CHAPTER II
A DEBT OF HONOR

“What do you think of that letter, Gerald?” asked his father, when the boy had perused the epistle which had been handed to him.

Gerald’s look of disgust answered for him.

“I think it is thoroughly contemptible,” he said. “It is the worst case of ingratitude I have heard of. Is Bradley Wentworth yet living?”

“Yes; he is rich and prosperous.”

“What did you do when you received his letter?”

“I wrote him in scathing terms, declining his proposal to surrender the paper for the paltry sum he offered. I reminded him of the good service I had rendered him. I had undoubtedly saved him the estate. I had also sacrificed more than I originally supposed, for I had learned two years after my departure that Mr. Wentworth had intended to give me a small interest in his business, which by this time would have made me a rich man. Of course when he came to look upon me as a forger my chance was lost.”

“Did Bradley Wentworth know this also?”

“Certainly he did. He knew better than any one the extent of the sacrifice I had made for him, but when his uncle was dead and the estate was securely his, he took advantage of this fact and treated me as I have told you.”

“Did you receive any answer to your second letter?”

“Yes, but it only renewed the proposal contained in the first. He requested me bluntly not to be a fool and declared that the papers were not really worth even the small sum he offered for them.”

“And what followed?”

“I was at a loss what further steps to take. Then came the death of your mother after a brief illness, and this quite broke me down. I became sick, my business suffered, and finally I came to regard myself as born to misfortune. Three years since I moved out here, and here we have lived, if it can be called living, cut off from the advantages of civilization. I begin to understand now that I acted a selfish and unmanly part, and cut you off from the advantages of an education.”

“I have studied by myself, father.”

“Yes, but it would have been better to attend a school or academy.”

“Your health has been better here.”

“Yes; the pure air has been favorable to my pulmonary difficulties. Probably I should have died a year since if I had not come out here.”

“Then you were justified in coming.”

“So far as my own interests are concerned; but I ought not have buried you in this lonely and obscure place.”

“Don’t think of me, father. Whatever I have lost I can make up in the years to come, and it is a great deal to have you spared to me a little longer.”

“Dear Gerald!” said his father, regarding his son with affection. “You are indeed a true and loyal son. I feel all the more under obligations to secure your future. An unexpected hemorrhage may terminate my life at any moment. Let me then attend at once to an imperative duty.”

He drew from his pocket an envelope and extended it to Gerald.

“This envelope,” he said, “contains two important documents – the written confession of Bradley Wentworth, that it was he, not I, who forged the check upon his uncle, and the last letter in which he repudiates my claim upon him for the sum he agreed to pay me.”

“You wish me to keep these, father?” said Gerald, as he took the envelope containing the letter.

“Yes. I wish you to guard them carefully. They give you a hold on Bradley Wentworth. I leave you nothing but this debt of honor, but it should bring you twenty thousand dollars. He can well afford to pay it, for it brought him a fortune.”

“What steps am I to take, father?”

“I cannot tell. It may be well for you to consult some good lawyer. You are young, but you have unusual judgment for your years. I must warn you that an effort will probably be made by Bradley Wentworth, perhaps through an agent, to get possession of these papers, which he knows are in existence. Ten days since I wrote to him, and in such terms that I should not be surprised if he would seek me out even here. If he comes, it will be in the hope of securing the papers which I have placed in your hands. Should you meet him here, don’t let him know that they are in your possession.”

Half an hour later Gerald set out slowly in the direction of a small mountain lake a mile distant, with fishing tackle in hand.

It was not so much that he wished to fish as to get a chance to think over the important communication which had been made to him within the last hour. He had often wondered why his father had buried himself among the mountains, and had always concluded that it was wholly on account of his health. Now he understood what it was that had darkened his life and made him a melancholy recluse. The selfish greed of one man had wrought this evil. To him, Gerald, was left the task of obtaining redress for a great wrong. It was not so much the money that influenced him, for youth is apt to be indifferent to worldly considerations, but his heart was filled with resentment against this man who had profited by his father’s sacrifice, and then deliberately refused to fulfil the contract he had made.

“It is only through his pocket he can suffer,” thought Gerald. “If it is possible he shall be made to pay the last dollar that is rightfully due my poor father.”

He reached the shore of the lake, and, unfastening a boat which he kept there for his own use, he pushed it out from the shore, and then suffered it to float lazily over the smooth surface of the lake while he prepared his fishing tackle. In the course of a couple of hours he caught four beautiful lake trout, and with them as a trophy of his skill he started for home, first securely fastening his boat.

“Perhaps father will relish these,” he soliloquized. “I will cook them as soon as I get home, and try to tempt his appetite.”

Gerald had walked but a few rods, when he was hailed by a stranger.

“Hallo, boy, do you live about here?”

Gerald turned, and his glance rested upon a man of about his father’s age, but shorter and more thick-set. He was well dressed, in city rather than in country style, but his face wore an expression of discontent and vexation.

