CHAPTER VI
A STARTLING DISCOVERY

“How long is Mr. Wentworth going to stay here?” asked Gerald, when his father had awakened from his nap.

“I think he will go away to-morrow.”

“What is his object in coming here?”

“I sent for him. I wished to see if he would act a friendly part toward you when I am gone.”

“Do you think he will?” asked Gerald, dubiously.

“He wants to buy the papers which I gave into your keeping for a thousand dollars.”

“So you told me.”

“Shall I make the bargain, Gerald?” asked his father, earnestly. “Remember, I leave you nothing except this poor cabin and its contents, and eighty acres of land which I pre-empted from the government. By the way, I must give you the paper attesting my ownership.”

“Don’t trouble yourself about me, father. I am young and strong,” and Gerald straightened up, and extended his muscular arm. “I ought to be able to fight my way.”

“I hope you can, Gerald. As you say, you are young and strong, and here in this Western country a boy has a better chance than in the East. Still, I should like to feel that you had some money to start with. Now, a thousand dollars would be a large sum to one in your position.”

“It might be considerable for me to receive, but it would be too little for Mr. Wentworth to pay after all his obligations to you. No, father, don’t take the money.”

“This is your settled opinion, Gerald? You have considered carefully all the risk you run, all the inconvenience that may come from poverty?”

“Yes, father.”

“I am glad you have no doubt on the subject. As for me, I have been in great uncertainty.”

“You need be so no longer, father.”

“Then when Wentworth broaches the subject again I will tell him, both for you and myself, that I decline his offer.”

“Yes, father.”

“I don’t think he will increase it.”

“Nor do I.”

“Very well, Gerald. I see that you comprehend the situation. Probably Bradley Wentworth will return leaving us no better off for his visit.”

“I have no doubt you are right, father.”

“And yet you are not troubled?”

“No, father, except about you. I am worried about your health.”

“It will do no good, my dear boy. I am ready for the summons that is sure to come soon.”

Meanwhile Bradley Wentworth had left his questionable friend Jake Amsden, and had been walking about on a tour of observation. He was naturally a shrewd man, and had been forming an opinion about the capabilities and prospects of the out-of-the-way locality in which he now found himself.

“I shouldn’t be surprised,” he reflected, “if at some day – not far distant – a town might spring up on this spot. It is remarkable how soon in this wonderful region the wilderness gives place to flourishing settlements. I suppose land can be bought here for a song.”

He took a further survey of the neighborhood, and made up his mind that if a town were to spring up, Warren Lane’s land would be in the heart of the future settlement.

“He has chosen his land well. I didn’t think him so shrewd,” thought Wentworth, “though perhaps it may have been mere chance. He was always a visionary. Still, the fact remains that his land is in the best location hereabouts.”

Then it occurred to Wentworth that it would be a good speculation to purchase the property. Doubtless Lane was unaware of its value, and would sell for a trifle.

“I could agree to let him occupy it as long as he lives,” reflected Wentworth. “That won’t be long, and it may be some years before the settlement starts. I think, upon the whole, I can make my visit pay, however the other negotiation comes out.”

Now that there seemed a prospect of turning a penny, Wentworth began to find his stay in this remote place less tiresome. It was with a quick, brisk step that he walked towards Warren Lane’s humble cabin, revolving the new scheme in his mind.

“I have been taking a long walk, Lane,” he said, as he re-entered the house.

“Have you?” said the sick man languidly. “I wish I were in a condition to accompany you. I am afraid you found it lonely and uninteresting.”

“Oh, no; it is a new country to me, you know. I have never been so far West before. In fifty years from now I shouldn’t wonder if there might be a town located here.”

“In much less time than that.”

“Oh, no, I think not. This is ‘the forest primeval,’ as Longfellow calls it. It will be a great many years before a change comes over it. Probably neither you nor I will live to see it.”

“I shall not.”

“Pardon me, Warren. I forgot your malady – I am thoughtless.”

“Don’t apologize, Bradley. I am not disturbed by such references. I understand very well how I am situated – how very near I am to the unseen land. I have thought of it for a long, long time.”

“And of course you are troubled about your son’s future?”

“Yes, I admit that, though he tells me he has no anxieties.”

“He is too young to understand what it is to be thrown on his own resources.”

“I think not. He is strong and self-reliant.”

“Strength and self-reliance are good things, but a fair sum of money is better. That emboldens me to mention to you a plan which has occurred to me. You own the land about the cabin, do you not?”

“Yes; I pre-empted it, and have a government title.”

