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.
All the next day, in consequence of his disappointment, Mr. Wolverton was unusually cross and irritable. He even snapped at his sister, who replied, with spirit:
"Look here, Aaron, you needn't snap at me, for I won't stand it."
"How will you help it?" he sneered.
"By leaving your house, and letting you get another housekeeper. I can earn my own living, without working any harder than I do here, and a better living, too. While I stay here, you've got to treat me decently."
Wolverton began to see that he had made a mistake. Any other housekeeper would cost him more, and he could find none that would be so economical.
"I don't mean anything, Sally," he said; "but I'm worried."
"What worries you?"
"A heavy loss."
"How much?"
"A hundred and fifty dollars."
"How is that?"
"I have lost a receipt, but I can't explain how. A hundred and fifty dollars is a great deal of money, Sally."
"I should say it was. Why can't you tell me about it?"
"Perhaps I will some time."
About two months later, while Bob was superintending the harvesting of the wheat – the staple crop of the Burton ranch – Clip came running up to him in visible excitement.
"Oh, Massa Bob," he exclaimed, "there is a ferry-boat coming down the creek with nobody on it, and it's done got stuck ag'inst a snag. Come quick, and we can take it for our own. Findings is keepings."
Bob lost no time in following Clip's suggestion. He hurried to the creek, and there, a few rods from shore, he discovered the boat stranded in the mud, for it was low tide.
CHAPTER XIV
THE BOAT AND ITS OWNER
The boat was shaped somewhat like the popular representations of Noah's ark. It was probably ninety feet in length by thirty-eight feet in width, and was roofed. Bob recognized it at once as a ferry-boat of the style used at different points on the river, to convey passengers and teams across the river. It was a double-ender, like the much larger ferry-boats that are used on the East River, between New York and Brooklyn.
The creek on which the Burton ranch was located was really large enough for a river, and Bob concluded that this boat had been used at a point higher up.
"I wish I owned that boat, Clip," said Bob.
"What would you do with it, Massa Bob?"
"I'll tell you what I'd do, Clip; I'd go down to St. Louis on it."
"Will you take me with you, Massa Bob?" asked Clip, eagerly.
"I will, if I go, Clip."
"Golly, won't that be fine!" said the delighted Clip. "How long will you stay, Massa Bob?"
Clip supposed Bob intended a pleasure trip, for in his eyes pleasure was the chief end of living. But Bob was more practical and business-like. He had an idea which seemed to him a good one, though as yet he had mentioned it to no one.
"Get out the boat, Clip," he said, "and we'll go aboard. I want to see if the boat will be large enough for my purpose."
Clip laughed in amusement.
"You must think you'self mighty big, Massa Bob," he said, "if you think there isn't room on that boat for you an' me."
"It would certainly be large enough for two passengers like ourselves, Clip," answered Bob, smiling; "for that matter our rowboat is large enough for two boys, but if I go I shall carry a load with me."
Clip was still in the dark, but he was busying himself in unloosing the rowboat, according to Bob's bidding. The two boys jumped in, and a few strokes of the oars carried them to the ferry-boat. Fastening the flat-bottomed boat, the two boys clambered on deck.
Bob found the boat in good condition. It had occurred to him that it had been deserted as old and past service, and allowed to drift down the creek, but an examination showed that in this conjecture he was mistaken. It was sufficiently good to serve for years yet. This discovery was gratifying in one way, but in another it was a disappointment. As a boat of little value, Bob could have taken possession of it, fairly confident that no one would interfere with his claim, but in its present condition it was hardly likely to be without an owner, who would appear sooner or later and put in his claim to it.
"It seems to be a pretty good boat," said Bob.
"Dat's so, Massa Bob."
"It must have slipped its moorings and drifted down the creek during the night. I wish I knew who owned it."
"You an' me own it, Massa Bob. Finding is keeping."
"I am afraid it won't be so in the present case. Probably the owner will appear before long."
"Can't we get off down de river afore he comes, Massa Bob?"
"That wouldn't be honest, Clip."
Clip scratched his head in perplexity. He was not troubled with conscientious scruples, and was not as clear about the rights of property as his young patron. He was accustomed, however, to accept whatever Bob said as correct and final. In fact, he was content to let Bob do his thinking for him.
"What was you goin' to take down de ribber, Massa Bob?" he asked.
"I'll tell you what I was thinking of, Clip. You know we are gathering our crop of grain, and of course it must be sold. Now, traders ask a large commission for taking the wheat to market, and this would be a heavy tax. If I could load it on board this boat, and take it down myself, I should save all that, and I could sell it myself in St. Louis."
"Can I go, too?" asked Clip, anxiously.
"You shall go if I do," answered Bob.
"When will you know?" asked Clip, eagerly.
