"Are you going to stay in town?" asked Clarence curiously.

"Not long."

"Did you get through your business with pa?"

"Yes, for the present. I suppose you know that you have a cousin about your own age. I used to know him and his father."

"Did you? His father is dead."

"So I have understood. Do you happen to know where the son is?"

"Somewhere out West, I think."

Bolton pricked up his ears. So it seemed that Stephen Ray had deceived him.

"I would give five dollars to know where he is," he said slowly.

"Have you got five dollars?" Clarence asked doubtfully.

By way of answer Bolton took a roll of bills from his pocket. They were those which Stephen Ray had given him.

"Do you mean it?" asked Clarence in a more respectful tone.

"Yes, I mean it."

"Why didn't you ask pa?"

"He never liked the boy nor his father, and I don't think he would tell me."

"That is true. He didn't like either of them."

"I suppose you couldn't find out for me?"

"I don't know but I could," answered Clarence brusquely.

He had a special use for five dollars, and it struck him that he might just as well earn the money offered by the stranger.

"If you could I would cheerfully pay you the five dollars. You see I used to know Ernest Ray and his father, and I would be pleased to meet them again."

"Just so," said Clarence complacently. "How long are you going to remain in town?"

"I did think of going to Elmira to-night, but I think on the whole I will stay at the hotel here till to-morrow morning."

"That will give me time to find out," said Clarence.

"All right! You had better not ask your father, for I don't think he would tell you."

"That's so. He will be going out this evening, and then I will search in his desk. I saw a letter there once in which the boy's name was mentioned. But I say, if you've got money why don't you buy some new clothes?"

"Your suggestion is a good one," said Bolton, smiling. "Come to look at myself I do appear shabby. But then I'm no dude. I dare say when you rode into me this morning you took me for a tramp."

"Well, you did look like one."

"That's so. I can't blame you."

"Shall I find you at the hotel this evening?"

"Yes."

"Then I'll see what I can do."

About seven o'clock Squire Ray went out to attend to a business meeting, and Clarence was left in possession of the study. He locked the door, and began to ransack his father's desk. At length he succeeded in his quest.

Benjamin Bolton was sitting in the public-room of the hotel an hour later, smoking a cigar, and from time to time looking toward the door. Presently Clarence entered.

"Have you got it?" asked Bolton eagerly.

"Yes," nodded Clarence.

He took a piece of paper from his vest pocket and handed it to Bolton.

It read thus: "Ernest Ray, Oak Forks, Iowa."

"How did you get it?" asked Bolton.

"I found a letter in pa's desk from an old man named Peter Brant, asking pa for some money for the boy, who was living with him."

"When was that letter written?"

"About two years ago."

"Thank you. This gives me a clue. Come out of doors and I will give you what I promised. It isn't best that anyone should think we had dealings together."

Five minutes later Clarence started for home, happy in the possession of a five-dollar bill.

"I never paid any money more cheerfully in my life," mused Bolton. "Now I must find the boy!"



CHAPTER XXVII

OREVILLE

When Ernest and Luke Robbins started for California, they had no very definite plans as to the future. But they found among their fellow passengers a man who was just returning from the East, where he had been to visit his family. He was a practical and successful miner, and was by no means reluctant to speak of his success.

"When I landed in 'Frisco," he said, "two years ago, I had just forty dollars left after paying the expenses of my trip. I couldn't find anything to do in the city, so I set out for the mines."

"Where did you go?" asked Luke, becoming interested.

"To Oreville. At least, that's what they call it now. Then it didn't have a name."

"I hope you prospered," said Ernest.

"Well, not just at first, but luck came after a while. When I reached the mines I was dead broke, and went to work for somebody else. After a while I staked out a claim for myself. Well, I won't go into particulars, but I've got six thousand dollars salted down with a trust company in 'Frisco, and I've got a few hundred dollars about my clothes besides."

"That's the place for us, Ernest," said Luke.

"So I think," answered Ernest.

"Do you want to go to the mines?" asked the miner.

"Yes; we have our fortunes to make, and are willing to work."

"Then go out to Oreville with me. Have you got any money?"

"We have enough to get there, and perhaps a little over."

"That will do. I'll set you to work on one of my claims. We will share and share alike. How will that suit you?"

"It seems fair. Do you think we can make enough to live upon?"

"That depends partly on yourselves and partly upon luck."

"At any rate, we are willing to work," said Ernest.

"Then I'm your friend, and will help you," said the miner heartily. "Tom Ashton never goes back on his friends."

This was very encouraging. Luke and Ernest were not dead broke, but were near it. They had less than forty dollars between them, and they had already found out that living was high in California. They remained but a day in San Francisco, and then started for Oreville with Mr. Ashton.

The two friends knew nothing of mining, but as practiced in those days it took very little time to learn. They found that their new friend was a man of consideration at Oreville. He owned several claims, and had no difficulty in finding them employment. They set to work at once, for they were almost penniless.

It may easily be supposed that the miners were not fastidious about living. The cabins or huts which they occupied were primitive to the last degree. Generally they did their own cooking, such as it was. Three of these cabins Tom Ashton owned, and one was assigned to the use of Ernest and his friend.

For years Ernest, with his old friend and supposed uncle, Peter Brant, had lived in a cabin at Oak Forks, but it was superior to their new residence. Yet his former experience enabled him the better to accommodate himself to the way of living at Oreville.

For a month the two friends worked steadily at their claim, which Ashton had finally given them. They made little. In fact, it was with difficulty that they made expenses.

"It will be a long time before we make our pile, Ernest," said Luke one evening, as he sat in front of his cabin smoking.

"Yes, Luke, things don't look very promising," replied Ernest gravely.

"If it weren't for my pipe I should feel blue."

"That is where you have the advantage of me, Luke."

"You have the same chance that I have. I have an extra pipe. Won't you take a smoke?"

Ernest shook his head.

"I think I'm better off without it."

"Perhaps you're right, lad. I remember my poor father warned me against smoking. The question is, how long we'd better keep at it."

"Is there anything else, Luke?"

"Well, no; not here."

"And we haven't money enough to get away."

Just then a tall man with reddish hair strode across the field to their cabin.

"Good-evening, neighbors," he said. "How are you making out?"

"Not over well," answered Luke.

"There's a difference in claims. You've got a poor one."

"Probably you are right."

"There's been considerable gold-dust gathered in Oreville within six months. I have been one of the lucky ones."

"Indeed! I am glad of it."

"Yes; I found a nugget two months since that I sold for two thousand dollars. I have made five thousand within a year."

"You've been in luck. I wish the boy and I could be as successful."

"The claim is not good enough to support two. Why not let the boy find something else?"

"You wouldn't have me freeze him out?" said Luke in a tone of displeasure.

"No, but suppose I find something for him to do? What then?"

"That's a different matter. Have you an extra claim?"

"Yes; but that isn't what I offer him. I have a plan in which he can help me."

"What is it?"

"All our supplies come from Sacramento. What we need is a retail store in Oreville—a general store for the sale of almost everything that miners need."

"It would be a good plan to open one," said Luke approvingly.

"Now, you must know that I am an old storekeeper. I had for years a store about twenty miles from Boston. I succeeded fairly with it, but my health gave out. The doctor told me I must not be so confined—that I needed out-of-door exercise. So I came out here and got it. Well, the advice proved good. I am strong and robust, and I feel enterprising. Now, what I propose is this: 'I will open a store, and put the boy in charge under me.'"

"I should like it," said Ernest eagerly.

"You know what we pay for supplies. There's at least a hundred per cent. made, and no one objects to the prices. Why shouldn't we make it as well as the Sacramento storekeepers?"

"True!" said Luke.

"I don't ask you to work for me, my friend, for I don't think it would suit you."

"It wouldn't. At home—that's in Oak Forks, Iowa—I was a hunter. I was always in the open air. The sort of life we live here suits me, though I haven't made much money as yet."

"The boy, I think, would do. He looks like a hustler. I need only look at his face to know that he'd be honest and faithful. What is your name, boy?"

"Ernest Ray."

"That's a good name. You'll only have to live up to it—to the first part of it, I mean. Then you accept my offer?"

"You haven't made any," said Ernest, smiling.

"Oh, you mean about wages. Well, I don't offer any stated wages. I will give you one-third profits, and then your pay will depend on your success. The fact is, you are to keep the store."

Ernest looked an inquiry.

"One person can attend to it by day. I will come in the evening, and take a general look after things. Just at first I'll stay with you till you've got the hang of things. But during the day I shall be looking after my claims. Do you know how to keep books?"

"I understand single-entry bookkeeping."

"That will be all you will require."

"How soon shall you start?" asked Ernest, who began to feel very much interested.

"I will go to Sacramento to-morrow, now that we have come to terms. You know that frame building near Ashton's cabin?"