“So I supposed. Of course it will be of little value to Gerald. I propose to buy it of you. How many acres are there in your holding?”

“Eighty.”

“I will give you two hundred dollars for it.”

“I do not feel that I have a right to sell it. It belongs to Gerald.”

“Not yet.”

“It soon will.”

“Of course if I buy it I do not wish to interfere with your occupation of it as long as you live.”

“No, I suppose not. There is no place for me to go. But I think the land will some time be worth a good deal more than at present, and I want Gerald to reap the benefit of it.”

“I am offering you more than it is worth at present,” said Wentworth impatiently. “Two hundred dollars for eighty acres makes two dollars and a half an acre.”

“I cannot sell the boy’s little patrimony,” said Mr. Lane firmly.

“It seems to me he ought to be consulted. As you say, he will soon be the owner.”

At this moment Gerald entered the cabin.

“Gerald,” said his father, “Mr. Wentworth has offered me two hundred dollars for our little home, including the cabin and land. He thinks you ought to be consulted in the matter.”

“I don’t want to sell, father,” said Gerald. “This place is the only home I have, and I don’t want to part with it.”

“But the money will be very useful to you,” interrupted Wentworth, “and from what your father says, money will be scarce with you.”

“I suppose it will,” said Gerald with a steady look at the visitor, “though it ought not to be if we had our rights. But, be that as it may, I do not care to have the property sold.”

Opposition only made Mr. Wentworth more eager. “I will give you two hundred and fifty dollars,” he said.

“It is of no use, Mr. Wentworth. This humble home is all father has to leave me. For a time, at least, I wish to retain it.”

Mr. Wentworth bit his lip, and was silent. He saw by the resolute face of Gerald, so much stronger and firmer than his father’s, that it would be of no use to prolong the discussion.

The evening wore away. It was a question how the guest was to be accommodated for the night. But Gerald settled the question. He had a small single bed in one corner while his father occupied a larger one. He surrendered his bed to the guest, and stretched himself out, fully dressed, on a buffalo robe near the door. They retired early, as Gerald and his father usually did. Mr. Wentworth did not ordinarily keep early hours, but he had been fatigued by his walks during the day, partly because he had traversed considerable ground, but partly on account of the high altitude which made the air rarer, and exertion more difficult.

All three slept soundly. Though his bed was a hard one, Gerald was no child of luxury and rested peacefully.

About seven o’clock Mr. Wentworth rose and dressed himself. Gerald was already up, preparing breakfast. All at once he was startled by an exclamation. Looking around he saw Bradley Wentworth examining his pockets in a high state of excitement.

“What’s the matter?” asked Gerald.

“Matter enough!” returned the visitor. “I’ve been robbed during the night, and you,” he added fiercely, with a furious glance at Gerald, “you are the thief!”

CHAPTER VII
TRACKING THE THIEF

Gerald blushed with indignation at the unexpected accusation.

“What do you mean, Mr. Wentworth?” he demanded angrily.

“I mean just what I say. During the night my wallet, which was full of bank bills, has been stolen. Of course your father couldn’t have taken it. There was no one else in the room except yourself.”

“You are making a poor return for our hospitality,” said Gerald coldly. “In what pocket did you keep your wallet?”

“In the inside pocket of my coat.”

“Look about on the floor. It may have slipped out.”

Bradley Wentworth deigned to accept this suggestion. Both he and Gerald looked about on the floor, but could discover no trace of the lost article.

“Just as I expected,” observed Wentworth in a significant tone.

Gerald colored and felt mystified.

“I don’t understand it,” he said slowly.

“Probably the wallet walked off without hands,” sneered Wentworth.

“It must have been taken,” said Gerald quietly, “but who could have done it?”

“Yes, who could have done it?” repeated Wentworth with another sneer.

“I will trouble you to speak in a different tone,” said Gerald with quiet dignity. “My father and I are poor enough, but no one ever charged us with dishonesty.”

Mr. Lane, awakening from sleep, heard the last words.

“What is the matter? What has happened?” he asked dreamily.

“Mr. Wentworth misses his pocketbook, father,” exclaimed Gerald.

“How much money was there in your wallet, Bradley?” asked the sick man.

“Nearly two hundred dollars.”

“That is a great deal of money to lose. You are sure it was in your pocket when you went to bed?”

“Yes, I felt it there.”

“Some one must have got into the cabin during the night.”

“But the door was locked,” said Wentworth.

“True, but there is a window near your bed. There was no fastening, and it could be raised easily. And that reminds me,” he continued with a sudden thought, “I waked up during the night, that is I partially awakened, and thought I saw a figure near your bed in a stooping position. It must have been the thief going through your pockets.”

