunter that he succeeded in
climbing into his saddle. It was hard work, too, to
keep up with Zeke, who at once put his horse into a
gallop and went ahead, as if he were in a great hurry.
He never drew rein, even long enough to speak to Guy,
until midnight, and then the only reason he stopped
was because the moon went down and it was too dark to
travel.

He and Guy stretched themselves out under a tree beside
the road without lighting a fire, and slept soundly
until morning. At the first peep of day they ate a little
of the dried beef with which Zeke had filled Guy’s
game-bag, and then resumed their rapid ride, halting
only for a few minutes at noon to rest their horses and
eat a hasty luncheon.

Guy was fast giving out, in spite of the excitement
// 207.png
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which had thus far kept him up, and when, just as the
sun was sinking, they entered a little glade surrounded
by a wilderness of trees and rocks, he doggedly threw
himself from his horse and declared that he could not
ride a step farther.

“How far are we from Mr. Wilson’s?” he asked.

“A matter of sixty or seventy miles, mebbe,” replied
Zeke.

“Well, that added to eighty makes a hundred and
forty or fifty miles that I have ridden on horseback during
the last three days,” groaned Guy. “An iron boy
couldn’t stand more. I don’t see the need of so much
haste anyhow.”

“Thar was need of it,” said Zeke, “but I reckon
we’re out of danger now.”

Guy not being aware that they had been in any danger,
could not imagine what Zeke meant; but he was too
tired to ask any questions.

“I reckon we’d best stop here two or three days an’
take a good rest and hunt,” continued Zeke. “I’ll give
you some lessons in shootin’ and throwin’ the lasso. It
won’t take me long to learn you to be jest as good a
hunter as I am; an’ if thar’s any a-goin’ that can beat
me, I never seed ’em. Now lay down an’ I’ll go out an’
shoot something fur supper.”

“I don’t want any supper,” said Guy. “All I want
is rest and sleep. If the second mate of the Santa Maria
had been pounding me with a rope’s end for an hour, I
couldn’t be any nearer used up than I am now.”

Zeke became very officious all at once. He raked together
a pile of leaves under the shelter of a huge rock,
placed Guy’s saddle at one end of it for a pillow, and
when the boy had stretched his weary limbs upon the
couch thus hastily made up for him, the hunter threw
his poncho and blanket over his shoulders, and tucked
them snugly about him. Before the operation was completed
Guy was sound asleep.

He slept in blissful ignorance of what was passing near
him. Once he thought that the blankets were pulled
// 208.png
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cautiously off his shoulders and a hand thrust into his
pocket; but so firmly were his senses locked in slumber
that he was not fairly aroused by these movements. He
knew nothing for twelve long hours, and then he was
awakened by the neighing of a horse.

He started up feeling very much refreshed, but almost
dropped back upon his bed again when he saw that his
monk-bag had been turned inside out and was resting on
his breast.

His pockets, too, had been pulled out, and some of the
articles they had contained were missing, while others
were scattered about over the ground. His rifle, game-bag
and blankets had disappeared, and even Zeke and
his horse were nowhere to be seen.

There were no signs that the hunter had kindled a fire
during the night. He must have robbed Guy and made
off as soon as the latter was fairly asleep. All he had
left him was the clothes he had on his back, the horse
he had ridden, and the saddle and bridle.

Guy realized his situation the instant his eyes were
fairly opened. Utterly discouraged at last, he threw
himself back upon the ground, wishing from the bottom
of his heart that he was dead.

“I’ve been robbed! I’ve been robbed!” he kept saying
to himself. “And here I am in these mountains without
a bite to eat or a friend to help me! What shall I
do! what shall I do!”

Guy lay for fully an hour in a sort of stupor, from
which he was aroused at last by the pangs of hunger.
There was no need that he should stay there and starve,
he told himself, while Zeke had been considerate enough
to leave him a horse. Perhaps the animal could carry
him to some human habitation. The experiment was at
least worth a trial.

The horse proved to be very uneasy, and Guy, being
unaccustomed to such business, was nearly half an hour
in putting the saddle and bridle on him. But at last he
got everything fixed to his satisfaction, and climbing
upon the animal’s back, he started—he knew not
whither.
// 209.png
.bn 209.png

After trying in vain to find a road or trail leading
from the glade, he plunged blindly into the woods, and
during the next two days lived in a state of agony, both
of body and mind, that I cannot describe. He rode
while daylight lasted without a mouthful to eat, and
slept at night on the hard ground.

Sometimes he would allow his horse to have his own
way, believing that the animal’s instinct would lead him
out of the wilderness, and then again he would resume
control of him, and try to find his own way out.

How often during those two days did Guy tell himself
that if he lived to get out of that scrape he would lose
not an hour in starting for the States; and if he once
reached them he would never again be tempted to leave
them.

He had seen enough of the woods, and of the ocean,
too. Other boys might think as they pleased, and
story-tellers might write as they pleased about the joys,
the ease and romance of a hunter’s and a sailor’s life, but
as for him, give him a quiet home on shore and among
civilized people.

At last, when Guy was so weak with fasting that he
could scarcely keep his seat in the saddle, and so disheartened
that he was more than once on the point of
throwing himself under the nearest tree and resigning
himself to his fate, his deliverance came, and so suddenly
that it almost took his breath away. His horse, which
during the last few hours had been allowed to go
where he pleased, plunged through an almost impassable
thicket of bushes, carrying his rider into a broad, well-beaten
road that led down the mountains.

The animal seemed as delighted at this evidence of
civilization as Guy did. No sooner was he fairly in the
road than he broke into a gallop, and in less than five
minutes brought his rider to a little tumble-down
shanty, where half a dozen miners were lounging on
the porch. They all started up and looked at Guy in
amazement, seemingly unable to make up their minds
whether he was a live boy or a ghost.
// 210.png
.bn 210.png

“Halloo!” exclaimed one of the men, “who on earth
are you, and where did you come from?”

“I have been lost in the mountains for the last two
days, and am almost starved to death,” answered Guy, in
a faint voice.

“Well, I should say you were, if one can judge by
your looks. Come in. Such as we’ve got you’re welcome
to.”

The man approached to assist Guy to dismount, and it
was well he did so, for he was just in time to receive him
in his arms. The boy was utterly overcome with weakness,
and when he tried to swing himself from his saddle
his head reeled, and he would have fallen to the ground
if the man had not supported him.

“He’s pretty near gone up,” said one of the miners,
“but I guess a bit of something will bring him around
all right.”

The speaker secured Guy’s horse, another assisted him
into the house and seated him on a bench, a third
brought from a cupboard an abundant supply of bread
and meat, which he placed before him, and the others
stood around, waiting with no little curiosity and impatience
to hear his story.

The miners had seen any number of hungry men since
they had been in the mountains, but that was the first
time they had ever seen food disappear so rapidly before
a boy of Guy’s size. The latter was perfectly ravenous.
He stopped at last, not because he had eaten
enough, but because his host interfered and took away
the eatables.

“Thar, now,” said the man, “you’ve stowed away
about enough of that grub for this time, and you had
better let up or you’ll bust.”

“I am busted already,” said Guy, wiping his lips;
“busted and disgusted.”

“Broke?” asked the man.

“Flat as a pancake,” said Guy. “I am very grateful
for your kindness, sir, and am sorry I cannot in some
way repay it. I am able to go on now, and would be
// 211.png
.bn 211.png
glad if you would show me the nearest road to the
States.”

“Going to leave Californy?”

“Just as fast as horse-flesh can carry me.”

“But how did you come to get lost?”

Guy’s story was a short one, and was soon told. Some
of the miners seemed to believe it, while others looked a
little incredulous. But Guy did not care for that. He
had the best of evidence that every word he uttered was
the truth.

While he was telling his story a horseman drew up before
the shanty, and dismounting, proceeded to give
Guy’s steed a good looking over, closely examining a
brand on the animal’s flank, and referring occasionally
to a note-book which he drew from his pocket. The
miners watched every move he made, now and then exchanging
winks with one another, and looking toward
Guy in a way the latter could not understand.
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CHAPTER XXIII. || <fs=0.8em>GUY BECOMES A TEAMSTER.</fs>
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“WHICH of you owns this horse,” asked the
man at length, thrusting his head in at the
door.

The question was addressed to the party in
general but the man fastened his eyes upon Guy as if
expecting an answer from him.

“He is in my possession,” said the boy, “but he belongs
to Zeke.”

“Zeke! Zeke who?”

“I don’t know his other name. He is a buffalo
hunter, and has just started for Kansas.”

“Where did he get him, do you know?”

“He bought him of somebody down in San Joaquin.”

“Yes; well, that story won’t go down, young man,”
said the new-comer, who was an officer of the law.
“That horse was <i>stolen</i> down in San Joaquin a few days
ago.”

“Oho!” exclaimed Guy’s host, “that accounts for
the milk in the cocoanut.”

“I thought all the time that there was something
streaked about this business,” observed another.

“Ain’t he a desperate one, though,” remarked a
third. “He steals a horse and is so determined to keep
him that he stays in the mountains until he is almost
starved to death.”

“Oh, now, you don’t know what you are talking
about,” cried Guy, who was frightened almost out of
his senses. “I didn’t steal that horse. I got him just
as I told you I did.”

The constable listened while Guy repeated the story
of his two days’ acquaintance with the buffalo hunter,
and when it was concluded gave it as his opinion that
// 213.png
.bn 213.png
the boy’s statements would hardly wash. He might be
all right—he was free to confess that Guy didn’t look
like a horse-thief—but he had been instructed to detain
that animal if he found him, and to put whoever had
him in his possession into the calaboose and keep him
there until the owner of the horse could be sent for; so
Guy had better come along and be locked up and say no
more about it.

Guy remonstrated loudly, but it was all in vain. The
officer was firm, and the boy was obliged to accompany
him down the mountain and through the little village
that lay at its foot, to the calaboose—a small, strongly
built log cabin, provided with a heavy oaken door and
grated windows. There was but one room in the building,
as Guy found when the door was opened, and just then
it had no occupants.

“Now, then,” said the officer giving his prisoner a
push, “go in there, and stay till the rope comes up
from San Joaquin. We hang horse-thieves in this
country.”

This was the second time Guy had been made the victim
of the man he had trusted so implicitly. He understood
his situation as well as if Zeke had been there to
explain it to him. The hunter, not daring to rob him
in the settlements for fear that Mr. Wilson would interest
himself in the matter, had enticed him into the
mountains, where he could accomplish his purpose without
danger to himself. He had stolen the horse for Guy
to ride, and then, in order to draw suspicion from himself,
had left him in the boy’s possession, well-knowing
that if he showed himself in the settlements during the
day-time, he would be arrested and charged with the
theft. And horse-thieves were hanged in that country,
so the constable had told him! If the man said this to
frighten him, he certainly succeeded in his object. Almost
overcome with terror at the bare thought, Guy
threw himself upon a dirty mattress in one corner of
the jail and cried bitterly, until exhausted nature gave
way and he forgot his troubles in sleep.
// 214.png
.bn 214.png

He slept until it was almost dark, and was then awakened
by the sound of voices. He started up to find the
door of his prison open, and the entrance crowded with
excited, struggling men. Conspicuous among them
was a gigantic fellow, clad like a miner, whose wrists
and ankles were loaded with irons. The others were
trying to push him into the jail, and he was trying as
hard to prevent them. Encumbered as he was he fought
desperately for his liberty, and once seemed almost on
the point of escaping from his captors, but he was at
last thrown headlong upon the floor of the calaboose,
and the door was slammed behind him.

Guy’s companion in misery acted more like a wild
beast than a human being. No sooner had he gained
his feet than he threw himself with all his strength
against the door; but seeing that he made no impression
upon it, he turned his attention to one of the windows,
seizing the bars with his hands and exerting all his
strength to tear them from their fastenings.

Failing in this, he drew himself up by the bars of the
window and butted his head against the logs which
formed the ceiling, but nothing gave way under his
fierce attacks, and finding at last that escape was impossible
he fell to pacing the narrow jail, rattling his
chains and swearing and threatening at the top of his
voice.

Guy was afraid of him. Slowly and cautiously he
drew himself off the mattress, and retreated into the
farthest corner of the room, where he sat cowering and
trembling and watching the movements of this wild
beast in human form, who continued to pace backward
and forward, clanking his chains and uttering imprecations.
Guy was glad indeed when the night settled
down and concealed him from the man’s sight.

At last a murmur of voices outside the building attracted
the attention of the prisoner, who paused in his
walk and gazed eagerly toward the door, bending forward
in a listening attitude. The noise grew louder and
louder. Then a short struggle was heard outside the
// 215.png
.bn 215.png
cabin, the door flew open, admitting a flood of light
which streamed from a dozen lanterns, and a crowd of
armed men rushed in. They seized the prisoner, wound
a rope about his neck, and in spite of his resistance
pulled him out of the calaboose.

Guy, hardly realizing what was going on, was borne
with the crowd, which filled every corner of the jail,
out through the door, past the constable, who was
lying bound and helpless beside the building, and up
the road leading to the mountains. Then somebody
pushed him roughly aside, and he found himself standing
alone. He was free, the road was open, and he
could go where he pleased.

Frightened as he was, Guy was prompt to seize upon
the opportunity for escape thus unexpectedly offered to
him. Very slowly and deliberately he drew himself
further away from the crowd, and when the last man
had passed him and hurried up the mountain, and there
was no one in sight to observe his movements, he broke
into a run and made the best of his way through the
now deserted village and along the road that led to the
plains beyond.

He knew something about lynch-law now. He had
received an illustration of the manner in which frontiersmen
sometimes dealt with offenders, and shivered
as if he had the ague when he reflected that the same
fate might have been his in a few hours more had not a
way been opened for his escape.

“I’ll not stay in this country an hour longer,”
thought Guy, speeding along the road as if he had been
furnished with wings. “I had no idea that there were
such men as these in the world. I wonder if that constable
saw me when I came out? I thought he looked
me squarely in the face, and if he did, he must have
recognized me. If they will only keep him tied hard
and fast until morning, I don’t think he will ever catch
me again. Halloo! Great Scott!”

This exclamation was called forth by an unexpected
sight which just then met his eyes. It was a camp-fire,
// 216.png
.bn 216.png
and he did not see it until he was close upon it. Two
covered wagons were drawn up in front of the fire, and
beside one of them stood a stalwart fellow in his shirt-sleeves,
who was looking ruefully at a broken axle-tree
and scratching his head in deep perplexity. Discovering
Guy as he came up, he greeted him with:

“Halloo! stranger. May be you’re a wagon-maker.”

“No, I am not,” replied the boy.

“Then I don’t suppose you could hold up one end of
this rail for me while I fix this axle, could you?” asked
the emigrant.

“Yes,” said Guy, “I can do that.”

After casting a long and anxious glance down the
road he had just traveled to make sure that there was
no one following him, Guy walked up to the wagon and
held one end of the rail, as the man requested, making
several suggestions as the work progressed, which the
emigrant was prompt to adopt, and which led him to
say when the repairs were all completed:

“Now, stranger, may be you would be willing to set
up and take a bite with us. Supper’s ready.”

Guy was not only willing, but eager. The sense of
security he had felt since his arrival in the emigrant’s
camp, aided by the savory odor of the viands that were
cooking over the coals, had put a sharp edge on his appetite,
and he did full justice to the meal that was
served up. While he was eating he had leisure to look
about him and to examine into something that had attracted
his notice when he first entered the camp.
There were some words painted in large letters on one
of the wagon covers, and after a little study, Guy
made them out to be, “Sonora or Bust.”

He read the words over slowly while he was munching
his corn bread and bacon, and then turned his
attention to the emigrant’s family, on whom he had
thus far bestowed only a passing glance.

