Bob Burton

"Half of it ought to go to me," said Sally, who was quite as fond of money as her brother.

"I don't know about that. But where's the boy?"

"I don't know. He may have gone over to see the Burtons. He's there most of the time."

"I'll foller him."

Aaron Wolverton went into the shed, and came out with a horse-whip. He did not keep a horse, but still he kept a whip. For what purpose Sam could have told if he had been asked.

"If the boy's become a thief, I want to know it," said Wolverton to himself.

Sam had really started on the way to the Burtons. His uncle struck his trail, so to speak, and followed him. He caught up with his nephew about half a mile away. Sam had thrown himself down on the ground under a cotton-wood tree, and gave himself up to pleasant dreams of the independence which manhood would bring. In his reverie he unconsciously spoke aloud. "When I'm a man, Uncle Aaron won't dare to boss me around as he does now."

The old man, creeping stealthily near, overheard the words, and a malicious smile lighted up his wrinkled face.

"Oho, that's what he's thinkin' of already," he muttered. "What more?"

"I wish I could live with the Burtons," proceeded the unconscious Sam. "They would treat a boy decently."

"So I don't treat him decently," repeated Wolverton, his small eyes snapping.

He had by this time crawled behind the trunk of the tree under which Sam was reclining.

"I sometimes think I'd like to run away and never come back," continued Sam.

"You do, hey?" snarled Wolverton, as he stepped out from behind the tree.

Sam jumped to his feet in dire dismay, and gazed at his uncle panic-stricken.

"Did you just come?" he stammered. "I didn't hear you."

"No, I reckon not," laughed his uncle, with a queer smile. "So you want to get quit of your aunt and me, do you?"

"I don't reckon to live with you always," faltered Sam.

"No; but you ain't a-goin' to leave us just yet. There's a little matter I've got to inquire into."

Sam looked up inquiringly.

"What is it?"

"What did you go into Locke's store for?" demanded his uncle, searchingly.

"I just went in to look round," answered Sam, evasively.

"You went to look at a fishing-pole," said Aaron Wolverton, sternly.

"What if I did?" asked Sam, plucking up a little courage.

"Did you have the money to buy it?"

"Ye – es," answered Sam, panic stricken.

"How much money have you got?"

"A dollar."

"Which you stole from me!" asserted Wolverton, with the air of a judge about to sentence a criminal to execution.

"No, I didn't. It didn't come from your house."

"Where did it come from?"

"Mrs. Burton gave it to me – for my birthday."

"I don't believe it. It's one of your lies. Give it to me this instant."

Poor Sam became desperate. What! was he to lose the only money of any account which he ever possessed? He was not brave, but he made a stand here.

"You have no right to it," he said, passionately. "It's mine. Mrs. Burton gave it to me."

"I tell you it's a lie. Even if she had done so I should have the right, as your uncle, to take it from you. Give it to me!"

"I won't!" said Sam, desperately.

"Won't, hey?" repeated Wolverton, grimly. "Well, we'll see about that."

He raised the horse-whip, and in an instant Sam's legs – he was standing now – felt the cruel lash.

"Won't, hey?" repeated his uncle. "We'll see."

"Help!" screamed Sam. "Will no one help me?"

"I reckon not," answered his uncle, mockingly, and he raised his whip once more.

But before the lash could descend, it was snatched from him, and, turning angrily, he confronted Bob Burton, fierce and indignant, and saw Clip standing just behind him.

CHAPTER XI

AN ANGRY CONFERENCE

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, you brute!" exclaimed Bob.

"Do you want me to thrash you, too?" snarled Wolverton, angrily.

"You can try, if you want to," returned Bob, contemptuously.

"Sam, what was he going to whip you for?" asked Bob, turning to his unfortunate friend.

"I'll answer that question," said Wolverton, "though it's no concern of yours. The boy has been robbing me."

"What have you to say, Sam?"

"It's not true."

"What do you charge him with taking, Mr. Wolverton?"

"A dollar."

"It's the one your mother gave me, Bob."

"To be sure! I saw her give it to you myself."

"He lies, and you swear to it," said Wolverton, with a sneer.

"Mr. Wolverton, you have brought a false charge against your nephew, and you know it. If you don't care to take his word or mine, you can come over to our house and ask my mother whether Sam's story is true."

