CHAPTER IV
THE SUDDEN SUMMONS

When Richard Burton left the office of Aaron Wolverton, he did not return home immediately. He had a business call to make in the next township, and drove over there. Finding that he was likely to be detained, he went to the hotel to dine, and, the day being warm, sat on the piazza and smoked a cigar afterwards. It was not until four o'clock that he turned his horse's head in the direction of Carver.

The horse he drove was young and untrained. It would have been dangerous for an unskillful driver to undertake to manage him. Robert Burton, however, thoroughly understood horses, and was not afraid of any, however fractious. But he had been persuaded to drink a couple of glasses of whisky by acquaintances at the hotel, and he was easily affected by drink of any kind. So his hand was not as strong or steady as usual when he started on his homeward journey.

The horse seemed instinctively to know that there was something the matter with his driver, and, as he turned back his head knowingly, he prepared to take advantage of it. So he made himself more troublesome than usual, and Burton became at first annoyed and then angry.

"What ails you, you vicious brute?" he exclaimed, frowning. "You need a lesson, it seems."

He gave a violent twitch to the reins, more violent than he intended, and the animal swerved aside suddenly, bringing one wheel of the wagon into forcible collision with a tree by the roadside. This, coming unexpectedly, threw Richard Burton violently from his seat, and he was pitched out of the carriage, his head being thrown with force against the tree which had been the occasion of the shock.

There was a dull, sickening thud, and the poor man lay insensible, his eyes closed and his breast heaving.

The horse detached himself from the wagon and ran home – they were within half a mile of the village now – leaving his driver without sense or motion beside the wrecked wagon.

He had lain there not over twenty minutes, when a pedestrian appeared upon the scene.

It was Aaron Wolverton, who was on his way to the house of a tenant to collect rent. He had been walking with his eyes fixed upon the ground, thinking intently, when all at once, raising his eyes, he started in amazement at the sight of the wrecked carriage and the prostrate man.

"Who can it be?" he asked himself in excitement.

His eyes were failing, and he could not distinguish, till close at hand, the person of the stricken man.

"Robert Burton!" he exclaimed in excitement, when at last he had discovered who it was. "How on earth did this accident happen?"

He bent over the prostrate man and placed his hand upon his heart. Alas! it had already ceased to beat. The features wore a startled and troubled look, the reflection of the feelings excited by the collision.

"Well, well!" ejaculated Wolverton, awed in spite of himself by the sight, "who would have dreamed of this? and only this morning he called on me to pay his interest."

There was a sudden suggestion, begotten of his greed, that entered that instant into Wolverton's mind.

"He can't have gone home since," he bethought himself. "He must have the receipt with him."

Even if he had, what did it concern Wolverton? The money had been paid, but there was no evidence of it except the receipt which he had given him.

With trembling fingers, Wolverton, bending over, searched the clothes of the dead man, half turning his eyes away, as if he feared to meet Robert Burton's look.

At last he found it. Burton had thrust it carelessly into his vest pocket.

With a furtive look, to see if he were observed, Aaron Wolverton put the receipt into his own pocket. Then he rose to his feet, and turned to go away. He had no desire to remain any longer by the side of the dead.

Meanwhile the horse had dashed into the village at wild speed. Now it happened that Clip, sent on an errand to the store by Mrs. Burton, was in the village. His eyes opened wide when he saw the horse dash by him.

"What's dat mean?" Clip asked himself, staring with all his eyes at the runaway horse. "What's come of Massa Burton? Must have been an accident. Wagon must have upset, and – golly! I hope Massa Burton isn't killed nor noting."

Clip was all alive with excitement. He had the sense not to attempt to follow the horse, but ran as fast as he could in the direction from which the horse had come. There, he argued, must be the wagon and its rider.

It was a straight road, and he was not long in reaching the scene of the casualty. He came in sight of it at the moment when Aaron Wolverton was bending over the prostrate man, and searching his pockets.

Here was another surprise for Clip. "What is Massa Wolverton doing," he asked himself. He was sure he was not up to any good, for, as we have already seen, he had no love for the real estate agent, and thought him a very bad man. Clip had no small share of curiosity, and, intent on finding out what Wolverton was doing, he slid behind a tree about a foot in diameter, which happened to be conveniently situated. Grief struggled with curiosity, for Clip had already seen the wrecked team and the prostrate figure of the kind master, to whom he felt warmly attached.