There were eight of them—two women and six children;
and as both the women were addressed as mother,
Guy thought there ought to be another man about the
// 217.png
.bn 217.png
camp; but as he did not put in an appearance, he finally
asked after him.

“Where is your partner?” said he to the emigrant.
“You ask that question, I suppose, because you see
two families here,” replied the man. “One of them is
mine, and the other was my brother’s. He is dead, and
so I have his wife and little ones to care for till I get
them back among their friends.”

Guy helped himself to another piece of bacon and
looked up at the words that were painted on the wagon
cover.

“Did you get through, or bust?” said he.

“Both,” replied the emigrant. “I came through all
right, and busted afterward. My brother, he died, the
placer diggings give out, so that Californy ain’t worth
staying in, and now I want to get back to Missouri,
where I came from, before I am clean broke. These
women folks can’t drive horses—this is the third time
they have run into stumps and rocks, and broke that
wagon down, between here and Sonora—and I’ll give
any man ten dollars a month that’s a mind to set up
there and drive for us.”

“Are you going straight to the States?” asked Guy.

“Just as straight as the nearest trail runs.”

“Then I’m your man. I’ll drive one wagon for you.”

“Talk enough,” said the emigrant. “I can rest easy
now. That miserable wagon has been more bother to
me than it is worth.”

And so the matter was settled, and Guy became a
teamster and a member of the emigrant’s family.

For the next three months he led a dreary, monotonous
life, during which not a single incident happened
that was worth recording. He arose from his blankets
at daybreak, ate a breakfast of corn bread and bacon,
and then climbed to his seat in the wagon, where he
remained, with the exception of an hour’s halt at noon,
until long after dark. Even this work was hard, and
the longer it continued the more disgusted with frontier
life Guy became, and the firmer grew his resolution,
// 218.png
.bn 218.png
that if he ever lived to get among civilized people again,
he would stay among them. The journey, like the
voyage around the Horn, seemed endless, but at last, to
his immense relief, Omaha appeared in sight.

By this time Guy had made up his mind what he was
going to do. From the emigrants he met on the road
he learned that the States were at war, that one portion
of the Union was in arms against the other, and that
men were wanted on both sides.

This seemed almost a godsend to Guy, for it settled
a question which he had long been revolving in his
mind, namely: What should he do for a living? he
could go into the Union army. He would save every
cent of the money he earned during his term of service,
and if he lived to come out, he would have enough to
enable him to take a course at some commercial college,
and thus fit himself for business. He was a boy of
peace—he had no taste for fights and broils—but he
must do something to earn a livelihood, and this seemed
to be just what he wanted.

When they reached Omaha Guy was paid off by his
employer, receiving thirty-five dollars in money, and
after taking leave of him and his family, he started at
once for the levee. Finding there a steamer bound for
St. Louis, he shipped on it as deck hand. He could not
afford to go as passenger, for his clothes were almost in
tatters, and he needed the little money he had to purchase
a respectable outfit when he reached St. Louis.

The steamer arrived at the city early one morning,
and Guy having received his wages, bent his steps toward
the nearest clothing store, and when he came out
again, half an hour afterward, he looked more like Guy
Harris than he had looked for many a long day. He
had purchased a neat, durable suit of clothing, and still
had a few dollars left in his pocket. He was not
ashamed now to show himself on the principal streets.

The first thing was to get a good breakfast, and the
next to hunt up an officer to enlist him. There was
a restaurant close by, and while he was eating a dish
// 219.png
.bn 219.png
of ham and eggs, and drinking a cup of coffee, he
talked with the proprietor, who directed him to the
nearest recruiting office. It was on Fourth Street, the
man said, and Guy having paid his bill started out to
find it.

Guy felt now as if he were among friends from whom
he had long been separated. He was delighted to find
himself among the sights and sounds of the city again,
and not a single incident that happened as he passed
along the street did he regard as too trifling to be
noticed.

He had now been adrift in the world nearly fifteen
months, and during this time he had seldom thought of
his home and those he had left there. It is true that
when he was in trouble he had wished himself safe
under his father’s roof once more, just as a storm-tossed
mariner wishes himself back to the comfortable haven
he left a few days ago; but if he had ever thought of
his father and his father’s wife, it was with a feeling
of bitterness which seemed to grow stronger and
deeper as he grew older. He thought of them now,
but without a single pang of regret or a single longing
in his heart to see them. The world had treated
him harshly since he had been out in it; but which was
the worst, he asked himself—to receive hard words and
hard usage from those of whom he had a right to
expect nothing better, or to submit to daily exhibitions
of indifference and partiality, and acts of petty tyranny
and injustice from those of whom he had a right to expect
nothing but encouragement, sympathy and love?
Guy asked himself this question, and a hard expression
settled about the corners of his mouth, which did
not soften when he suddenly discovered among the
numerous pedestrians one whom he thought he had
seen before. It was a tall, dignified gentleman, who
was just at that moment crossing the street, evidently
with the intention of intercepting him. Guy stared at
him in amazement. <i>It was his father!</i>
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CHAPTER XXIV. || <fs=0.8em>FATHER AND SON.</fs>
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GUY COULD scarcely believe his eyes. His
father was the last man on earth he had expected
to see in St. Louis—the last one he
wanted to meet, if the truth must be told—and
he hoped that he was mistaken.

But the approaching gentleman was really Mr. Harris—there
could be no doubt about that; for, as far as his
personal appearance was concerned, he had not changed
in a single particular since Guy last saw him. His face
wore the same fierce frown, before which the boy had
so often trembled, and which seemed habitual to him,
and he carried himself as stiffly as ever. But he came
up with some eagerness in his manner, and for once appeared
to be glad to see his son.

“Guy!” said he, seizing the boy’s outstretched hand
and speaking with more cordiality than he had ever before
thrown into his tones when addressing him.

“Father!” replied Guy.

“How do you do?” said Mr. Harris. “When did you
arrive here, and where have you been?”

Guy noticed, with some of the old bitterness in his
heart, that his father did not say he was glad to meet
him, but he was not much surprised at it. He could
not recollect that his father had ever exhibited any affection
for him. He saved all that for Ned, and Guy
was obliged to be contented with the few crumbs that
fell to his share in the shape of Christmas presents and
a religious book once or twice a year.

“I have just now come from the plains,” replied Guy.
“I have been to sea since I saw you last.”

“To sea!” repeated Mr. Harris—“as a common
sailor?”
// 221.png
.bn 221.png

“Yes, sir. I have made two voyages as a foremast
hand, one of them around the Horn. I came from San
Francisco overland.”

A few minutes’ silence followed. The two stood
holding fast to each other’s hands, and each was busy
with his own thoughts. Mr. Harris was running his
eyes over Guy’s face and figure, and was plainly surprised,
and perhaps a little disappointed, to see him so
neatly dressed and looking so well.

The conventional runaway always turns up ragged
and in a starving condition; but this one looked as
though he had been living on the fat of the land. Guy
was waiting with some anxiety to hear what his father
would have to say next, and wondering if his long separation
from him had softened his heart in any degree.
At last Mr. Harris spoke.

“I am stopping at the Planter’s House,” said he.
“Come over there with me. I want to talk to you.”

As he said this he drew his son’s arm through his
own and led him away. This movement on his part
was a great surprise to Guy. Never before had his
father treated him with so much familiarity.

Perhaps he was beginning to see that he had made a
woful mistake in keeping the boy at such a distance
from him. Had his eyes been opened to this fact
eighteen months sooner Guy would never have been a
runaway.

Arriving at the Planter’s House Mr. Harris led the
way to his room, and as he locked the door behind him
and handed Guy a chair, the latter felt very much as he
had felt in former days when his father had ordered
him into the library for some offense he had committed,
and followed him there with an apple-tree switch in his
hand.

“Are you on your way home, Guy?” asked Mr. Harris
as he sealed himself in a chair opposite his son.

“No, sir,” was the reply. “I came to St. Louis intending
to enlist in the army.”

“You must not do that, Guy,” said his father earnestly.
// 222.png
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“There are enough beside you to risk their lives
in this war. I want you to go back with me. Home is
the place for you.”

“No, father, I can’t do it,” said Guy.

“Why not?”

“I have two good reasons. In the first place, I suppose
that all my acquaintances know by this time that I
ran away from home.”

“I suppose they do,” said his father, “and that is all
the punishment you will have to stand.”

“For the opinions of the majority I care nothing.
Those who know all the circumstances will not judge
me too harshly,” said Guy, astonished at the readiness
with which he expressed himself. But then his heart
was full of this matter. He had thought of it often
and words came easy to him.

Mr. Harris elevated his eyebrows and looked surprised.

“Yes, sir,” continued Guy, who easily read the
thoughts that were passing in his father’s mind. “I
mean to say that every man and woman in Norwall who
is intimate with our family will tell you to-day, if they
tell you anything, that I had good reason for wishing to
leave home. I never saw a moment’s peace there in my
life.”

“Then why did you not come to me like a man and
say so, instead of sneaking away like a thief in the
night?” asked Mr. Harris with all the old sternness in
his voice.

“I knew better. I did not care to put myself in the
way of a whipping, and that is all the satisfaction I
should have got.”

Whatever may have been Mr. Harris’ other faults, he
was not dishonest. He did not deny this—he could
not, so he hastened to change the subject.

“What was the reason you were not happy at home?”
he asked. “Ned seems to enjoy himself very well.”

“I suppose he does,” returned Guy bitterly. “He
has a father and mother who try to make home pleasant
// 223.png
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for him. Any boy can enjoy himself under such circumstances.”

“Didn’t you have all you wanted to eat, and drink,
and wear?”

“Yes, sir; but is that all a boy wants to make him
happy? No, indeed. He wants a kind word now and
then. He likes to be told once in a while that there is
some good in him, and that he is not altogether wicked
and depraved. He wants privileges occasionally, not
those granted with hesitation and grumbling and cautions
innumerable, for he cannot enjoy them, but those
which are extended willingly and smilingly, as if the
parent found as much pleasure in giving as the boy does
in receiving them. He wants somebody who will love
him, and who is not ashamed to show it. Where is
Henry Stewart?” asked Guy suddenly.

“He is still at home,” replied Mr. Harris, “studying
hard to fit himself for college. Mr. Stewart seems to
be particularly blessed in his children. Henry is a
model boy. He never does anything behind his father’s
back that he would be ashamed to do before his face.”

“And what is the reason?” asked Guy.

“I don’t know, I am sure. I suppose it is nature.”

“Yes, the nature of the boy has a good deal to do
with his behavior, of course, but believe me, father,
when I say that the parents have a great deal to do with
it, too,” said Guy earnestly. “If you will go into Mr.
Stewart’s yard some night and watch his family through
the window, as I did on one occasion, the mystery will
be solved in two minutes’ time. Henry can’t help being
a good boy, because he has a good home. It isn’t what
he has to eat and drink and wear that makes him so,
either.”

“Well, have you been so much happier since you have
been out in the world than you were at home?”

“I have been so much better satisfied that I don’t
want to go back,” replied Guy.

“Have you never regretted your rash act? Have you
never wanted to see us?”
// 224.png
.bn 224.png

“Yes, sir, to both your questions. I wished myself
at home a good many times during the first three months
I was away, not because I was sorry I had left it, but because
I was disheartened by the misfortunes I met with
and the abuse I received from some of those with whom
I came in contact. The world isn’t what I expected to
find it by any means. I have been cured of a good many
foolish notions since I left home.”

“You must have had some plan in your head when
you ran away,” said Harris. “What did you expect to
do?”

“I intended to become a hunter,” said Guy, with some
hesitation.

“There!” exclaimed his father, suddenly brightening.
“I have at last reached the root of the matter. Don’t
you see now that my judgment was better than yours?
If you had respected my wishes and let those miserable
works of fiction alone, you would have saved yourself a
great deal of trouble. Be honest now. Confess that the
only reason why you left home was because you got some
wild idea into your head from those books.”

“I have already told you why I left home, and why I
don’t want to go back,” said Guy. “If works of fiction
are such awful things, how does it come that Henry
Stewart is so good a boy? He has a whole library of such
books, and he doesn’t have to hide away in the carriage-house
or attic to read them either, as I did. I don’t deny
that the stories I read had something to do with my
choice of an occupation, but I do deny that they had anything
to do with my leaving home. The home itself was
the cause of that. It was such a gloomy, dismal place,
that I couldn’t stay there. But I’ve had enough of life
on the frontier and on the ocean wave. It is all well
enough to sit down by a comfortable fire in an easy chair,
and read about the imaginary adventures that fall
to the lot of hunters and sailors who never existed, but
when one comes to follow the business, he finds that it is
a different matter altogether.”

“Well, what are you going to do here in St. Louis?”
asked Mr. Harris.
// 225.png
.bn 225.png

“I don’t know. I must find work of some kind, and
that very soon, for I have but a few dollars left. I know
nothing of business, consequently if I went into a store
I should have to accept the lowest position, which would
not bring me enough to board and clothe myself. The
only way I can see is to enlist. I shall save every cent
of my money—I think I know the value of it—and when
my term of service expires, I shall have enough to
enable me to take a course at the Commercial College.
Perhaps after that I can find some paying situation.”

“You must not go into the service, Guy,” said Mr.
Harris. “I should never expect to see you again. I
can give you something to do.”

Guy opened his lips to decline this proposition without
waiting to hear more about it. The thought of
working under his father’s supervision was most distasteful
to him—indeed, it could not be entertained for a
moment. He could not bear to meet, every hour in the
day, that stern, gloomy man, who never smiled. But
Mr. Harris went on without giving him time to speak.

“I have prospered since the war begun,” said he.
“I have had two profitable government contracts, and
have established a business house in this city. Mr.
Walker, who is now my partner, has charge of it. I will
step around and see him about it, and perhaps we can
make some satisfactory arrangements, if you will promise
to keep out of the service.”

“But, father,” said Guy, “do you live here in this
city?”

“No; I have charge of our business in Norwall. I go
back there by this evening’s train. What do you say?”

“I shall be grateful for any work that will bring me
my board and clothes, and will promise to keep out of
the service,” said Guy.

“Suppose you come around here and take dinner with
me at three o’clock. I shall then be able to tell you what
arrangements Mr. Walker and myself have made.”

“Very well, sir,” said Guy.

Mr. Harris arose to his feet, and Guy taking this as a
// 226.png
.bn 226.png
hint that he wished the interview brought to a close,
picked up his hat and left the room.

“Thank goodness, it is over at last,” said he, drawing
a long breath of relief. “I didn’t say half I meant to
have said, and I am glad I didn’t, for I could see that he
felt badly. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, but at the
same time I wanted to let him see how impossible it is
for me to go back to Norwall with him. I shall always
remember that interview, for it is an event in my life.
<i>It is the first time I ever spent half an hour in private
with my father without getting a scolding or a whipping.</i>
He was distant enough, mercy knows, but still he was
kinder and more cordial than I ever knew him to be before.
Why didn’t he exhibit a little of that spirit years
ago? I would have done anything for him that I could
do.”

“I never in my life heard of such impudence,” soliloquized
Mr. Harris, as he paced up and down his room
after Guy’s departure. “It was all I could do to keep
my hands off that boy. He had the audacity to tell me
to my face that I and his mother are the cause of his
wrong-doing—that we made his home so unpleasant for
him that he couldn’t stay there. If that is the case what
is the reason Ned doesn’t run away? Guy must be demented.
That bosh he used to read so much has turned
his head.”