"When I find out whether I can use this boat. I had thought of building a raft, but that wouldn't do. No raft that I could build would carry our crop to St. Louis. This boat will be just the thing. I think it must have been used for that purpose before. See those large bins on each side. Each would contain from fifty to a hundred bushels of wheat. I only wish I knew the owner. Even if I couldn't buy the boat, I might make a bargain to hire it."
Bob had hardly finished his sentence when he heard a voice hailing him from the bank.
Going to the end of the boat, he looked towards the shore, and saw a tall angular figure, who seemed from his dress and appearance to be a Western Yankee. His figure was tall and angular, his face of the kind usually described as hatchet face, with a long thin nose, and his head was surmounted by a flapping sombrero, soft, broad-brimmed, and shapeless.
"Boat ahoy!" called the stranger.
"Did you wish to speak to us?" asked Bob, politely.
"I reckon I do," answered the stranger. "I want you to take me aboard that boat."
"Is the boat yours?" asked Bob.
"It doesn't belong to anybody else," was the reply.
"Untie the boat, Clip. We'll go back!" ordered Bob.
The two boys dropped into the rowboat, and soon touched the bank.
"If you will get in we'll row you over," said Bob. "When did you lose the boat?"
"It drifted down last night," answered the new acquaintance. "I've been usin' it as a ferry-boat about twenty miles up the creek. Last night I thought it was tied securely, but this morning it was gone."
"I don't see how it could have broken away."
"Like as not some mischievous boy cut the cable," was the answer. "Any way, here it is, and here am I, Ichabod Slocum, the owner."
"Then the boat and its owner are once more united."
"Yes, but that don't take the boat back to where it belongs. It's drifted down here, easy enough; mebbe one of you boys will tell me how it's goin' to drift back."
"There may be some difficulty about that," answered Bob with a smile. "How long have you owned the boat?"
"About two years. I've been usin' her as a ferry-boat between Transfer City and Romeo, and I've made a pretty fair livin' at it."
Bob was familiar with the names of these towns, though he had never been so far up the creek.
"I'm afraid you'll have trouble in getting the boat back," he said. "It will make quite an interruption in your business."
"I don't know as I keer so much about that," said Ichabod Slocum, thoughtfully. "I've been thinkin' for some time about packin' up and goin' farther west. I've got a cousin in Oregon, and I reckon I might like to go out there for a year or two."
"Then, perhaps you might like to dispose of the boat, Mr. Slocum," said Bob, eagerly.
"Well, I might," said Ichabod Slocum, cautiously. "Do you know of anybody around here that wants a boat?"
"I might like it myself," was Bob's reply.
"What on airth does a boy like you want of a ferry-boat?" asked Slocum, in surprise.
"I have a plan in my head," said Bob; "and think it would be useful to me."
"There ain't no call for a ferry-boat here," said Ichabod.
"No; you are right there. I may as well tell you what I am thinking of. Our crop of grain is ready to harvest, and I should like to load it on this boat and carry it down to St. Louis and sell it there myself."
CHAPTER XV
BOB BUYS THE FERRY-BOAT
"Good!" said Mr. Slocum. "I like your pluck. Well, there's the boat. You can have it if you want it – for a fair price, of course."
"What do you call a fair price?" asked Bob.
"I don't mind sayin' that I bought it second-hand myself, and I've got good value out of it. I might sell it for – a hundred and twenty-five dollars."
Bob shook his head.
"That may be cheap," he answered; "but I can't afford to pay so much money."
"You can sell it at St. Louis when you're through usin' it."
"I should have to take my risk of it."
"You seem to be pretty good on a trade, for a boy. I reckon you'll sell it."
"Do you want all the money down. Mr. Slocum?"
"Well, I might wait for half of it, ef I think it's safe. What's your security?"
"We – that is, mother and I – own the ranch bordering on the other side of the creek. The wheat crop we are harvesting will probably amount to fourteen hundred bushels. I understand it is selling for two dollars a bushel or thereabouts." (This was soon after the war, when high prices prevailed for nearly all articles, including farm products.)
"I reckon you're safe, then," said Mr. Slocum. "Now we'll see if we can agree upon a price."
I will not follow Bob and Mr. Slocum in the bargaining that succeeded. The latter was the sharper of the two, but Bob felt obliged to reduce the price as much as possible, in view of the heavy mortgage upon the ranch.
"I shall never breathe easy till that mortgage is paid, mother," he said. "Mr. Wolverton is about the last man I like to owe. His attempt to collect the interest twice shows that he is unscrupulous. Besides, he has a grudge against me, and it would give him pleasure, I feel sure, to injure me."
"I am afraid you are right, Robert," answered his mother. "We must do our best, and Heaven will help us."
Finally Mr. Slocum agreed to accept seventy-five dollars cash down, or eighty dollars, half in cash, and the remainder payable after Bob's river trip was over and the crop disposed of.
"I wouldn't make such terms to any one else," said the boat-owner, "but I've been a boy myself, and I had a hard row to hoe, you bet. You seem like a smart lad, and I'm favorin' you all I can."