“Why didn’t you speak, father?”

“Because I was more asleep than awake, and my mind was too torpid to reason upon what I saw.”

“Did the figure remind you of anyone, father? What was it like?”

“A man of medium height, stout and broad-shouldered.”

Bradley Wentworth started, and a sudden conviction flashed upon him. The description tallied exactly with Jake Amsden, the man with whom he had had a conference the day before.

“Is there any such person who lives near by?” he asked.

“Yes, a worthless, dissipated fellow named Jake Amsden.”

“I think I caught sight of him yesterday during my walk. Is his hair red?”

“Yes. Did you speak to him?”

“I spoke to him,” said Wentworth evasively, for he did not care to mention the subject of their conversation.

“Did he know where you were staying?”

“I believe I mentioned it.”

“And from your appearance doubtless he concluded that you had money.”

“Possibly. Has he ever stolen anything from you?”

“I am too poor to attract burglars. Besides, theft in this neighborhood is a serious offense. Only last year a man living five miles away was lynched for stealing a horse.”

“This is an awkward loss for me,” said Wentworth. “If I were at home I could step into a bank and get all the money I wanted. Here it is different.”

“Have you no money left? Did the wallet contain all you had?”

“I have some besides in an inside pocket, but not as much as I may have occasion to use. Is there any hope of recovering the wallet from this man – that is, provided he has taken it?”

“After breakfast I will go with you,” said Gerald, “and see if we can find Jake Amsden. If we do we will make him give up the money.”

“But will it be safe? He looks like a rough character.”

“So he is; but the two of us ought to be more than a match for him.”

“I have no arms.”

“I will lend you my father’s pistol, and I have one of my own.”

Gerald spoke so calmly, and seemed so cool and courageous that Wentworth gave him a look of admiration.

“That boy has more in him than I thought. He is no milk-and-water youth as his father probably was.

“Very well,” he said aloud. “I will accept your offer – that is, after breakfast. I am afraid I shouldn’t muster up courage enough to meet this rough fellow on an empty stomach. I don’t feel like giving up such a sum of money without a struggle to recover it. Do you know Amsden?”

“Yes; he has been in this vicinity almost as long as we have.”

“Are you on friendly terms?”

“We are not unfriendly, but he is not a man that I cared to be intimate with.”

“Will he be likely to leave the neighborhood with his booty?” asked Wentworth anxiously.

“No; he is not a coward, and will stay. Besides, he probably thinks that he has covered his tracks, and will not be suspected.”

Breakfast was prepared and eaten. As they rose from the table Gerald said: “Now, Mr. Wentworth, I am at your service.”

They took their way partly through woods till they reached the poor cabin occupied by Jake Amsden. The door was open and they looked in. But there was no sign of the occupant.

“He is gone!” said Wentworth, in accents that betrayed his disappointment.

“I didn’t much expect he would be here,” said Gerald.

“Have you any idea where he is?”

“Yes; he is very fond of whisky, and there is a place at the foot of the hill where drink can be obtained. It is kept by a negro, a man of bad reputation.”

“Then let us go there. There is no time to be lost,” said Wentworth, anxiously.

As they walked along Wentworth broached the old subject of selling the cabin and the land attached.

“I think you make a mistake, Gerald,” he said, “in not selling me the cabin. Two hundred dollars would be very useful to you.”

“The place is worth more.”

“I offered you two hundred and fifty, and I stand by that offer.”

“I may desire to sell it some time, but not at present.”

“You don’t mean to remain here after your father dies?”

“Please don’t refer to that, Mr. Wentworth,” said Gerald with emotion. “I don’t want to think of it.”

“But you know he can’t recover.”

“I know it, but I don’t like to think of it.”

“This is only weakness. You ought to think of it, and be forming your plans.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Wentworth,” said Gerald with sad dignity, “but I cannot and will not speak of my father’s death at present. When God takes him from me it will be time to consider what I shall do.”

“Suit yourself,” said Bradley Wentworth stiffly, “but you must not forget that I am your father’s friend, and – ”

“Are you my father’s friend?” asked Gerald with a searching look.

“Of course I am,” answered Wentworth, coloring. “Hasn’t he told you we were young men together?”

“Yes, he has told me that.”

“Then you understand it. I am his friend and yours.”

“I am glad to hear it,” said Gerald gravely, “but there,” he added, pointing to a low, one-story frame building, “is the place where Jake Amsden probably came to buy liquor.”

Over the entrance was a large board on which was painted in rude characters:

P. Johnson,

Saloon