"Yes."

"I don't know what it was originally used for, but it is empty and I can secure it for our store. It isn't large, but it will hold all we need."

"Yes, that will do."

"You haven't said how you like my offer."

"Of one-third profits? I like it better than if you paid me wages. I will make it amount to a good deal."

"That will suit me. I don't care how much you make out of it, for I shall make twice as much."

"How did you happen to think of me?"

"I've watched you ever since you came. I can judge of anyone, man or boy, if I have time enough to take stock of him. I saw that you were just the man for me."

"Boy," suggested Ernest, smiling.

"Oh, well, I'll make a man of you. By the way, an idea has just occurred to me. You'd better go to Sacramento with me to-morrow."

"I should like to do it," said Ernest.

"Then you can notice where I buy my supplies. You may need to go alone sometimes."

"At what time will we start?"

"The stage leaves at seven o'clock."

"I will be ready."



CHAPTER XXVIII

STOREKEEPING

The journey to Sacramento was made, the goods selected, and in less than a week the new store was stocked. In the arrangement of goods Ernest took a zealous part. He had never served in a store, yet it seemed to come natural to him, and he felt more interest in it than in the work of mining.

After the store was in full working order, Horace Ames left Ernest as sole manager, coming in only in the evening to look at the books, for Ernest as far as possible kept a record of every sale.

Storekeeping in those days and in that country was unusually profitable. Ernest made a little comparison between the cost of goods and the selling price, and arrived at the conclusion that the average profits were a hundred per cent. And still the miners were able to buy goods cheaper than when they sent to Sacramento for them.

At the end of the first week Ernest figured up the sales and found they aggregated two hundred dollars. His share of the profit amounted to a little over thirty dollars.

This was encouraging, being three times as much as he had ever realized in the same length of time from mining. There was one embarrassment. There was no bank in the place where money could be deposited, and of course the chance of loss by robbery was much increased. However, his partner purchased a small safe, and this afforded some security.

One day a man entered the store and purchased a pipe and tobacco. He was a stranger to Ernest, but there was something familiar in his look, yet he could not place him.

The newcomer looked about with considerable curiosity.

"You have quite a snug store here," he remarked.

"Yes."

"Does it belong to you?"

"I have an interest in it, but it belongs to Mr. Ames."

"Is he here much?"

"He usually comes in evenings, but he is interested in mining."

"You seem to have a good trade."

"What makes you think so?"

"You have a good stock. You would not keep so many goods unless you had a call for them."

"Have I ever seen you before?" asked Ernest abruptly, for the idea grew upon him that he and his new customer had met somewhere under peculiar circumstances.

"I don't know. I don't remember you," answered the customer, shrugging his shoulders. "I haven't been in California long. I suppose you were born here."

"No; very few of those now living in California were born here. I once lived in Iowa. Were you ever there?"

"Never," answered the customer. "I've been in Missouri, but never in Iowa."

"I have never been in that State. Are you going to stay here?"

"I don't know. It depends on whether I can make any money. I suppose you don't want to hire a clerk?"

"No."

Ernest said to himself that this man with his shifty looks and suspicious appearance would be about the last man he would think of engaging.

"Perhaps Mr. Ames would give you a chance to work some of his claims," he suggested.

"I will look about me a little before I apply to him," replied the customer.

"Did you come here alone?" he asked after a pause.

"No. A friend came with me—Luke Robbins."

The stranger started a little when Ernest pronounced this name, so that young Ray was led to inquire, "Do you know Luke?"

"How should I know him? Is he a young man?"

"No; he is probably about your age."

"I suppose he came with you from Nebraska?"

"Iowa."

"Oh, yes, Iowa. He isn't in the store, is he?"

"He is working for Mr. Ashton on one of his claims."

At this point a new customer came in and the visitor, after a brief delay, left the store.

When Ernest had waited upon the new customer he looked for the first visitor, but missed him.

"I wonder who he was," he reflected, puzzled. "I am sure that I have seen him before."

But think as he might he could not trace him.

Yet with this man he had had a very exciting experience in Oak Forks, for it was no other than Tom Burns, the tramp who had entered his cabin during the night and robbed him, and later had attacked him when digging for Peter's hidden treasure. It had been only a few months since they had met, but Tom Burns, during that time, had grown a thick beard, which had helped to disguise him.

It is hardly necessary to explain how Burns had found his way out to Oreville. It was his business to tramp about the country, and it had struck him that in the land of gold he would have a chance to line his pockets with treasure which did not belong to him. So fortune had directed his steps to Oreville.

When he entered the store in which Ernest was employed, he immediately, and in some surprise, recognized the boy of Oak Forks. He was glad to find that Ernest did not recognize him, and he immediately began to consider in what way he could turn the circumstance to his own advantage.

"I wonder if the boy sleeps there," he said to himself. "If so, I will make him a visit to-night. Probably the money he has taken during the day will be in some drawer where I can get hold of it."

As he was leaving the store in the stealthy way habitual to him, he met a man walking toward the place with a long and careless stride.

He started nervously, for this man was one whom he dreaded, and had reason to fear.

It was Luke Robbins, who, tired with working the claim, was going to the store to replenish his stock of tobacco.

Tom Burns pulled his soft hat down over his eyes and pushed swiftly on.

Luke Robbins halted a moment and looked at him. As in Ernest's case, he seemed to see something familiar in the appearance of the tramp. He realized, at all events, that he was a stranger in Oreville, for he knew everyone in the mining settlement.

"Who are you, stranger? Have I seen you before?" asked Luke, hailing him.

Tom Burns did not dare to reply, for he feared that Luke might prove to have a better memory than Ernest. So he was passing on without a response, when Luke, who considered his conduct suspicious, demanded, in a peremptory tone, "Who are you? Do you live here?"

Tom Burns shrugged his shoulders, and said, disguising his voice, "Me no understand English, boss."

"What countryman are you?" asked Luke suspiciously.

"Italian," answered Tom.

"Humph! you are the first Italian I have seen in Oreville."

"Si, signor," answered Tom, and this comprised all the Italian he knew.

"Well, I don't think you will find any inducement to stay."

"Si, signor," replied Burns meekly.

Without another word Luke entered the store.

"Ernest," he said, "I am out of tobacco, and must have a smoke. Give me half a pound."

"All right, Luke."

"I ran across an Italian just outside. He seemed to be leaving the store."

"An Italian?" queried Ernest, his tone betraying surprise.

"Yes. Wasn't he in here?"

"There was a man in here—a stranger, but I don't think he was an Italian."

"This man answered me in some Italian gibberish. He said he couldn't understand English."

"What was his appearance?"

Luke described him.

"It's the same man that was in here just now, but he could speak English as well as you or I."

"Did you have some conversation with him?"

"Yes. He looked familiar to me, and I asked him who he was. He said he had come from Missouri. He was in search of work."

"You say he understood and spoke English?"

"Yes."

"Then I wonder what could be his game."

"Don't he look familiar to you?"

"Yes; there was something familiar about his appearance, but I couldn't place him."

"He asked me if I couldn't employ him in the store. I told him Mr. Ames might give him a chance at mining."

"Well?"

"He said he would look round a little before deciding."

"Did he buy anything?"

"Yes, tobacco."

"Did you mention my name?"

"Yes, and he looked uneasy."

"Ernest," said Luke Robbins, with a sudden inspiration, "I know the man."

"Who is it?"

"Don't you recall any man at Oak Forks with whom you had trouble?"

"Tom Burns?"

"Yes. That's the man."

"Why didn't we recognize him then?"

"Because he has grown a full beard."

"That's so, Luke. I understand now why he looked so familiar. I am sorry to see him here."

"He'd better not undertake any of his rascalities or he will find himself in hot water."



CHAPTER XXIX

TOM BURNS MAKES A CALL

When Burns left the store he walked to the outskirts of the mining settlement, not wishing to attract attention. He wished especially to avoid encountering Luke Robbins, with the strength of whose arm he was disagreeably familiar.

He proposed to keep out of sight until night, and then make a visit to the store. It would go hard with him if he did not make a raise there, either in the shape of money or articles of value.

He came to a cabin standing by itself, at a considerable distance from the homes of the other miners. Sitting in front of it was a man with grizzled beard whose appearance indicated advanced age. There were lines upon his face that betrayed ill health.

"I wonder if anything can be got out of him," thought Tom Burns. "I'll see."

"Good-day, sir," he said, affably.

The old man looked up.

"Good-day," he replied. "Who may you be?"

"I'm an unfortunate man, in search of employment."

"When people are unfortunate there is generally a reason for it. Are you intemperate?"

"No, sir," answered Burns, as if horror-stricken. "I hate the taste of liquor."

"I am glad to hear it."