"Poor Massa Burton! I hope he isn't dead," thought Clip. "Jes' as soon as old Wolverton goes away I'll go up and look. Won't Mrs. Burton feel bad?"

All the while Clip was watching the movements of the real estate agent.

"What's he searchin' Massa Burton's pockets for?" he asked himself. "Spec's he's going to rob him. Didn't think the old man was so mean before. I'd jes' like to jump out and scare him."

Meanwhile Wolverton finished his discreditable business, happily unconscious that any one was witness of his mean act. Then, as already stated, he got up and walked swiftly away, not venturing to look back. Had he done so he would have seen Clip stealing from behind the tree which had served to screen him from observation, and running towards the wreck.

Clip had never before seen death, but there was something in the mute look of Richard Burton that awed the soul of the colored boy.

Clip had an affectionate heart. He felt that Richard Burton must be dead, and the thought overpowered him.

"Poor Massa Burton!" he cried, bursting into tears. "He's done dead, sure 'nough. Oh, what will we do?"

A minute later Clip bounded off like a deer, to carry the sad news to the village.

He met the village doctor driving along in his top buggy, and he quickly called out to him: "Go quick, Massa Doctor, for de love of God. Poor Massa Burton's upset himself, and I 'spec's he's dead."

"Whereabouts, Clip?" demanded the doctor, startled.

"Up the road a piece."

"Jump in with me and show me."

So Clip, seated beside the doctor, guided him to the fatal spot.

The doctor lost no time in jumping out of his buggy and approaching the fallen man. He didn't need to feel his pulse, or place his hand over his heart. To his practiced eye there were other indications that disclosed the terrible truth.

"Is he dead?" asked Clip, in an awed voice.

"Yes, Clip; your poor master is dead," answered the doctor, sadly.

He had known Richard Burton well, and, like all the rest of his neighbors, had a warm esteem for him.

"How did this happen, Clip?" he asked.

"I don't know, Massa Doctor; 'deed I don't," answered Clip. "I was walkin' along, when I saw the colt runnin' like mad, wid his harness on, and I 'spected something had happened. So I came up, and dat's what I saw."

"We can't do anything, Clip, except to see that he is carried home. I dread to break the news to his poor wife."

Meanwhile Aaron Wolverton had locked himself in his office. He drew the receipt from his pocket, read it through carefully, and chuckled:

"I'll get the money out of the widder. She can't prove that the interest has been paid! But I don't care so much for that as I do to get even with that impudent rascal Bob. He'll rue this day, as sure as my name is Aaron Wolverton."

CHAPTER V
WOLVERTON'S FIRST MOVE

Why did not Aaron Wolverton burn the receipt, and get rid once for all of the only proof that the interest had been paid? It would have been the most politic thing to do, inasmuch as he had made up his mind to be dishonest. But, though unprincipled, he was not a bold man. The thought did certainly occur to him, and he even went so far as to light a match. But more timid counsel prevailed, and he concealed it in his desk, carefully locking the desk afterwards.

It is unnecessary to describe the grief of the little family at Burton's Ranch when the body of the master was brought home. No one had dreamed of speedy death for Richard Burton. He seemed so strong and vigorous that it would have seemed safe to predict for him a long life – long beyond the average; yet here, in middle life, in the fullness of health and vigor, the summons had come.

To Mrs. Burton, who was a most devoted wife, it was a crushing blow. It seemed at first as if it would be happiness to lie down beside her dead husband, and leave the world for him.

"What have I to live for now?" she asked, mournfully.

"You have me, mother," answered Bob, gently. "I have lost my father. What would become of me if I should lose my mother also?"

"You are right, Robert," said Mrs. Burton. "I was wrong to give way; but it is a very hard trial."

"Indeed it is, mother," said Robert, kissing her affectionately. "But we must try to bear up."

Mrs. Burton felt that this was her plain duty, and henceforth strove to control her emotions. She ceased to sob, but her face showed the grief she suffered.

The funeral took place, and the little family held a council to decide what was to be done.

"Can we carry on the ranch now that your father is gone?" asked Mrs. Burton, anxiously. "Would it not be better to sell it?"

"No, mother; the sacrifice would be too great."

"But I do not feel capable of managing it, Robert."

"You may think me presumptuous, mother, but my proposal is to assist you, relieving you of the greater part of the care. Between us we can carry it on, I am confident."

"You are only a boy of sixteen, Robert," objected his mother.

"That is true; but I have watched carefully the manner in which the ranch has been carried on. Of course you must help, and you will try to get a man with whom I can advise. I am sure we can make a good deal more out of the farm than we could realize from investing the money it would bring."