"It doesn't matter whether it's true or false," said Wolverton, doggedly. "Sam is under my charge, and I have a right to any money he comes by."

"I always knew you were mean," said Bob, contemptuously, "but this is ahead of anything I ever imagined. Do you still accuse Sam of robbing you?"

"I don't know whether he did or not."

"You can easily satisfy yourself by calling on my mother."

"I mean to call on your mother, but it won't be on this business," said Wolverton, opening his mouth and showing the yellow fangs which served for teeth.

"You are at liberty to call on any business errand," said Bob.

"Indeed, you are very kind, remarkably kind, considering that the ranch is as much mine as your mother's."

"How do you make that out?"

"I have a mortgage on it for half its value."

"I deny it. The ranch is worth much more than six thousand dollars. Besides, the time has not yet come when you have the right to foreclose."

"There you are wrong, young man! As the interest has not been promptly paid, I can foreclose at any time."

"You will have to see my mother about that," said Bob, carefully concealing the fact that the receipt had been recovered.

"I thought you would change your tune," said Wolverton, judging from Bob's calmer tone that he was getting alarmed.

Bob smiled, for he felt that he had the advantage, and foresaw Wolverton's discomfiture when the receipt was shown him.

"I am not quite so excited as I was," he admitted. "When I saw you with the whip uplifted I was ready for anything."

"Give me back the whip!" said Wolverton, menacingly.

"Will you promise not to use it on Sam?"

"I'll promise nothing, you young whipper-snapper! What business have you to interfere between me and my nephew?"

"The right of ordinary humanity."

"Give me the whip."

"Then make me the promise?"

"I won't."

"Then I propose to keep it."

"I will have you arrested for theft."

"Do so. I will explain matters to Judge Turner."

Judge Turner, the magistrate before whom such cases came, heartily despised and hated Aaron Wolverton, as the latter knew full well. He would certainly dismiss any charge brought against Bob by such a man. This consideration naturally influenced him.

"Very well," he said, though with an ill grace, "if your mother gave Sam the money, I retract the charge of theft. Nevertheless, as his guardian, I demand that the dollar be given to me."

"Give it to me to keep for you, Sam," said Bob.

Sam gladly took it from his pocket, and threw it towards Bob, who dexterously caught it.

"Now, Mr. Wolverton," said Bob, quietly; "you will have to demand the money from me; Sam hasn't got it."

"You'll have to pay for your impudence, Robert Burton!" said Wolverton, wrathfully. "You forget that you are all in my power."

"You may find yourself mistaken, Mr. Wolverton," said Bob. "At any rate, I don't think I shall lose any sleep on that score."

"You can tell your mother I shall call this evening," continued Wolverton. "I expect her to be ready with the interest, which is long overdue."

"I will give her your message, Mr. Wolverton. Now, Clip, let us go on. Mr. Wolverton will excuse us, I know, when I tell him that we have an errand in the village."

"Yah, yah!" laughed Clip, gleefully; not that there was anything particular to laugh at, but because it took very little to excite Clip's risibilities.

Mr. Wolverton turned upon Clip with a frown. He had not forgotten the trick Clip played upon him when he was upset in the river, and he would have liked nothing better than to flog him till he roared for mercy.

"What is that black ape grinning about?" he demanded.

Clip ought to have felt insulted, but he was only amused.

"Yah, yah!" he laughed again.

Aaron Wolverton made a dash at him with his recovered whip, but Clip nimbly jumped to one side and laughed again.

"Didn't do it dat time, Massa Wolverton," said Clip, showing his teeth.

"I'll get even with you yet, you black monkey!"

If Clip had been alone, Wolverton would have proceeded then and there to carry out his threat. But he had a wholesome respect for Bob, whose physical strength and prowess he well knew. It made him angry whenever he thought of this boy, who seemed born to be a thorn in his side. He was stronger than Wolverton, though the land agent was a man grown, and it was humiliating to Wolverton to be obliged to admit this fact.

But he had one consolation in the mortgage he held upon the Burton ranch. Here the law was on his side, and he saw his way clear to annoy and injure Bob and his family, without running any risk himself. As for the chance of the mortgage ever being paid off, that he thought extremely small. If Richard Burton were still alive, he would have been right, but Bob, young as he was, bade fair to be a better manager than his father. He was not so sanguine, or, if the truth must be told, so reckless in his expenditures. Besides, he knew, though his father was ignorant of it, that Wolverton, for some reason which he could not penetrate, was a bitter enemy of the family, and that his forbearance could not be depended upon.