"I belong to three temperance societies," continued Tom, by way of deepening the favorable impression he thought he had made.

"And still you are poor?"

"Yes," answered Burns. "Once I was prosperous, but I was ruined by signing notes for an unprincipled man who took advantage of my friendship. Do you think I can find work here?"

"I don't know. Probably you can get a chance to work on one of Mr. Ames's claims."

"Is it Mr. Ames who owns the store?"

"Yes."

"I called there to buy some tobacco. Is the boy there his son?"

"No; he is a recent arrival in Oreville. He is a very smart boy."

"Is he? Mr. Ames trusts him, I suppose?"

"Yes. Why shouldn't he?"

"I—I would rather not answer that question."

"Have you ever met the boy before?"

"Yes; I met him in the East," answered Burns.

"Since you have said so much you must say more. I am a cousin of Mr. Ames, and if you know anything unfavorable of the boy, it is your duty to tell me."

"I have nothing against the boy, and would prefer not to speak."

"I insist upon your doing it."

"It is only this. When I knew him he was employed in a store. He was trusted as he appears to be here. One night the store was robbed—that is, some money disappeared, and the boy claimed that it was broken into by thieves, who took the money, whereas he took it himself."

"That seems bad. Was it proved that he took the money?"

"Yes. That's why he was compelled to leave the place."

"Did you come here to expose him?"

"No; I didn't know he was here. I was very much taken by surprise when I saw him in the store."

"This is important, if true. Mr. Ames ought to be informed."

"Don't tell him while I am here. The boy is very revengeful, and he might try to do me an injury."

"Are you afraid of a boy?"

"I am a man of peace. I don't want to get into any difficulty."

"I suppose you wonder that I am sitting here while others are at work."

"Well, it did cross my mind."

"My spine is affected. I look well, but I cannot walk. I hope to be better after a while, but at present I am comparatively helpless."

"Can't I help you?"

"You may go into the cabin, and bring me a bottle of medicine which you will find in the cupboard."

Burns entered the cabin gladly. It occurred to him that he might find something worth taking.

On the wall, hanging from a nail, was a gold watch. It was too good a chance to be lost. It might or it might not be valuable, but at any rate it was worth something.

So, while securing the bottle, Burns slyly possessed himself of the watch, which he slipped into his inside breast pocket.

"Here is the bottle, sir," he said, meekly.

"Thank you. Now bring a spoon which you will find on the table."

Burns did so.

"Now pour out a teaspoonful, which I will take."

"I am glad to be of service to you. Don't you want an attendant while you are sick?"

"There would not be enough for you to do. I have a son at work in the mines who is here morning and night, and he gives me all the care I require."

"I am sorry to hear that," thought Burns. "The son may be dangerous."

"Then, sir, I will bid you good-by. I will pray for your recovery."

"Thank you. The prayers of the righteous avail much. Are you righteous?"

"It isn't for me to say, sir. I don't want to boast."

"That is creditable to you. By the way, are you hungry?"

"I haven't broken my fast since morning."

"You will find some cold meat and a loaf of bread in the cupboard. It is plain, but if you are hungry you will enjoy it."

"Thank you, sir. I will accept your kind invitation."

Tom Burns was really hungry, and he did justice to the food offered him.

When his lunch was over he came outside.

"Thank you," he said, "for your kindness."

"Out here we are always glad to give a meal of victuals to a stranger who needs it. Are you going to stay long in Oreville?"

"If I can get anything to do I may. You see I am a poor man, and stand in pressing need of employment."

"Keep up your courage! Something will turn up for you. I will ask my son if he cannot find something for you to do."

"Thank you, sir. I will bid you good-by, with thanks for your kindness."

"If you are not pressed for time, I will send you on an errand."

"All right, sir. I shall be glad to be of service to you."

"Here is a Mexican dollar. You may go to the store and bring me a dozen eggs. If there is any change you may keep it."

"Thank you, sir."

"A dollar in!" thought Burns, as he turned away from the cabin. "I think I can turn it to a better use than spending it in eggs. That was a profitable call. I made a gold watch and a dollar by it. The old man can't pursue me, thanks to his spinal complaint."

"That is a very clever fellow," reflected the old man, when Burns had started on his errand. "A bit too religious to suit my taste. Still he seemed grateful for the little I did for him. If he had a little more push and get up and get about him he would succeed better. Why, he isn't more than forty and he confesses himself a failure. Why, at forty I considered myself a young man, and was full of dash and enterprise. Now I am sixty and tied to my seat by this spinal trouble. However, I've got something laid by, and, old as I am, I feel independent as far as money goes."

Half an hour—an hour—passed, and still the old man found himself alone. His messenger had not come back.

But there came up the path a tall, muscular figure, who greeted the old man in a bluff, off-hand way.

"How are you, Luke?" said the old man. "I was feeling lonely. I am glad to see you."

"Have you been alone since morning?"

"Not quite all the time. I had quite a long call from a stranger."

"A stranger!" repeated Luke suspiciously. "What was his appearance?"

The old man described Burns, and Luke knew him at once.

"What did he say to you?"

"That reminds me—he said he knew the boy whom Horace has put in the store—young Ray."

"Did he?"

"Yes, and he doesn't speak well of him."

"What does he say about him?"

"I don't like to tell you, Luke, for I believe he is a protege of yours."

"Don't mind that. If there is anything to be said unfavorable of Ernest I ought to know it."

"He says the boy robbed a store in which he was employed, and then pretended it was entered by thieves. It was on that account, he says, that the boy was compelled to leave the town where he lived and come to California."

"Really, that is very interesting. To my own personal knowledge the boy was never before employed in a store, and he came out to California with me."

"Then what could the man mean?"

"I can't say. I can only tell you that he is a professional thief."

"Look quick, Luke, and see if my gold watch is hanging on a nail near the cupboard."

"No, it is not there."

"Then the rascal must have stolen it. I gave him a Mexican dollar to buy some eggs at the store."

"I don't think you will ever see it again, unless I catch the thief, as I may to-night."



CHAPTER XXX

A BURGLAR'S FAILURE

If Tom Burns had been more prudent, he would have made good his escape with the money and gold watch he had already secured. But he was too greedy for gain.

He pictured to himself the store with its goodly stock of money taken in during the day, and he felt an irresistible craving for it. There might be one or two hundred dollars, and no one in charge but a boy whom he could easily overpower.

Apart from the pecuniary gain he felt that he should enjoy getting the best of Ernest, who had already foiled him at Oak Forks.

"This time he will come out second best," chuckled Burns to himself.

Then he laughed when he remembered how his appearance had puzzled Ernest.

"It was a good idea growin' a beard," he said to himself. "Seems to have disguised me pretty well. The boy thought he had seen me before, but he couldn't make out where. The next time he'll know me, I reckon.

"I must keep out of the way till night," he said to himself. "It won't do for me to be seen prowlin' round the settlement."

He retired a mile or two among the hills, and waited impatiently for night to come.

"It is lucky that the old man gave me a meal," he reflected, "otherwise I should be about starved. I wonder if that watch is worth much."

He examined the watch, and decided that its value was probably not far from a hundred dollars. In fact, the old man had bought it in St. Louis, and had selected a high-priced article.

It did occur to Burns that perhaps he had better remain satisfied with what he had got, for the watch would probably bring him fifty dollars at a sacrifice sale; but the temptation to stay was too strong.

"It would be a sin to give up such a fine chance," he reflected. "There's next to no risk, and I may get two hundred dollars."

Then he began to consider what he would do in that case. He decided that he would go to San Francisco, and see what pickings he could find there.

He had already found out that mining men and others in the far West were more careless about their money than those in the East, probably because money came easier.

"I did well when I came out here," he said to himself in a tone of congratulation. "I'll make hay while the sun shines."

Meanwhile, though he did not know it, his visit was expected, and preparations were being made to receive him.

After supper Luke Robbins came to the store and held a conference with Ernest.

"I am going to pass the night with you, lad," he said.

"I wish you would, Luke."

"I want to help you do the honors to my old friend Burns."

"Perhaps he won't call."

"If he knows what's best for him he won't, but he will be like the foolish moth, and won't be contented till he has singed his wings. I will look about me and see where to bestow myself for the night."

Ernest occupied a bed in the rear of the store, just behind one of the counters. It was near a window in the rear of the building.

"I'll take that bed, Ernest, and you can find another place."

"Shall I fasten the window?"

"No. I am going to make it easy for my friend, Burns, to get in. Whether he will find it as easy to get out will be another matter."

Nothing was said to the miners about the presence of a thief in the settlement. At that time there was no toleration for thieves. The punishment visited upon them was short, sharp and decisive. The judge most in favor was Judge Lynch, and woe be to the offender who ventured to interfere with the rights of property.

