Bob Burton

"What on earth is the matter, Sam?" asked Bob, in surprise.

"Let me get on the boat and I will tell you."

The boat was put back and Sam jumped on.

"Now what has happened, Sam?"

"Do you see this," said Sam, pointing to his right cheek, which was stained with blood.

"What has happened to you? Did you fall and hurt yourself?"

"My uncle knocked me over and I fell against a block of wood."

"What made him attack you?" inquired Bob, indignantly.

"I don't know; he got mad with me for nothing at all. He's been in an awful temper all the morning. Something must have happened to vex him."

Bob smiled. He could understand what had happened. Wolverton's disappointment at the failure of his villainous plan had no doubt soured him, and, like a born bully, he had vented his spite upon the poor boy who was dependent upon him.

"I wish you'd more spunk, Sam," Bob said. "He wouldn't dare to attack me in that way."

"You're stronger and braver than I am, Bob. I can't be like you. I wish I could."

"Your uncle is no more nor less than a bully. He imposes upon you because he thinks it is safe to do so. He wouldn't dare tackle me, because he knows it wouldn't be safe."

"Bob," said Sam, solemnly, "I've borne it as long as I'm going to. I am not going back to my uncle's house."

"Do you mean this, Sam?"

"Yes, I do. It's the only home I have, but I would rather go without a home than to be beaten and ill-treated by Uncle Aaron."

"I commend your pluck, Sam. I can't say I think you are doing wrong."

"I have a favor to ask of you, Bob. You are my only friend."

"What is it, Sam?"

"Let me go with you to St. Louis. It would make me happy to be with you, and I should be out of my uncle's way."

Bob paused for consideration, the proposal being unexpected.

"But suppose, Sam, I am charged with abducting you?"

"I'll take all the blame. Let me hide on the ferry-boat, and I won't show myself until you've got miles away."

"That might do," said Bob, smiling. "Perhaps it isn't exactly square, but with such a man as your uncle we must make use of his own methods."

"You will take me, then?" asked Sam, eagerly.

By this time they had reached the boat.

"Clip," said Bob, "go with Sam and hide him somewhere on the boat, but don't tell me where he is concealed. Then, if old Wolverton comes after him I can say truly that I don't know where he is."

"All right, Massa Bob," said Clip, showing his teeth.

When the contents of the boat had been transferred to the larger craft, Bob rowed back, leaving Clip and Sam together. The boat was roofed over, as already stated. Besides the bins there was a corner in which some bedding had been placed for the accommodation of the young voyagers. But it seemed difficult to find a suitable hiding-place for Sam.

"Where can you put me?" asked the young runaway, with a troubled look.

Clip looked about him, rolling his eyes in perplexity.

At length his face brightened, for an idea had come to him.

In one corner was an empty barrel. Some stores had been brought aboard in it, and it had been suffered to remain, with the idea that it might possibly prove of use. The particular use to which it was to be put certainly never occurred to Bob or Clip.

"Get in there, Sam!" said Clip. "Old Mass' Wolverton won't look for you in there."

"But I shall be seen."

"You wait and I'll show you how we'll manage; only get in!"

Thus adjured, Sam got into the barrel, and with some difficulty crouched so that his head was lower than the top of the barrel.

"Now I'll show you," said Clip.

He took a white cloth – it was apiece of sail-cloth – and spread over the top of the barrel.

"Now old Mass' Wolverton will have sharp eyes to see you," said Clip, triumphantly.

"That may do," said Sam. "But it isn't necessary to put it on now. It will be time if my uncle makes his appearance. I'll keep out of sight in the center of the boat."

Meanwhile Bob had gone to the house to bid good-bye to his mother.

"I feel anxious about your going off on such a long trip, Robert," said Mrs. Burton.

"You forget that I am almost a man, mother. It is time for me to assume some responsibility."

"But you are only a boy, after all, Robert. Think, if anything should happen to you, what would become of me?"

"My dear mother, you may depend on my taking excellent care of myself. I don't see what risk or danger there can be in going to St. Louis. It isn't a long trip. I shall be back in less than a fortnight if all goes well."

"It will seem a very long fortnight to me, Robert."

"I have no doubt you will miss me, mother, but you forget I have Clip to look after me."

"Clip is only a poor colored boy, but I am sure he will prove faithful to you," said Mrs. Burton, seriously. "Even the humble are sometimes of great service. I am glad he is going with you."