How very unwilling we are to confess ourselves in
fault for any unhappiness that befall us—it is so much
easier to lay the blame upon somebody else. Said a
father in my hearing, not long ago, while speaking of a
reckless, dissolute son who had caused him a world of
trouble:

“Tom always was a peculiar boy. I never could understand
him. He seemed to prefer any place on earth
to his home, and he never would stay there if he could
go anywhere else. Why it was so I am sure I don’t
know. I tried my best to do my duty by him, and it is
a great comfort to me now in my old age to know that
nobody can tell me I spoiled him by sparing the rod. I
// 227.png
.bn 227.png
was as strict with him as a father could be. When he
was not at school I shut him up inside the yard to keep
him out of the company of bad boys. I never allowed
him to go to a theater or circus, but made him read his
Bible every day and learn a portion of the New Testament
every night before he went to bed. In the evening,
as soon as the gas was lighted, I compelled him to
bring out his school books and study them until nine
o’clock. I exercised the strictest supervision over his
reading, and burned every story paper, novel, book of
travel, and trash of that sort that he brought into the
house. I saw that he was regular in his attendance at
church and Sunday-school, and on Sunday afternoons
never permitted him to touch any books or papers except
those of a religious character. In short, I tried to
keep his mind so fully occupied with good and useful
things that wicked and trifling ones could find no place
in it. And how has my kindness been returned?” added
the father sorrowfully. “Tom run away from home
when the war broke out, and has never been near me
since. He is now among those rough characters on the
border, and if everything I hear is true, he is one of the
worst of them. How a bad man can come from such a
home as Tom had in his boyhood, is a mystery to me.”

But it was no mystery to <i>me</i>, for I had heard the other
side of the story. A few weeks previous to this, while
on my way to visit some friends in the East, it was my
fortune to meet this same Tom in a distant State. I
could scarcely recognize in him the innocent, meek-appearing
boy I had known in years gone by. He was
dressed in a red shirt, thrown open at the throat, coarse
trousers thrust into a pair of high-top boots, and a tattered
slouch hat which he wore cocked over his left ear.
In a belt which encircled his waist he carried a navy
six-shooter and a monstrous bowie-knife, both of which
had been used with terrible effect in more than one personal
encounter. He was a swaggering, swearing, boastful,
dissipated fellow, and always seemed on the lookout
for a chance to pick a quarrel with some one.
// 228.png
.bn 228.png

“You’re going home, Harry,” said he, as he grasped
my hand at parting, “and I wish you joy of your visit.
Would to Heaven I had a home to go to.”

“You have, Tom,” said I, “and your father would
be glad to see you.”

“Don’t talk to me in that way,” he said, almost
fiercely. “I know there is a house in an Eastern town
where I used to stay when I was a boy, because I
could go nowhere else, where I found shelter, food and
clothing, and was daily strapped and scolded, but does
that constitute a <i>home</i>? If it does, you writers and
poets are all liars. You tell us home is a place around
which one’s warmest affections cluster—a place consecrated
by a mother’s presence, by her prayers and holy
tears, whose sacred influence goes with us through life,
and whose pleasant memories come thronging upon us
when the tempter is near to keep us from being led
astray. Such is the home of my dreams, but it is one I
never knew and never shall know. I never knew a
mother’s love, but was early made acquainted with the
weight of a father’s hand. He was such a tyrant that I
never could breathe easy in his presence. He denied me
every boyish privilege and indulgence, and brought me
up so strictly that I learned to despise everything good
simply because he liked it. I hated the Sabbath, I
hated the Bible, being held to so unreasonably strict an
observance to the one, and so often compelled against
my wishes to commit to memory whole pages of the
other. I resolved, as far back as I can remember, that
if I could once free myself from home, I’d see life and
make up for lost time, and you know as well as I can
tell you how I have kept that resolution. I am sorry
for it now, but it is too late. I can’t live my life over
again. I have come to such a pass that nobody cares
for me.”

Tom’s under lip begun to quiver and his eyes to fill
with tears. Ashamed of the weakness, he dashed his
hand across his face, uttered an oath under his breath
and swaggered off to the nearest saloon. What will his
// 229.png
.bn 229.png
end be? The rope of a vigilance committee, or the bullet
of some fellow desperado?

Parents, it is a serious matter to send a boy into the
world with no pleasant recollections of yourselves or of
home to restrain him in the hour of temptation.
// 230.png
.bn 230.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XXV. || <fs=0.8em>THE COMMERCIAL TRAVELER.</fs>
.sp 2
.di dropcapw.jpg 50 50 1.7
“WELL, GUY, which way shall we go to-night?
Do you feel inclined for a game of billiards
before supper?”

The speaker adjusted his hat in front of a
looking-glass, drew a stray lock of hair over one of his
ears, turned his head from side to side to assure himself
that his toilet had been completed, and looked over his
shoulder toward Guy Harris, who, having just rendered
to the book-keeper an account of the cash that had
passed through his hands during the day, was buttoning
his coat preparatory to leaving the store. The question
was asked in a low tone and was accompanied by a sidelong
glance toward Mr. Walker, who was standing at
the book-keeper’s desk.

“I don’t know,” replied Guy hesitatingly. “I’ve
been out a good deal of late, and I think I had better
begin to stop at home once in a while of an evening.”

“Oh, nonsense!” exclaimed the first speaker, whom
we will call Jones, and who was one of the drummers or
commercial travelers employed to sell goods for the firm
of Harris & Walker. “What is the use of moping in
the house all the while? When one has been hard at
work all day he wants some recreation in the evening, I
take it.”

“I know that,” said Guy, “but to tell the truth,
Jones, I don’t get as much money for my services as
you do, and I can’t stand this ‘bumming round’ as you
call it.”

“Funds giving out? Then run your face.”

“I have been doing just that very thing. I am
deeply in debt, too.”

“Oh, that’s nothing when you get used to it? Show
// 231.png
.bn 231.png
me a clerk in this city who is not in debt, and I will
show you five that are.”

“But my creditors want me to pay up; at least I
judge so from the way they are beginning to look at me
every time I see them.”

“Well, if they become impatient, just say to them that
if they get the money before you do, you would be pleased
to know it. Are you all ready? If you are, come on.
I have only this evening and one more that I can spend
with you, for I must start off on my travels again early
on Wednesday morning.”

This conversation took place one Monday evening in
the store in which Guy was employed, and about two
months subsequent to the events recorded in the last
chapter. In accordance with his promise Mr. Harris
consulted with his new partner, Mr. Walker, and the
result of the conference was that Guy was employed to
do the outdoor business of the firm—to act as city collector
and shipping clerk, at a salary of four hundred
dollars a year. His working hours were from eight
o’clock in the morning until six at night, with an hour’s
intermission at noon for dinner. His evenings were at
his own disposal.

This last was an arrangement with which Mr. Harris
was not altogether pleased. He knew by experience the
manifold temptations which beset those who live in
large cities, and believed there was something in the
night air morally injurious to young people; but he
thought that perhaps Guy had learned the value of time
and money during his wanderings, and hoped that his
evenings would be devoted, as he said he intended to
devote them, to the acquirement of the rudiments of a
business education. To further this end Mr. Harris
purchased for Guy a scholarship at the Commercial College,
and he also found lodgings for him at a small
boarding-house kept by a widow lady in a retired part
of the city.

For a month no fault could be found with Guy. He
was as steady as an old coach-horse. He had learned to
// 232.png
.bn 232.png
appreciate the privileges and comforts of civilized life,
and knew how to enjoy them. Having been made
aware of his deficiencies, he applied himself manfully to
the task of overcoming them. He was always on hand
during business hours, and performed his duty faithfully.
Mr. Walker began to take a deep interest in
him, and sent encouraging reports to Norwall concerning
him.

“Guy is a splendid fellow!” so Mr. Walker, who was
the only one in the city acquainted with his clerk’s past
history, wrote to his partner. “He is very industrious
and painstaking, and a word of encouragement or approval
stimulates him to extra exertions. You know I
always thought he was a good boy.”

Guy’s landlady, Mrs. Willis, also took a wonderful
interest in him; he looked and acted, she said, so much
like her own son, who had gone to California to better
his fortune. Guy appreciated every little kindness she
showed him, and learned to love her as devotedly as he
had once loved his father’s wife.

But Guy’s goodness was rather of the negative sort.
He did nothing very wrong, simply because he was
never tempted. Everything was going smoothly with
him. He was aiming high now, had formed resolutions
which he had not yet had time to forget; his whole
mind was occupied with the duties of his new vocation,
and it is easy to work and be good under such circumstances.
But time makes changes, and soon Guy begun
to learn that even a shipping clerk has troubles and perplexities,
which, in their way, are just as vexatious and
hard to bear as those that fall to the lot of other people.
The routine of the store, the performing of the same
duties over and over again, became tiresome to him; it
was too much like a tread-mill. When night came, his
mind as well as his body was weary, and he was in no
condition to dip into the mysteries of double-entry book-keeping,
or wrestle with the hard problems in Bryant &
Stratton’s Mercantile Arithmetic. This led him to become
irregular in his attendance at the college, and he
// 233.png
.bn 233.png
begun to spend his leisure hours at home. Reading and
conversation with Mrs. Willis interested him for a few
evenings, but became a bore at last, and Guy fell into
the habit of strolling out after supper for a breath of
fresh air; and to enable him to enjoy it fully, he almost
always smoked a cigar.

The place at which he purchased his cigars was a beer
saloon, and after a few visits Guy found that it was the
headquarters of half a dozen dashing young fellows,
clerks like himself, who spent all their evenings there.
They would come in after supper, singly and in couples,
take a glass of beer or cigar at the bar, and then pass
out of sight through a door that led into a back room.

Acquaintances are easily made in places like this—more
is the pity—and Guy very soon got into the habit
of nodding to these young fellows every time he met
them; then one of them treated him to a cigar, and
asked him if he wouldn’t “step back and take a hand.”
Guy, who had often wondered what there was in the
back room that brought those clerks there so regularly,
replied in the affirmative, and following them through
the door just spoken of, found that it led into an apartment
devoted to pigeon-hole, dominoes and cards.

The acquaintances Guy formed that night ripened
rapidly into a sort of friendship. He became a regular
visitor at the saloon, and although he was a remarkably
lucky card player, and was seldom “put in” for a game,
the money he had carefully saved during the time he
had been employed in the store—and it amounted to a
respectable sum—slipped through his fingers almost before
he knew it, and at last he had not a single dollar
remaining. One night he surprised his new friends by
seating himself near the card-table, but declined to take
part in the game.

“What’s the matter?” they all asked at once.

“Why, I might be beaten, and if I do I have no
money to pay the bill. I forgot my pocket-book,” said
Guy, ashamed to acknowledge that he did not own a
cent in the world.
// 234.png
.bn 234.png

“Is that all?” cried one of the players. “That’s
easily enough got over. Say, Jake,” he added, calling
to the proprietor of the saloon, “if Harris gets stuck
for this game, you’ll chalk it, won’t you?”

“Oh, sure,” replied the Dutchman readily. “I
drusts him all de peer he vants.”

The boy had been a good customer, and he could
afford to accommodate him to a limited extent.

This was a new chapter in Guy’s experience. He had
never thought of going in debt before, and ere many
weeks had passed away he had reason to wish that no
one had ever thought of it for him.

About the time Guy first met these new friends he
made the acquaintance of Mr. Jones, the commercial
traveler, who was presented to him by his brother, Will
Jones, the junior clerk. These two young gentlemen,
Mr. Jones and his brother, had private reasons for
hating Guy most cordially. Will had been an applicant
for the position of shipping clerk, and indeed Mr.
Walker had partly promised it to him; but yielding to
the wishes of his partner, he gave Guy the situation instead,
and made Jones junior clerk, with the promise of
something better as soon as there was an opening.

Will, of course, was highly enraged. Being rather a
fast young man, he had got deeply in debt, and needed
the extra hundred and fifty dollars—in his subordinate
position he received but two hundred and fifty—to satisfy
his creditors, who were becoming impatient. His
brother, the commercial traveler, was absent selling
goods for the firm, and not knowing what else to do,
Will wrote him a full account of his troubles, and ended
by begging the loan of a few dollars. The commercial
traveler replied as follows:

“You have been shamefully treated. That place was
promised to you, and you shall have it if I die for it;
but I can’t lend you any money. You ought to have
better sense than to ask me, for I have often told you
that my commission does not begin to support me. If
it were not for my other business, I should be in a hard
// 235.png
.bn 235.png
row of stumps directly. Smoke fewer cigars and drink
less beer till I come, and I’ll see what can be done. In
the meantime watch Harris—watch him so closely that
you can tell me every one of his habits. If I can get a
hold on him I’ll have him out of that store, no matter
if he is the son of the senior partner.”

In accordance with these instructions, the object of
which Will fully comprehended, he set himself to act as
a spy upon the shipping clerk, and every movement
that young gentleman made during business hours and
afterward, was carefully noted.

At first Will saw nothing encouraging in Guy’s behavior,
for his habits bore the strictest investigation; but
from the time he got into the way of going to Dutch
Jake’s saloon for cigars and beer, the spy collected
abundant evidence against him. When the commercial
traveler returned he listened with interest to the story
his brother had to tell, and when it was finished said:

“Then Harris drinks beer, does he? That’s all right.
I am certain of success.”

“But you mustn’t put faith in that,” said Will. “He
never takes too much.”

“No matter,” said the commercial traveler, “he takes
a little, and when alcohol is in, wit is out, always. I
will bet you a suit of new clothes that you are shipping
clerk in less than a month—provided, of course, that
you have been guarded in your own conduct, and given
old Walker no reason to distrust you.”

At the very first opportunity the commercial traveler
was introduced to Guy, and the latter was highly flattered
to see that he had made a very favorable impression upon
the gentlemanly Mr. Jones. He could not help seeing
it, for Mr. Jones did not attempt to conceal his admiration
for Guy. He accompanied him on his business
tours about the city, dropped in to see him every night,
and never appeared to be easy while he was away from
him. And Guy was glad to be in his company. He was
proud to be seen on the streets with such a well-dressed,
elegant young fellow.
// 236.png
.bn 236.png

“Harris,” said Mr. Jones one day, “Mr. Walker tells
me that he will not start me out again under two or three
weeks, and I must have a home somewhere. If you and
your worthy landlady have no objections, I should like
to board and room with you. You are a fellow after my
own heart, and I like your society.”

“I have no objections, certainly,” said Guy. “I
should be delighted with the arrangement. Go home
and take supper with me to-night, and I will propose it
to Mrs. Willis.”

Of course Mr. Jones jumped at the invitation. He
made a favorable impression upon the unsuspecting landlady,
as Guy knew he would—he did not see how anybody
could help liking Mr. Jones—and the consequence
was that he paid a week’s board in advance, and was
that same evening duly installed in Guy’s room.

The intimacy thus formed begun to result disastrously
to Guy before two days had passed away. The shipping
clerk in his simplicity imagined that his new friend
looked up to him as a superior being, while the truth was
that Mr. Jones, by skillful handling, was molding him
to suit his own purposes. He led Guy into all sorts of
extravagance. In the first place he made such a display
of his abundant wardrobe that the plain, durable clothing
with which the shipping clerk had provided himself,
and which he believed to be quite good enough for any
young man in his circumstances, begun to look, in the
eyes of its owner, rather shabby when compared with the
elegant broadcloth suits that Mr. Jones wore every day.
He had not money sufficient to buy better, but Mr. Jones
had both cheek and credit, and through him Guy was
made acquainted with a fashionable tailor on Fourth
Street, who, in three day’s time, furnished him with an
outfit that made his eyes dance with delight, and charged
the price of it against Guy on his books. Then, of
course, other things had to be purchased to correspond
with these new clothes, for coarse pegged boots, cotton
gloves, and a felt hat would not look well with a suit of
German broadcloth. Guy must have patent leathers,
// 237.png
.bn 237.png
fine linen, a stove-pipe hat, and imported French kids,
all of which were procured from merchants recommended
by Mr. Jones, and each of whom expressed himself willing
to wait, not only for the amount of that bill, but for
any other that Guy might be pleased to run at his store.

