Bob Burton

CHAPTER I

MR. BURTON'S RANCH

"Harness up the colt, Clip; I'm going to the village."

"All right, massa!"

"What makes you call me massa? One would think I were a slave-owner."

"Can't help it, massa. There I done forgot it agin," said Clip, showing his white teeth – preturnaturally white they showed in contrast with his coal-black skin. "You see I used to say that to my old massa, down in Arkansaw."

"What's my name, Clip?"

"Mister Burton."

"Then call me Mr. Burton. Now go, and don't waste any time."

"All right, massa."

"That boy's incorrigible," said Richard Burton to himself. "He hasn't got cut of his early ways yet; careless and shiftless as he is, I believe he is devoted to me and my family."

Clip, as may be inferred, was a negro boy, now turned of fourteen, who for four years had been attached to the service of Richard Burton, a ranchman, whose farm lay on a small stream tributary to the Missouri, in the fertile State of Iowa. He had fled from his master in the northern part of Arkansas, and, traveling by night, and secreting himself by day, had finally reached Iowa; where he found a safe refuge in the family of Mr. Burton. Indeed he had been picked up by Bob Burton, a boy a year older than himself, who had brought him home and insisted on his father taking charge of the young fugitive. On a large ranch there was always something to do, and Clip was soon made useful in taking care of the horses, in doing errands and in many odd ways.

While waiting for the wagon, Mr. Burton went into the house, and sought his wife.

"Mamy," he said, "I am going to the village to pay Wolverton his interest."

"I wish he didn't hold the mortgage, Richard," said Mrs. Burton, looking up from her work.

"So do I, but why is it any the worse for him to hold it than for any one else?"

"Richard, you may think me foolish and fanciful, but I distrust that man. It is impressed upon my mind that he will some day do us harm."

"That is foolish and fanciful in good truth, Mamy. Now Wolverton seems to me a – well, not exactly an attractive man, but good natured and friendly. When I needed three thousand dollars last spring, on account of a poor crop and some extra expenses, he seemed not only willing, but really glad to lend it to me."

"He took a mortgage on the ranch," said Mary Burton dryly.

"Why, of course. He is a man of business, you know. You wouldn't expect him to lend the money without security, would you?"

"And you pay him a large interest?"

"Ten per cent."

"There isn't much friendship in lending money on good security at ten per cent., Richard."

"Oh, you put things in a wrong way, Mary. Money is worth ten per cent. out here, and of course I didn't want Wolverton to lose money by me. He could get that interest elsewhere."

"You are very unsuspecting, Richard. You credit everybody with your own true, unselfish nature."

"Why, that's a compliment, Mary," laughed the husband, "and deserves a kiss."

He bent over and touched his wife's cheek with his lips.

Mary Burton had reached the age of thirty-six, and was no longer in her first youth, but her face seemed even more lovelier than when he married her, so Richard Burton thought. He too was a man of fine presence, with a frank, open face, that invariably won the favor of those who met him for the first time. He was in the full vigor of manhood, and when he and his wife attended the Methodist church on Sundays, many eyes were attracted by the handsome couple. They had one son, Bob, who will soon receive attention.

"I have a great mind, Richard, to tell you why I distrust and fear Aaron Wolverton," said his wife after a slight pause.

"I wish you would, Mary. Perhaps, when I know, I can talk you out of your apprehension."

"Did you ever know that Aaron Wolverton was once a suitor for my hand?"

Richard Burton burst into an explosive laugh.

"What! That dried-up old mummy had the presumption to offer you his hand!"

"He actually did, Richard," said Mrs. Burton, smiling.

"I wonder you did not laugh in his face. Why, the man is fifteen years older than I am, twenty years older than you."

"That difference is not unprecedented. I did not reject him because he was older than myself. If you had been as old as he when you offered yourself, I think I would have accepted you."

"Poor old fellow! Did he take it hard?" asked Burton, half jocosely.

"If you mean did he show any traces of a broken heart, I answer no. But when, after pressing his suit persistently, he found my resolution to be inflexible, his face became distorted with passion. He swore that he would be revenged upon me some day, and that if I dared to marry any one else he would never rest till he had brought harm to the husband of my choice."