Bob did not mention that Sam Wolverton would also be his companion, as he foresaw that the agent would not unlikely question his mother on that point.

Bob returned to the boat, and was just about to cast off, when Wolverton was seen on the bank, waving his hat and shouting frantically.

"I guess, Massa Sam, you'd better get into the barrel," said Clip with a grin.

CHAPTER XXI

HOW WOLVERTON WAS FOOLED

"What do you want, Mr. Wolverton?" asked Bob, coolly, as he stood at one end of the boat and surveyed the excited agent.

"Come ashore, or I'll have you arrested," shouted the irate Wolverton.

"You are very kind, Mr. Wolverton; but I am in considerable of a hurry, and have not time to comply with your request."

"You'd better come ashore, if you know what's best for yourself."

"Please state your business! If it is anything to my advantage, I may come; but I am just ready to start for St. Louis."

"Is my nephew Sam on your boat?"

"I don't see him. Why should he be on board?"

"I suspect him of running away, the ungrateful young rascal? I thought he might be scheming to go down the river with you."

"Clip," said Bob, gravely, "has Sam Wolverton engaged passage with us?"

"Not as I knows on, Massa Bob."

"If he should, charge him fifteen dollars."

"Yes, Massa Bob," answered Clip, with a grin.

"If you wish your nephew to go to St. Louis on my boat, Mr. Wolverton," said Bob, with ceremonious politeness, "I will take him, being a friend, for fifteen dollars, excursion ticket. You can't complain of that."

"But I don't want him to go," roared Wolverton. "I tell you he has run away."

"That's very strange, considering how kindly and liberally you have always treated him."

Wolverton eyed Bob suspiciously, for he knew well enough that the remark was ironical.

"None of your gammon, young man!" he said, crabbedly. "Send Sam ashore."

"Really, Mr. Wolverton, you must be joking. What have I got to do with Sam?"

"I don't believe a word you say. I mean to search your boat."

"You had better do it at once, then, for it is time for me to start."

"But how am I to get aboard," asked the agent, perplexed.

"You might swim," suggested Bob, "or wade. The water is shallow – not higher than your neck, anywhere."

"That is nonsense. Steer your boat to shore, that I may board her."

"It can't be done, Mr. Wolverton. We can only drift down with the current."

"Then how am I to get aboard?"

"That is your lookout."

Just then Mr. Wolverton espied the flat-bottomed boat which Bob proposed to take with him. He had attached it by a line to the stern of the ferry-boat.

"Row over and take me across."

"I can't spare the time."

Wolverton was about to give vent to his wrath at this refusal, when he observed a boat approaching, rowed by a German boy named Otto Brandes.

"Come here, boy, and row me out to yonder boat," he said.

Otto paused in his rowing, and, understanding the man with whom he was dealing, he asked, quietly: "How much will you pay me, Mr. Wolverton?"

"Five cents to take me over and back," answered the agent, with some hesitation.

Otto laughed.

"I don't work for any such wages," he said.

"I'll give you ten; but be quick about it."

"Give me a quarter and I'll do it."

"Do you think I am made of money?" said Wolverton, in anger. "That is an outrageous extortion."

"All right! Then hire somebody else," said Otto, coolly.

After a fruitless effort to beat down the price, Wolverton sulkily agreed to the terms, and Otto rowed to the bank.

"Now, row with all your might," said the agent, as he seated himself in one end of the boat.

"Your fare, please," said Otto.

"I'll pay you when the trip is over," said Wolverton. "It's a poor paymaster that pays in advance."

"Then you'd better get out of the boat. Railroad and boat tickets are always paid in advance."

"I'll give you ten cents now, and the balance when I land."

"It won't do, Mr. Wolverton. I don't care much about the job anyway; I'm in a hurry to get home."

Otto lived about half a mile further down the creek.

Much against his will, the agent was obliged to deposit the passage-money in the boy's hand before he would consent to take up the oars and commence rowing.

"That rascal Sam is putting me to all this expense," he said to himself. "I'll take my pay out of his skin once I get hold of him."

Clip went up to the barrel in which Sam was concealed.

"Ol' Wolverton is comin', Massa Sam," he said. "Don't you make no noise, and we'll fool de ol' man."

In spite of this assurance, poor Sam trembled in his narrow place of concealment. He knew that he would fare badly if his uncle got hold of him.