Had Luke breathed a word about Burns, half a dozen miners would have volunteered to stand guard, and would thus have interfered with Tom Burns's visit.

"I want to keep all the fun to myself, Ernest," said Luke. "We'll give him a lesson he won't soon forget. If I told the boys they'd hang him up in short order. I don't want to take the fellow's life, but I'll give him a first-class scare."

It was about ten minutes of twelve when Tom Burns, leaving his place of concealment, walked with eager steps toward the mining settlement. The one street was not illuminated, for Oreville had not got along as far as that. The moon gave an indistinct light, relieving the night of a part of its gloom.

Burns looked from one cabin to another with a wistful glance.

"I suppose some of these miners have got a lot of gold-dust hidden away in their shanties," he said to himself. "I wish I knew where I could light on some of their treasure."

But then it occurred to him that every miner was probably armed, and would make it dangerous to any intruder.

So Tom Burns kept on his way. He was troubled by no conscientious scruples. He had got beyond that long ago. Sometimes it did occur to him to wonder how it would seem to settle down as a man of respectability and influence, taking a prominent part in the affairs of town and church.

"It might have been," he muttered. "My father was a man of that sort. Why not I? If I hadn't gone wrong in my early days, if I had not been tempted by the devil to rob the storekeeper for whom I worked, and so made myself an outcast and a pariah, who knows but I might have been at this moment Thomas Burns, Esq., of some municipality, instead of Tom Burns, the tramp? However, it is foolish to speculate about this. I am what I am, and there is little chance of my being anything else."

So he dismissed the past, and recalled the work he had set for himself.

Everything was still. In the mining village probably there was not a person awake. It was like a dead town. Everything seemed favorable to his designs.

There was the store. He could see it already. And now there was nothing to do but to get in and take the money, which he had no doubt was waiting ready to his hand.

Perhaps he might be fortunate enough to secure it without waking the boy. He hoped so, at any rate, for he was not a desperate or cruel man. He did not wish to injure Ernest unless it should be absolutely necessary.

Arriving at his destination, he paused to reconsider.

He did not expect to enter by the front door. He did not as yet know whether there was any other. But at any rate there must be a window somewhere, and he preferred to get in that way.

He walked around to the rear of the store, and there he discovered the window. He had been afraid it might be blockaded with shelves, that would make entrance difficult, but fortunately this did not appear to be the case. He stood at the window and looked in.

The faint moonlight did not enable him to penetrate the interior very far, but he could make out something. There were goods of various kinds scattered about, and he could just see a recumbent figure on a bed near the counter.

"That's the boy," he said to himself. "I wonder if he is asleep."

There seemed to be no doubt on this point.

But for the indistinct light Tom Burns might have thought the outstretched figure rather large for a boy. But he only glanced at it furtively.

The next thing to consider was whether the window was fastened. In that case he would have some difficulty, though for this he was prepared, having an instrument by which he could cut a pane of glass, and, thrusting in his hand, unfasten the catch.

But through some strange inadvertence, apparently, the window was not fastened, and much to his relief he had no difficulty in lifting it.

He was as careful as possible, fearing lest he might stumble over some article, and by the noise betray his presence.

What if there was a dog inside? This thought brought alarm to the burglar. In that case his visit would probably be a failure. He remembered, however, with a feeling of relief, that he had seen no dog about during his visit to the store during the day.

Now that he had passed through the window, and was fairly in the store, he looked round for the money drawer. He had not seen the safe, or probably he might not have entered the store at all, for he was not expert in breaking open safes, and at any rate it would be a matter of time and difficulty. So he was looking about when, as he passed by the bed, he felt himself seized by the leg. Evidently the sleeper had awakened and discovered his presence.

Burns got down on his knees and grasped the recumbent figure by the throat.

"Lie still, or I'll choke you!" he said fiercely.

But as he spoke he felt the rough beard of a man, and with dismay he realized that he had tackled a more formidable foe than the boy for whom he was prepared.

He felt himself seized with an iron grasp.

"I've got you, you rascally burglar!" were the words he heard, and gave himself up for lost.

"Who are you?" he asked faintly.

"I am Luke Robbins, and I know you of old. You are Tom Burns!"



CHAPTER XXXI

THE ADVERTISEMENT

If there was anyone of whom Tom Burns stood in fear it was Luke Robbins. When he found himself in the grasp of his dreaded enemy, he grew weak with terror.

It was no longer a question of successful robbery. It was a matter of personal safety.

"Well, what have you to say for yourself?" demanded Luke, tightening his grasp.

"Have mercy on me, Mr. Robbins! Don't kill me!" ejaculated Burns, half choked.

"What did you come here for?"

"I—I had no money, and——"

"You thought you could get some here?"

"Ye-es," faltered Burns.

"You thought you would be more than a match for the boy. Well, you have no boy to deal with."

"I know that very well," confessed Burns.

"How long have you been in Oreville?"

"I only came this morning."

"You have improved your time," said Luke dryly. "You have stolen a gold watch, besides making this attempt at robbery."

Tom Burns could not deny it, though he was surprised at Luke's knowledge.

"Hand over that watch!" said Luke in a tone of authority.

"Will you let me go if I do?"

"I will make no conditions with you. Hand over the watch!"

Burns drew it from his inside pocket and handed it over.

"Humph! So far so good. Now how about that dollar you took to buy eggs?"

"It is the only money I have, except a few pennies. Please let me keep it."

"If I tell what you have done to the miners you won't need any more money," said Luke grimly.

"Why not?" asked Burns, trembling.

"Why not?" repeated Luke. "Because they will hang you to the nearest tree. You won't need to trouble about money matters after that."

"You won't give me up, Mr. Robbins," pleaded Burns, in an agony of terror. "I—I am not fit to die. Besides, I am a young man. I am not yet forty. I will turn over a new leaf."

"It's high time you did. It is a long time since you earned an honest living."

"I know it, Mr. Robbins. I have been a bad man, but it is not too late to reform. If you'll let me go I will leave Oreville to-night, and I will never trouble you again."

"It isn't me you have troubled. It is the boy. You robbed him, or tried to do it, at Oak Forks, and now you have turned up here."

"I didn't know he was here."

"You didn't know I was here, or I think you would have given the place a wide berth."

"I am very sorry for what I did, and if you'll only spare my life, I'll promise to reform."

"I haven't much faith in your promises, but I'll leave it to the boy. Ernest, what shall I do with this man?"

Ernest had come forward, and was standing but a few feet from Luke and his captive.

"If he promises to reform," said Ernest, "you'd better give him another chance, Luke."

"I am not sure that I ought to, but it is you to whom he has done the most harm. If you give him over to the miners we shall never be troubled by him again."

Tom Burns turned pale, for he knew that life and death were in the balance, and that those two—Luke and the boy—were to decide his fate.

Ernest could not help pitying the trembling wretch. He was naturally kind-hearted, and at that moment he felt that he could forgive Burns all that he had done.

"Since you have left it to me, Luke," he said, "let him go."

"It shall be as you say, Ernest."

As he spoke he released his hold, and Tom Burns stood erect. He breathed a deep sigh of relief.

"May I go?" he asked submissively.

"Yes."

Before leaving he turned to Ernest.

"You are a good-hearted boy," he said, "and I shall not forget that you have saved my life. If I am ever able to do anything for you, I will do it. You will find that Tom Burns, bad as he has been, knows how to be grateful."

"I think you mean what you say," returned Ernest. "I hope you will keep your promise and will turn over a new leaf. Is it true that you are penniless?"

"Not quite. This is all I have."

Burns drew from his pocket a handful of small change—less than a dollar in all—and held it out for inspection.

"Then I will help you along."

Ernest took from his pocket a five-dollar gold piece, and offered it to the tramp.

"That is more than I would do for him," said Luke.

"It is more than I deserve," replied Burns, "but you won't be sorry for your kindness. If ever you see me again, I shall be a different man."

He passed out of the window, and they saw him no more.

Luke and Ernest said very little of their night's adventure, but the gold watch and the Mexican dollar were returned to the man from whom they had been taken.

Six months passed. Oreville had doubled its population, the mines had yielded a large sum in gold-dust, and the store presided over by Ernest was considerably enlarged.

His services had been so satisfactory that Horace Ames, whose time was taken up elsewhere, had raised his share of the profits to one-half.

At the end of six months, besides defraying his expenses, Ernest found himself possessed of a thousand dollars.

"Luke, I feel rich," said he, when his faithful friend came round for a chat.

"You've done better than I have," rejoined Luke. "The most I have been able to scrape together is four hundred dollars."

"I will give you a part of my money, so that we may be even."

"No, you won't, Ernest. What do you take me for?"

"Mr. Ames has been very liberal, and that is why I have got so much. I don't feel that I ought to have so much more than you."