"I wish I had been there. I would have made him take back those words, or I would have horsewhipped him."

"Don't take any notice of them, Richard," said Mary Burton, hastily. "It will be much better."

"I agree with you," said her husband, his quick anger melting. "After all, the old fellow's disappointment was so great that I can excuse a little impetuosity, and even rudeness. You see, Mary, Wolverton isn't a gentleman."

"No; and never will be."

"He acted as his nature prompted. But it was all over years ago. Why, Mary, he is always friendly with me, even if I am your husband."

"That is on the outside, Richard; but I fear he is crafty. He is like an Indian; his thirst for vengeance keeps alive."

"Admitting all that, though I don't, what harm can he do, Mary, while I am here to protect you?" and the husband expanded his breast in conscious strength, and looked down proudly on his fair wife. "Why, I could wring his neck with only one hand."

"Well, perhaps I am foolish, Richard," the wife admitted.

"Of course you are, Mary."

Just then Clip put his head inside the door.

"De hoss is ready, massa!" he said.

"All right, Clip! I'll come right out."

Richard Burton kissed his wife hastily, and went out.

As he closed the door, a bright, handsome boy, strongly made, and bearing a resemblance to both father and mother, entered.

"Hallo, mother! Are you all right?" he asked.

"I hope so, Robert."

"You look serious, as if you were worrying over something."

"I was thinking of Mr. Wolverton. Your father has gone to pay him interest on the mortgage."

"Wolverton is a mean old hunks. He's got a nephew living with him, a boy about my age. He works him nearly to death, and I am sure the poor boy doesn't get half enough to eat."

"I was wishing your father didn't owe money to such a man."

"Oh, well, mother, there's no use in worrying. It's only three thousand dollars, and if we have a good crop next year, father will be able to pay off at least half of it. You can see we've got a splendid ranch, mother. There isn't another within twenty miles where the land is as rich."

"I shall be glad to see the day when the mortgage is wholly paid off, and we are out of debt."

"So shall I, mother."

"Does Mr. Wolverton ever take any notice of you, Robert?"

"He took some notice of me this morning," laughed Bob. "That reminds me. I just left three prairie chickens with Rachel in the kitchen."

"Did you shoot them this morning, Robert?"

"Yes, mother; you see I have my hunting dress on. But I shot two more. I was bringing them home across a field of Wolverton's, when the old fellow suddenly made his appearance, and, charging me with shooting them on his land, laid claim to them. I denied the charge and told him I proposed to keep them. With that he seized me by the collar, and we had a rough-and-tumble fight for five minutes."

"Oh, Robert, how imprudent!"

"Well, mother, it was more than flesh and blood could stand. The upshot of it was that I left him lying on his back trembling with rage. I threw down two of the chickens to appease him. I hope he'll have them for dinner, and Sam'll get a share of them. The poor fellow is half starved. I don't believe he gets a square meal once a week."

"I am afraid you have made an enemy of Mr. Wolverton, Robert."

"I can't help it, mother. Would you have me bow down to him, and meekly yield up my rights?"

"But, Robert, to get into a fight with a man so much older?"

"I don't want to get into any difficulty, mother. It was forced upon me. Besides, I left him two of the chickens."

"Was Clip with you?"

"I reckon I was, missis," said Clip, displaying his ivories. "I laughed like to split when Massa Bob laid de old man down on his back. Wasn't he jest ravin'? Wouldn't have lost dat sight, missis, for de biggest watermillion I ever seed."

Mrs. Burton smiled, but her smile was a faint one. She knew Aaron Wolverton, and she feared that some time or other he would try to be revenged on Bob.

CHAPTER II

AARON WOLVERTON

Richard Burton drove rapidly to the village. I may state here that the name of the township was Carver. Like most Western villages, it consisted principally of one long, central street, containing buildings of all sizes and descriptions, from a three-story hotel to a one-story office. But there seemed to be a good deal going on all the time – much more than in an Eastern town of the size. Western people are active, progressive, never content to stand still. In the drowsy atmosphere that pervades many an Eastern country town they would stagnate, but there perpetual motion is the rule.

Everybody in Carver knew Richard Burton. Everybody liked him also; he was easy and social with all. I have said everybody, but I must make one exception, and that was the man on whom he now proposed to call.