In fine, the advent of Mr. Jones produced a wonderful
change in Guy’s circumstances and feelings in two short
weeks. The commercial traveler had a large circle of
acquaintances in the city, and Guy was everywhere introduced
as the son of the senior member of the well-known
and wealthy firm of Harris & Walker, wholesale dry
goods merchants, and from being an obscure clerk whom
nobody noticed, found himself riding on a high wave
of popularity. Elegant young gentlemen touched their
hats to him in the streets, and now and then invited him
to take a cigar or a glass of wine with them; perfumed
and obsequious bar-tenders in gorgeous saloons leaned
respectfully over the counter while he gave his orders,
and executed them with alacrity; the clerks in a certain
“billiard parlor” took particular pains to keep his
private cue locked up so that nobody else could get at it,
and to see that his favorite four-pocket table was unoccupied
when he dropped in at six o’clock to play his
regular game; and livery stable keepers trotted out their
best stock, and furnished him with their finest carriages
when he wished to go out riding of a Sunday afternoon.

For the first time in the whole course of his existence
Guy was “seeing life,” and that, too, without a cent in
his pocket. He was bewildered, intoxicated with pleasure,
and there was but one thing to throw a cloud over
his enjoyments. That was the way his landlady looked
at him when he came down to breakfast in the morning
with trembling hands, and red and swollen eyes, and declined
to take anything more than a cup of coffee. On
such occasions there was an expression on the good lady’s
face that cut Guy to the heart, and somehow always led
to the mortifying reflection that for the last six weeks he
had not paid her a cent for his board. Then he would
seem for the moment to come to his senses; but the
// 238.png
.bn 238.png
observant Mr. Jones was always ready to step in and nip
in the bud any resolutions of amendment he might make.
As they walked toward the store he would draw a glowing
contrast between Guy’s present circumstances and his
former old-fogy manner of living, and wind up by humming
over a verse of doggerel something like the following:

.in 4
.nf
“As we journey through life, let us live by the way,
  And our pilgrimage gladden with feasting, not fasting;
Let us banish dull care, and keep sorrow at bay,
  For our days are all numbered, and life is not lasting.”
.nf-
.in 0

His plans were not yet fully matured, and consequently
he was not ready for Guy’s awakening.
// 239.png
.bn 239.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XXVI. || <fs=0.8em>GUY RECEIVES A PROPOSITION.</fs>
.sp 2
.di dropcapt.jpg 48 50 0.9
THE shipping clerk and commercial traveler
walked out of the store arm-in-arm, and bent
their steps toward a billiard saloon. Mr.
Jones talked incessantly. The sober face
Guy wore, and the words he had let fall a while ago,
were small things in themselves, but much too important
to be disregarded, for they were signs of the awakening
which was sure to come, but which Mr. Jones, for
reasons of his own, wished to postpone for a day or two
longer. So he tried to keep up Guy’s spirits, and believing
that a little assistance might not come amiss, led
him into Dutch Jake’s saloon, where they had a glass
of beer and a cigar apiece, Jones paying for one and
Guy treating to the other.

“Chalk it, Jake,” said Guy, as he walked around the
end of the counter for a match to light his cigar.

“Vell,” said the Dutchman with some hesitation,
“I shalks dis, but I don’t likes dis shalking pisness
pooty vell, nohow. You peen shpending monish like
plazes, Meester Harris—you know it? Your pill peen
running dwo months.”

Guy reddened to the roots of his hair. This was a
gentle hint that Jake wanted him to pay up, and he
had never been dunned before.

“How much do I owe you?” he asked.

“Eight tollars und vorty zents; you know it now.”

“Eight dollars and—Great Scott! how can that be?”
exclaimed Guy, almost overwhelmed with astonishment.
“I haven’t been stuck for a game of cards for the last
two weeks.”

“Vell, it’s all fair, every zent!” almost shouted the
Dutchman, bringing his fist down on the counter with
// 240.png
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a sounding whack. “You dinks I sheats you, py dunder?”

“Oh, now, Jake, you needn’t get on the rampage,”
said Jones, interposing to calm the rising storm. “Guy
is not disputing your bill—he is a gentleman. He will
pay every cent of it in a few days.”

“Vell, dot’s all right, put it’s petter he bays it pooty
gwick. Ven a man gomes here mit vine glose und a
vine vatch und shain, und runs me a pill here in mine
house von eight tollars und vorty zents, I don’t likes
dis pisness.”

While the Dutchman was talking himself hoarse Guy
and his companion beat a hasty retreat. Jones seemed
to look upon the matter in the light of an excellent
joke, and laughed heartily over it, but Guy said nothing.
He was in a very serious frame of mind. He did
not in the least enjoy the game of billiards that followed,
for his thoughts were full of the unpleasant incident
that had just happened. He was learning now
what all people who go in debt must learn sooner or
later—that a bill, like the snow-ball a boy rolls up to
build his mimic fort, accumulates rapidly. He was
glad when the game was finished. He and Jones took
a cigar at the counter, and were about to move away
when the bar-tender beckoned to Guy.

“I don’t want you to think hard of me, Harris,”
said he, leading Guy out of earshot of his companion,
“but I just thought that I would suggest to you that
perhaps your bill here is rather larger than you think.
It has been running five weeks, and we like to have
our customers settle up at least once a month.”

“How much is it?” asked Guy with as much indifference
as he could throw into his tones.

“Only twenty-four dollars. Don’t misunderstand
me now. I am not dunning you, for I know that you
are a thoroughbred, and that you are able to pay it at
any moment. I merely wish to call your attention to
it.”

“I am glad you did,” said Guy. “I’ll see to it.
Good-evening.”
// 241.png
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Had Guy suddenly been knocked over by some invisible
hand he could not have been more amazed. Thirty-two
dollars in debt, and several creditors yet to hear
from! Had he been asked an hour before to name the
sum he owed these two men, he would have said not
more than five dollars. He had kept no account of the
bills he had run at other places, and if they exceeded
his estimate of them in the same proportion that these
two did, what would become of him? Where could he
raise the money to pay them? He could not bear to
think about it. He overtook his companion at the
door, and the latter saw very plainly that the awakening
had come.

“Well, perhaps it is as well that it should come now
as at a later day,” soliloquized the commercial traveler.
“I’ve got him just where I want him, and I’ll make
him a proposition to-night. I have another whole day
to operate in before I start out on my travels, and a
great deal can be accomplished in that time. How much
is it, Guy? Twenty-four dollars! That is less than I
thought it would be. Billiards at twenty-five cents a
game, and fancy drinks at fifteen cents each count up,
you know. When are you going to pay it?”

“I don’t know. I can’t pay Jake’s bill, much less
this one.”

“Well, now, I say! Look here, my dear fellow, this
won’t do, you know!” exclaimed Mr. Jones, suddenly
stopping in the street and turning a most astonished
face toward Guy. “Remember, if you please, that these
people to whom I have introduced you are my personal
friends, and that I brought you to their notice supposing
you to be a gentleman. You <i>must</i> pay these bills.
My honor is at stake as well as your own, because I
introduced you. If you don’t do it, your creditors will
call upon Mr. Walker.”

“Great Scott!” ejaculated Guy, who had never thought
of this before.

“Certainly they will,” continued Mr. Jones. “And
just consider how I should feel under such circumstances!
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I should never dare to look a white man in
the face again. I didn’t think you were dishonest.”

“And I am not, either,” returned Guy with spirit.
“I should be glad to settle these bills, but how can I do
it without money?”

“Oh, that’s the trouble, is it? It isn’t want of inclination,
but a lack of means. Is that it?”

“That’s just the way the matter stands,” answered
Guy.

“Then I ask your pardon,” said Mr. Jones, grasping
Guy’s hand and shaking it cordially. “I misunderstood
you. But are you really out of money?” he
added, with a look of surprise, although he knew very
well that Guy was penniless, and had been for weeks.

“I haven’t a red,” was the despairing reply.

“Don’t let it trouble you. I can remedy that.”

“You can!” exclaimed Guy, astonished and delighted.

“Of course. I earn three or four thousand every
year, outside of my commission, and in an hour I can
explain the mode of operating, so that you can do the
same.”

“And will you?” asked Guy.

“I will, I assure you. Harris, when I am a friend to
a man I am a friend all over. And what is the use of
my professing to think so much of you if I am not willing
to prove it?”

“You are a friend, indeed,” returned Guy with enthusiasm,
“and if you will help me out of this scrape I
will never go in debt again as long as I live.”

“Oh, as to that,” said Mr. Jones indifferently, “it
doesn’t signify. The best of us get short sometimes,
and then it is very convenient to have a friend or two
who is willing to credit us. All one has to do is to get
up a reputation for honesty, and then he can run his
face as long as he chooses.”

“What is this plan you were speaking of?” asked Guy.

“I will tell you this evening. After supper we will
go up to our room, and while we are smoking a cigar
we’ll have a long, friendly talk.”
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Guy did not want any supper. He could think of
nothing but his debts and his companion’s friendly offer
to help him out of them, and he was impatient to learn
how his relief was to be accomplished, he urged Jones
to reveal the secret at once, but the latter could not be
prevailed upon to say more on the subject just then, and
Guy was obliged to await his pleasure.

Supper over, the cigars lighted, and the door of their
room closed to keep the smoke from going out into the
hall where the landlady would be sure to detect it, Guy
and the commercial traveler seated themselves, one in
the easy chair and the other on the bed, and proceeded
to discuss matters.

“In the first place,” said Mr. Jones, “in order that
I may know just what to do, you must tell me how
much you owe, and give me the names of those to whom
you are indebted—that is, if you are perfectly willing to
do so.”

“Of course I am,” returned Guy readily. “I will
meet your friendly advances half-way. To begin with,
there are my bills at Dutch Jake’s and the billiard saloon,
amounting to thirty-two dollars and forty cents.
Then I am indebted thirty dollars to Mrs. Willis, and if
I may judge by the way she looks at me now and then,
she would be wonderfully pleased if I would pay up.”

“Oh, she doesn’t need the money,” said Jones. “She
has a little fortune of her own, and only keeps boarders
for company. If she says anything to you, there are
plenty of ways to put her off. Tell her that you will
settle up as soon as you draw your next quarter’s
salary.”

“That would be a good joke on her, wouldn’t it?”
said Guy with a forced laugh. “To tell the truth,” he
added, with some hesitation, “I—that is—you know
Mr. Walker allows me to be my own paymaster, and I
have already drawn and spent my last quarter’s salary.
I shall not get a cent of money from the firm for five
weeks.”

“I am overjoyed to hear it,” said Mr. Jones to himself.
// 244.png
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“Things are working better than I thought. I’ve
got you in a tight corner, my lad, and all that is required
is a little careful handling to get you in the way
of embezzling.” Then aloud he said: “That is a very
bad state of affairs, Guy. These people must be paid at
once.”

“I know they ought to be paid, and you said you
would put me in the way of doing it.”

“So I will. I’ll come to that directly. But who else
do you owe?”

Guy went on with the list of those to whom he was indebted,
checking each one off on the fingers of his left
hand as he pronounced his name. Jones listened in
genuine amazement, for Guy had been carrying things
with a much higher hand than he had supposed. His
debts, according to his own showing, footed up one
hundred and twenty-five dollars, and if the amounts
charged against him on the books of his creditors exceeded
his expectations as greatly as Jones hoped they
would, he owed at least two hundred dollars. The commercial
traveler took down the names and amounts as
Guy called them off—a proceeding that Guy could not
see the necessity of.

“You mustn’t show that to anybody,” said he.

“Certainly not,” replied Jones with an injured air.
“I wish to ascertain just how much you owe, so that I
may know how large a sum of money it will take to put
you on your feet again. One hundred and twenty-five
dollars,” he continued, after he had added up the column
of figures. “That is a bad showing, Guy—a very
bad showing indeed. It is a large sum to one whose
salary amounts to only four hundred dollars a year, but
it must be paid. Are you ready to listen to my plans
now?”

“I am,” said Guy. “I am all ears.”

“I do not suppose that you will like them at first,”
said Mr. Jones, “but if you will take my advice you
will consider well before you reject them. I can only
say that I am about to describe to you a business to
// 245.png
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which, as I happen to know, a great many people resort
to enable them to eke out a respectable livelihood.”

With this, Mr. Jones took a long pull at his cigar by
way of inspiration, settled back on his elbow on the bed,
and proceeded with a minute and careful explanation of
the business to which he had referred. He had not said
many words before Guy’s eyes begun to open with surprise,
and the longer he listened the more amazed he
became. When Mr. Jones drew from his pocket the
implements of his trade and exhibited them to Guy, the
latter jumped from his chair in high indignation.

“I’ll never do it!” said he with emphasis. “I haven’t
amounted to much during the time I have knocked about
the world, but I have never yet been mean enough to
play confidence man.”

“This is the way you repay the interest I take in you,
is it?” demanded Mr. Jones angrily. “I offer you a
friend’s advice and services, and you abuse me for it.”

“You are no friend when you try to get me into
danger,” said Guy.

“There’s no need of getting excited over it,” said Mr.
Jones, as the shipping clerk begun pacing nervously up
and down the room. “I am not trying to get you into
danger. I have followed this business for years, and
know that there is no trouble in carrying it out successfully;
but mark you—there will be trouble if you don’t
pay your debts, and serious trouble, too. What will Mr.
Walker say? He thinks everything of you now—says
you’re one of the finest young fellows in St. Louis.”

“Does he say that?” asked Guy, who could not remember
that any one had ever spoken a word in his
praise before.

“Yes, he does; and if I were you I would work hard
to retain his good opinion.”

“I don’t see that I can retain it by becoming a
swindler,” said Guy.

“He will never know it; but he will know there’s
something wrong when your creditors carry their bills
to him, as they certainly will, if you don’t settle up
soon.”
// 246.png
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“Great Cæsar!” gasped Guy, who trembled at the
bare mention of the merchant’s name in connection with
his debts. “Is there no other way out? Can’t you lend
me some money?”

“Not a red, my dear fellow. I manage to spend all I
make as soon as it gets into my hands. There is
no other way out that I can think of now. As I told
you before, I did not expect that you would like the business
at first—I know I objected when it was proposed to
me—but you will find that it will grow less distasteful
the longer you think about it. It is a sure road to ease
and fortune, and you had better take time to consider
before you refuse to try it. But you are getting down-hearted,
Guy. Let’s go out for a breath of fresh air. It
will liven you up a bit.”

“No, I don’t care to go out,” said Guy. “I am in
no mood to enjoy anything.”

“Then you will excuse me, won’t you? I have an engagement
at this hour. I will be back at eleven, and in
the meantime you had better smoke another cigar, and
think the matter over.”

“There’s no need that I should think it over. I’ll
never consent to it—never. My creditors will not drive
me to such extremities.”

“Oh, they won’t, eh?” said Mr. Jones to himself as he
closed the door and paused a moment on the landing
outside. “We’ll see about that, my fine lad. I’ll have
them following you like so many sleuth-hounds before
twenty-four hours have passed over your head. You’ll
find that they won’t care what becomes of you so long as
they get their money. There <i>is</i> another way out of the
difficulty, but I don’t think it quite safe to propose it to
Guy to-night. I will tell him of it to-morrow. By that
time he will be cornered so tightly that he will be glad
to do anything to get out.”

