Alger Horatio Jr.
Cast Upon the Breakers
CHAPTER XXXI
MR. WHEELER EXPLAINS
Probably there was no one at the hotel who suspected Louis Wheeler of being a thief except Rodney and Mr. Pettigrew. His action in starting a contribution for John O’Donnell helped to make him popular. He was establishing a reputation quite new to him, and it was this fact probably that made him less prudent than he would otherwise have been.
As the loss had been made up, the boarders at the Miners’ Rest ceased to talk of it. But Jefferson and his young assistant did not forget it.
“I am sure Wheeler is the thief, but I don’t know how to bring it home to him,” said Jefferson one day, when alone with Rodney.
“You might search him.”
“Yes, but what good would that do? It might be found that he had money, but one gold coin is like another and it would be impossible to identify it as the stolen property. If O’Donnell had lost anything else except money it would be different. I wish he would come to my chamber.”
“Perhaps he would if he thought you were a sound sleeper.”
“That is an idea. I think I can make use of it.”.
That evening when Wheeler was present Mr. Pettigrew managed to turn the conversation to the subject of sleeping.
“I am a very sound sleeper,” he said. “I remember when I was at home sleeping many a time through a severe thunder storm.”
“Don’t you sometimes wake up in the middle of the night?” asked Rodney.
“Very seldom, if I am in good health.”
“Its different with me,” said another of the company. “A step on the floor or the opening of the door will wake me up at any time.”
“I am glad I am not so easily roused.”
“If I had a fish horn,” said Rodney, laughing, “I should be tempted to come up in the night and give it a blast before your door.”
“That might wake me up,” said Mr. Pettigrew. “I wouldn’t advise you to try it or the other boarders might get up an indignation meeting.”
The same evening Jefferson Pettigrew took out a bag of gold and carelessly displayed it.
“Are you not afraid of being robbed, Mr. Pettigrew?” asked Rodney.
“Oh no. I never was robbed in my life.”
“How much money have you there?”
“I don’t know exactly. Perhaps six hundred dollars,” said Pettigrew in an indifferent tone.
Among those who listened to this conversation with interest was Louis Wheeler. Rodney did not fail to see the covetous gleam of his eyes when the gold was displayed.
The fact was, that Wheeler was getting short of cash and at the time he took John O’Donnell’s money—for he was the thief—he had but about twenty dollars left, and of this he contributed five to the relief of the man he had robbed.
His theft realized him two hundred dollars, but this would not last him long, as the expenses of living at the Miners’ Rest were considerable. He was getting tired of Oreville, but wanted to secure some additional money before he left it. The problem was whom to make his second victim.
It would not have occurred to him to rob Jefferson Pettigrew, of whom he stood in wholesome fear, but for the admission that he was an unusually sound sleeper; even then he would have felt uncertain whether it would pay. But the display of the bag of money, and the statement that it contained six hundred dollars in gold proved a tempting bait.
“If I can capture that bag of gold,” thought Wheeler, “I shall have enough money to set me up in some new place. There won’t be much risk about it, for Pettigrew sleeps like a top. I will venture it.”
Jefferson Pettigrew’s chamber was on the same floor as his own. It was the third room from No. 17 which Mr. Wheeler occupied.
As a general thing the occupants of the Miners’ Rest went to bed early. Mining is a fatiguing business, and those who follow it have little difficulty in dropping off to sleep. The only persons who were not engaged in this business were Louis Wheeler and Rodney Ropes. As a rule the hotel was closed at half past ten and before this all were in bed and sleeping soundly.
When Wheeler went to bed he said to himself, “This will probably be my last night in this tavern. I will go from here to Helena, and if things turn out right I may be able to make my stay there profitable. I shan’t dare to stay here long after relieving Pettigrew of his bag of gold.”
Unlike Jefferson Pettigrew, Wheeler was a light sleeper. He had done nothing to induce fatigue, and had no difficulty in keeping awake till half past eleven. Then lighting a candle, he examined his watch, and ascertained the time.
“It will be safe enough now,” he said to himself.
He rose from his bed, and drew on his trousers. Then in his stocking feet he walked along the corridor till he stood in front of Jefferson Pettigrew’s door. He was in doubt as to whether he would not be obliged to pick the lock, but on trying the door he found that it was not fastened. He opened it and stood within the chamber.
Cautiously he glanced at the bed. Mr. Pettigrew appeared to be sleeping soundly.
“It’s all right,” thought Louis Wheeler. “Now where is the bag of gold?”
It was not in open view, but a little search showed that the owner had put it under the bed.