"Don't bother about me, lad; I feel rich with four hundred dollars. I never was worth so much before, though I'm almost three times your age. And I wouldn't have that but for you."

"How do you make that out, Luke?"

"Because I never had any ambition till I met you. I never thought of saving money; as long as I got enough to eat I cared for nothing else. I should have died without enough to bury me if you had not set me the example of putting something by for a rainy day."

"I am glad if I have done you any good, Luke, for you have been a kind friend to me."

A week later Luke came into the store, holding a letter in his hand.

"Here is a letter for you, Ernest," he said. "I was passing the post-office just now when I was hailed by the postmaster, who asked me if I would take the letter to you. I didn't know that you had any correspondents."

"Nor I, Luke. I think it is the first letter I ever received. Whom can it be from?"

"From some one who knows you are here. It is post-marked St. Louis."

"Well, I can easily discover who wrote it," said Ernest, as he cut open the envelope with his penknife.

He turned at once to the signature, and exclaimed, in great surprise, "Why, it's from Tom Burns."

"The man who tried to rob the store?"

"Yes."

"He has probably written to ask you for some money."

"No, Luke, you are mistaken. I will read it to you."

The letter started thus:

Ernest Ray: You will probably be surprised to hear from me. Let me begin by saying that I have kept the promise I made to you and Mr. Robbins when you let me off six months ago. I have turned over a new leaf, and have been strictly honest ever since, as I promised you I would be.

I won't trouble you with an account of my struggles to get along. I will only say that I am employed at present as a waiter at the Planters' Hotel, and though I can't save up much money, I am able to live comfortably. But you will wonder why I am writing to you. It is because I have seen your name mentioned in an advertisement in one of the St. Louis daily papers. I inclose the advertisement, and hope it is something to your advantage. I have taken the liberty to write to Mr. Bolton, telling him where you were six months since, and I now write to you so that you may communicate with him also. Yours respectfully,

Tom Burns.

The advertisement appended ran thus:

INFORMATION WANTED.—Should this meet the eye of Ernest Ray, some time residing at Oak Forks, Iowa, he is requested to communicate with Benjamin Bolton, Attorney at Law, 182 Nassau Street, New York City.



CHAPTER XXXII

MR. BOLTON AS A HUSTLER

When Benjamin Bolton left the house of Stephen Ray with a hundred dollars in his pocket, it was his clearly defined purpose to find the boy who had been so grossly wronged, and force the present holder of the Ray estate to make restitution.

Only a few hours previous he had been nearly penniless. Even now, though he was provided with a sum of money that made him feel comparatively rich, he knew it would not last long.

He provided himself with a respectable suit of clothing, and took the next train for New York. He had been in the metropolis two or three times in the course of his life, but knew no one there.

While other paths might be open to him, for he was a man of education and worldly experience, he felt that he should like to get back into his own profession. He flattered himself that if properly started he could make himself valuable to an established attorney in the way of hunting up cases, and taking part in any legal work that might be intrusted to him.

But how could he, an unknown man, recommend himself to any lawyer whose standing and business would make a connection with him desirable? Perhaps in any other business there would be less difficulty in making a start.

But Mr. Bolton was resolute and determined, and fortune favored him.

Within thirty miles of the city a stout gentleman of perhaps fifty entered the car and sat beside him. He looked like a well-to-do business man, free from care, but for the anxious expression on his face. He appeared like a man in trouble who stood in need of advice.

The train had gone several miles before he decided to confide in the quiet man who sat beside him. He had already taken stock of Bolton in furtive glances.

"There is something on his mind," thought Bolton. "He looks as if he wished to speak to some one."

He addressed a casual remark to his companion, who instantly responded.

"I don't like to trouble you," he said, "but I am somewhat perplexed."

"My dear sir, if in any way I can help you I shall be glad to do so," answered Bolton. "I am a lawyer——"

"Are you?" said the other eagerly. "I want to meet a good, honest and smart lawyer, who will undertake a case for me."

Bolton pricked up his ears. This seemed to be a providential opportunity, of which he resolved to avail himself.

"I should not like to praise myself," he said modestly, "but I think you will find me faithful to your interests."

"No doubt of it, sir. Are you a New York lawyer?"

"I am about to connect myself with a law firm in the city," answered Bolton, hoping that this statement might prove accurate.

"Then you will be able to help me."

"State your case, if you don't mind."

Bolton took out a small memorandum-book, and, pencil in hand, sat ready to take down the important points.

"Twenty years ago my father died, leaving an estate of fifty thousand dollars. It was divided equally between my sister Martha and myself. I married, and Martha for the last twenty years has been a member of my family. Being a spinster, with only herself to provide for, her property has doubled, while I, having several children, have barely held my own. Of course I expected that my children and myself would inherit Martha's money when she died."

"Very natural, sir, and very just."

"Well, Martha died last August. Imagine my dismay when her will was opened and proved to bequeath her entire estate to various charities in which she never took any particular interest when living."

"Do you suspect anyone of influencing her to this disposition of her property?"

"Yes, she had various conversations with a collector for these societies, who resided in the town during the summer, who sought an introduction when he learned that she was a lady of independent fortune. He called frequently, and flattered my sister, who had lately shown signs of mental weakness."

"Did she cut off your family entirely in her will?"

"Yes, she didn't leave even a dollar to any one of my children, though one of my daughters was named for her."

"Was the collector entitled to a commission on sums secured for the societies which he represented?"

"Yes, that is the cause of his zeal. He would make a very handsome percentage on an estate as large as my sister's."

"But for him would she have been likely to cut off her relatives?"

"No. We should probably have received every dollar."

"Do you think the collector cherished any matrimonial designs with reference to your sister?"

"I did think so at one time, but Martha's condition as an invalid led her to discourage his attentions, though she was evidently flattered by them."

"Of course you wish to break the will?"

"Yes. Do you think it can be done?"

"Upon the basis of what you have told me I should think the chances were greatly in your favor."

His companion brightened up very perceptibly at this assurance.

"Have you ever been employed in any similar cases?" he asked.

"My dear sir, I have a very important case of the kind on my hands at this moment. The amount involved is quarter of a million dollars."

Mr. Bolton rose greatly in the estimation of his new client after this statement.

"Is the case at all similar?"

"Hardly. It is the case of a will concealed, or rather suppressed, and acting upon a will previously made. I cannot go into details, as I wish to keep our enemy in the dark."

"I understand. Have you your card with you, so that I can call at your office?"

This was a puzzling question for Bolton, but he was equal to the occasion.

"Tell me what hotel you propose to stop at, and I will call upon you at eleven o'clock to-morrow morning."

"I don't know much about the New York hotels."

"Then let me recommend a house," naming a comfortable but not expensive hostelry on upper Broadway.

"I will go there."

"I think you have not yet mentioned your name."

"My name is Ephraim Paulding."

Bolton noted it down in his memorandum-book, and soon after the train ran into the station at Forty-second Street.

There was no time to lose. Bolton made inquiries and obtained the name of a successful lawyer, with an office at 182 Nassau Street. He did not wait till the next day, but made a call that same evening at his house on Lexington Avenue.

Mr. Norcross, the lawyer, entered the parlor with Bolton's card in his hand, and a puzzled expression on his face.

"Have I ever met you before, Mr. Bolton?" he asked.

"No, sir."

"Please state your business."

"I should like to enter your office. I am a lawyer with fifteen years' experience."

"I should hardly think so, considering the strange proposal you are making."

"I am quite aware that it seems so, but I can make it worth your while."

"How?"

"By bringing you business. I can put in your hands now a will case involving an estate of fifty thousand dollars, and further on probably a much more important case."

"You seem to be a hustler."

"I am."

"Where has your professional life been spent?" asked Norcross.

"At Elmira. Now I wish to remove to this city. It will give me a larger and more profitable field."

"Give me some idea of the case you say you can put in my hands."

Bolton did so. His terse and crisp statement—for he was a man of ability—interested the lawyer, and disposed him favorably toward the matter.

The result of the interview was that he engaged Bolton at a small salary and a commission on business brought to the office for a period of three months.

"Thank you," said Bolton as he rose to go. "You will not regret this step."

The next morning Bolton brought his railroad acquaintance to the office, and Mr. Norcross formally undertook his case.

"I think we shall win," he said. "It is an aggravated case of undue influence. Mr. Bolton will from time to time communicate to you the steps we have taken."

It is unnecessary to go into details. It is enough to say that the will was broken, and a goodly sum found its way to the coffers of Lawyer Norcross.

By this time Benjamin Bolton had established himself in the favor of his employer, who at the end of three months made a new and much more advantageous arrangement. Bolton had not yet taken any steps in Ernest's case, but he now felt that the time had come to do so. He wrote to the postmaster at Oak Forks, inquiring if he knew a boy named Ernest Ray, but learned in reply that Ernest had left the place some months before, and had not since been heard from.