"And are you willing to undertake this, Robert? It will be a hard task."

"I'll help him, missis," said Clip, eagerly.

"I shall have Clip to advise me, mother," said Robert.

"No doubt Clip is willing," said Mrs. Burton, smiling faintly; "but after all, it will be only two boys."

"Try us a single year, mother," said Bob, confidently.

Mrs. Burton gave her consent, and Bob at once took his father's place, rising early and going to the field to superintend the farming operations. He seemed to have developed at once into a mature man, though in appearance he was still the same. Clip was his loyal assistant, though, being a harum-scarum boy, fond of fun and mischief, he was of very little service as adviser.

He had mentioned to Bob seeing Aaron Wolverton bending over the body of his father, and exploring his pockets. This puzzled Bob, but he was not prepared to suspect him of anything else than curiosity, until his mother received a call from the real estate agent a month after her husband's decease.

Aaron Wolverton had been anxious to call before, but something withheld him. It might have been the consciousness of the dishonorable course he had taken. Be that as it may, he finally screwed up his courage to the sticking-point, and walked out to Burton's Ranch early one afternoon.

Mrs. Burton was at home, as usual, for she seldom went out now. She had no intimate friends in the neighborhood. All that she cared for was under her own roof.

She looked up in some surprise when Mr. Wolverton was ushered into the sitting-room.

"I hope I see you well, Mrs. Burton," said the real estate agent, slipping to a seat, and placing his high hat on his knees.

"I am well in health, Mr. Wolverton," answered the widow, gravely.

"Yes, yes, of course; I understand," he hastily answered. "Terribly sudden, Mr. Barton's death was, to be sure, but dust we are, and to dust we must return, as the Scripture says."

Mrs. Burton did not think it necessary to make any reply.

"I came over to offer my – my condolences," continued Mr. Wolverton.

"Thank you."

"And I thought perhaps you might stand in need of some advice from a practical man."

"Any advice will be considered, Mr. Wolverton."

"I've been thinkin' the thing over, and I've about made up my mind that the best thing you can do is to sell the ranch," and the real estate agent squinted at Mrs. Burton from under his red eyebrows.

"That was my first thought; but I consulted with Robert, and he was anxious to have me carry on the ranch with his help."

Aaron Wolverton shook his head.

"A foolish plan!" he remarked. "Excuse me for saying so. Of course you, being a woman, are not competent to carry it on – "

"I have my son Robert to help me," said the widow.

Aaron Wolverton sniffed contemptuously.

"A mere boy!" he ejaculated.

"No; not a mere boy. His father's death and his affection for me have made a man of him at sixteen. He rises early every morning, goes to the fields, and superintends the farming operations. Peter, my head man, says that he is a remarkably smart boy, and understands the business about as well as a man."

"Still I predict that he'll bring you deeper in debt every year."

"I don't think so; but, at any rate, I have promised to try the experiment for one year. I can then tell better whether it will be wise to keep on or sell."

"Now, Mrs. Burton, I have a better plan to suggest."

"What is it, Mr. Wolverton?"

"In fact, I have two plans. One is that you should sell me the ranch. You know I hold a mortgage on it for three thousand dollars?"

"I know it, Mr. Wolverton!" answered the widow, gravely.

"I'll give you three thousand dollars over and above, and then you will be rid of all care."

"Will you explain to me how Robert and I are going to live on the interest of three thousand dollars, Mr. Wolverton?"

"You'll get something, and if the boy runs the ranch you'll get nothing. He can earn his living, and I don't think you will suffer, even if you have only three thousand dollars."

"It is quite out of the question. Mr. Burton considered the ranch worth ten thousand dollars."

"A very ridiculous over-valuation – pardon me for saying so."

"At any rate, I don't propose to sell."

"There's another little circumstance I ought to mention," added Wolverton, nervously. "There is half a year's interest due on the mortgage. It was due on the very day of your husband's death."

Mrs. Burton looked up in amazement.

"What do you mean, Mr. Wolverton?" she said. "My husband started for your office on the fatal morning of his death, carrying the money – one hundred and fifty dollars – to meet the interest. Do you mean to tell me that he did not pay it?"

"That is strange, very strange," stammered Aaron Wolverton, wiping his forehead with a bandana handkerchief. "What became of the money?"

"Do you mean to say that it was not paid to you?" asked the widow, sharply.

"No, it was not," answered Wolverton, with audacious falsehood.