“Yes,” answered Gerald, “I live in this neighborhood.”

“Then perhaps you can help me. I have lost my way. It serves me right for venturing into such a wild country.”

“Is there any particular place to which you wish to be guided, sir?”

“If you mean towns, there don’t seem to be any. I wish to find a man named Warren Lane, who I believe lives somewhere among these mountains.”

Gerald started, and looked intently at the stranger. He connected him at once with his father’s story, and felt that he must be Bradley Wentworth, the man who had ruined his father’s life. A natural feeling of dislike sprang up in his breast, and he delayed replying.

“Well,” said Wentworth irritably, “what are you staring at? Did you never see a stranger before? How long are you going to keep me waiting? Do you know such a man?”

“Pardon me,” replied Gerald coldly; “but your question surprised me.”

“Why should it?”

“Because Warren Lane is my father.”

“Ha!” exclaimed the other, eying the boy sharply. “You don’t look like him.”

“I am thought to resemble my mother’s family.”

“Do you live near by?”

“Yes, sir. Fifteen or twenty minutes will bring us to my father’s house.”

“Then I should like to go there at once. I want to get out of this country as soon as possible.”

“You have only to follow me,” and without another word Gerald started off.

CHAPTER III
BRADLEY WENTWORTH

“Are you back, Gerald?”

“Yes, father, and I am going to surprise you. I have brought company with me.”

“Company! Whom can you have met in this wilderness?”

“A man whom you used to know in early days.”

“Not Bradley Wentworth?” said Mr. Lane eagerly.

“Yes, Bradley Wentworth.”

“Thank Heaven! I wanted to see him before I died. Where is he?”

“Just outside. He is waiting to know if you will see him.”

“Yes, yes; bring him in at once.”

Gerald went to the door, and beckoned to Wentworth, who rose immediately and passed into the cabin.

“Bradley Wentworth,” said the invalid, looking up excitedly, “I am glad to see you. I thank you for obeying my summons.”

Even Wentworth, callous to suffering and selfish as he was, was shocked by the fragile appearance of his old companion.

“You look very weak,” he said.

“Yes, Bradley. I am very weak. I stand at the portal of the unseen land. My days are numbered. Any day may bring the end.”

“I am shocked to see you in this condition,” and there was momentary feeling in the tone of the world-hardened man.

“Don’t pity me! I am not reluctant to die. Gerald, you may leave me alone with Mr. Wentworth for a while. I wish to have some conversation with him.”

“Very well, father.”

“Have you acquainted him with the incidents of our early life?” asked Bradley Wentworth, referring to Gerald with a frown.

“Not until this morning. Then, not knowing but I might be cut off suddenly, and uncertain whether you would answer my call, I told him the story.”

“Better have left it untold!” said Wentworth with an uneasy look.

“Nay, he was entitled to know, otherwise he might not have understood why it was that I had buried him and myself here in this wilderness.”

“He would have supposed that you came here for your health. I understand that Colorado is very favorable to those having pulmonary diseases.”

“Yes, but he was entitled to know my past history. He was entitled to know what a sacrifice I had made – for another.”

Bradley Wentworth winced at this allusion, and his forehead involuntarily contracted.

“That is your way of looking at it,” he said abruptly.

“It is the true way of looking at it,” rejoined the sick man firmly.

“Hush!” said Wentworth, looking apprehensively towards the door of the cabin.

“Gerald knows all, and he is the only one to hear. But to resume: I saved you from disgrace and disinheritance. I did so against my wishes, because your need was so great, and you solemnly promised to provide handsomely for me and mine when you came into your fortune.”

“I was ready to promise anything in my extremity. You took advantage of my position.”

“The bargain I made was a fair one. It touches but one-sixteenth of the fortune which you inherited. Bradley Wentworth, it was and is a debt of honor!”

“To talk of my giving you such a sum is perfect nonsense!” said Wentworth roughly.

“You did not regard it in that light fifteen years since,” returned the sick man reproachfully.

“Of course I admit that you did me a service, and I am ready to pay for it. Give me the papers and I will give you a thousand dollars.”

“A thousand dollars in repayment of my great sacrifice! Have riches made you narrow and mean?”

“Riches have not made me a fool!” retorted Wentworth. “Let me tell you that a thousand dollars is no small sum. It will give that boy of yours a great start in life. It is more than you and I had at his age.”

“You have a son, have you not?”

“Yes.”

“How would you regard a thousand dollars as a provision for him?”

“There is some difference between the position of my son and yours,” said Wentworth arrogantly.

“You are fortunate if your son equals mine in nobility of character.”

“Oh, I have no doubt your son is a paragon,” said Wentworth with a sneer. “But to the point! I will give you a thousand dollars and not a cent more.”

He had hardly finished this sentence when he started in affright. Warren Lane fell back in his chair in a state of insensibility.