CHAPTER XXXIII

ANSWERING THE ADVERTISEMENT

The advertisement for Ernest in a St. Louis daily paper came about in this way.

Bolton was in the habit of inquiring from time to time of Western clients if they were acquainted with any persons bearing the name Ray. One gentleman, who frequently visited St. Louis, answered, "Yes, I know a boy named Ray."

"Tell me all you know about him," said Bolton eagerly.

"I was staying at the Southern Hotel last winter," answered Mr. Windham, "when my attention was called to a bright-looking newsboy who sold the evening papers outside. I was so attracted by him that I inquired his name. He said it was Ray, and that he was alone in the world."

"What was his first name?"

"I can't recall. I am not sure that I heard it."

"Was it Ernest?"

"I cannot speak with any certainty."

"How old did the boy appear to be?"

"About sixteen."

"That would have been the age of Dudley Ray's son," said Bolton to himself.

"I suppose you didn't learn where the boy lived?"

"No."

This was all the information Mr. Windham was able to impart, but Bolton felt that it was possibly of importance. It was the first clue he had been able to obtain.

That Dudley Ray's son should be forced by dire necessity to sell newspapers was not improbable. Bolton therefore inserted the advertisement already mentioned.

A few days later he received two letters post-marked St. Louis.

He opened them with a thrill of excitement. He felt that he was on the verge of making an important discovery.

One letter was addressed in a schoolboy hand, and ran thus:

Dear Sir: I saw your advertisement in one of the morning papers. I hope it means me. My name is not Ernest, but it may have been changed by some people with whom I lived in Nebraska. I am sixteen years old, and I am obliged to earn my living selling papers. My father died when I was a baby, and my mother three years later. I am alone in the world, and am having a hard time. I suppose you wouldn't advertise for me unless you had some good news for me. You may send your answer to this letter to the Southern Hotel. The clerk is a friend of mine, and he says he will save it for me.

Yours respectfully, Arthur Ray.

"That isn't the boy," said Bolton, laying down the letter in disappointment. "The name is different, and, besides, the writer says that his father died when he was a baby. Of course that settles the question. He is a different boy."

He opened the second letter, hoping that it might be more satisfactory.

It was the letter of Tom Burns, setting forth his meeting Ernest at Oak Forks, and afterward at Oreville in California.

"Eureka!" exclaimed Bolton, his face beaming with exultation. "This is the boy and no mistake. I will at once answer this letter, and also write to Ernest Ray in California."

This was the letter received by Burns:

Dear Sir: I am very much indebted to you for the information contained in your letter of two days since. I have reason to think that the boy you mention is the one of whom I am in search. If it proves to be so, I am free to tell you that he will be much benefited by your communication. There is a considerable estate, now wrongfully held by another, to which he is entitled. Should things turn out as I hope, I will see that you lose nothing by the service you have rendered him and myself. I will write to him by this mail. Should you change your address, please notify me.

Yours truly, BENJAMIN BOLTON.

182 Nassau Street, New York.

The letter written to Ernest ran thus:

Ernest Ray, Oreville, California:

I have for some time been seeking to find you. In response to an advertisement inserted in a St. Louis daily paper, I learn that you are at present living in Oreville, California. This information was given me by one Thomas Burns, who is employed at the Planters' Hotel. The name is, I hope, familiar to you. It is very desirable that I should have an interview with you. If you are the son of Dudley Ray, formerly residing at or near Elmira, what I have to say will be greatly to your advantage.

Will you write me at once, letting me know whether this be the case? Also state your present circumstances, and whether you need pecuniary help. It is unfortunate that we are so far apart. I am connected with a New York legal firm, and cannot very well go to California; but I might assist you to come to New York, if as I suppose, your means are limited. Will you write to me at once whether this is the case? I shall anxiously await your reply.

Benjamin Bolton, Attorney at Law.

182 Nassau Street, New York City.

Ernest read this letter with eager interest, and showed it to Luke Robbins.

"What do you think of it, Luke?" he asked.

"What do I think of it? It looks very much as if you were entitled to some money."

"What shall I do?"

"Write this Mr. Bolton that you will go at once to New York, and call upon him."

"But how about the store? I should not like to leave Mr. Ames in the lurch."

"I will take your place here, and to qualify myself for it I will come in to-morrow, and begin to serve an apprenticeship."

Ernest wrote to Bolton that he would start for New York in a week. He added that he had the money necessary for the journey. He said also that he was the son of Dudley Ray, and that he remembered visiting Elmira with his father.

When Bolton received this letter, he exclaimed triumphantly: "Now, Stephen Ray, I have you on the hip. You looked down upon me when I called upon you. In your pride, and your unjust possession of wealth, you thought me beneath your notice. Unless I am mistaken, I shall be the instrument under Providence of taking from you your ill-gotten gains, and carrying out the wishes expressed in the last will of your deceased uncle."

Ernest left Oreville with four hundred dollars in his pocket. The balance of his money he left, in the hands of his friend Horace Ames, upon whom he was authorized to draw if he should have need.

"I don't intend to carry all my money with me," he said to Luke Robbins. "I might lose it all."

"Even if you did, Ernest, you could draw on me. If you need it, do so without any hesitation."

"You are a good friend, Luke," said Ernest warmly. "What should I do without you?"

"I am beginning to wonder what I should do without you, Ernest. Suppose, now, this lawyer puts a fortune in your hands?"

"If he does, Luke, I am sure to need your help in some way."

"Thank you, Ernest. I know you mean what you say. You may find a better friend, but you won't find one that is more ready to serve you than Luke Robbins."

"I am sure of that, Luke," said Ernest with a bright smile as he pressed the rough hand of his faithful friend.

Ernest did not loiter on his way, though he was tempted to stop in Chicago, but he reflected that he would have plenty of chances to visit that bustling city after his business had been attended to.

As he approached Buffalo on the train his attention was attracted to two persons sitting a little distance in front of him. They were a father and son, as he gathered from the conversation.

The son was about his own age and size apparently, but rather more slender in figure. He had a peevish expression, and Ernest doubted whether he would like him.

"Father," Ernest heard him say, "won't you give me a little money? I am dead broke."

"I gave you five dollars when we set out on this journey," he said.

"Well, five dollars won't last forever," was the pert rejoinder.

"It ought to last more than four days, Clarence."

Ernest started. He knew that his cousin's name was Clarence. Could this be Stephen Ray and his son?

Even if it were so, he felt that it would not be advisable to make himself known. This business which was carrying him to New York might bring him into conflict with Stephen Ray. If so, he would not care to let his presence be known.

On arriving at Buffalo Ernest left the train. He had never visited Niagara, and being now so near he felt that he could not forego the opportunity.

He registered at the Tefft House, and decided to remain for a day. This would give him time to see the Falls.

Ernest had a room assigned to him, and went up to it at once to have the luxury of a good wash.

Five minutes afterward Stephen Ray and his son Clarence entered the hotel.

Mr. Ray, in a pompous manner, went up to the desk and said to the clerk: "Can you give me a good room?"

"Yes, sir."

"I want a front room if you have it."

"I can't give you a front room, but I can give you a good side room."

Stephen Ray grumbled a little, but finally decided to take the room offered him. He saw that his haughty manner did not impress the clerk, who was accustomed to men of his class.

Clarence looked over his father's shoulder as he registered.

"Why, pa," he exclaimed in surprise, "there's another guest of our name."

"Where?" asked his father.

"There, three names above your signature."



CHAPTER XXXIV

A STRANGE MEETING

Stephen Ray looked at the register, and started violently as he read the entry:

"Ernest Ray, Oreville, California."

"What's the matter, pa?" asked Clarence, noticing his father's agitation.

"Oh, nothing, nothing," answered his father with an effort.

"Haven't we a cousin named Ernest Ray?"

"We had, but he is dead."

"It is strange that there should be another person of the name."

"Not at all. The world is large, and there are a good many persons of one name."

"This one is from California."

"So I see. By the way," here Mr. Ray addressed the clerk, "did you observe the person who registered under the name of Ray?"

"Yes. It is a boy about the size of this young gentleman."

"It is strange," said Clarence. "It may be our cousin."

"Didn't I tell you that the person you refer to is dead?" said his father testily.

"I don't believe it," thought Clarence, but he did not express his unbelief. He determined, however, to have an interview with the boy, and find out all about him.

He saw Ernest at the table soon after, and so did Stephen Ray. The latter noted with alarm the resemblance of the boy to his cousin Dudley Ray, whose estate he had usurped.

"I hope Bolton won't get hold of him," he said to himself. "It would be dangerous to me."