"Thank you, Mr. Slocum. I consider your price very fair, and you may depend upon my carrying out my agreement. Now, if you will come up to the house, I will offer you some dinner, and pay you the money."
Ichabod Slocum readily accepted the invitation, and the three went up to the house together.
When Bob told his mother of the bargain he had made, she was somewhat startled. She felt that he did not realize how great an enterprise he had embarked in.
"You forget, Robert, that you are only a boy," she said.
"No, mother, I don't forget it. But I have to take a man's part, now that father is dead."
"St. Louis is a long distance away, and you have no experience in business."
"On the other hand, mother, if we sell here, we must make a great sacrifice – twenty-five cents a bushel at least, and that on fourteen hundred bushels would amount to three hundred and fifty dollars. Now Clip and I can navigate the boat to St. Louis and return for less than quarter of that sum."
"The boy speaks sense, ma'am," said Ichabod Slocum. "He's only a kid, but he's a smart one. He's good at a bargain, too. He made me take fifty dollars less for the boat than I meant to. You can trust him better than a good many men."
"I am glad you have so favorable an opinion of Robert, Mr. Slocum," said Mrs. Burton. "I suppose I must yield to his desire."
"Then I may go, mother?"
"Yes, Robert; you have my consent."
"Then the next thing is to pay Mr. Slocum for his boat."
This matter was speedily arranged.
"I wish, Mr. Slocum," said Bob, "that you were going to St. Louis. I would be very glad to give you free passage."
"Thank you, lad, but I must turn my steps in a different direction."
"Shall I have any difficulty in managing the boat on our course down the river?"
"No, you will drift with the current. It is easy enough to go down stream. The trouble is to get back. But for that, I wouldn't have sold you the boat. At night you tie up anywhere it is convenient, and start again the next morning."
"That seems easy enough. Do you know how far it is to St. Louis, Mr. Slocum?"
"There you have me, lad. I ain't much on reckonin' distances."
"I have heard your father say, Robert, that it is about three hundred miles from here to the city. I don't like to have you go so far from me."
"I've got Clip to take care of me, mother," said Bob, humorously.
"I'll take care of Massa Bob, missis," said Clip, earnestly.
"I suppose I ought to feel satisfied with that assurance," said Mrs. Burton, smiling, "but I have never been accustomed to think of Clip as a guardian."
"I'll guardian, him, missis," promised Clip, amid general laughter.
After dinner, in company with Mr. Slocum, Bob and Clip went on board the ferry-boat, and made a thorough examination of the craft, with special reference to the use for which it was intended.
"You expect to harvest fourteen hundred bushels?" inquired Mr. Slocum.
"Yes; somewhere about that amount."
"Then you may need to make two or three extra bins."
"That will be a simple matter," said Bob.
"The roof over the boat will keep the wheat dry and in good condition. When you get to the city you can sell it all to one party, and superintend the removal yourself. You can hire all the help you need there."
Bob was more and more pleased with his purchase.
"It is just what I wanted," he said, enthusiastically. "The expenses will be almost nothing. We can take a supply of provisions with us, enough to keep us during the trip, and when the business is concluded we can return on some river steamer. We'll have a fine time, Clip."
"Golly! Massa Bob, dat's so."
"You will need to tie the boat," continued Ichabod Slocum, "or it may float off during the night, and that would upset all your plans. Have you a stout rope on the place?"
"I think not. I shall have to buy one at the store, or else cross the river."
"Then you had better attend to that at once. The boat may become dislodged at any moment."
After Mr. Slocum's departure, Bob lost no time in attending to this important matter. He procured a heavy rope, of sufficient strength, and proceeded to secure the boat to a tree on the bank.
"How soon will we start, Massa Bob?" asked Clip, who was anxious for the excursion to commence. He looked upon it somewhat in the light of an extended picnic, and it may be added that Bob also, apart from any consideration of business, anticipated considerable enjoyment from the trip down the river.
"Don't tell anybody what we are going to do with the boat, Clip," said Bob. "It will be a fortnight before we start, and I don't care to have much said about the matter beforehand."
Clip promised implicit obedience, but it was not altogether certain that he would be able to keep strictly to his word, for keeping a secret was not an easy thing for him to do.
Of course it leaked out that Bob had bought a ferry-boat. Among others Mr. Wolverton heard it, but he did not dream of the use to which Bob intended to put it. He spoke of it as a boy's folly, and instanced it as an illustration of the boy's unfitness for the charge of the ranch. It was generally supposed that Bob had bought it on speculation, hoping to make a good profit on the sale, and Bob suffered this idea to remain uncontradicted.
Meanwhile he pushed forward as rapidly as possible the harvest of the wheat, being anxious to get it to market.
When this work was nearly finished Mr. Wolverton thought it time to make a proposal to Mrs. Burton, which, if accepted, would bring him a handsome profit.