So saying the commercial traveler laughed softly to
himself, and slowly descended the stairs.
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.pb
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XXVII. || <fs=0.8em>WHAT HAPPENED AT THE STORE.</fs>
.sp 2
.di dropcapi.jpg 50 50 0.7
IN THE hall Mr. Jones met his landlady.
The sight of her seemed to recall something
to his mind, for he quickly thrust his hand
into his pocket, and said as he approached:

“I am ashamed of myself, Mrs. Willis, but I never
thought of it before, I assure you.”

“Why, what do you mean, Mr. Jones?” asked the
lady in surprise.

“I mean that, contrary to my usual custom, I have
neglected to pay my week’s board.”

“Pray don’t mention it,” said Mrs. Willis, accepting
the bill her lodger tendered her. “If I had needed the
money I should not have hesitated to ask for it. But,
Mr. Jones, I am really afraid that I shall have to speak
to your friend, Guy.”

The commercial traveler spread out his feet, placed his
hands behind his back, and gazed fixedly at the oil-cloth
on the floor, but had nothing to say.

“It isn’t the money I care for,” said the landlady,
“but I can see very plainly that Guy is getting into bad
habits. He is going to ruin as fast as he can, and I
think it is your duty to advise him to do better.”

“I do, Mrs. Willis; indeed I do, very frequently,” replied
Jones, in a sorrowful voice; “but I find that it is
of no use. I have no more influence with him than I
have with the wind. I am surprised to hear that he
owes you,” he added, with some indignation in his
tones, “but I know the reason for it. It isn’t because
Guy isn’t able, or doesn’t want to pay, but simply because
he is so careless. If you will take my advice you
can get your money to-morrow.”

“What must I do?”
// 248.png
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“Do as the rest of his creditors do—call upon him at
the store. Suppose you come about six o’clock in the
evening? You will be sure to find him in then.”

“Oh, I can’t do that,” said Mrs. Willis quickly. “I
don’t want to dun Mr. Harris.”

“Of course not; you merely wish to remind him that
he is in your debt, that’s all.”

“Why couldn’t I speak to him here and now?”

“You could, certainly, but it would do no good. He
would promise faithfully to pay up at once, and never
think of the matter again. He is just so forgetful. I
really wish you could make it convenient to call on him
to-morrow evening at six o’clock,” added Mr. Jones,
“for by so doing you will benefit Guy as well as yourself.
He will draw his quarter’s salary then, and if you can
get your money out of him it will keep him from spending
it for beer and billiards—a practice to which he has
of late, I am sorry to say, become very much addicted.”

The argument was a clincher, and put all the good
lady’s scruples to rout. She did not need the money,
and neither did she want to dun Guy; but if by that
means she could keep him from spending his hard earnings
foolishly, it was her duty to do it. So she promised
to follow Mr. Jones’ advice, and the latter, after
begging her not to say a word to Guy concerning what
had just passed between them, leisurely pulled on his
gloves and left the house.

“There’s one hound I have put on your track, Mr.
Harris,” muttered the commercial traveler when he had
gained the street. “If I could only raise a suspicion
in her mind that her money is in danger, wouldn’t she
make things lively though? For good, fine, ornamental
dunning, commend me to a mad landlady, who can do
more of it in five minutes than any ten men can do in
half an hour. I know, for I have had experience with
them.”

With this reflection Mr. Jones pulled his coat collar
up around his ears, for the evening air was chilly, and
hurrying down Fourth Street turned into the door of a
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fashionable tailoring establishment. Meeting the proprietor
as he entered he exclaimed:

“Now, Mr. Warren, I am quite sure that you were
on the point of starting for my boarding-house to dun
me for that bill I owe you. I am really ashamed of myself—but
here’s the——”

“Halloo! what’s the matter with you, Jones?” interrupted
the tailor. “Your bill is a mere trifle, not
more than ten or fifteen dollars, and if I had wanted
the money I should not have failed to let you know it.
But, Jones, I intend to make you a present of that and
more, too. You have recommended our house extensively
during your travels, and in that way have helped
us many a dollar. If you will step into the back part
of the store we’ll take your measure and put you up a
fine business suit.”

“You are very kind,” said Mr. Jones gratefully. “I
accept your offer with thanks. I should like a new
business suit, one something like that you made for
Harris a few weeks ago. By the way, if it is a fair
question, what did he pay you for it?”

“Not one dime,” said the merchant with a laugh.

“How? I don’t understand you.”

“I mean that we have never seen a cent of his money
since he began trading with us.”

“Is it possible?” exclaimed Mr. Jones. “I declare
I never saw that fellow’s equal for putting off things.
Send your bill down to the store to-morrow evening at
six o’clock, and give him a first-class overhauling.”

“Oh, I guess I won’t do that. He may be a little
short just at present, and if he is I don’t want to press
him. We are not in need of money.”

“But Guy isn’t short; he’s got plenty of funds.”

“Then perhaps I should make him angry, and that
wouldn’t pay, for he’s a good customer.”

“No, you’ll not make him mad,” said Mr. Jones,
“for he has got so in the habit of being dunned that he
expects it, and never thinks of paying a bill without it.
You’ll have to talk right up to him, for he is as full of
// 250.png
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excuses as an egg is of meat. He’s perfectly honest,
but so peculiar. You needn’t tell him that I suggested
this plan of operations to you.”

“Of course not,” said Mr. Warren.

The conversation ran on in this channel while the
tailor was taking Mr. Jones’ measure, and the result
was that the merchant announced his determination to
send his bill to his debtor at the store on the following
evening at six o’clock.

When Mr. Jones went out he bent his steps toward a
livery stable, where a conversation of a like character
with the above took place between him and the proprietor,
and with the same result. Then he called at a
billiard saloon, dropped into Dutch Jake’s for a moment,
and wound up his walk by visiting a hat store and
one or two furnishing establishments. Having then
called upon all of Guy’s creditors, he lighted a cigar
and strolled slowly homeward, well satisfied with his
evening’s work. Guy’s debts amounted to two hundred
and seventy-five dollars.

“He’ll never be able to pay them out of the salary he
draws now,” thought Mr. Jones. “There are only two
courses of action open to him, and no matter which
one he chooses, he is doomed as surely as his name is
Guy Harris. I ought to manage some way to bring
this business to old Walker’s ears,” added Mr. Jones,
stopping suddenly and looking down at the sidewalk in
a brown study. “I have it. Hyslom is just the man.
He is mean enough for anything.”

Mr. Jones turned, and hastily retracing his steps to a
billiard saloon he had visited a few minutes before, beckoned
to a seedy-looking man he found there, who followed
him to the farthest corner of the room. A whispered
conversation was carried on between them for a
few moments, and was brought to a close by Mr. Jones,
who slipped a five-dollar bill into the hand of his seedy
companion and went out.

His plans against Guy were now all perfected, and
making his way homeward with a light heart, he tumbled
// 251.png
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into bed and slept soundly beside his victim, who
all the night long tossed uneasily about, never once closing
his eyes in slumber.

Mr. Jones and the shipping clerk ate breakfast together
the next morning as usual, and set out in company
for the store. Neither of them referred to the
matters that had been discussed the night before. They
were so disagreeable that Guy did not want to talk
about them if he could help it, and Mr. Jones was much
too cunning to speak of them himself. He knew that
the leaven was working, and he wanted to give it plenty
of time.

When they reached the block in which the store was
located, Mr. Jones begun casting anxious glances about,
as if he were looking for some one. Presently he discovered
a man, dressed in a shabby genteel suit of black,
standing in a door-way on the opposite side of the street.
This individual, seeing that Mr. Jones’ eyes were fastened
upon him, nodded his head, slapped the breast-pocket
of his coat, and made other signs which must
have been perfectly intelligible to Mr. Jones, for he replied
to them by various gestures of approval and
delight.

Guy remained at the store but a few minutes—just
long enough to receive some instructions from Mr.
Walker—and then went out and hurried toward the
levee.

As soon as he had disappeared, Mr. Jones walked to
the door and flourished his handkerchief once or twice
in the air; whereupon the shabby individual in the
opposite door-way hurried down the sidewalk to the
nearest crossing, came over to Mr. Jones’ side of the
street, and with an air of bustle and business entered the
store and inquired for Mr. Walker.

On being shown into the private office he placed his
hat on the floor, and pulling out a memorandum-book,
which was filled with papers, folded and endorsed like
bills, said:

“You may have heard of me, Mr. Walker. My
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name is Hyslom, and my business is collecting bad
debts. I am a professional dun, at your service. If it
will not conflict with the rules of your establishment, I
should like a few minutes’ interview with Mr. Harris.”

At this the merchant begun to prick up his ears.

“The shipping clerk is absent just now,” said he.
“May I be allowed to inquire into the nature of your
business with him?”

“Certainly, sir,” replied the pretended collector.
“It is no more than right that you should be made acquainted
with the habits of your employees. Mr. Harris,
it seems, has been rather fast during the last few
months, spending money with a lavish hand, and running
in debt to livery stables, billiard saloons, tailoring
establishments and beer gardens. I have bills against
him to the amount of two hundred dollars and over. I
am well aware of the fact that he is perfectly good, for
as he is a very wealthy young man and a nephew of
yours, I really——”

“Sir,” said the merchant, “Mr. Harris is no relation
to me.”

“Indeed!” exclaimed the collector, starting up in his
chair. “Then he is sailing under false colors. He says
you are his uncle, and has repeatedly told his creditors
to send their bills to you, and they would be
settled.”

“I know nothing about his debts,” said Mr. Walker,
greatly astonished. “You must see Mr. Harris himself.
Good-day, sir.”

The bogus collector returned his memorandum-book
to his pocket, picked up his hat, and bowing himself
out of the private office, hurried through the store, and
down the street, like a man driven to death with business.

Mr. Walker watched him as long as he was in sight,
and then arose slowly to his feet.

“I expected better things of Guy than this,” said he
to himself. “If I have been deceived in him I shall be
tempted to distrust everybody. Where did he get the
money he has been spending so foolishly? He must
have used some belonging to the firm.”
// 253.png
.bn 253.png

So saying, Mr. Walker left his private office to begin
a thorough investigation of Guy’s accounts.

Business went on as smoothly as usual in the store
that day with everybody except Guy. He was kept so
busy, both in doors and out, that he had but little time
to devote to his troubles; but his work dragged heavily,
and every thing he undertook seemed to go wrong end
foremost. Six o’clock came at last, and while Guy,
wearied in body and mind, was standing at the book-keeper’s
desk, rendering an account of his day’s work, a
clerk hurried up with the information that a lady had
called to see him on private business.

“A lady—on private business?” repeated Guy. “I
am not acquainted with any ladies in St. Louis.”

There was one lady, however, with whom he was
pretty well acquainted, and that was Mrs. Willis; and
she it was who had called to see him.

“Mr. Harris,” said she, as if she hardly knew how
to make known her errand, “I have come to ask you if
you could make it convenient to settle your board bill
this evening?”

“No, ma’am, I cannot,” said Guy, reddening. “I
have no money.”

“But you draw your quarter’s salary to-day, do you
not?”

“No, ma’am. I haven’t a cent due me from the
firm. I know this ought to have been paid long ago,
Mrs. Willis, and I am sorry indeed that I have kept you
waiting. I will hand you the very first dollar I get.”

It was plain that the landlady’s heart was not in the
business. She had undertaken it merely from a sense
of duty, and having, as she believed, fulfilled that duty,
she was ready to drop the board bill and talk about
something else.

After a few commonplace remarks about the weather,
and the lively appearance of the streets, she bowed
pleasantly to Guy and went out.

The clerk, feeling like a criminal, walked slowly
back to the book-keeper’s desk, but scarcely had he
// 254.png
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reached it when he was informed that there was another
visitor waiting to see him in the front part of the
store.

This time it proved to be a gentleman—one of the
clerks in the employ of the tailor he patronized so extensively.
He shook Guy cordially by the hand, asked
him how business was prospering, and produced a bill
from his pocket-book.

“That’s the way you stand on our books,” said he,
“and I thought I would drop in and see how you were
fixed,” a slang expression for “see if you had any money.”

The clerk beat a tattoo with his fingers on the counter,
whistled “Dixie,” and run his eyes about the store
as if he were taking a mental inventory of the stock.
He had been told by his employer that he might find it
necessary to give Guy a good talking to, and he was
screwing up his courage.

“Eighty-seven dollars!” exclaimed Guy, as he run his
eye over the bill. “Impossible! The last time I spoke
to Mr. Warren about my account he told me it was only
fifty dollars.”

“But that suit of clothes you have on your back now
came from our house since then,” said the clerk.

“That’s so,” returned Guy. “I forgot that. But it
beats me how these bills do run up.”

“Yes; one can’t get dry goods for nothing in these
times. Are you going to ante?”

“Not now. I can’t.”

“Oh, that’s played out. Come down!” said the clerk,
extending his hand toward Guy and rapping his
knuckles on the counter. “Short settlements make
long friends. Pay me now.”

“But I tell you I can’t. I haven’t a cent of money.”

“Now, Harris,” said the clerk, raising his voice,
“permit me to say that this thing is getting monotonous.
If you don’t pay, and that too in short order,
we’ll snatch you bald-headed.”

“Don’t talk so loud,” whispered Guy, in great excitement.
“I’ll pay you as soon as I can. Tell Mr.
Warren that I’ll call and see him about this bill.”
// 255.png
.bn 255.png

“All right. If you know which side of your bread is
buttered you won’t waste time in doing it. The old
man talks of sending your bill to Mr. Walker.”

The clerk departed, and his place was almost immediately
filled by Dutch Jake, who entered with an air
which said very plainly that he wasn’t going to stand
any nonsense. Guy’s heart sunk within him.
// 256.png
.bn 256.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XXVIII. || <fs=0.8em>THE PARTNERSHIP.</fs>
.sp 2
.di dropcapw.jpg 49 50 1.7
“WEE GATES?, Meester Harris?” said Dutch
Jake, in a voice so loud that Guy trembled
in apprehension. “How ish dis pisness?
You got mine monish—mine eight tollars
und vorty zents?”

“No,” said Guy, “I haven’t got it.”

Jake’s whole appearance changed in a second; his red
face grew redder than ever; he squared himself in front
of the counter, planted his feet firmly on the floor, and
doubling up his huge fist, begun flourishing it in the
air above his head in readiness to emphasize the words
he was about to utter.

Guy saw that there was a crisis at hand, Jake was
fairly boiling over with fury, and unless he was appeased
on the instant, something dreadful would happen. Guy
thought rapidly, and spoke just in time.

“Hold on!” said he, “and hear me out. I haven’t
got the money now, but I’ll get it as soon as the book-keeper
is through with the cash account, and on my
way home I’ll drop in and hand it to you.”

These words produced another magical change in the
angry German. The fierce frown vanished and a genial
smile overspread his face. The sledge-hammer fist was
opened and extended in a friendly manner across the
counter toward Guy.

“Dot’s all right, Meester Harris,” said he. “Dot’s
<i>all</i> right. Ven you comes around ve has a glass of peer
at mine exbenses, ain’t it? Oh, yah!”

Jake departed, and then came the hatter, the livery
stable keeper, the jeweler, the man who had furnished
the young spendthrift with the fine shirts and neck-ties
he wore, and lastly, the proprietor of the billiard saloon—all
// 257.png
.bn 257.png
of whom presented bills which greatly exceeded
Guy’s calculations. They all appeared to be satisfied
with their debtor’s promise to pay up at once. But
some of them left him with the assurance that if money
were not speedily forthcoming, they would place their
accounts before Mr. Walker.

Guy was utterly confounded. He could not imagine
what had caused all his creditors to become so pressing
in their demands. Like one in a dream he went through
his business with the book-keeper, and when it was completed,
hurried away to find his friend and counselor,
Mr. Jones.