After supper Mr. Ray went out, leaving Clarence to himself.

He improved the opportunity. Seeing Ernest sitting alone, he went up to him.

"Is your name Ray?" he asked.

"Yes, Ernest Ray."

"My name is Clarence Ray."

"So I thought. We are cousins."

"That's what I told pa, but he said it was not so—that Ernest Ray was dead."

"Your father's name is Stephen Ray?"

"Yes."

"I have known of him and you since I was old enough to remember anything."

"Then you are really my Cousin Ernest?"

"Yes."

"I wonder why pa said you were dead. I will tell pa he is mistaken."

"No, Clarence, I would rather you wouldn't. There are reasons why it is better not to say anything about it."

"All right. Are you well off?"

Ernest smiled.

"I am not rich," he said, "but I am comfortably fixed."

"Do you live in California?"

"I have lived there for the last few months."

"Why did you come East?"

"On a little business."

"I am glad you are well off. I think pa was afraid you were a poor relation."

"Your father is rich?"

"Yes, ever so rich. We've got a fine place near Elmira. If pa wasn't so cranky I would invite you there to visit me."

"Thank you all the same," said Ernest, smiling.

Later in the evening, when Stephen Ray came in, Ernest noticed that he looked at him critically. He, too, examined the man who, he had reason to believe, was enjoying the estates that should be his, and was not attracted toward him.

"What will he say," thought Ernest, "when I make a formal demand for the property?"

"What in the name of all that's unlucky can have brought that boy here at this time?" Stephen Ray was saying to himself.

He never for an instant doubted Ernest's identity—in fact, he could not well have done so, for he bore a strong resemblance to Dudley Ray.

Stephen Ray's curiosity was excited. Ernest did not appear like the average poor relation. He was quite as well dressed as Clarence. Besides, he had registered at a high-priced hotel, which showed that he was not cramped for means.

This gave him satisfaction, as it made it less likely that he would appeal to him for assistance.

Stephen Ray was rather surprised that Clarence made no further reference to Ernest. Had he known that the two had had a conversation he would have been seriously disturbed. He hoped that Bolton would not get hold of the boy.



CHAPTER XXXV

MR. BOLTON AND HIS CLIENT

Benjamin Bolton sat at his desk in the law office of Albert Norcross, on Nassau Street. He was well, even handsomely dressed, and looked very unlike the shabby tramp who had called months before at the house of Stephen Ray.

He was really a man of ability which his employer had found out. He had raised Bolton's salary to a liberal figure, and felt that in securing his services he had made a real acquisition.

Bolton was absorbed in preparation for a case which had been assigned to him, when a boy came to his desk with a card.

Bolton no sooner read the name, "Ernest Ray," than he became eager and excited.

"Tell him to come in," he said.

Ernest, quiet and self-possessed, entered the office and approached the lawyer's desk.

"Are you Mr. Bolton?" he asked.

"Yes, and you——"

"I am Ernest Ray."

Benjamin Bolton looked keenly at the boy, admiring his handsome face and manly bearing.

"I see your father's looks in you," he said.

"Then you knew my father?" said Ernest.

"Yes. We were young men together."

"I am glad to meet you, then."

"You come from California?"

"Yes."

"I judge from your appearance that you have not suffered from poverty."

"I have been fortunate at Oreville. At Oak Forks I lived very humbly with Peter Brant, an old servant of my father."

"Yes, I remember Peter. Is he alive still?"

"No, he died a little less than a year since. Till his death I thought him my uncle and knew no other relatives. Before he died he told me who I was."

"How did he live?"

"On a small sum left by my father. When he died it was all exhausted except a hundred dollars. I took that and went to California with a man named Luke Robbins, who has proved my faithful friend."

"What were you doing in California? Were you working at the mines?"

"No. I was keeping a store where I sold miners' supplies."

"Did it pay you well?"

"I was very well paid for a boy. When I left Oreville I was worth a thousand dollars."

"That is well, but it is only a drop in the bucket compared with the fortune you are entitled to."

"Now held by Mr. Stephen Ray?"

"Yes; he will be surprised to see you in the East."

"He has seen me," said Ernest quickly.

"What!" exclaimed the lawyer. "You have not called upon him?"

"No. I met him on the train and afterwards at a Buffalo hotel. My Cousin Clarence was with him."

"Did you have any conference with them?"

"I talked with Clarence, not with his father."

"Did you think the father knew you?"

"Yes, but he did not speak to me."

"He told me when I called upon him some time ago that you were dead—that you died in Georgia."

"What could have been his object?"

"He did not wish me to find you, for I had the proof that the estate was rightfully yours."

"What led you to think I was alive?"

"I cross-examined Clarence, who did not know his father's desire to keep us apart."

"Is the estate a large one?"

"Quarter of a million, at least."

Ernest's eyes opened wide with amazement.

"But I will introduce you to Mr. Norcross, my principal, and we will talk over our plan of operations. You must assert your rights, and demand that your grandfather's will be carried out. Are you content to place yourself in our hands?"

"Entirely so. But I am sorry for Cousin Stephen. It will be a great blow for him."

"Don't waste any pity upon him. He defrauded your father, and meant to defraud you."



CHAPTER XXXVI

STEPHEN RAY ALARMED

"A gentleman to see you, sir."

This was the message brought to Stephen Ray by the servant one morning.

"Did he give his name?"

"No, sir."

"Very well; bring him up."

Mr. Ray was sitting at the desk in his library. He was looking over some plans for the improvement of his handsome residence.

He proposed to enlarge a lower room by a bay window and to carry the piazza round on each side. It would cost something, but his income was ample—at least four times his expenditure.

He looked up as a handsomely dressed gentleman entered the room.

"What is your business, sir?" asked Stephen Ray formally.

The visitor smiled.

"You don't recognize me, Stephen Ray?" he said.

"Benjamin Bolton!" exclaimed the other, his countenance changing.

"The same."

"I judge from your appearance that your circumstances have improved," said Mr. Ray coldly.

"Fortunately, yes."

"I congratulate you."

"Thank you. The money you kindly loaned me when I was last here did me a great deal of good."

"I presume you have come to repay it," said Ray, with a sneer.

"You are right," and Bolton drew from his pocket two fifty-dollar bills, which he tendered to his host.

Stephen Ray was fond of money, and he received the notes with satisfaction.

"You have acted honorably," he said more graciously. "Are you located in the neighborhood?"

"No, in New York City. I am in a law office there."

"I am pleased with your success. I would ask you to remain, but I am quite busy this morning."

"Excuse me, Mr. Ray, but the repayment of the loan was not my only errand. I am here on more important business."

Stephen Ray's countenance changed. He began to fear that Bolton had found Ernest.

"When I was here last year you told me that Dudley Ray's son, Ernest, was dead."

"Yes, he died in Alabama."

"When I was here before you told me he died in Georgia."

"I believe it was Georgia," said Stephen Ray, disconcerted.

"You will be glad to hear that it is a mistake—about the death, I mean. He is as much alive as you are."

"Mr. Bolton," said Ray angrily, "you are trying to impose upon me. The boy is dead, I tell you."

"And I tell you he is not dead. I saw him only yesterday."

"You may have seen some one who pretended to be Ernest Ray."

"I should not be easily deceived. He is the image of his father."

"I don't believe the boy is alive."

"Shall I bring him here?"

"You need not trouble yourself. I can have nothing to say to him, whether he is really Ernest Ray, or an impostor."

"I beg your pardon. If he is Ernest Ray, under the will which I have in my possession, he is the owner of this property."

Bolton spoke firmly, and looked Ray resolutely in the eye.

Stephen Ray flushed and paled. There was a great fear in his heart, but he resolved to brave it out.

"This is a base conspiracy. Your share in it ought to land you in State's prison."

"I am willing to take my chance of it," said the lawyer. "Didn't you recognize the boy when you saw him?"

"What do you mean?"

"You saw him in the hotel at Buffalo. He recognized you, and had a conversation with your son."

"Had a conversation with Clarence? That is a lie. Clarence never spoke to me about it."

"You had better question him. But there is no need of sparring. I tell you confidently that Ernest Ray is alive, and demands the estate under his grandfather's will, which you hold."

"This is ridiculous. There is but one answer to such a proposal."

"What is that?"

"I refuse absolutely to make any concession to an impostor."

"That is your final answer?"

"It is."

"Then I give you notice that the boy will at once bring suit for the restoration of the estate and the vindication of his rights."

"I suppose you are his lawyer?" sneered Ray.

"The firm with which I am connected has undertaken the case."

"What is the firm?" asked Stephen Ray with an anxiety which he could not conceal.

"Norcross & Co.," answered Bolton.

Great drops of perspiration appeared on the brows of Stephen Ray. He knew well the high reputation and uniform success of the firm in question.