“He isn’t very sharp,” thought Wheeler. “He is playing right into my hands. Door unlocked, and bag of gold under the bed. He certainly is a very unsuspicious man. However, that is all the better for me. Really there isn’t much credit in stealing where all is made easy for you.”
There seemed to be nothing to do but to take the gold from its place of deposit and carry it back to his own room. While there were a good many lodgers in the hotel, there seemed to be little risk about this, as every one was asleep.
Of course should the bag be found in his room that would betray him, but Mr. Wheeler proposed to empty the gold coins into his gripsack, and throw the bag out of the window into the back yard.
“Well, here goes!” said Wheeler cheerfully, as he lifted the bag, and prepared to leave the chamber. But at this critical moment an unexpected sound struck terror into his soul. It was the sound of a key being turned in the lock.
Nervously Wheeler hastened to the door and tried it. It would not open. Evidently it had been locked from the outside. What could it mean?
At the same time there was a series of knocks on the outside of the door. It was the signal that had been agreed upon between Mr. Pettigrew and Rodney. Jefferson had given his key to Rodney, who had remained up and on the watch for Mr. Wheeler’s expected visit. He, too, was in his stocking feet.
As soon as he saw Wheeler enter his friend’s chamber he stole up and locked the door on the outide. Then when he heard the thief trying to open the door he rained a shower of knocks on the panel.
Instantly Jefferson Pettigrew sprang out of bed and proceeded to act.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded, seizing Wheeler in his powerful grasp.
“Where am I?” asked Wheeler in a tone of apparent bewilderment.
“Oh, it’s you, Mr. Wheeler?” said Jefferson. “Don’t you know where you are?”
“Oh, it is my friend, Mr. Pettigrew. Is it possible I am in your room?”
“It is very possible. Now tell me why you are here?”
“I am really ashamed to find myself in this strange position. It is not the first time that I have got into trouble from walking in my sleep.”
“Oh, you were walking in your sleep!”
“Yes, friend Petttigrew. It has been a habit of mine since I was a boy. But it seems very strange that I should have been led to your room. How could I get in? Wasn’t the door locked?”
“It is locked now?”
“It is strange! I don’t understand it,” said Wheeler, passing his hand over his forehead.
“Perhaps you understand why you have that bag of gold in your hand.”
“Can it be possible?” ejaculated Wheeler in well counterfeited surprise. “I don’t know how to account for it.”
“I think I can. Rodney, unlock the door and come in.”
The key was turned in the lock, and Rodney entered with a lighted candle in his hand.
“You see, Rodney, that I have a late visitor. You will notice also that my bag of gold seems to have had an attraction for him.”
“I am ashamed. I don’t really know how to explain it except in this way. When you displayed the gold last night it drew my attention and I must have dreamed of it. It was this which drew me unconsciously to your door. It is certainly an interesting fact in mental science.”
“It would have been a still more interesting fact if you had carried off the gold.”
“I might even have done that in my unconsciousness, but of course I should have discovered it tomorrow morning and would have returned it to you.”
“I don’t feel by any means sure of that. Look here, Mr. Wheeler, if that is your name, you can’t pull the wool over my eyes. You are a thief, neither more nor less.”
“How can you misjudge me so, Mr. Pettigrew?”
“Because I know something of your past history. It is clear to me now that you were the person that stole John O’Donnell’s money.”
“Indeed, Mr. Pettigrew.”
“It is useless to protest. How much of it have you left?”
Louis Wheeler was compelled to acknowledge the theft, and returned one hundred dollars to Jefferson Pettigrew.
“Now,” said Jefferson, “I advise you to leave the hotel at once. If the boys find out that you are a thief you will stand a chance of being lynched. Get out!”
The next morning Jefferson Pettigrew told the other boarders that Louis Wheeler had had a sudden call East, and it was not for a week that he revealed to them the real reason of Wheeler’s departure.
CHAPTER XXXII
RODNEY FALLS INTO A TRAP
Rodney had reason to be satisfied with his position as landlord of the Miners’ Rest. His pay was large, and enabled him to put away a good sum every month, but his hours were long and he was too closely confined for a boy of his age. At the end of three months he showed this in his appearance. His good friend Pettigrew saw it and said one day, “Rodney, you are looking fagged out. You need a change.”
“Does that mean that you are going to discharge me?” asked Rodney, with a smile.
“It means that I am going to give you a vacation.”
“But what can I do if I take a vacation? I should not like lounging around Oreville with nothing to do.”
“Such a vacation would do you no good. I’ll tell you the plan I have for you. I own a small mine in Babcock, about fifty miles north of Oreville. I will send you up to examine it, and make a report to me. Can you ride on horseback?”