About midway on the main street was a small one-story building, about twelve feet square. Above the door was a sign:

Mr. Wolverton had considerable capital, which he was in the habit of lending on mortgage, always for a large interest, and on substantial security. He was supposed to be rich, but did not live like a rich man. His dwelling lay a little way back from the street; it was small, cramped, and uncomfortable, and his style of living was of the most economical character. He was a bachelor, and the only other members of his family were his sister, Sally Wolverton, who resembled her brother in person and character, and a nephew, Sam, the son of a brother, who came in for a liberal share of ill-treatment from the uncle, on whom he was dependent.

Richard Burton reined up in front of Wolverton's office, and, leaping from his carriage, unceremoniously opened the outer door.

"Good morning, Wolverton," he said, cheerily.

Aaron Wolverton, a meagre and wrinkled man of fifty-five, looked up from his desk, and scanned his visitor's face attentively. He was not sure but Richard Burton, who was a high-spirited man, had come to take him to task for his attack upon Bob a short time before. Whenever he thought of it, he fairly trembled with rage and humiliation, for the boy had conquered him, and he knew it.

Burton's words reassured him.

"I have come to pay interest on the mortgage, Wolverton. I suppose you haven't forgotten that?"

"No."

"Catch you forgetting a thing of that kind. That wouldn't be like you."

"I suppose you don't want to lift the mortgage?"

"No; it is all I can do to pay the interest. The first six months have passed remarkably quick."

"Not to me."

"No, for you are to receive money, I to pay it. It makes all the difference in the world. I suppose you are not in need of the money?"

"No, not at present," answered Wolverton, slowly; "but if I had it I could get higher interest."

"Higher interest! Isn't ten per cent. enough for you?"

"Nothing is enough, as long as I can get more."

"Come, Wolverton, don't be such a money-grabber. You must be rolling in money."

The old man shrugged his shoulders in deprecation.

"Times are dull, and – I lose money sometimes," he said.

"Not much, if you know it," said Burton, jocosely. "Well, just write a receipt for six months' interest, one hundred and fifty dollars."

Aaron Wolverton took the proffered bills, eyeing them with eager cupidity, and put them in his desk. Then he made out a receipt, and handed it to his visitor.

"You will be paying the mortgage next year?" he said inquiringly.

"I don't know, Wolverton. If the crops are good, I may pay a part. But I am afraid I am not a very good manager. I can't save money like you, and that brings me round to the question: For whom are you piling up all this wealth? Is it for Sam?"

"Sam is a young loafer," said Wolverton, with a frown. "I give him a home and his living, and he is almost too lazy to breathe."

"You were not that way at his age?"

"No. I worked early and late. I was a poor boy. All that I have, I made by hard work."

"Take my advice, Wolverton, and get the worth of it while you live. But perhaps you are saving with a view to matrimony. Ha, ha!"

And Richard burst into a ringing laugh.

Wolverton puckered up his face, and snarled:

"Why shouldn't I marry if I choose? What is there to laugh at?"

"No reason at all. I advise you to marry. You ought to, for I have found happiness in marrying one of the sweetest women in the world."

Then without any apparent reason, remembering that the man before him had aspired to the hand of his wife, he burst into another laugh, which he kept up till the tears ran from his eyes. He didn't notice the evil expression which it called up in the face of the moneylender.

"I'd like to kill him where he stands," thought Aaron Wolverton. "She must have told him about me. Curse him! he stole her from me, and now he dares to laugh in my face!"

But Wolverton was not a man to indulge even his evil temper when it was impolitic to do so. He forced himself to look indifferent, and merely said:

"Let them laugh that win, Mr. Burton. Perhaps my time may come some day."

"Perhaps it may, Wolverton. I heartily hope that you may find some one to make your life happy. I am happy myself, and I like to see others happy."

There was a little more conversation, and then Richard Burton went out.

"Good-bye, Wolverton. Come to my ranch some time. I'll give you a seat at supper, and we will smoke a cigar afterwards."

The colt – for it was scarcely more than that – was getting restless. It was pawing the ground and evidently anxious to get away.

"Your horse has a bad temper, Mr. Burton," said Wolverton.

"Yes, he needs taming. He's not well trained yet."

