CHAPTER I
MR. BURTON'S RANCH

"Harness up the colt, Clip; I'm going to the village."

"All right, massa!"

"What makes you call me massa? One would think I were a slave-owner."

"Can't help it, massa. There I done forgot it agin," said Clip, showing his white teeth – preturnaturally white they showed in contrast with his coal-black skin. "You see I used to say that to my old massa, down in Arkansaw."

"What's my name, Clip?"

"Mister Burton."

"Then call me Mr. Burton. Now go, and don't waste any time."

"All right, massa."

"That boy's incorrigible," said Richard Burton to himself. "He hasn't got cut of his early ways yet; careless and shiftless as he is, I believe he is devoted to me and my family."

Clip, as may be inferred, was a negro boy, now turned of fourteen, who for four years had been attached to the service of Richard Burton, a ranchman, whose farm lay on a small stream tributary to the Missouri, in the fertile State of Iowa. He had fled from his master in the northern part of Arkansas, and, traveling by night, and secreting himself by day, had finally reached Iowa; where he found a safe refuge in the family of Mr. Burton. Indeed he had been picked up by Bob Burton, a boy a year older than himself, who had brought him home and insisted on his father taking charge of the young fugitive. On a large ranch there was always something to do, and Clip was soon made useful in taking care of the horses, in doing errands and in many odd ways.

While waiting for the wagon, Mr. Burton went into the house, and sought his wife.

"Mamy," he said, "I am going to the village to pay Wolverton his interest."

"I wish he didn't hold the mortgage, Richard," said Mrs. Burton, looking up from her work.

"So do I, but why is it any the worse for him to hold it than for any one else?"

"Richard, you may think me foolish and fanciful, but I distrust that man. It is impressed upon my mind that he will some day do us harm."

"That is foolish and fanciful in good truth, Mamy. Now Wolverton seems to me a – well, not exactly an attractive man, but good natured and friendly. When I needed three thousand dollars last spring, on account of a poor crop and some extra expenses, he seemed not only willing, but really glad to lend it to me."

"He took a mortgage on the ranch," said Mary Burton dryly.

"Why, of course. He is a man of business, you know. You wouldn't expect him to lend the money without security, would you?"

"And you pay him a large interest?"

"Ten per cent."

"There isn't much friendship in lending money on good security at ten per cent., Richard."

"Oh, you put things in a wrong way, Mary. Money is worth ten per cent. out here, and of course I didn't want Wolverton to lose money by me. He could get that interest elsewhere."

"You are very unsuspecting, Richard. You credit everybody with your own true, unselfish nature."

"Why, that's a compliment, Mary," laughed the husband, "and deserves a kiss."

He bent over and touched his wife's cheek with his lips.

Mary Burton had reached the age of thirty-six, and was no longer in her first youth, but her face seemed even more lovelier than when he married her, so Richard Burton thought. He too was a man of fine presence, with a frank, open face, that invariably won the favor of those who met him for the first time. He was in the full vigor of manhood, and when he and his wife attended the Methodist church on Sundays, many eyes were attracted by the handsome couple. They had one son, Bob, who will soon receive attention.

"I have a great mind, Richard, to tell you why I distrust and fear Aaron Wolverton," said his wife after a slight pause.

"I wish you would, Mary. Perhaps, when I know, I can talk you out of your apprehension."

"Did you ever know that Aaron Wolverton was once a suitor for my hand?"

Richard Burton burst into an explosive laugh.

"What! That dried-up old mummy had the presumption to offer you his hand!"

"He actually did, Richard," said Mrs. Burton, smiling.

"I wonder you did not laugh in his face. Why, the man is fifteen years older than I am, twenty years older than you."

"That difference is not unprecedented. I did not reject him because he was older than myself. If you had been as old as he when you offered yourself, I think I would have accepted you."

"Poor old fellow! Did he take it hard?" asked Burton, half jocosely.

"If you mean did he show any traces of a broken heart, I answer no. But when, after pressing his suit persistently, he found my resolution to be inflexible, his face became distorted with passion. He swore that he would be revenged upon me some day, and that if I dared to marry any one else he would never rest till he had brought harm to the husband of my choice."

"I wish I had been there. I would have made him take back those words, or I would have horsewhipped him."

"Don't take any notice of them, Richard," said Mary Burton, hastily. "It will be much better."

"I agree with you," said her husband, his quick anger melting. "After all, the old fellow's disappointment was so great that I can excuse a little impetuosity, and even rudeness. You see, Mary, Wolverton isn't a gentleman."

"No; and never will be."

"He acted as his nature prompted. But it was all over years ago. Why, Mary, he is always friendly with me, even if I am your husband."

"That is on the outside, Richard; but I fear he is crafty. He is like an Indian; his thirst for vengeance keeps alive."

"Admitting all that, though I don't, what harm can he do, Mary, while I am here to protect you?" and the husband expanded his breast in conscious strength, and looked down proudly on his fair wife. "Why, I could wring his neck with only one hand."

"Well, perhaps I am foolish, Richard," the wife admitted.

"Of course you are, Mary."

Just then Clip put his head inside the door.

"De hoss is ready, massa!" he said.