When Bob and Clip had left the scene Aaron Wolverton turned to Sam, and scowled at his unfortunate nephew, in a way which was by no means pleasant or reassuring.

"I've a good mind to flog you for all the trouble you've brought upon me," he said.

"I don't see what I've done, uncle."

"You don't, hey? Haven't you sided with that upstart, the Burton boy?"

Sam was judiciously silent, for he saw his uncle was very much irritated.

"Why did you give that dollar to him?"

"He told me to."

"Suppose he did; is he your guardian or am I?"

"You are, Uncle Aaron."

"I'm glad you are willing to admit it. Then why did you give him the dollar?"

"Because his mother gave it to me. If you had given it to me, I wouldn't have done it."

"You'll have to wait a good while before I give you a dollar."

Sam was of the same opinion himself, but did not think it wise to say so.

"You deserve to be punished for what you have done," said his uncle, severely.

"I wish I were as strong and brave as Bob," thought Sam. "I don't see how he dares to stand up before Uncle Aaron and defy him. He makes me tremble."

The truth was, Sam was not made of heroic mold. He was a timid boy and was easily overawed. He lacked entirely the qualities that made Bob so bold and resolute. He could admire his friend, but he could not imitate him.

"Now, come home," said Wolverton, shortly.

Sam followed his uncle meekly.

When they reached home Sam was set to work. At twelve o'clock the bell rang for dinner. Sam dropped his axe (he had been splitting wood) and entered the kitchen, where the frugal meal was spread. His uncle was already sitting in his place, and Sam prepared to sit down in his usual chair.

"Samuel," said his uncle, "you have disobeyed me. You do not deserve any dinner."

Sam's countenance fell, for he was very hungry.

"I am very hungry," he faltered.

"You should have thought of that when you disobeyed me and gave your money to the Burton boy. This is intended as a salutary lesson, Samuel, to cure you of your stubbornness and disobedience."

"You are quite right, Aaron," said Miss Sally in her deep voice. "Samuel needs chastening."

Poor Sam slunk out of the door in a state of depression. Not being ordered to return to his work, he went out into the street, where he met Bob and Clip, and to them he told his tale of woe.

"Your uncle is as mean as they make 'em," said Bob. "Here, go into the baker's and buy some doughnuts and pie."

He handed Sam a quarter, and the hungry boy followed his advice, faring quite as well as he would have done at his uncle's table. Rather to Mr. Wolverton's surprise, he worked all the afternoon without showing signs of hunger, and that gentleman began to consider whether, after all, two meals a day were not sufficient for him.

CHAPTER XII

WOLVERTON'S WATERLOO

Though the receipt was lost, Wolverton could not give up his plan of extorting the interest from Mrs. Burton a second time. It might have been supposed that he would have some qualms of conscience about robbing the widow and the fatherless, but Mr. Wolverton's conscience, if he had any, gave him very little trouble. He would have thought himself a fool to give up one hundred and fifty dollars if there was the slightest chance of securing them.

Towards evening of the day on which Bob had interfered with him, he took his hat and cane, and set out for Burton's Ranch.

It so happened that Bob answered the bell. He had been sitting with his mother, chatting about their future plans.

"Good-evening, Mr. Wolverton," said Bob, who felt it incumbent upon him to be polite to a guest, even though he disliked him.

"Evening," returned Wolverton, curtly. "Is your mother at home?"

"Yes, sir. Will you come in?"

Wolverton had not the good manners to acknowledge the invitation with thanks, but strode into the sitting-room, following Bob.

The widow anticipated his visit, having been informed by Bob that he had announced his intention of coming.

"Good-evening, Mr. Wolverton. Take a seat," she said, pointing to a chair a few feet from her own. "Robert, take Mr. Wolverton's hat."

Wolverton looked at the widow with a hungry gaze, for she was the only woman, he had ever loved.

"If she would only marry me, all her troubles would be over," he said to himself. "She's a fool to refuse."

We, who have some idea of Mr. Wolverton's character and disposition, are more likely to conclude that marriage with such a man would be only the beginning of trouble.

"I've come on business, Mrs. Burton," said the visitor, in an aggressive tone.

"State it, if you please, Mr. Wolverton," the widow answered, calmly.