“Yes.”
“That is well, for you will have to make your trip in that way. There are no railroads in that direction, nor any other way of travel except on foot or on horseback. A long ride like that with hours daily in the open air, will do you good. What do you say to it?”
“I should like nothing better,” replied Rodney, with his eyes sparkling. “Only, how will you get along without me?”
“I have a man in my employ at the mines who will do part of your work, and I will have a general oversight of things. So you need not borrow any trouble on that account. Do you think you can find your way?”
“Give me the general direction, and I will guarantee to do so. When shall I start?”
“Day after tomorrow. That will give me one day for making arrangements.”
At nine the appointed morning Mr. Pettigrew’s own horse stood saddled at the door, and Rodney in traveling costume with a small satchel in his hand, mounted and rode away, waving a smiling farewell to his friend and employer.
Rodney did not hurry, and so consumed two days and a half in reaching Babcock. Here he was cordially received by the superintendent whom Jefferson Pettigrew had placed in charge of the mine. Every facility was afforded him to examine into the management of things and he found all satisfactory.
This part of his journey, therefore, may be passed over. But his return trip was destined to be more exciting.
Riding at an easy jog Rodney had got within fifteen miles of Oreville, when there was an unexpected interruption. Two men started out from the roadside, or rather from one side of the bridle path for there was no road, and advanced to meet him with drawn revolvers.
“Halt there!” one of them exclaimed in a commanding tone.
Rodney drew bridle, and gazed at the two men in surprise.
“What do you want of me?” he asked.
“Dismount instantly!”
“Why should I? What right have you to interfere with my journey?”
“Might gives right,” said one of the men sententiously. “It will be best for you to do as we bid you without too much back talk.”
“What are you—highwaymen?” asked Rodney.
“You’d better not talk too much. Get off that horse!”
Rodney saw that remonstrance was useless, and obeyed the order.
One of the men seized the horse by the bridle, and led him.
“Walk in front!” he said.
“Where are you going to take me?” asked Rodney.
“You will know in due time.”
“I hope you will let me go,” urged Rodney, beginning to be uneasy. “I am expected home this evening, or at all event I want to get there.”
“No doubt you do, but the Miners’ Rest will have to get along without you for a while.”
“Do you know me then?”
“Yes; you are the boy clerk at the Miners’ Rest.”
“You both put up there about two weeks since,” said Rodney, examining closely the faces of the two men.
“Right you are, kid!”
“What can you possibly want of me?”
“Don’t be too curious. You will know in good time.”
Rodney remembered that the two men had remained at the hotel for a day and night. They spent the day in wandering around Oreville.
He had supposed when they came that they were in search of employment, but they had not applied for work and only seemed actuated by curiosity. What could be their object in stopping him now he could not understand.
It would have been natural to suppose they wanted money, but they had not asked for any as yet. He had about fifty dollars in his pocketbook and he would gladly have given them this if it would have insured his release. But not a word had been said about money.
They kept on their journey. Montana is a mountainous State, and they were now in the hilly regions. They kept on for perhaps half an hour, gradually getting upon higher ground, until they reached a precipitous hill composed largely of rock.
Here the two men stopped as if they had reached their journey’s end.
One of them advanced to the side of the hill and unlocked a thick wooden door which at first had failed to attract Rodney’s attention. The door swung open, revealing a dark passage, cut partly through stone and partly through earth. Inside on the floor was a bell of good size.
One of the men lifted the bell and rang it loudly.
“What does that mean?” thought Rodney, who felt more curious than apprehensive.
He soon learned.
A curious looking negro, stunted in growth, for he was no taller than a boy of ten, came out from the interior and stood at the entrance of the cave, if such it was. His face was large and hideous, there was a hump on his back, and his legs were not a match, one being shorter than the other, so that as he walked, his motion was a curious one. He bent a scrutinizing glance on Rodney.
“Well, Caesar, is dinner ready?” asked one of the men.
“No, massa, not yet.”
“Let it be ready then as soon as possible. But first lead the way. We are coming in.”
He started ahead, leading the horse, for the entrance was high enough to admit the passage of the animal.
“Push on!” said the other, signing to Rodney to precede him.
Rodney did so, knowing remonstrance to be useless. His curiosity was excited. He wondered how long the passage was and whither it led.
The way was dark, but here and there in niches was a kerosene lamp that faintly relieved the otherwise intense blackness.
“I have read about such places,” thought Rodney, “but I never expected to get into one. The wonder is, that they should bring me here. I can’t understand their object.”