In the back part of the store was a small apartment
which was used as a wash-room, and to which light was
admitted through a single pane of glass set in the door.
In this room Guy found Mr. Jones, busy performing his
ablutions. He had retreated there immediately on the
entrance of Mrs. Willis, and through the pane of glass
before mentioned had watched all that went on in the
store. He could not hear what was said, but he knew
by the impatient gestures of some of the creditors and
the despairing expression that frequently overspread
Guy’s face, that some bitter things had been said and
some alarming threats made.

“Great Scott!” whispered Guy as he entered and
closed the door behind him. “What does this mean,
Jones? The whole city of St. Louis has been here with
bills against me.”

“It means, dear fellow, that these people want their
rights,” returned the commercial traveler in a tone of
voice which led Guy to believe that his friend deeply
sympathized with him in his troubles.

“But do they imagine that I am made of money—that
I can raise almost nine months’ wages at a moment’s
warning?” cried Guy, whose distress was painful
to behold. “I owe two hundred and seventy-five dollars.
Jones, I am ruined!”

“It certainly looks that way,” was the thought that
passed through the mind of the commercial traveler,
but he looked down at the floor and said nothing.
// 258.png
.bn 258.png

“If you have the least friendship for me suggest
something,” continued Guy in a trembling voice—“something—<i>anything</i>—no
matter what it is if it will
only put two hundred and seventy-five dollars in my
pocket. I must have it, for these men have almost all
threatened to call upon Mr. Walker if I don’t settle up
at once. If he should hear how I have been going on he
would discharge me.”

“Yes, I believe he would,” answered Mr. Jones, twirling
his mustache and gazing through the window into
the store. “It would doubtless make him angry, for
merchants, you know, are very particular in regard to
the habits of their clerks. It is a hard case, Guy—a
desperate case; and I confess that it is one I cannot
manage, although I am fruitful in expedients. I have
thought the matter over since I have been in here, but
have hit upon no honest plan to get you out of your
difficulties. It is true,” added Mr. Jones, speaking as
if he were communing with himself, “you handle considerable
of the firm’s money, and might borrow two or
three hundred of it just to shut up the mouths of these
impatient creditors.”

“Oh, no,” exclaimed Guy quickly; “I can’t do that.”

“I didn’t suppose you would,” continued the commercial
traveler, in his oily tones, “but it is an expedient
often resorted to by business men to help them
out of desperate straits like yours, and I can’t see that
there would be any danger in it in your case. A good
many of our customers are settling their business preparatory
to going to war. Suppose that one of them
pays you four or five hundred dollars, goes into the army
and gets killed, and you use the money! Who would be
the wiser for it? Of course you would not be dishonest
enough to steal the money—you would only borrow it
until such time as you could replace it out of your salary;
and if you felt any conscientious scruples about it, you
might pay interest for the use of it.”

“But how could I account for the money being in my
possession when I got ready to pay it over?” asked Guy.
// 259.png
.bn 259.png

“Easily enough. You could say to Mr. Walker some
morning: ‘I received a letter from Mr. So-and-So last
night. He went into the service six months ago, you
know, without settling with us. Here’s the amount of
his bill with interest to date.’ That’s all fair and square,
isn’t it?”

“But Mr. Walker or the book-keeper would want to
acknowledge the receipt of the money,” said Guy.

“Of course they would. You could give them some
fictitious address, and as you have all the letters to mail,
you could easily see that that particular letter did not
go into the office.”

“But you said something about the man being killed.
Suppose that happens before I have had time to save
enough out of my salary to replace the money I have
borrowed. Then what? He can’t pay his debt after he
is dead.”

“Of course not; and in that case you’ll be smart
enough to say nothing to nobody about it. Just keep
mum. The amount of his bill will go on the debtor
side of the profit and loss account, but you’ll be just that
much ahead.”

As Mr. Jones said this he looked sharply at Guy, and
told himself that his specious arguments were beginning
to have their effect. The shipping clerk was gazing
steadily at the floor, and there was an expression on his
face that had never been seen there before.

“I am afraid I couldn’t carry out that plan successfully,”
said Guy, after a few moments’ reflection. “It
is somewhat complicated, and my knowledge of business
is so limited that I might make a mistake somewhere. I
would much rather go into partnership with you, as you
suggested last night.”

Mr. Jones hastily seized the towel and buried his face
in it to conceal his exultation. He had Guy under his
thumb at last.

“I think myself that it would be the safer plan,” said
he, as soon as he had controlled himself so that he could
speak with his usual steadiness of voice, “and it is the
surest way, too.”
// 260.png
.bn 260.png

“It is a way I don’t like,” said Guy. “It is swindling.”

“But it brings in the money by the handful, and
money is what makes the mare go in these times,” returned
Mr. Jones. “We’ll go home and talk it over.”

“You must be very particular in your explanations,”
said Guy. “It is a new business to me, you know, and
I might spoil the whole thing.”

“Never fear. It is easily learned, and I will go over
it so often that you can remember everything I say and
do. This is your last chance, you know, for I leave the
city on the eleven o’clock train to-night, to be gone at
least three weeks.”

The commercial traveler had already been more than
a quarter of an hour in making his toilet, and had got
no further than the washing of his hands and face; but
now he begun to bestir himself. The most complicated
part of it all—the brushing of his perfumed locks and
the adjusting of his hat and neck-tie before the glass—occupied
just one minute, about one-tenth of the time
Mr. Jones usually devoted to it. Then he was ready to
give Guy his first lesson in playing the part of confidence
man.

In order that they might be free from all interruption,
they went directly home and locked themselves in their
room, where they remained in close consultation, coming
out when the supper-bell rung, and returning immediately
after disposing of a very light meal. By that time
Guy had thoroughly mastered the part he was to perform,
and all that remained to be done was to hunt up somebody
with plenty of money, and try the effect of their
scheme upon him. As soon as it begun to grow dark
they left the house, and sauntered away, arm-in-arm, as
if they had determined upon nothing in particular.
Arriving at Fourth Street, they stationed themselves in
a dark door-way, and Mr. Jones, settling into an easy
position, closely scrutinized every man who passed,
finally singling out one as an object worthy of their
attention.
// 261.png
.bn 261.png

There was nothing particularly noticeable about this
man, either in his clothing or manners, for he was as
well-dressed as the majority of the pedestrians who were
constantly passing along the street, and there was none
of that “country air” about him which seems to be inseparable
from so many who live in the rural districts.
From what Guy had learned of the nature of the business
in hand, he inferred that their act could be practiced
with safety and success only on green countrymen, and
this individual seemed to him to be a most unpromising
object to operate upon. But Mr. Jones thought differently.

“He’s the fellow we’re looking for,” said he, in a
whisper. “The only question is whether or not he is
well fixed; but that is something we’ve got to find out.
Follow him up and speak to him at the first opportunity.
If he doesn’t give you a chance make one for yourself.
Be careful now.”

With a beating heart Guy stepped down from the
door-way and set out in pursuit of the gentleman; and
before he had gone a block an opportunity to accost him
presented itself. When the gentleman reached a crossing
he stopped and looked up at the building, searching
no doubt for the names of the streets. Guy came up
behind him and also stopped and looked about with a
bewildered air, as if he did not know which way to
turn.

“I beg your pardon, sir,” said he; “will you be kind
enough to tell me which way to go to find Robinson’s
hardware store?”

“I should be glad to tell you if I knew, but I am a
stranger here,” was the reply.

“Are you, indeed?” said Guy. “So am I; and the
worst of it is, I fear I am lost.”

“I am in the same situation,” said the stranger. “I
am trying to find my hotel, and if I don’t succeed very
soon I shall call a carriage.”

“Why, so you can. I never thought of that.”

“Where are you from?” asked the stranger.
// 262.png
.bn 262.png

“Brattleboro, Vermont,” replied Guy, “and I never
before was so far away from home. I have one friend
here, a brother-in-law, if I could only find him, who
owns an extensive hardware store. Where do you live,
sir?”

“A few miles from Ann Arbor, Michigan, and this
is my first visit to St. Louis. I am stopping at the
Olive Street Hotel.”

“So am I; but, to tell the truth, I haven’t funds
enough to pay for such expensive lodgings, and that’s
another reason why I am so anxious to find Robinson.
My father wouldn’t give me much money for fear I
should fall into the hands of—sharpers, I believe he
called them.”

“Yes, that’s what they are,” said the stranger with
an air of superior wisdom. “Your father is a sensible
man. It isn’t just the thing to trust an innocent young
fellow like you alone in a great city with plenty of
money in his pocket. He is almost sure to lose it.”

“Are you not afraid?” asked Guy.

“Me? No. I’ve traveled.”

“Then you will let me stay with you, won’t you? I
shall feel safe in your company.”

“Certainly, I will.”

“Well, suppose we go and see if we can find our hotel.
I’d rather walk than call a carriage. Your name is——”

“Whitney,” replied the stranger. “And yours?”

“Benjamin—Rufus Benjamin, at your service,” said
Guy.

The embryo confidence man had the satisfaction of
seeing that he was making rapid headway, and when
Whitney moved away with him he took his arm, and the
two walked along conversing as familiarly as though
they had been acquainted for years.

Guy seemed so innocent and confiding and made himself
appear so ignorant of city life, that Whitney wondered
how his father came to trust him so far away
from home, and repeatedly assured him that it was a
fortunate thing for him that they met just as they did,
// 263.png
.bn 263.png
for had Guy been left to find his way back to his hotel
alone, he would have been almost certain to get himself
into trouble of some kind.

Finally, as they were passing a beer-garden their attention
was attracted by the strains of music, and Whitney
proposed that, as it was yet early in the evening,
they should step in and see what was going on. Guy
agreed, and when they had seated themselves at a table
in a remote corner of the garden, he called for cider.
He never drank anything stronger, he said, for his
father didn’t allow it. But the German had no cider,
and Guy, after a great deal of persuasion, was at last
prevailed upon to indulge in a glass of soda-water,
while Whitney solaced himself with a mug of beer.
For nearly half an hour they sat at the table conversing
upon different topics, smoking their cigars and sipping
at their glasses, and then the door opened and Mr.
Jones came in.

“There’s the very man I have been looking for,” said
Guy joyfully. “How very fortunate! Robinson, come
here.”

Mr. Jones approached the table at which his partner
was sitting, and after looking at him for a moment as if
trying to recollect where he had seen him before, suddenly
seized him by both hands, and began pulling him
about over the floor as if he were overjoyed to meet
him.

“Why, Rufus Benjamin, is this you?” he exclaimed.
“You don’t know how glad I am to see you.”

“And neither do you know how glad I am to see
you,” returned Guy. “I have been looking for you all
the afternoon. Mr. Robinson, permit me to introduce
my friend, Mr. Whitney, from Ann Arbor, Michigan.”

“Happy to meet you, Mr. Whitney,” said Jones, extending
his hand. “I am always glad to make the acquaintance
of any of Benjamin’s friends.”

“I never met him before this evening,” said Whitney,
“but I think I have acted the part of a friend in taking
him under my charge. When I first saw him he was as
pale as a sheet, and trembling as if he had the ague.”
// 264.png
.bn 264.png

“Well, I was lost,” said Guy, who wondered what
Whitney would think if he knew the real cause of his
nervousness and excitement. “I have never been alone
in a big city like this, you know.”

“I don’t suppose the boy has been outside of the
State of Vermont half a dozen times in his life,” said
Jones. “How are things prospering in that out-of-the-way
part of the world anyhow, Rufus?”

“We’ve had a very good season in our parts, and the
crops have done well,” replied Guy. “But, Robinson,
why didn’t you meet me at the depot?”

“Why did you not write and tell me when to expect
you?” asked Jones.

“I did.”

“Well, I have not received the letter. I have just
returned from Washington, and no doubt I shall find it
waiting for me at home. Where are you stopping, gentlemen?
At the Olive Street House, eh? You must
permit me to take charge of you now, and to say that
you shall not stop at a hotel any longer. I will call a
carriage presently and take you home with me. I know
that Mollie will be glad to have you come, Rufus—she’s
my wife, you know, Mr. Whitney, Benjamin’s sister—for
it is fully two years since she has seen you.”

The conversation thus commenced continued for a
quarter of an hour. Mr. Jones was in no hurry to begin
his business operations, for Guy was playing a part
that was entirely new to him, and he was afraid to trust
him. In a few minutes, however, he had learned a
good deal of Whitney’s history and habits, and having
satisfied himself that he was a good subject to operate
upon, he gave Guy the signal, and the latter prepared
for action.
// 265.png
.bn 265.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XXIX. || <fs=0.8em>THE PARTNERS IN ACTION.</fs>
.sp 2
.di dropcapr.jpg 50 50 1.4
“ROBINSON,” said Guy, after a preliminary
cough and a desperate attempt to subdue his
increasing excitement, “I understood you a
while ago to say that you have just returned
from Washington. You went there on some business
connected with politics, I suppose?”

“Oh, no,” replied Mr. Jones. “I don’t trouble my
head about politics. I have always made my living
honestly, and I always intend to do so. I went there to
take out a patent on a recent invention of mine.”

“What is it?” inquired Mr. Whitney, with some
eagerness. “I am interested in every new invention, for
I do a little business in that line myself sometimes. I
own the rights for several washing-machines, pumps,
and scissor-sharpeners in our county.”

“And this is just what you need to complete your
list,” said Mr. Jones. “It is a fine thing, and is bound
to make somebody independently rich one of these days.
You know, Rufus, that about a year ago I wrote you
that my store had been entered by burglars, who broke
open my safe and robbed it of six thousand dollars.”

“I recollect the circumstance,” said Guy.

“Well,” continued Mr. Jones, “that convinced me
that business men ought to take more precautions to
guard their property from the assaults of outlaws, so I
set my wits at work, and I finally succeeded in perfecting
a burglar-proof lock—an arrangement which is at
once simple and convenient, but which can neither be
cut with a cold-chisel, blown open with gunpowder, or
even unlocked by any one who does not understand its
construction. I gave away a good many models while I
was in Washington, but I think I have one or two left.”
// 266.png
.bn 266.png

So saying, Mr. Jones begun to overhaul his pockets,
and finally produced a small brass padlock, similar in
size and shape to those sometimes used on dog-collars.

“Ah! yes, here is one,” said he, “and I defy any man
in the world to open it without breaking it. This
model, you will, of course, understand, Mr. Whitney, is
intended merely to illustrate the principles of the invention.
The locks, when ready for use, will be made of
the best of steel and be large and heavy. I have one
attached to the safe at my store, and to-morrow you will
have an opportunity to see how it looks and operates. I
will give it to you on easy terms, and will warrant—by the
way, there’s my partner, Mr. Benton. I want to see
him on particular business, so I beg that you will excuse
me. I will return in one moment.”

As Mr. Jones said this he jumped to his feet, and disappeared
through the door, evidently in pursuit of a
gentleman who had just gone out. He left his invention
on the table, and Whitney picked it up and examined
it. The key was tied to it by a piece of ribbon,
and this Whitney inserted in the lock, when, behold! it
opened like any other common padlock. He was astonished
at his success. He closed the lock again, and
opened it with all ease. Then he handed it to Guy,
and he did the same, and appeared to be as much surprised
thereat as was Mr. Whitney.

At this moment, Mr. Jones came back.

“Well, gentlemen,” said he, hurrying to the table
and picking up the lock. “I have just made an
appointment with my partner, and it is necessary that I
should run down to the store for a few minutes. Will
you accompany me?”

“No,” replied Guy; “we’ll stay here. I am too
tired to run around any more to-night.”

“Very well,” said Mr. Jones, without giving Whitney
time to say whether he would go or not. “I’ll return
in a quarter of an hour with a carriage, and then we’ll
go round to the hotel after your luggage. In the meantime,
enjoy yourselves to the best of your ability. I
// 267.png
.bn 267.png
will leave my invention with you, and you can examine
it at your leisure.”