"How's he coming?" he asked in a stifled voice.

"Otto Brandes is rowin' him. He's in Otto's boat."

"It's mean of Otto!"

"No; he don't know what de ol' man is after."

It took scarcely two minutes for Wolverton to reach the ferry-boat. He mounted it with fire in his eye.

"Now, where is Sam?" he demanded in a peremptory tone.

"You can search for him, Mr. Wolverton," said Bob, coolly. "You seem to know more about where he is than I do."

Wolverton began to peer here and there, looking into bins of wheat and all sorts of improbable places.

Clip took a broom and began to sweep energetically. Bob could not explain this sudden fit of industry till he saw Clip slyly slip the broom between Wolverton's legs as he was hurrying along, thereby upsetting the unfortunate agent, who tumbled sprawling on the deck.

"Why, you black imp!" he exclaimed, furiously, as he picked himself up, "what made you do that?"

"Couldn't help it, Massa Wolverton! I 'clare to gracious I couldn't!" said Clip, rolling his eyes in a most wonderful manner. "Are you hurt, Massa Wolverton?"

"I most broke my knee!" growled Wolverton, as he rose and limped towards the other end of the boat. "I may be laid up for a week."

"It was de ol' broom did it," said Clip, innocently. "Never see such a broom!"

Bob had hard work to keep a straight face, as he heard Clip's odd accusation against the unoffending broom.

This accident seemed to dampen Wolverton's enthusiasm, and the pain in his knee increasing made him desirous of getting home as soon as possible. Besides, he began to suspect that he was on a wrong scent, as he had thus far found no traces of his runaway nephew. He never once noticed the barrel, over which the piece of sail-cloth had been thrown so carelessly.

"Well, did you find Sam?" asked Bob, composedly.

"No!" snapped Wolverton.

"I seed him jest before you came, Massa Wolverton," said Clip.

"Where?" asked the agent, eagerly.

"Runnin' along the bank."

"In what direction?"

Clip pointed up the creek.

"Why didn't you tell me that before?"

"You didn't ask me, Massa Wolverton."

"Take me ashore quick!" said Wolverton to Otto.

"Hurry up, Massa Wolverton, and mebbe you'll catch him!"

Wolverton was already in the boat, and Otto was rowing him to the shore.

Clip went to the barrel and released the prisoner.

"De ol' man's gone, Sam!" he said.

"I'm glad of it, Clip. I'm almost suffocated."

"Golly, didn't we fool him!" and Clip lay down on his back on deck, and gave way to an explosion of mirth.

A minute later the rope was drawn in, and the ferry-boat started on its adventurous career down the creek.

CHAPTER XXII

THE FIRST DAY

Bob was accustomed to rowing, but navigation with the ferry-boat presented a new and interesting problem which he was eager to solve. A steering apparatus had been rigged up at the stern, which was found strong enough for the purpose required. Bob took his place at the helm in starting, and managed for the first hour to regulate the direction of his craft. By that time they came to a place where the creek widened considerably, and the boat showed a disposition to whirl round in an eddy. This difficulty, however, was overcome by practice, and Bob began to acquire confidence in himself as a navigator. But it was evident that he could not remain at the helm all day.

"Come here, Clip," he said; "I want you to rest me in steering."

Clip took his place, but his first attempts proved discouraging. He was inclined to steer in just the reverse direction, and twice came near running the boat ashore.

"What are you about, Clip?" demanded Bob, in excitement. "Don't you see you are running the boat ashore?"

"I done just like you, Massa Bob," protested Clip. "De boat acts contrary; never see such an ol' boat."

"It is you that are contrary, Clip. You don't do as I tell you."

"I 'clar to gracious I did, Massa Bob. I can't never learn to steer."

In fact, Clip, who was naturally lazy, found it very irksome to stand at the helm, and much preferred going here and there on the boat and surveying the scenery on either bank. He hoped that his incompetence would save him from the task. But his dream was rudely disturbed.

"If you can't take your turn in steering, Clip," said Bob, "you won't be of any use to me. I shall have to send you home, and get along with Sam's assistance."

"Oh, don't send me home, Massa Bob!" exclaimed Clip, in alarm. "I'll try – 'deed I will."

"I'll try you a little longer, Clip," said Bob; "but you must not blame me for sending you back, if it is necessary."