"There's something more than that," Wolverton said to himself, thoughtfully. "Horses are like men – they often have nasty tempers. I wouldn't ride behind that brute for – for the money Burton has just paid me. Some day he'll get upset, or thrown. And if he does," he continued, after a pause, "why should I lament? He has taken from me the only woman I ever loved. She might have made a different man of me – perhaps."

Just then a boy came up the street. He stopped and eyed Aaron Wolverton with a little misgiving.

"Sam," said Wolverton, sharply, "what kept you so long? Do you want the strap again?"

"Indeed, uncle, I hurried as fast as I could. Mr. Jenks kept me waiting."

"That is probably a lie," growled Wolverton. "However, since you are here, go into your dinner. It is cold by this time, most likely."

It was cold and uninviting, but Sam could not afford to be dainty, and ate what was set before him by his aunt.

CHAPTER III

A LITTLE RETROSPECT

Richard Burton, three years previous to the opening of this story, was a dry-goods merchant in St. Louis. Becoming tired of the dull routine of his daily life, and with a wistful remembrance of the country, where he had passed his boyhood, he sold out his business for a few thousand dollars, and with the sum realized bought a large ranch located on a small river or creek running into the Missouri.

In taking this course he was influenced in no small degree by a city acquaintance, Aaron Wolverton, who six months before had located himself in the same township, and who, indeed, had made the purchase of the ranch on his behalf. Wolverton made a large commission on the transaction – larger than Richard Burton was aware; but it must be admitted he had bought him an excellent property. Burton was entirely unacquainted with the fact that Wolverton had at an earlier period been an unsuccessful suitor for his wife's hand, nor did he know it till the morning on which our story opens.

It is always rather a hazardous experiment when a man, engaged till middle life in other business, becomes a tiller of the soil without special training for his new occupation. Few persons make farming profitable, however well qualified, and the St. Louis merchant was hardly likely to do more than make a living. In fact, he did not make both ends meet, but fell behind every year till he felt compelled to borrow three thousand dollars on mortgage of Aaron Wolverton. His wife expressed uneasiness, but he laughed away her remonstrances, and assured her he should be able to pay it back in a couple of years, if fortune favored him with good crops.

"You know, Mary," he said cheerfully, "there are a good many extra expenses just at first, but it will be different in future. Wolverton assures me that the ranch is a fine one, and that I can pay him back sooner than he desires, for he is glad to lend on such excellent security."

Mrs. Burton was silent, but she was not convinced.

Robert Burton, popularly called Bob, was the only son of the ex-merchant. He thoroughly enjoyed the removal to the country, having a taste for manly sports. He usually spent a part of the day in study, reciting to a clergyman in the village, and the rest of his time he employed in hunting, fishing, and farm work. Clip, the young refugee, was his chosen companion, and was sincerely attached to Massa Bob, as he generally called him. The negro lad was full of fun and innocent mischief, but had no malice about him. Bob tried to teach him to read, but Clip was no scholar. He complained that study made his head ache.

"But you ought to know something, Clip," expostulated Bob. "You don't want to grow up an ignoramus."

"What's dat?" asked Clip, bewildered. "Never heard such a long word. Is it anything very bad?"

"It means a know-nothing, Clip."

"I guess you're right, Massa Bob. Dat's what I am."

"But don't it trouble you, Clip?"

"No, Massa Bob; I guess I was never cut out for a scholar."

Still Bob persevered in his effort to teach Clip.

One day, after an unsuccessful attempt to get him to understand the difference between capital B and R, he said: "Clip, I don't believe you have got any sense."

"Spec's I haven't, Massa Bob," answered Clip, philosophically. "How many have you got?"

Bob laughed.

"I don't know exactly," he replied; "but I hope I have as many as the average."

"I reckon you've got a lot. You learn awful easy."

"I am afraid I shall have to learn for both of us, Clip."

"Dat's so!" said Clip, in a tone of satisfaction. "Dat'll do just as well."

So Bob was finally obliged to give up teaching Clip in despair. He was led to accept the conclusion of his young protégé that he was never meant for a scholar.