Rodney followed his guide for perhaps two hundred and fifty feet when they emerged into a large chamber of irregular shape, lighted by four large lamps set on a square wooden table. There were two rude cots in one corner, and it was here apparently that his guides made their home.
There was a large cooking stove in one part of the room, and an appetizing odor showed that Caesar had the dinner under way.
Rodney looked about him in curiosity. He could not decide whether the cave was natural or artificial. Probably it was a natural cave which had been enlarged by the hand of man.
“Now hurry up the dinner, Caesar,” said one of the guides. “We are all hungry.”
“Yes, massa,” responded the obedient black.
Rodney felt hungry also, and hoped that he would have a share of the dinner. Later he trusted to find out the object of his new acquaintances in kidnaping him.
Dinner was soon ready. It was simple, but Rodney thoroughly enjoyed it.
During the meal silence prevailed. After it his new acquaintances produced pipes and began to smoke. They offered Rodney a cigarette, but he declined it.
“I don’t smoke,” he said.
“Are you a Sunday school kid?” asked one in a sneering tone.
“Well, perhaps so.”
“How long have you lived at Oreville?”
“About four months.”
“Who is the head of the settlement there?”
“Jefferson Pettigrew.”
“He is the moneyed man, is he?”
“Yes.”
“Is he a friend of yours?”
“He is my best friend,” answered Rodney warmly.
“He thinks a good deal of you, then?”
“I think he does.”
“Where have you been—on a journey?”
“Yes, to the town of Babcock.”
“Did he send you?”
“Yes.”
“What interest has he there?”
“He is chief owner of a mine there.”
“Humph! I suppose you would like to know why we brought you here.”
“I would very much.”
“We propose to hold you for ransom.”
“But why should you? I am only a poor boy.”
“You are the friend of Jefferson Pettigrew. He is a rich man. If he wants you back he must pay a round sum.”
It was all out now! These men were emulating a class of outlaws to be found in large numbers in Italy and Sicily, and were trading upon human sympathy and levying a tax upon human friendship.
CHAPTER XXXIII
UNDERGROUND
Rodney realized his position. The alternative was not a pleasant one. Either he must remain in the power of these men, or cost his friend Mr. Pettigrew a large sum as ransom. There was little hope of changing the determination of his captors, but he resolved to try what he could do.
“Mr. Pettigrew is under no obligations to pay money out for me,” he said. “I am not related to him, and have not yet known him six months.”
“That makes no difference. You are his friend, and he likes you.”
“That is the very reason why I should not wish him to lose money on my account.”
“Oh, very well! It will be bad for you is he doesn’t come to your help.”
“Why? What do you propose to do to me?” asked Rodney boldly.
“Better not ask!” was the significant reply.
“But I want to know. I want to realize my position.”
“The least that will happen to you is imprisonment in this cave for a term of years.”
“I don’t think I should like it but you would get tired of standing guard over me.”
“We might, and in that case there is the other thing.”
“What other thing?”
“If we get tired of keeping you here, we shall make short work with you.”
“Would you murder me?” asked Rodney, horror struck, as he might well be, for death seems terrible to a boy just on the threshold of life.
“We might be obliged to do so.”
Rodney looked in the faces of his captors, and he saw nothing to encourage him. They looked like desperate men, who would stick at nothing to carry out their designs.
“I don’t see why you should get hold of me,” he said. “If you had captured Mr. Pettigrew himself you would stand a better chance of making it pay.”
“There is no chance of capturing Pettigrew. If there were we would prefer him to you. A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.”
“How much ransom do you propose to ask?”
This Rodney said, thinking that if it were a thousand dollars he might be able to make it good to his friend Jefferson. But he was destined to be disappointed.
“Five thousand dollars,” answered the chief speaker.
“Five thousand dollars!” ejaculated Rodney in dismay. “Five thousand dollars for a boy like me!”
“That is the sum we want.”
“If it were one thousand I think you might get it.”
“One thousand!” repeated the other scornfully. “That wouldn’t half pay us.”
“Then suppose you call it two thousand?”
“It won’t do.”
“Then I suppose I must make up my mind to remain a prisoner.”
“Five thousand dollars wouldn’t be much to a rich man like Pettigrew. We have inquired, and found out that he is worth at least a hundred thousand dollars. Five thousand is only a twentieth part of this sum.”
“You can do as you please, but you had better ask a reasonable amount if you expect to get it.”
“We don’t want advice. We shall manage things in our own way.”
Convinced that further discussion would be unavailing, Rodney relapsed into silence, but now his captors proceeded to unfold their plans.
One of them procured a bottle of ink, some paper and a pen, and set them on the table.
“Come up here, boy, and write to Mr. Pettigrew,” he said in a tone of authority.