“We have already inspected it to our satisfaction,”
replied Whitney with a smile. “I couldn’t make a fortune
by selling an arrangement like that. We opened
it very easily.”

“You did!” exclaimed Mr. Jones.

“Certainly,” said Guy. “If I were a burglar, and
wanted to get into your safe, that lock would not keep
me out.”

Mr. Jones looked from one to the other of his companions,
and then dropped into a chair, apparently overwhelmed
with amazement.

“Is it possible that I have made a failure after all?”
said he. “If the secret mechanism of the invention
can be so easily discovered, how does it come that the
officials in Washington did not see through it at once?
Gentlemen, you are either dreaming or joking.”

“No, we are awake and in sober earnest,” said Guy.
“We certainly did open that lock, and to convince you
of the fact, we’ll do it again. Hand it out here.”

Again Mr. Jones was silent.

“I may have made a mistake,” said he, after gazing
thoughtfully at the floor for a few moments, “but I can
hardly believe it.”

“Give me the lock,” repeated Guy, “and I will bet
you any sum you please that I will open it at the first
trial.”

“Oh, I never bet,” said Jones, quickly rising to his
feet and buttoning up his coat. “I regard the taking
of money gained in that way as but little better than
highway robbery.”

“You can’t have much faith in your invention,” said
Whitney.

“Yes, I have unbounded faith in it.”

“I left the most of my money at the hotel in charge
of the clerk, but here’s a small amount which says that
I did open that lock, and that I can do it again,” said
Guy, drawing from his pocket a twenty-dollar bill,
// 268.png
.bn 268.png
which his friend and partner had furnished him for this
very purpose.

Jones drummed with his foot on the floor, puffed
out his cheeks, and scratched his head like a man in
deep perplexity. He looked first at Whitney, then at
Guy, then down at the money that had been placed on
the table, and finally dropped into his chair again.

“I believe I’ll take a hand in this,” said Whitney.
“I don’t often do things of this kind, in fact never, unless
I see a chance to make something, but I’ll stake
twenty-five dollars on it just for luck.”

Mr. Jones again arose to his feet and nervously rubbed
his chin as if he were completely bewildered by this
turn of events, all the while watching the movements of
Whitney, who produced his pocket-book and counted
out the sum he had named.

“Gentlemen,” said the commercial traveler, “when I
see persons willing to wager such large sums of money
as those you have laid upon the table, I always know
they are betting on a sure thing.”

This remark had just the effect that Mr. Jones intended
it should have. It led Whitney to believe that
in spite of all he had said, the patentee had suddenly
lost faith in his invention.

After a moment’s hesitation he brought out his
pocket-book again and counted down twenty-five dollars
more, which he also placed upon the table.

“Now, Robinson, what are you going to do about
it?” asked Guy.

“Why, when I am among gentlemen I do as gentlemen
do, of course,” replied Mr. Jones. “But to tell
the truth, the confident manner in which you act and
speak convinces me that I have made a grand mistake.”

Having said this Mr. Jones paused in the hope that
Whitney would take courage and go down into his
pocket-book after more money. And in fact this little
piece of strategy came very near being successful, for
Whitney put his hand into his pocket, but after thinking
a moment he pulled it out empty.
// 269.png
.bn 269.png

“I <i>know</i> I have made a mistake,” said Mr. Jones.

Here another long pause was made, but as Whitney
showed no disposition to increase his wager, Mr. Jones
continued:

“But it is too late to remedy the matter now, and
the invention must stand or fall according to its
merits.”

Mr. Jones counted out seventy dollars with which he
covered Guy’s bet and Whitney’s, after which the money
was raked into a pile and placed under a hat, to hide it
from the view of the other people in the garden. Mr.
Jones then put his hand into his pocket and produced
his patent lock—not the one he had exhibited before,
but another that was not to be opened. In shape and
size it was so exactly like the first that had they been
seen together no difference could have been detected between
them.

“Now,” he said, “if I have made a failure, I am
willing to give seventy dollars to be convinced of the
fact.” And as he pushed the lock across the table toward
Whitney, his hand trembled so naturally that the
dupe really believed that this accomplished sharper had
made the first bet of his life, and that it had excited
him.

Whitney took the lock with a confident smile and inserted
the key into it, expecting of course to open it as
he had opened the other; but his smile suddenly gave
way to a look of astonishment and alarm, and his face
lengthened out wonderfully when he found that the key
would not turn. He tried it over and over again, shook
the lock, and even pounded it on the table, but it was
all in vain. Then he handed it to Guy, and he met with
no better success.

“What do you suppose can be the matter with it?”
asked the latter, after he had made several attempts to
open the lock.

“I’m sure I don’t know,” replied Whitney. “Let
me try again.”

“We opened it without the least trouble before,”
continued Guy.
// 270.png
.bn 270.png

“Oh, you are certainly mistaken, Rufus,” said Mr.
Jones blandly.

“No, he isn’t!” exclaimed the dupe. “I am not
blind, and I know that we both opened this lock not
ten minutes since. But we can’t do it now,” he added,
handing the invention back to its owner, who put it
back into his pocket and took charge of the money.

“This is the first I ever made by betting,” said he.
“Now I must be off to fulfill my engagement with my
partner. I’ll return very shortly, and then we will go
home.”

So saying Mr. Jones disappeared, leaving Guy and
Whitney to talk the matter over at their leisure.

“What an idiot I was to risk my money on that
thing,” said the latter regretfully. “I ought to have
known that a man who has spent a whole year in perfecting
an invention is better acquainted with it than a
stranger. I am nearly strapped. I haven’t money
enough to pay my fare to Chicago, and I don’t know a
soul this side of there.”

“Don’t let it trouble you,” said Guy soothingly.
“Robinson will return that money in the morning, and
then he will read us a long lecture on betting.”

“Do you really think he will give it back?” asked
Whitney, in a more hopeful tone.

“I am sure of it. He does not intend to keep it, for
he was brought up in New England, and according to
his idea, betting is no better than gambling. Some
more cigars, waiter. I’ve got a quarter left.”

The cigars were brought, and Guy, receiving the
matches from the hand of the waiter, deposited them in
a little pool of beer upon the table, so that when
he wanted to light their cigars the matches would not
burn. Guy grumbled at this, and said he would go to
the bar for a light. He went; and Whitney, who was
deeply occupied with his own thoughts, bemoaning his
folly for risking his money on that patent invention, and
wondering if Robinson would be generous enough to return
it in the morning, did not see him when, after
// 271.png
.bn 271.png
lighting his cigar, he slipped through the door into the
street.

Guy’s first attempt at swindling had met with success,
but it did not bring with it those feelings of happiness
and independence which he had so confidently looked
for. There was not a criminal in St. Louis who felt so
utterly disgraced as he did at that moment. The reaction
had come after his hour of excitement, and his
spirits were sadly depressed. He looked upon it now as
a most contemptible proceeding to wheedle one’s way
into a stranger’s good graces, and then seize the first opportunity
to do him an injury. Accompanying this
reflection was the thought—and his mind would dwell
upon it, in spite of all he could do to prevent it—that he
had rendered himself liable to legal punishment, and
that he was every moment in danger of being arrested
and thrust into jail. Had Whitney’s money been in his
pocket just then, he would have lost not a moment in
returning it to its rightful owner; but it was safely
stowed away about the good clothes of his friend and
partner, Mr. Jones, who was seated in a certain bowling
alley, which had been designated beforehand as the
place of meeting, solacing himself with a cigar, and
anxiously awaiting Guy’s appearance.

When the latter came in, Mr. Jones beckoned with
his finger, and Guy followed him to the furthest corner
of the saloon.

“Well,” said the commercial traveler, “how do you
like it as far as you have gone? Twenty-five dollars for
an hour’s work I call pretty fair wages. If you make
that amount every night, it will not take you long to pay
your debts.”

“I don’t like the business at all,” said Guy, “and I
will never attempt it again.”

Mr. Jones settled back in his chair, looked up at the
ceiling through the clouds of smoke that arose from the
cigar, and said to himself:

“I don’t know that it makes any difference to me
whether you do or not. If you don’t pay your debts in
// 272.png
.bn 272.png
this way, you must use some of the firm’s money. When
you do that your days as shipping clerk are numbered,
and my brother will step into the position.”

Then aloud he asked:

“How did you get away from him?”

“I did just as you told me,” replied Guy, rather impatiently,
for it was a matter that he did not like to talk
about. “I dampened the matches, went to the bar for
a light, and stepped out when he wasn’t looking.”

“He didn’t bleed as freely as I hoped he would,” continued
Mr. Jones; “but, after all, we did very well.
Here’s your share of the spoils—twenty-five dollars.”

It was on the point of Guy’s tongue to refuse to accept
it; but he thought of Dutch Jake, who was probably at
that very moment stamping about his little groggery like
a madman, because his eight dollars and forty cents had
not been paid according to promise, and knowing that
the man must at all hazards be prevented from making
another visit to the store, he took the money and put it
into his pocket.

“Now I must run down and say good-by to my
brother,” said Mr. Jones, “and by that time the ’bus
will be along to take me across the river. When I return
I hope to find you on your feet, and with money in
your pocket. Take care of yourself.”

Mr. Jones hurried out, and in a few moments more
was standing in the presence of his brother, and recounting
in glowing language the success of his plans.

Will was in ecstasies.

“I will put the finishing touch to them,” said he.
“I will find Whitney, tell him that he has been swindled,
and put him up to have Guy arrested.”

“That would be a cunning trick, wouldn’t it?” said
Mr. Jones.

“Why, it will bring the matter to the notice of Mr.
Walker,” said Will, “and that’s just what I want.”

“Well, it is just what I <i>don’t</i> want,” said Mr. Jones.
“If Guy is arrested, I lose my situation, for of course he
will blow on me. You let him alone. I’ve given him
// 273.png
.bn 273.png
plenty of rope, and if he doesn’t succeed in hanging
himself by the time I get back, I can easily do it for
him.”

The commercial traveler hurried out to catch the
omnibus, and Will tumbled into bed to dream of Guy’s
disgrace, and his immediate accession to the office of
shipping clerk.
// 274.png
.bn 274.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XXX. || <fs=0.8em>WORDS FITLY SPOKEN.</fs>
.sp 2
.di dropcapg.jpg 49 50 1.0
GUY LEFT the bowling alley shortly after Mr.
Jones went out, and avoiding all the principal
thoroughfares, and taking all the back
streets in his way, finally reached Dutch
Jake’s saloon. He had ample time to think over his situation,
and was fast giving way to that feeling of desperation
which all criminals are said to experience. He
was ruined beyond all hope of redemption, he told himself,
and he might as well go on. He <i>must</i> go on, for it
was too late to turn back.

Guy remained at Dutch Jake’s saloon three hours,
apparently the gayest of the gay, and driven by this
spirit of recklessness and desperation that had taken possession
of him to commit excesses that astonished everybody
present. About one o’clock he got into an altercation
with somebody, which threatened for a time to
end in a free fight, but Dutch Jake promptly put a stop
to the trouble by dragging Guy out of the saloon by
the collar, throwing him headlong upon the pavement,
and then slamming and locking the door to prevent his
return.

The boy’s pockets were empty. The last cent of his
ill-gotten gains had found its way into Jake’s money-drawer,
and all Guy had got for it in return was more
alcohol than he could carry and an appellation which,
in his maudlin condition, tickled his fancy wonderfully.
Some one had called him “the prince of good fellows,”
and during the last hour his fuddled companions had
dropped his name and addressed him entirely as
“Prince.”

“But if I’m a prince,” stammered Guy, holding fast
to a lamp-post and looking in an uncertain sort of way
// 275.png
.bn 275.png
toward the door that had just been closed behind him,
“wha’s ye use lockin’ m’ out? Do zey want to (hic)
’sult me? Zey’d bet-better mind zer eyes!”

That is the way with saloon-keepers, Guy. It is a
part of their business. They have no respect or friendship
for you—it is your money they want, and when
they have emptied your pockets of the last cent, and the
accursed stuff they have sold to you mounts to your
brain and steals away your wits, and the Evil One has
taken full possession of you, they thrust you into the
street, leaving you to shift for yourself.

The next few hours were an utter blank to Guy. He
did not know how he got home, but that he got there
in some way was evident, for when he came to himself
(about daylight) he was lying across the foot of his bed
with all his clothes on, and the door of his room was
standing wide open.

The instant his eyes were unclosed the events of the
night came back to him, accompanied by a splitting
headache and a feeling of nervousness and prostration
that was almost unbearable.

With scarcely energy enough to move, he staggered to
his feet and closed the door; as he did so he caught a
glimpse of his face in the mirror. He could scarcely
recognize himself. Was that pale, haggard countenance,
set off with blood-shot eyes and a black and blue spot
on his left cheek, which he had received by coming in
contact with some lamp-post on his way home—was that
face the face of Guy Harris? Without the beauty spot
he looked for all the world as Flint looked on the morning
he came creeping out of the forecastle of the Santa
Maria, after sleeping off the effects of the drug that had
been administered to him.

Sick at heart and so dizzy that he could not stand
without holding fast to something, Guy turned and was
about to throw himself upon the bed again, when he
heard a light step in the hall and a tap at his door.

“Mr. Harris,” said the landlady’s gentle voice, “it
is almost eight o’clock.”
// 276.png
.bn 276.png

“Great Scott!” thought Guy, “and I ought to be at
the store this very moment. I don’t see how I can
stand it to work all day, feeling as I do. I’ll have to
fill up on beer again before my hand will be steady
enough to hold a pen. Yes, ma’am,” he added aloud.
“I will be down immediately. I declare my voice has
changed, too. I’m not myself at all. I feel as if I were
going to drop all to pieces.”

The announcement that it was time for him to be at
work infused some life into Guy. By the aid of a clean
shirt and collar and copious ablutions he made a little
improvement in his appearance, but the general feeling
of worthlessness and the overwhelming sense of shame
that pressed upon him, could not be touched by cold
water and clean linen. The thought that he must
spend the next ten hours in contact with his fellow-men
was terrible. He did not want to see anybody. He
opened the door very carefully, and went down the
stairs with noiseless footsteps, intending to leave the
house before his landlady should see him; but she was
on the watch. She met him in the hall, and there was
something in her eye which told Guy that she knew at
least a part of the incidents that had happened the
night before.

“Good morning, Mr. Harris,” said she, with her
usual pleasant and motherly smile, “I have kept your
breakfast warm for you.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Willis,” said Guy, in a very unsteady
voice, “but I cannot stop to eat anything; I am
late now. Besides, I am not hungry.”

“No matter; you can’t work all day without taking
something nourishing,” returned the landlady, and as
she spoke she took Guy’s arm, and paying no heed to his
remonstrances led him into the cozy little dining-room,
and seated him at the table.

A tempting breakfast, consisting of his favorite
dishes and a cup of coffee, such as Mrs. Willis only
could make, was placed before him, but Guy could not
eat. He wished he could sink through the floor out of
// 277.png
.bn 277.png
the lady’s sight. He wished she would go away and
leave him to the companionship of his gloomy thoughts;
but she had no intention of doing anything of the kind.
She closed all the doors, and then came and stood by
the boy’s side with her hand resting on the back of his
chair.

“Guy,” said she sorrowfully, “what made you do it?”

The clerk stirred his coffee, but could make no reply.

“I know you will forgive me for speaking about
this,” said Mrs. Willis, laying her soft, cool hand on
Guy’s feverish forehead, “I do it because I feel a
mothers interest in you. I have a son somewhere in
the wide world, and if he should fall into such ruinous
habits as these, I should feel very grateful if some kind
soul would whisper a word of warning in his ear. Stop
and think of it, Guy! Stop now, while you can. What
would your dear mother say?”