"All right, Clip! I'll come right out."

Richard Burton kissed his wife hastily, and went out.

As he closed the door, a bright, handsome boy, strongly made, and bearing a resemblance to both father and mother, entered.

"Hallo, mother! Are you all right?" he asked.

"I hope so, Robert."

"You look serious, as if you were worrying over something."

"I was thinking of Mr. Wolverton. Your father has gone to pay him interest on the mortgage."

"Wolverton is a mean old hunks. He's got a nephew living with him, a boy about my age. He works him nearly to death, and I am sure the poor boy doesn't get half enough to eat."

"I was wishing your father didn't owe money to such a man."

"Oh, well, mother, there's no use in worrying. It's only three thousand dollars, and if we have a good crop next year, father will be able to pay off at least half of it. You can see we've got a splendid ranch, mother. There isn't another within twenty miles where the land is as rich."

"I shall be glad to see the day when the mortgage is wholly paid off, and we are out of debt."

"So shall I, mother."

"Does Mr. Wolverton ever take any notice of you, Robert?"

"He took some notice of me this morning," laughed Bob. "That reminds me. I just left three prairie chickens with Rachel in the kitchen."

"Did you shoot them this morning, Robert?"

"Yes, mother; you see I have my hunting dress on. But I shot two more. I was bringing them home across a field of Wolverton's, when the old fellow suddenly made his appearance, and, charging me with shooting them on his land, laid claim to them. I denied the charge and told him I proposed to keep them. With that he seized me by the collar, and we had a rough-and-tumble fight for five minutes."

"Oh, Robert, how imprudent!"

"Well, mother, it was more than flesh and blood could stand. The upshot of it was that I left him lying on his back trembling with rage. I threw down two of the chickens to appease him. I hope he'll have them for dinner, and Sam'll get a share of them. The poor fellow is half starved. I don't believe he gets a square meal once a week."

"I am afraid you have made an enemy of Mr. Wolverton, Robert."

"I can't help it, mother. Would you have me bow down to him, and meekly yield up my rights?"

"But, Robert, to get into a fight with a man so much older?"

"I don't want to get into any difficulty, mother. It was forced upon me. Besides, I left him two of the chickens."

"Was Clip with you?"

"I reckon I was, missis," said Clip, displaying his ivories. "I laughed like to split when Massa Bob laid de old man down on his back. Wasn't he jest ravin'? Wouldn't have lost dat sight, missis, for de biggest watermillion I ever seed."

Mrs. Burton smiled, but her smile was a faint one. She knew Aaron Wolverton, and she feared that some time or other he would try to be revenged on Bob.

CHAPTER II
AARON WOLVERTON

Richard Burton drove rapidly to the village. I may state here that the name of the township was Carver. Like most Western villages, it consisted principally of one long, central street, containing buildings of all sizes and descriptions, from a three-story hotel to a one-story office. But there seemed to be a good deal going on all the time – much more than in an Eastern town of the size. Western people are active, progressive, never content to stand still. In the drowsy atmosphere that pervades many an Eastern country town they would stagnate, but there perpetual motion is the rule.

Everybody in Carver knew Richard Burton. Everybody liked him also; he was easy and social with all. I have said everybody, but I must make one exception, and that was the man on whom he now proposed to call.

About midway on the main street was a small one-story building, about twelve feet square. Above the door was a sign:

AARON WOLVERTON,

REAL ESTATE AGENT

Mr. Wolverton had considerable capital, which he was in the habit of lending on mortgage, always for a large interest, and on substantial security. He was supposed to be rich, but did not live like a rich man. His dwelling lay a little way back from the street; it was small, cramped, and uncomfortable, and his style of living was of the most economical character. He was a bachelor, and the only other members of his family were his sister, Sally Wolverton, who resembled her brother in person and character, and a nephew, Sam, the son of a brother, who came in for a liberal share of ill-treatment from the uncle, on whom he was dependent.

Richard Burton reined up in front of Wolverton's office, and, leaping from his carriage, unceremoniously opened the outer door.

"Good morning, Wolverton," he said, cheerily.

Aaron Wolverton, a meagre and wrinkled man of fifty-five, looked up from his desk, and scanned his visitor's face attentively. He was not sure but Richard Burton, who was a high-spirited man, had come to take him to task for his attack upon Bob a short time before. Whenever he thought of it, he fairly trembled with rage and humiliation, for the boy had conquered him, and he knew it.

Burton's words reassured him.

"I have come to pay interest on the mortgage, Wolverton. I suppose you haven't forgotten that?"

"No."

"Catch you forgetting a thing of that kind. That wouldn't be like you."

"I suppose you don't want to lift the mortgage?"

"No; it is all I can do to pay the interest. The first six months have passed remarkably quick."

"Not to me."

"No, for you are to receive money, I to pay it. It makes all the difference in the world. I suppose you are not in need of the money?"

"No, not at present," answered Wolverton, slowly; "but if I had it I could get higher interest."

"Higher interest! Isn't ten per cent. enough for you?"

"Nothing is enough, as long as I can get more."

"Come, Wolverton, don't be such a money-grabber. You must be rolling in money."

The old man shrugged his shoulders in deprecation.