He did not immediately answer, but began to pace the room in agitation. Finally he spoke.

"This has come upon me as a surprise. I thought the boy dead. I may be willing to make some arrangement. Bring him here next week—say Tuesday—and we will talk the matter over."

"You must do more than talk the matter over, Stephen Ray. A great injustice has been done, the wrong must be righted."

"Come here next Tuesday," was the only answer.

The lawyer bowed and withdrew.



CHAPTER XXXVII

ERNEST COMES INTO HIS OWN

On Tuesday Bolton returned with Ernest. Two hours were spent in conference with Stephen Ray. The latter fought hard, but yielded at last. He understood the strength of his opponent's case.

Ernest consented to receive the estate as it was bequeathed to his father, without any demand for back revenues. Whatever Stephen Ray had accumulated besides, he was allowed to retain.

As this amounted to a hundred thousand dollars, Ray felt that it might have been worse. Had he not been dissuaded by Bolton, Ernest would have consented to share the estate with the usurper, but the lawyer represented that this would be condoning the wrong done to his father.

In a month the whole matter was settled, and Stephen Ray removed to Chicago, where he had business interests.

"But what shall I do with this large house?" asked Ernest. "I don't want to live here."

"I know a gentleman who would like to hire it for a term of years," responded Bolton. "He will pay a rental of five thousand dollars a year. The bonds which you inherit will yield an income equally large."

"So that my income will be ten thousand dollars a year?" said Ernest, dazzled.

"Yes."

"What shall I do with it all?"

Bolton smiled.

"You are but seventeen," he said. "A few years hence you will probably marry. Then you can occupy the house yourself. Meanwhile——"

"I will go back to California. Luke will expect me. While I am away I appoint you my man of business. I wish you to have charge of my property at a proper commission."

"I will undertake the charge with pleasure."

Bolton knew how much this would increase his importance in the eyes of the firm by which he was employed. Ernest could not have made a better choice. Bolton was no longer intemperate. He was shrewd and keen, and loyal to his young employer.

Ernest returned to California, but he had lost his old zest for business, now that his fortune was secure. He soon came East again, and entered upon a plan of study, ending with a college course. He brought with him Frank Fox, the son of the dead outlaw, who regarded him with devoted affection. They lived together, and he placed Frank at a well-known school, justly noted for the success of its pupils.

Of the many boys with whom Frank associated not one suspected that the attractive lad, who was a favorite with all, was a son of the desperado whose deeds were a matter of common knowledge in the West. Ernest had cautioned the boy to say as little as possible of his past history.

Years have gone, what Bolton predicted has come to pass. Ernest is a college graduate, and will soon marry a young lady of high position in the city of New York. He will go abroad for a year, and on his return will make his home on his ancestral estate.

Last week he received a letter from a patient in a New York City hospital. It was signed John Franklin, a name with which he was not familiar.

In some wonder he answered the call, and was led to a bed on which lay a gaunt, spectral man, evidently in the last stage of existence.

"Is this John Franklin?" asked Ernest doubtfully.

"That is the name I go by now," answered the dying man.

"Do I know you? Have I ever met you?"

"Yes."

"I don't remember you."

"If I tell you my real name, will you keep it secret?"

"Yes."

"Then I am John Fox. You will not betray me?"

"No; certainly not. Can I do anything for you?"

"Yes; you are the guardian of my brother's child."

"Yes."

"Is he alive? Is he well?"

"Yes."

"Will you bring him here before I die?"

"I will. I cannot refuse the request of a dying man." Ernest brought Frank to the bedside of his dying uncle. It was a sad interview. Frank was moved, but John Fox, seeing him strong, handsome, robust, felt comforted.

"He at least has profited by the fate that overtook his father and myself. I shall die content, for I leave him in good hands. Don't let him think too hardly of us!"

"I will not. So far as I can compass it, his future life shall be happy."

The dying outlaw reached out his hand and pressed Ernest's gratefully. A day later he was dead.

THE END

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Transcriber's Note: Bound with the preceeding book is an excerpt from "Lincoln's Stories and Speeches," specifically from the chapter "Early Life." As originally published, that material is included here.



How Lincoln Became a Captain.

In the threatening aspect of affairs at the time of the Black Hawk War, Governor Reynolds issued a call for volunteers, and among the companies that immediately responded was one from Menard County, Illinois. Many of the volunteers were from New Salem and Clarey's Grove, and Lincoln, being out of business, was first to enlist. The company being full, they held a meeting at Richland for the election of officers. Lincoln had won many hearts and they told him that he must be their captain. It was an office that he did not aspire to, and one for which he felt that he had no special fitness; but he consented to be a candidate. There was but one other candidate for the office (a Mr. Kirkpatrick), and he was one of the most influential men in the county. Previously, Kirkpatrick had been an employer of Lincoln, and was so overbearing in his treatment of the young man that the latter left him.

The simple mode of electing their captain, adopted by the company, was by placing the candidates apart, and telling the men to go and stand with the one they preferred. Lincoln and his competitor took their positions, and then the word was given. At least three out of every four went to Lincoln at once. When it was seen by those who had ranged themselves with the other candidate that Lincoln was the choice of the majority of the company, they left their places, one by one, and came over to the successful side, until Lincoln's opponent in the friendly strife was left standing almost alone.

"I felt badly to see him cut so," says a witness of the scene.

Here was an opportunity for revenge. The humble laborer was his employer's captain, but the opportunity was never improved. Mr. Lincoln frequently confessed that no subsequent success of his life had given him half the satisfaction that this election did. He had achieved public recognition; and to one so humbly bred, the distinction was inexpressibly delightful.



A Humorous Speech—Lincoln in the Black Hawk War.

The friends of General Cass, when that gentleman was a candidate for the Presidency, endeavored to endow him with a military reputation. Mr. Lincoln, at that time a representative in Congress, delivered a speech before the House, which in its allusions to Mr. Cass, was exquisitely sarcastic and irresistibly humorous:

"By the way, Mr. Speaker," said Mr. Lincoln, "do you know I am a military hero? Yes, sir, in the days of the Black Hawk War, I fought, bled and came away. Speaking of General Cass' career reminds me of my own. I was not at Stillman's Defeat, but I was about as near it as Cass to Hull's surrender; and like him I saw the place very soon afterward. It is quite certain I did not break my sword, for I had none to break, but I bent my musket pretty badly on one occasion. * * * If General Cass went in advance of me in picking whortleberries, I guess I surpassed him in charges upon the wild onion. If he saw any live, fighting Indians, it is more than I did, but I had a good many bloody struggles with the mosquitoes, and although I never fainted from loss of blood, I can truly say I was often very hungry."

Mr. Lincoln concluded by saying that if he ever turned Democrat and should run for the Presidency, he hoped they would not make fun of him by attempting to make him a military hero!



Elected to the Legislature.

In 1834, Lincoln was a candidate for the legislature, and was elected by the highest vote cast for any candidate. Major John T. Stuart, an officer in the Black Hawk War, and whose acquaintance Lincoln made at Beardstown, was also elected. Major Stuart had already conceived the highest opinion of the young man, and seeing much of him during the canvass for the election, privately advised him to study law. Stuart was himself engaged in a large and lucrative practice at Springfield.

Lincoln said he was poor—that he had no money to buy books, or to live where books might be borrowed or used. Major Stuart offered to lend him all he needed, and he decided to take the kind lawyer's advice, and accept his offer. At the close of the canvass which resulted in his election, he walked to Springfield, borrowed "a load" of books of Stuart, and took them home with him to New Salem.

Here he began the study of law in good earnest, though with no preceptor. He studied while he had bread, and then started out on a surveying tour to win the money that would buy more.

One who remembers his habits during this period says that he went, day after day, for weeks, and sat under an oak tree near New Salem and read, moving around to keep in the shade as the sun moved. He was so much absorbed that some people thought and said that he was crazy.

Not unfrequently he met and passed his best friends without noticing them. The truth was that he had found the pursuit of his life, and had become very much in earnest.

During Lincoln's campaign he possessed and rode a horse, to procure which he had quite likely sold his compass and chain, for, as soon as the canvass had closed, he sold the horse and bought these instruments indispensable to him in the only pursuit by which he could make his living.

When the time for the assembling of the legislature had arrived Lincoln dropped his law books, shouldered his pack, and, on foot, trudged to Vandalia, then the capital of the State, about a hundred miles, to make his entrance into public life.



"The Long Nine."

The Sangamon County delegation to the Illinois Legislature, in 1834, of which Lincoln was a member, consisting of nine representatives, was so remarkable for the physical altitude of its members that they were known as "The Long Nine." Not a member of the number was less than six feet high, and Lincoln was the tallest of the nine, as he was the leading man intellectually in and out of the House.