As Mrs. Willis uttered these words—the first really
kind, affectionate words that had fallen upon his ear
from the lips of a woman for long, long years—Guy’s
heart softened, a great lump came up in his throat, and
tears started to his eyes. Mrs. Willis was in a fair way
to accomplish something until she spoke of his mother.
Then Guy thought of his father’s wife, and the old feeling
of desperation came back to him.

“I have no mother,” said he. “She is dead.”

“Then think of your father,” urged Mrs. Willis.
“What would he say? Surely he loves you, and you
ought to respect his feelings.”

“Well, if he loves me he has never shown it,” retorted
Guy bitterly. “I don’t care what he thinks. He
never respected my wishes or feelings while I was at
home, and I don’t see why I should respect his now.”

“Oh, Guy, don’t talk so. There must be some one
whose good opinion you value—some one you love.
Who is it?”

Guy was silent. He could not recollect that during
the time he had been absent from home he had thought
of more than one of his relations with any degree of
affection.
// 278.png
.bn 278.png

“I don’t know of anybody,” said he at length, “except
my Aunt Lucy—and you.”

“Then for your aunt’s sake—for my sake, Guy,
promise me that this shall never happen again. Promise
me faithfully that, as long as you live, you will never
touch a drop of anything intoxicating, and that you will
never again go inside a billiard saloon or a card-room.
Promise me.”

Again Guy was silent, not because he was unwilling to
answer, but because he could not. His heart was too
full. Mrs. Willis was satisfied that if the promise was
once made, it would be religiously kept. She had read
Guy as easily as she could read a printed page, and was
well enough acquainted with him to know that when he
once fully made up his mind to a thing, he was like
Hosea Biglow’s meeting-house—too “sot” to be easily
moved. So she was resolved to have the promise, and
she took a woman’s way to exert it. She put her arms
around Guy’s neck, and drew his face up so that she
could look into it. When she saw that his eyes were
filled with tears, she knew that she had conquered.

“Promise me,” she repeated.

“I promise,” said Guy in a husky voice.

“Heaven help you,” said Mrs. Willis fervently; and
as she said it she kissed him and glided out of the
room.

“Great Cæsar!” exclaimed Guy as soon as she had disappeared.

He jumped to his feet, overturning his chair as he
did so, ascended the stairs four steps at a time, entered
his room and slammed the door behind him. He was
not accustomed to such treatment as this, and he hardly
knew what to make of it. It was some minutes before
he had collected himself so that he could think calmly.

“I looked for nothing but a good scolding and an invitation
to make myself scarce about this house,” said
Guy to himself; “and if Mrs. Willis had treated me in
that way she would have served me just right. But she
has given me a chance for my life. If she will only
// 279.png
.bn 279.png
stand by me I will come out all right yet, for I’ll keep
that promise no matter what happens. She doesn’t
know about my swindling operations, but Mr. Walker
must know of them. I am going to rub this thing all
out and begin over again; and, in order to do it as it
ought to be done, I must tell him everything. If it
brings me my walking papers I shall have nobody to
thank but myself.”

Guy put on his hat and went down the stairs and out
of the house, walking with a firm step and his countenance
wearing a determined expression. He scarcely
looked to the right or left while he was passing along
the street, and when he arrived at the store he went
straight to the private office, where Mr. Walker sat
busy with his correspondence.

“May I have a few minutes’ private conversation
with you, sir?” he asked.

“Certainly, Guy,” replied the merchant, looking up
with some surprise. “Lock the door and sit down.”

Guy did as he was directed, and then, without any
preliminary words by way of apology or excuse for his
conduct, begun and told the story of his mistakes from
beginning to end. He kept back nothing except the
name of the confederate who had assisted him in fleecing
Mr. Whitney, and that he revealed only when it
was demanded. Mr. Walker was greatly astonished.
When Guy finished his story he sat for some moments
in silence.

“I wish the boy had a pleasant home to go to,”
thought the merchant. “That’s the place he ought to
be, and there’s where he would be safe. But I am sorry
to say he hasn’t got it. If he goes back to Norwall his
father’s unreasonable strictness and partiality, and his
mother’s indifference will drive him straight to ruin.
He ought to have kind words now, for he has had more
than his share of harsh ones.”

“Don’t hesitate to speak out, Mr. Walker,” said Guy,
who believed that the merchant was thinking how he
could best communicate to him the fact that his
// 280.png
.bn 280.png
services were no longer needed. “If I am to be discharged,
please say so.”

Mr. Walker understood and fully appreciated the situation.
Guy was thoroughly penitent—there could be
no question about that; but there was an ominous glitter
in his eye and a determined set to his tightly closed
lips which the merchant did not fail to notice, and
which told him as plainly as words that if there ever
was a moment in one’s life when his future was to be decided
for good or ill, that moment in Guy’s life had arrived.
The right word just then would have buried his
resolutions of amendment beyond all hope of resurrection,
and sent him down hill with lightning speed. Mr.
Walker was not an instant in deciding on his course.

“My dear boy,” said he, rising and taking Guy’s
hand in his own with a cordial grasp, “I have no intention
of saying anything of the kind. Why should I
discharge you when I have all faith in you? You are
a capable, painstaking clerk, and until yesterday I never
knew there was anything in your conduct with which
anybody could find fault. It has been a bitter lesson,
Guy, you know. Will you profit by it?”

“Indeed I shall, sir,” replied the boy with tears in
his eyes.

“Then I shall rest perfectly satisfied that you will
never make these mistakes again. My confidence in
you is as strong as it ever was, for there is always hope
for one who voluntarily confesses a fault. So take courage
and begin over again. You have the making of a
smart man in you, Guy, and I hope to live to see you
honored and respected.”

These words were too much for Guy. Had Mr.
Walker upbraided him, as he knew he deserved, the old
spirit of recklessness and desperation, which Mrs. Willis
had so nearly exorcised, would have come back to him,
and he could have kept up a bold front; but the accents
of kindness touched his heart.

He covered his face with his hands and wept bitterly.
Mr. Walker waited until the violence of his grief had
subsided and then continued:
// 281.png
.bn 281.png

“You have made all the amends in your power, Guy,
and now I will help you to do the rest, so that you can
begin over again in good shape. In the first place, you
must return Mr. Whitney’s money.”

“Oh, Mr. Walker!” exclaimed Guy.

“It must be done!” said the merchant. “No half-way
work will answer. I will furnish the funds, and I
will also provide means for the payment of all your
debts. I will be your only creditor. And when you
have settled with all these men, Guy,” he added earnestly,
“make a resolution and stick to it, that as long
as you live you will never again go in debt. Wear a
threadbare coat, if you must, but wear one that is paid
for.”

As Mr. Walker said this, he turned to his safe, and
counting out a sum of money in bank-notes, handed it
to Guy.

“I don’t deserve this kindness, sir,” said the boy,
his tears starting out afresh.

“Yes, you do, Guy. I regard you as well worth
saving.”

The merchant passed out of the private office, and
Guy, hastily wiping his eyes, went into the wash-room,
where he spent a few minutes in removing all traces of
his tears, after which he hurried out of the store and
bent his steps toward the Olive Street Hotel.

“Bob Walker was a fool,” thought Guy, feeling of
his well-filled pocket-book to make sure that the scene
through which he had just passed was a reality, and not
a dream. “A boy who will run away from a father
like that deserves to be hanged.”

It required the exercise of all the courage Guy
possessed to face Mr. Whitney, but being determined to
go through with the good work so well begun in spite
of every hazard, he boldly entered the hotel, and almost
the first man he saw when he entered the reading-room
was the swindled gentleman from Ann Arbor, who was
pacing back and forth, with his hands under his coat-tails,
and an expression of great melancholy on his face.
// 282.png
.bn 282.png
When he saw Guy approaching, he stopped and stared
at him as if he could scarcely believe his eyes.

“Why, Benjamin,” he cried, “is this really you?
What made you two fellows run away and leave me in
such a hurry last night?”

Guy did not know what to say to this. He did not
want to spoil things by telling lies, so he concluded that
it would be best not to answer the question at all.

“That man you saw me with last night left the city
at eleven o’clock on business, and I have come to return
your money,” said Guy, taking out his pocket-book.

“Have you!” exclaimed Whitney, so overjoyed that
his voice was husky.

“Yes. There are your fifty dollars, and if you will
take a friend’s advice, you will never make another bet
with strangers.”

“I don’t think I ever shall,” said Whitney, pocketing
his recovered cash. “You have read me the best lesson
I ever received. Do you know, it had been running in
my head all the morning that I fell among thieves last
night? Curious, wasn’t it? Why, I have several times
been on the point of starting for the police headquarters.
That burglar-proof arrangement of Robinson’s is
a fine thing, I’ll warrant. I guess it wasn’t locked
when we opened it the first time. I should like to go
down to his store and see how it looks on his safe, but I
have just received a telegram asking me to come immediately,
for my mother is very ill, so I must be off by the
first train. I could not have gone through, if you had
not been good enough to return my money. Let’s go
and take something.”

“No, sir; nothing for me,” said Guy.

“A cigar, then?”

“No, I am obliged to you. Good-day. Thank
goodness that job is done,” said Guy, as he left the
hotel, “and I am glad to get through with it so
easily. Suppose Whitney had given the police a description
of Jones and myself, and had us arrested.
Whew! I’ll not run another such a risk.”
// 283.png
.bn 283.png

Guy made good use of his time, and by twelve o’clock
he had called upon every one of his creditors and paid
all his debts in full. The invitations to drink and
smoke which he received were almost as numerous as
the places he visited, but he firmly declined every one of
them. He carried home with him a much lighter heart
than he had brought away. He went straight to Mrs.
Willis with the story of Mr. Walker’s kindness, and
had she been his own mother—as Guy wished from the
bottom of his heart she was—she could not have been
more delighted with the turn affairs had taken.

That day proved most emphatically to be the turning
point of Guy’s life. His choice had been made for all
time. His subsequent career showed that Mrs. Willis
had not been mistaken in her estimate of his character.
His stability and fixedness of purpose surpassed her expectations.
Never once did he forget his promise. And
his performance in well-doing met with its reward.
Long before he had time to repay the money advanced
him by Mr. Walker, that gentleman promoted him to
the position of assistant book-keeper, and Guy never
gave him reason to regret the step.

Will Jones and his brother terminated their connection
with the store on the very day Guy held his memorable
interview with Mr. Walker. The former was discharged,
and a dispatch sent after the commercial
traveler commanding his immediate return to St. Louis;
but Mr. Jones, scenting danger from afar, did not see
fit to obey. Guy never heard of him afterward.

The scenes in the life of Guy Harris which I have attempted
to describe in this story were enacted more than
twelve years ago, and Guy has now become a man.
Strict regard for truth compels me to say that he is
neither a governor nor a member of the legislature; but
he is a prosperous man and a happy one, and in the city
in which he has taken up his abode there are none who
are held in higher esteem than he.

Now and then he visits his father at Norwall, but he
does it from a sense of duty and not for pleasure, for his
// 284.png
.bn 284.png
old home has no more attractions for him now than it
had in the days of his boyhood. Between him and his
relatives there is a great gulf fixed which they can all see,
and which they know can never be bridged over. Mr.
Harris is painfully conscious of the fact, and would willingly
give every cent of his possessions to have it otherwise,
but it is too late. “It might have been,” but the
favored hour has gone by. Guy’s affections were long
ago alienated. There are two people in the world, however,
upon whom he bestows all the love of his ardent
nature, and they are Mrs. Willis and Mr. Walker. If
there is joy in heaven over one sinner that repenteth,
are there not rich blessings laid up in store for those
who lead that sinner to repentance?
.sp 4
.nf c
THE END.
.nf-
.sp 4
// 285.png
.bn 285.png
// 286.png
.bn 286.png
.pb
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price, by the publisher,<b> A. L. BURT, 56 Beekman St., New York.</b></i>
// 287.png
.bn 287.png
.pb
.sp 4
.ce
<xl><i>Useful and Practical Books</i>.</xl>
.pi
.hr 70%
<b>Why, When and Where.</b> A dictionary of rare and curious
information. A treasury of facts, legends, sayings and their explanation,
gathered from a multitude of sources, presenting in a convenient
form a mass of valuable knowledge on topics of frequent inquiry
and general interest that has been hitherto inaccessible. Carefully
compared with the highest authorities. Edited by <sc>Robert Thorne</sc>,
M.A. 500 pages. Cloth, 12mo, price $1.00.

“In fact it is a miniature encyclopedia devoted to concisely stated facts on
matters of every-day interest, yet beyond the scope of every-day knowledge.”—<i>Hartford
Times.</i>
.sp 2
<b>A Cyclopedia of Natural History.</b> Comprising descriptions of
Animal Life: Mammals, Birds, Reptiles, Batrachians and Fishes.
Their Structure, Habits and Distribution. For popular use. By
<sc>Charles C. Abbott</sc>, M. D. 620 pages. 500 illustrations. Cloth,
12mo, price $1.00.

“The author has shown great skill in condensing his abundant material,
while the illustrations are useful in illustrating the information furnished in
the text.”—<i>Times, Troy.</i>
.sp 2
<b>The National Standard Encyclopedia.</b> A Dictionary of Literature,
the Arts and the Sciences, for popular use; containing over
20,000 articles pertaining to questions of Agriculture, Anatomy, Architecture,
Biography, Botany, Chemistry, Engineering, Geography,
Geology, History, Horticulture, Literature, Mechanics, Medicine,
Physiology, Natural History, Mythology and the various Arts and
Sciences. Prepared under the supervision of a number of Editors,
and verified by comparison with the best Authorities. Complete in
one volume of 700 pages, with over 1,000 illustrations. Cloth, 12mo,
price $1.00.
.sp 2
<b>Law Without Lawyers.</b> A compendium of Business and Domestic
Law, for popular use. By <sc>Henry B. Corey</sc>, LL.B., member of
New York Bar. Cloth, 12mo, price $1.00.

“The volume before us is a very convenient manual for every-day use, containing
a general summary of the law as applied to ordinary business transactions,
social and domestic relations, with forms for all manner of legal documents.”—<i>Troy
Times.</i>
.sp 2
<b>Dr. Danelson’s Counselor, with Recipes.</b> A trusty guide for
the family. An illustrated book of 720 pages, treating Physiology,
Hygiene, Marriage, Medical Practice, etc. By <sc>J. E. Danelson</sc>, M. D.
Illustrated. Cloth, 12mo, price $1.00.

“The Counselor is pure and elevating in its morals, and wise and practical
in the application of its counsels. It can but be a helper in homes following
its directions.”—<i>Rev. J. V. Ferguson, Pastor M. E. Church, Mohawk, N. Y.</i>
.sp 2
<b>The National Standard History of the United States.</b> A complete
and concise account of the growth and development of the
Nation, from its discovery to the present time. By <sc>Everit Brown</sc>.
600 pages. Illustrated. Cloth, 12mo, price $1.00.

In this most interesting book our country’s history is told from the discovery
of America down to the election of Benjamin Harrison as President of the
United States.
.hr 70%

<i>For sale by all Booksellers, or will be sent post-paid on receipt of price, by the publisher,
<b>A. L. BURT, 56 Beekman St., New York</b>.</i>
.pb
.sp 4
\_
.ul
.it Transcriber’s Notes:
.ul indent=1
.it Typographical errors were silently corrected.
.it Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were made consistent only\
when a predominant form was found in this book.
.if t
.it Text that was in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_); text that was\
bold by “equal” signs (=bold=).
.if-
.ul-
.ul-