In one respect Bob and Clip shared the prejudices of Mrs. Burton. Neither liked Aaron Wolverton. They felt friendly, however, to Sam Wolverton, the nephew; and more than once Sam, with his appetite unsatisfied at home, came over to Burton's ranch and enjoyed a hearty lunch, thanks to the good offices of Bob Burton.

One day he came over crying, and showed the marks of a severe whipping he had received from his uncle.

"What did you do, Sam?" asked Bob.

Sam mentioned the offense, which was a trifling one, and unintentional besides.

"Your uncle is a brute!" said Bob indignantly.

"Dat's so, Sam," echoed Clip.

"It would do me good to lay the whip over his shoulders."

Sam trembled, and shook his head. He was a timid boy, and such an act seemed to him to border on the foolhardy.

"How old are you, Sam?"

"Fourteen."

"In seven years you will be a man, and he can't tyrannize over you any longer."

"I don't believe I shall live so long," said Sam, despondently.

"Yes, you will. Even in four years, when you are eighteen, your uncle won't dare to beat you."

"Why don't you run away, like I did?" asked Clip, with a bright idea.

But Sam was not of the heroic type. He shrank from throwing himself on the world.

"I should starve," he said. "Would you run away, Clip, if you were in my place?"

"Wouldn't I just!"

"And you, Bob?"

"He wouldn't strike me but once," said Bob, proudly.

"It's all well enough for you, but I think I'm a coward. When my uncle comes at me my heart sinks into my boots, and I want to run away."

"You'll never make a hero, Sam."

"No, I won't. I'm an awful coward, and I know it."

"How is your aunt? Is she any better than your uncle?"

"She's about the same. She don't whip me, but she's got an awful rough tongue. She will scold till she's out of breath."

"How long have you lived with your uncle?"

"About four years. When my father died, he told me to go to Uncle Aaron."

"Didn't he leave any property?"

"Uncle Aaron says he didn't leave a cent, and I suppose it's so; but father told me in his last sickness there'd be some property for me."

"I've no doubt there was, and he cheated you out of it," said Bob indignantly. "That's just my opinion of your uncle."

"Even if it is so, I can't do anything. It'll do no good. But I'd like to know how it is, for Uncle Aaron is all the time twitting me with living on him."

"As if you don't do enough to earn your own living. Why, you work harder than Clip, here, though that isn't saying much," added Bob, with a smile.

Clip showed his white teeth, and seemed to enjoy the joke.

"Spec's I was born lazy," he said, promptly. "Dat ain't my fault, ef I was born so."

"That wouldn't be any excuse with Uncle Aaron," remarked Sam. "He thinks I'm lazy, and says he means to lick the laziness out of me."

"I think we had better hire out Clip to him. He needs a little discipline like that sort."

"Oh golly, massa Bob! I couldn't stand it nohow," said Clip, with a comical expression of alarm. "Massa Wolverton's the meanest white man I ever seed. Wish an earthquake would come and swallow him up."

"Your father was round to see my uncle this morning," said Sam.

"Yes, I know; he went to pay him some interest money."

"Your father is a nice gentleman. I wish I was his nephew," said poor Sam, enviously.

"Yes, Sam; he's always kind. He's a father to be proud of."

"By the way, Sam, I've got some good news for you."

"What is it, Bob?"

"Your uncle carried home a pair of prairie chickens this morning. You'll have one good dinner, at least."

"Where did he get them?"

"I shot them."

"And you gave them to him?" asked Sam, surprised.

"Well, yes, after a little squabble," and Bob related the adventure of the morning.

"How brave you are, Bob!" said Sam admiringly. "You actually had a quarrel with Uncle Aaron?"

"Yes," answered Bob, with a smile. "When I got through, your uncle was lying on his back resting. I threw down two of the chickens, as much for your sake as any other reason. I hope you'll get your share."

"I saw the chickens in the kitchen before I came away, and wondered where they came from. I knew Uncle Aaron wouldn't buy them."

"Has your uncle got a gun?"

"No; I think he's afraid of a gun."

"And you are afraid of him?"

"I can't help it, Bob. He flogs me sometimes with a horsewhip."

"I'd like to see him try it on me," said Bob, with emphasis. "But as I said before, you'll be a man some time, Sam, and then he won't dare touch you."

CHAPTER IV

THE SUDDEN SUMMONS

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