"Hadn't you better send your son out of the room? We'd better discuss this matter alone."

"I have no secrets from Robert," said the widow.

"Oh, well, just as you please; I don't care to have him interfere in what doesn't concern him."

"Any business with my mother does concern me," said Bob; "but I will try not to give you any trouble."

"The business is about that interest," Wolverton began, abruptly.

"What interest?"

"You must know what I mean – the interest on the mortgage."

"My husband paid it on the day of his death."

"It's easy enough to say that," sneered Wolverton, "but saying it isn't proving it, as you must have the good sense to know."

"When my husband left me on that fatal morning, he told me that he was going to your office to pay the interest. I know he had the money and with him, for he had laid down the wallet, and I saw the roll of bills."

"Why didn't he pay it, then? That's what I'd like to know."

"Didn't he pay it to you, Mr. Wolverton?" asked Mrs. Burton, with a searching glance. "Carry back your memory to that day, and answer me that question."

Mr. Wolverton showed himself a little restive under this interrogatory, but he assumed an air of indignation.

"What do you mean, widder?" he demanded, bringing down his cane with emphasis upon the floor. "Do you doubt my word?"

"I think you may be mistaken, Mr. Wolverton," said Mrs. Burton, composedly.

"Who has been putting this into your head, widder? Is it that boy of yours?"

Bob answered for himself:

"I don't mind saying that I did tell mother that I thought the money had been paid."

"Humph! you think yourself mighty smart, Bob Burton," snarled Wolverton. "Nat'rally you'd like to get rid of paying the interest, if you could; but you've got a business man to deal with, not a fool."

"You are no fool where money is concerned, there's no doubt about that. But I want to ask you one thing, if my father didn't pay you the money which mother can testify to his carrying with him on the morning of his death, what became of it?"

"How should I know? Did you search his wallet when he was brought home?"

"Yes."

"And you didn't find the money?"

"No."

"So you conclude that he paid it to me. Let me tell you, young man, that doesn't follow. He may have been robbed when he was lying on the ground insensible."

"I think very likely he was," returned Bob, quietly.

"What do you mean by that?" demanded Wolverton, uneasily. "Who could have robbed him?"

"Possibly some one that we wouldn't be likely to suspect."

"What does he mean? Can he possibly suspect me?" thought Wolverton, fixing his eyes on Bob's face. "But no! I certainly didn't take any money from him."

"You may be right," he said aloud; "but that hasn't anything to do with my claim for interest. Whether your father was robbed of the money, or spent it, is all one to me. It wasn't paid to me, I can certify."

"Would you be willing to swear that the money was not paid to you that day, Mr. Wolverton?"

"Do you mean to insult me? Haven't I told you it was not paid?"

"Do you expect me to pay it to you, then?" asked Mrs. Burton.

"Widder, I am surprised you should ask such a foolish question. It lies in a nutshell. I'm entitled to interest on the money I let your husband have on mortgage. You admit that?"

"Yes."

"I'm glad you admit that. As your husband didn't pay, I look to you for it. I can say no more."

Mrs. Burton took a pocket-book from a pocket in her dress, and handed it to Robert. Bob opened it, and drew therefrom a folded paper.

"Mr. Wolverton," he said, quietly, "I hold in my hand a receipt signed by yourself for the interest – one hundred and fifty dollars – dated the very day that my poor father died. What have you to say to it?"

Mr. Wolverton sprang to his feet, pale and panic-stricken.

"Where did you get that paper?" he stammered, hoarsely.

CHAPTER XIII

WHAT BOB FOUND IN THE CREEK

"When my poor husband left your office this receipt was in his possession," answered Mrs. Burton.

"I deny it," exclaimed Aaron Wolverton, in a tone of excitement.

"Where else should it be?" inquired the widow, eying him fixedly.

"I don't know. How should I?"

"So you deny that the signature is yours, Mr. Wolverton?"

"Let me see it."

"I would rather not," said Bob, drawing back the receipt from Wolverton's extended hand.

"That's enough!" said Wolverton quickly. "You are afraid to show it. I denounce it as a base forgery."

"That will do no good," said the boy, un-terrified. "I have shown the receipt to Mr. Dornton, and he pronounces the signature genuine."

"What made you show it to him?" asked Wolverton, discomfited.

"Because I thought it likely, after your demanding the interest the second time, that you would deny it."