No better argument could have been used to insure satisfactory work from Clip, who was naturally careless, and inclined to shirk work. Nevertheless, Bob felt glad that he had another assistant in Sam Wolverton, who proved to possess all the qualities which Clip lacked.

When it was one o'clock, Clip began to show signs of distress.

"I'm pow'ful hungry, Massa Bob," he said, in a pleading tone.

"So am I, Clip," returned Bob, with a smile. "I will see if I can't do something to relieve you."

He had brought from home a basket of sandwiches and a gallon of milk. To these the boys did ample justice, displaying even more appetite than usual. This was not surprising, for they had worked hard, and this in the open air.

"Sam," said Bob, "I can't hope to supply you with all the delicacies you would get at home, but I hope you'll make it do with our humble fare."

Sam smiled.

"All the delicacies on Uncle Aaron's table wouldn't spoil anybody's digestion. I like my dinner to-day better than any I've eaten for a long time. I don't know what uncle and aunt would say if they could see me here."

"De ol' man would be wild," said Clip, with a guffaw.

"I expect he would, Clip. He isn't fond of me, but he doesn't want to lose me. He will have to do his own chores now, for I don't believe he can get a boy to work for him."

About six o'clock in the afternoon, having arrived opposite a town which I will call Rushford, Bob decided to tie up for the night. He and Clip went on shore, leaving Sam in charge of the boat. He did not dare to leave it unguarded, for the cargo, according to his estimate, was worth not far from three thousand dollars.

He took the opportunity to enter a restaurant, where he bought Clip and himself cups of coffee, and ordered a fresh supply of sandwiches made up, which he arranged to have delivered at the boat early the next morning.

"I don't mean that we shall starve, Clip," he said.

Clip showed his teeth.

"Dat coffee's awful good, Massa Bob," he said.

"Yes, but we can't make it on board the boat. I shall have to depend on getting it at the villages on the way."

"How far are we from home, Massa Bob?"

"Well thought of, Clip. I will inquire."

He asked the keeper of the restaurant the distance to Carver.

"I don't know, but I think my waiter comes from that neighborhood. Sam, how far away is Carver?"

"Forty miles," answered Sam promptly.

"I thought it had been more. We have been eight hours coming on the river."

That is because the river (they had left the creek fifteen miles up) was winding in its course.

On the whole, however, Bob decided that it was very fair progress for the first day, and that only about two-thirds of the time.

Rushford was a town of fifteen hundred inhabitants, and presented as busy an appearance as a town three times the size in the East. Clip, who was fond of variety, was reluctant to return to the boat, but Bob said:

"We must relieve Sam, and give him a chance to come ashore and get some coffee. You come with him, and show him the restaurant."

This arrangement suited Clip, who liked as much variety and excitement as possible.

On returning to the boat Bob was somewhat surprised to find his young lieutenant in conversation with an old lady dressed in antediluvian costume. She had a sharp face, with an eager, birdlike look, and seemed to be preferring a request.

"Here's the captain; you can ask him," said Sam, who seemed much relieved by the return of Bob.

"Is he the captain?" asked the old lady. "Why, he's nothin' but a boy!"

"He's all the captain we have," answered Sam.

"Be you in charge of this boat?" asked the old lady.

"Yes, ma'am. What can I do for you?"

"I want to go down to St. Louis," said the old lady, "and I thought maybe you might find room for me."

"But, ma'am, why don't you take passage on a river steamer?"

"They charge too much," said the old lady. "I hain't got much money, and I s'pose you wouldn't charge me much. Are you any acquainted in St. Louis?"

"No, ma'am."

"I thought maybe you might know my darter's husband. He keeps a grocery store down near the river. His name is Jeremiah Pratt, and my darter's name is Melinda Ann. I want to give 'em a surprise."

"I never met the gentleman."

"When do you start?"

"To-morrow morning about half-past seven o'clock."

"Can't you put it off till eight? I've got to pack my trunk over night, and I've got to eat a bit of breakfast to stay my stummik. How much do you charge? I'd be willing to pay you seventy-five cents."

"How much do the steamboats charge?" asked Bob.

"I think it's six dollars, or it may be seven. That's too much for a poor woman like me."

"I think you will have to pay it, madam, for we have no accommodation for passengers on our boat."

"Oh, I ain't a mite particular. You can put me anywhere."

"I suppose you wouldn't be willing to get into a grain bin?"

"Oh, now you're jokin'. Where do you sleep yourself?"

