LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

would soon discover that he had been robbed. He would naturally be suspected, especially as Joe Marks had knowledge of a gold piece being in his possession.

      There was a small settlement about five miles off, called Daneboro. It was probably the nearest place where he could get a glass of whisky. He must walk there. It was not a pleasant prospect, for the tramp was lazy and not fond of walking, though he had been compelled to do a good deal of it. Still, it seemed to be a necessity, and when he left the store of Joe Marks he set out for Daneboro.

      Thirst was not the only trouble with Tom Burns. He had not eaten anything for about twenty-four hours, and his neglected stomach rebelled. He tightened a girdle about his waist, and walked on in great discomfort. He had perhaps gone two miles when he came to a cabin similar in appearance to that of old Peter Brant. A woman stood in the door-way.

      "My good lady," said Tom, putting on a pitiful expression, "I am a very unfortunate man."

      "Are you?" said the woman, scanning him critically. "You look like a tramp."

      "I do, madam, yet I was once a thriving merchant."

      "You don't look like it."

      "I don't; I acknowledge it."

      "How did you lose your property, if you ever had any?"

      "By signin' notes for my brother. It swept off all my possessions."

      "Then I pity you. That's the way my man lost five hundred dollars, nearly all he had. What can I do for you?"

      "Madam, I am hungry, very hungry."

      "Set right down on the settle, and I'll give you what's left of our breakfast."

      Tom Burns obeyed with alacrity.

      A plate of cold bacon, a cold potato, and some corn bread were placed before him, and he ate them almost voraciously. There had been times in his life when he would have turned up his nose at such fare, but not now.

      "My good lady," he said, "you have saved my life."

      "Well, you must 'a' been hungry," said the woman. "A man that'll eat cold vittles, especially cold potato, ain't shammin'."

      "I wish I had money to offer you–"

      "Oh, never mind that, you're welcome. Can I do anything more for you?"

      "I feel sick, and sometimes, though I am a temperance man, I take whisky for my health. If you had just a sup–"

      "Well, we haven't, and if we had I wouldn't give you any."

      "You misjudge me, madam. You must not think I am a drinker."

      "It's no matter what I think. You can't get any whisky here."

      At Daneboro Tom fared better. He changed his gold piece, drank a pint of whisky, and the next day retraced his steps to old Peter's cabin. He felt satisfied that somewhere near the cabin there were treasures concealed, and he meant to secure them.

      CHAPTER V.

      THE TRAMP TURNS UP AGAIN

      When Peter Brant was laid away under a tree not far from the cabin where he had ended his days, Ernest felt that he was at liberty to begin the new life that lay before him. Despite the natural sadness which he felt at parting with his old friend, he looked forward not without pleasant anticipations to the future and what it might have in store for him.

      Oak Forks had few attractions for him. Time had often dragged wearily with him. He had a literary taste, but could not get hold of books. Peter Brant had about a dozen volumes, none of which he had read himself, but Ernest had read them over and over again. None of the neighbors owned any books. Occasionally a newspaper found its way into the settlement, and this, when it came into Ernest's hands, was devoured, advertisements and all.

      How, then, was his time passed? Partly in hunting, partly in fishing, for there was a small river two miles away; but one could not fish or hunt all the time. He had often felt a vague yearning to go to Chicago, or New York, or anywhere where there would be a broader field and large opportunities, and he had broached the subject to Peter.

      "I can't afford to go, Ernest," the old man would reply. "I must live on the little I have, for I am too old to work."

      "But I am young. I can work," the boy would answer.

      "A boy like you couldn't earn much. Wait till I am dead and then you can go where you like."

      This would always close the discussion, for Ernest did not like to consider such a contingency. Peter represented his world, for he had no one to cling to except the man whom he supposed to be his uncle.

      Now, however, the time had come when he could go forth and enter upon a career. Accordingly he declined Joe Marks' offer to take him into the store. He understood very well that it was only meant in kindness, and that he was not really needed.

      "You don't need me, Joe," he said. "You are very kind, but there must be real work for me somewhere."

      "Well, my lad, I won't stand in your way, but I've known you a long time, and I shall hate to lose sight of you."

      "I'll come back some day, Joe–that is, if I am prosperous, and can."

      "If you are not prosperous, if you fall sick, and need a home and a friend, come back, then. Don't forget your old friend Joe Marks."

      "I won't, Joe," said Ernest heartily.

      "You've got another friend here, Ernest," added Luke Robbins. "I'm a poor man, and my friendship isn't worth much, but you have it, all the same."

      Ernest grasped the hands of both. He felt that each was a friend worth having.

      "You may be sure that I won't forget either of you," he said.

      "When do you expect to go, Ernest, and where?" asked Joe Marks.

      "I shall get away to-morrow, I think, but where I shall go I can't tell yet."

      "Do you need any money?"

      "No; my uncle left me some."

      Ernest had not yet secured the gold, but he knew exactly where it was, and now that all his business was ended, he felt that it was time to possess himself of it. Accordingly he took a spade from the house and bent his steps in the direction of the old oak tree.

      He went alone, for he thought it best not to take anyone into his confidence. Indeed the only persons whom he would have thought of trusting were Joe Marks and Luke Robbins, and they were both employed, Joe in his store and Luke on a hunting expedition.

      Arrived at the tree, Ernest measured off five feet in the direction mentioned by Peter and began to dig. It did not take him long to reach the box, for it was only a foot beneath the surface of the ground.

      It proved to be a cigar-box, for Peter was fond of smoking, though he usually smoked a pipe, as being more economical. Ernest lifted the lid and saw a small roll enclosed in brown wrapping-paper, which, on being removed, revealed twenty five-dollar gold pieces. He regarded them with satisfaction, for they afforded him the means of leaving Oak Forks and going out into the great world which he had such a curiosity to enter.

      But Ernest was not the only one who regarded the gold pieces with satisfaction.

      Hidden behind a tree only a few feet away was a person with whom we are already acquainted. It was Tom Burns, the tramp and vagabond.

      He, too, was out in search of gold. He had come from Daneboro and was prowling round the neighborhood, searching for old Peter's hidden treasure. He had deliberated as to whether the cabin or the fields was the more likely place to have been selected. He had nothing in particular to guide him. He did not, however, venture to approach the house just yet, as it would probably be occupied by Ernest.

      "I wish I knowed where the old man hid his boodle," soliloquized Tom. "I can't dig all over."

      In fact digging was not in Tom's line. It was too much like work, and if there was anything to which Tom was bitterly opposed it was work of any kind.

      "The boy must know. Likely the old man told him," he finally concluded. "I'll watch the boy."

      He feared he might be too late.

Скачать книгу