“What shall I write?”
“Tell him that you are a prisoner, and that you will not be released unless he pays five thousand dollars.”
“I don’t want to write that. It will be the same as asking him to pay it for me.”
“That is what we mean him to understand.”
“I won’t write it.”
Rodney knew his danger, but he looked resolutely into the eyes of the men who held his life in their hands. His voice did not waver, for he was a manly and courageous boy.
“The boy’s got grit!” said one of the men to the other.
“Yes, but it won’t save him. Boy, are you going to write what I told you?”
“No.”
“Are you not afraid that we will kill you?”
“You have power to do it.”
“Don’t you want to live?”
“Yes. Life is sweet to a boy of sixteen.”
“Then why don’t you write?”
“Because I think it would be taking a mean advantage of Mr. Pettigrew.”
“You are a fool. Roderick, what shall we do with him?”
“Tell him simply to write that he is in our hands.”
“Well thought of. Boy, will you do that?”
“Yes.”
Rodney gave his consent for he was anxious that Mr. Pettigrew should know what had prevented him from coming home when he was expected.
“Very well, write! You will know what to say.”
Rodney drew the paper to him, and wrote as follows:
DEAR MR. PETTIGREW,
On my way home I was stopped by two men who have confined me in a cave, and won’t let me go unless a sum of money is paid for my ransom. I don’t know what to do. You will know better than I. RODNEY ROPES.
His chief captor took the note and read it aloud.
“That will do,” he said. “Now he will believe us when we say that you are in our hands.”
He signed to Rodney to rise from the table and took his place. Drawing a pile of paper to him, he penned the following note:
Rodney Ropes is in our hands. He wants his liberty and we want money. Send us five thousand dollars, or arrange a meeting at which it can be delivered to us, and he shall go free. Otherwise his death be on your hands. HIS CAPTORS.
Rodney noticed that this missive was written in a handsome business hand.
“You write a handsome hand,” he said.
“I ought to,” was the reply. “I was once bookkeeper in a large business house.”
“And what—” here Rodney hesitated.
“What made me an outlaw you mean to ask?”
“Yes.”
“My nature, I suppose. I wasn’t cut out for sober, humdrum life.”
“Don’t you think you would have been happier?”
“No preaching, kid! I had enough of that when I used to go to church in my old home in Missouri. Here, Caesar!”
“Yes, massa.”
“You know Oreville?”
“Yes, massa.”
“Go over there and take this letter with you. Ask for Jefferson Pettigrew, and mind you don’t tell him where we live. Only if he asks about me and my pal say we are desperate men, have each killed a round dozen of fellows that stood in our way and will stick at nothing.”
“All right, massa,” said Caesar with an appreciative grin. “How shall I go, massa?”
“You can take the kid’s horse. Ride to within a mile of Oreville, then tether the horse where he won’t easily be found, and walk over to the mines. Do you understand?”
“Yes, massa.”
“He won’t probably give you any money, but he may give you a letter. Bring it safely to me.”
Caesar nodded and vanished.
For an hour the two men smoked their pipes and chatted. Then they rose, and the elder said: “We are going out, kid, for a couple of hours. Are you afraid to stay alone?”
“Why should I be?”
“That’s the way to talk. I won’t caution you not to escape, for it would take a smarter lad then you to do it. If you are tired you can lie down on the bed and rest.”
“All right!”
“I am sorry we haven’t got the morning paper for you to look over,” said his captor with a smile. “The carrier didn’t leave it this morning.”
“I can get along without it. I don’t feel much like reading.”
“You needn’t feel worried. You’ll be out of this tomorrow if Jefferson Pettigrew is as much your friend as you think he is.”
“The only thing that troubles me is the big price you charge at your hotel.”
“Good! The kid has a good wit of his own. After all, we wouldn’t mind keeping you with us. It might pay you better than working for Pettigrew.”
“I hope you’ll excuse my saying it, but I don’t like the business.”
“You may change your mind. At your age we wouldn’t either of us like the sort of life we are leading. Come, John.”
The two men went out but did not allow Rodney to accompany them to the place of exit.
Left to himself, Rodney could think soberly of his plight. He could not foresee whether his captivity would be brief or prolonged.
After a time the spirit of curiosity seized him. He felt tempted to explore the cavern in which he was confined. He took a lamp, and followed in a direction opposite to that taken by his captors.
The cave he found was divided into several irregularly shaped chambers. He walked slowly, holding up the lamp to examine the walls of the cavern. In one passage he stopped short, for something attracted his attention—something the sight of which made his heart beat quicker and filled him with excitement.