"On a mattress on the floor; that wouldn't be suitable for a lady like you. Besides, we have no separate rooms."

"Then you can't take me, no way?" asked the old lady, disappointed.

"I am afraid not, madam."

"You're real disobligin'. I don't see how I am to get to St. Louis."

"I am sorry I can't help you."

The old woman hobbled off in evident anger. Bob heard afterwards that she was a woman of ample means, fully able to afford steamboat fare, but so miserly that she grudged paying it.

"Now, Sam," said Bob, "Clip will show you the way to a restaurant where you can get a hot cup of coffee and a plate of meat, if you desire it."

While the boys were gone, Bob received a visitor.

CHAPTER XXIII

A SUSPICIOUS CHARACTER

Fifteen minutes after Sam and Clip had left him Bob's attention was drawn to a man of somewhat flashy appearance, who, while leaning against a tree on the bank, seemed to be eying him and the boat with attention. He wore a Prince Albert coat which was no longer fit to appear in good society, a damaged hat, and a loud neck-tie. His eyes were roving from one point to another, as if he felt a great deal of interest in Bob or the boat. Our hero was not favorably impressed with this man's appearance.

"I wonder what he sees that interests him so much?" he thought.

"I say, young man, is this here boat yours?" he asked.

"Yes," answered Bob, coldly.

"What have you got on board?"

Bob felt under no obligation to answer, but reflecting that there was no good excuse for refusing, he said, briefly: "Wheat."

"Humph! How much have you got?"

This clearly was none of the questioner's business, and Bob replied by another question:

"Do you want to buy?"

"I don't know," said the stranger. "What do you ask?"

"I can't say till I get to St. Louis."

"How much do you calc'late to get?"

"Two dollars and a quarter," answered Bob, naming a price beyond his expectations.

"Ain't that a high figger?"

"Perhaps so."

"Come, young feller, you don't seem social. Can't you invite me aboard?"

"I don't think you would be paid for coming," said Bob, more and more unfavorably impressed.

"Oh, I don't mind. My time ain't valuable. I guess I'll come."

The stranger stepped across the gang-plank, which Bob had laid from the boat to the shore, and entered without an invitation. Bob was tempted to order him off, but the intruder appeared much stronger than himself; and while he was alone it seemed politic to submit to the disagreeable necessity of entertaining his unwelcome visitor.

The latter walked from end to end of the boat, examining for himself without asking permission, or appearing to feel the need of any. He opened the bins and counted them, while Bob looked on uneasily.

"I say, young feller, you've got a smart lot of wheat here."

"Yes," said Bob, briefly.

"Got a thousand bushels, I reckon?"

"Perhaps so."

"And you expect to get two dollars and a quarter a bushel?"

"Perhaps I shall have to take less."

"At any rate, you must have two thousand dollars' worth on board."

"You can judge for yourself."

"I say, that's a pile of money – for a boy."

"The wheat doesn't belong to me."

"Who owns it, then."

"My mother."

"What's your mother's name?"

"I have answered all the questions I am going to," said Bob, indignantly.

"Don't get riled, youngster. It ain't no secret, is it?"

"I don't care about answering all the questions a stranger chooses to put to me."

"I say, young chap, you're gettin' on your high horse."

"What is your object in putting all these questions?"

"What is my object?"

"That is what I asked."

"The fact is, youngster, I've got a ranch round here myself, and I've got about five hundred bushels of wheat I want to market. Naturally I'm interested. See?"

Bob did not believe a word of this.

"Where is your ranch?" he asked.

"About two miles back of the town," answered the stranger, glibly. That lie was an easy one. "I'm thinkin' some of runnin' down to the city to see if I can't sell my wheat in a lump to some merchant. Mebbe I could strike a bargain with you to carry me down."

Bob had even more objection to the new passenger than to the old lady, and he answered stiffly:

"I have no accommodations for passengers."

"Oh, I can bunk anywhere – can lie on deck, on one of the bins. I'm used to roughin' it."

"You'd better take passage by the next steamer. This is a freight boat."

"There ain't anybody but you aboard, is there?"

"Yes; I have two companions."

The stranger seemed surprised and incredulous.

"Where are they?" he asked.

"Gone into the village."

The visitor seemed thoughtful. He supposed the two companions were full-grown men, and this would not tally with his plans. This illusion, however, was soon dissipated, for Sam and Clip at this point crossed the gang-plank and came aboard.