"Probably I know my own signature better than Mr. Dornton can."

"I have no doubt you will recognize it," and Bob, unfolding the paper, held it in such a manner that Wolverton could read it.

"It may be my signature; it looks like it," said Wolverton, quickly deciding upon a new evasion, "but it was never delivered to your father."

"How then do you account for its being written?" asked Mrs. Burton, in natural surprise.

"I made it out on the day your husband died," Wolverton answered glibly, "anticipating that he would pay the money. He did not do it, and so the receipt remained in my desk."

Bob and his mother regarded each other in surprise. They were not prepared for such a barefaced falsehood.

"Perhaps you will account for its not being in your desk now," said Bob.

"I can do so, readily," returned Wolverton, maliciously. "Somebody must have stolen it from my desk."

"I think you will find it hard to prove this, Mr. Wolverton."

"It is true, and I don't propose to lose my money on account of a stolen receipt. You will find that you can't so easily circumvent Aaron Wolverton."

"You are quite welcome to adopt this line of defense, Mr. Wolverton, if you think best. You ought to know whether the public will believe such an improbable tale."

"If you had the receipt why didn't you show it to me before?" Wolverton asked in a triumphant tone. "I came here soon after your father's death, and asked for my interest. Your mother admitted, then, that she had no receipt."

"We had not found it then."

"Where, and when, did you find it?"

"I do not propose to tell."

Wolverton shook his head, satirically.

"And a very good reason you have, I make no doubt."

"Suppose I tell you my theory, Mr. Wolverton."

"I wish you would," and Wolverton leaned back in his chair and gazed defiantly at the boy he so much hated.

"My father paid you the interest, and took a receipt. He had it on his person when he met with his death. When he was lying outstretched in death" – here Bob's eyes moistened – "some one came up, and, bending over him, took the receipt from his pocket."

Mr. Wolverton's face grew pale as Bob proceeded.

"A very pretty romance!" he sneered, recovering himself after an instant.

"It is something more than romance," Bob proceeded slowly and gravely. "It is true; the man who was guilty of this mean theft from a man made helpless by death is known. He was seen at this contemptible work."

"It is a lie," cried Wolverton, hoarsely, his face the color of chalk.

"It is a solemn truth."

"Who saw him?"

"I don't propose to tell – yet, if necessary, it will be told in a court of justice."

Wolverton saw that he was found out, but he could not afford to acknowledge. His best way of getting off was to fly into a rage, and this was easy for him.

"I denounce this as a base conspiracy," he said, rising as he spoke. "That receipt was stolen from my desk."

"Then we do not need to inquire who took it from the vest-pocket of my poor father."

"Robert Barton, I will get even with you for this insult," said Wolverton, shaking his fist at the manly boy. "You and your mother."

"Leave out my mother's name," said Bob, sternly.

"I will; I don't think she would be capable of such meanness. You, then, are engaged in a plot to rob me of a hundred and fifty dollars. To further this wicked scheme, you or your agent have stolen this receipt from my desk. I can have you arrested for burglary. It is no more nor less than that."

"You can do so if you like, Mr. Wolverton. In that case the public shall know that you stole the receipt from my poor father after his death. I can produce an eye-witness."

Wolverton saw that he was in a trap. Such a disclosure would injure him infinitely in the opinion of his neighbors, for it would be believed. There was no help for it. He must lose the hundred and fifty dollars upon which, though he had no claim to it, he had so confidently reckoned.

"You will hear from me!" he said, savagely, as he jammed his hat down upon his head, and hastily left the apartment. "Aaron Wolverton is not the man to give in to fraud."

Neither Bob nor his mother answered him, but Mrs. Burton asked anxiously, after his departure:

"Do you think he will do anything, Bob?"

"No, mother; he sees that he is in a trap, and will think it wisest to let the matter drop."

This, in fact, turned out to be the case. Mortifying as it was to give in, Wolverton did not dare to act otherwise. He would have given something handsome, mean though he was, if he could have found out, first, who saw him rob the dead man, and next, who extracted the stolen receipt from his desk. He was inclined to guess that it was Bob in both cases. It never occurred to him that Clip was the eye-witness whose testimony could brand him with this contemptible crime. Nor did he think of Sam in connection with his own loss of the receipt. He knew Sam's timidity, and did not believe the boy would have dared to do such a thing.