Alger Horatio Jr.
Frank and Fearless; or, The Fortunes of Jasper Kent
CHAPTER XVI.
AN UNPLEASANT ADVENTURE
A week later Jasper was one of the passengers on a train bound for St. Louis, and already within sixty miles of that flourishing city. He had stopped over at Niagara and Cincinnati—a day or so at each place. He gratified his desire to see the great cataract, and felt repaid for doing so, though the two stops trenched formidably upon his small capital. Indeed, at the moment when he is introduced anew to the reader's notice he had but ten dollars remaining of the sum with which he started. He was, however, provided, besides, with a through ticket to St. Louis.
He had been sitting alone, when a stranger entering the car seated himself in the vacant seat.
Looking up, Jasper noticed that he was a tall man, shabbily dressed, with thin, sallow face and a swelling in the left cheek, probably produced by a quid of tobacco.
"Good-mornin', colonel," said the stranger, sociably.
"Good-morning, sir," said Jasper, smiling. "I haven't the honor of being a colonel."
"Haven't you, cap'n? Well, that ain't of no account. It'll come in time. Where are you travelling?"
"To St. Louis."
"Ever been there afore?"
"No; this will be my first visit."
"You don't say! Where may you be from?"
"From New York State," answered Jasper, amused.
The stranger drew from his pocket a package of chewing tobacco and passed it politely to Jasper.
"Help yourself, colonel," he said hospitably.
"No, thank you; I don't chew."
"Shoo, you don't say so! High time you began, then."
"I don't think I shall ever form the habit of chewing."
"Yes, you will, colonel; everybody does. Travellin' on business?"
"Well, not exactly," said Jasper, hesitatingly. "That is, I am looking for a chance to go into business."
"Got any capital?" interjected the stranger, carelessly, squirting a yellow stream upon the floor of the car.
"Oh, I don't expect to go into business for myself at present," said Jasper, amused at the thought.
"No?" said the other, reflectively. "If you had five thousand dollars I might take you into partnership."
"What is your business?" asked Jasper, with curiosity.
"Cotton," said the stranger. "I'm a cotton broker. I do a large business."
"You don't look like it," thought Jasper, looking at his shabby costume.
"You don't want a clerk, do you?" asked our hero.
"Well, no, colonel. There ain't any vacancy now in my establishment. May be soon."
Had Jasper felt favorably impressed with his companion he would have inquired where in the city his place of business might be, but it did not strike him that he should care to be in his employ.
He accordingly pulled out a copy of a popular magazine which he had bought the day before, and began to read. The stranger bought a paper of the train-boy, and engaged in a similar way. Fifteen minutes passed in this way. At the end of that time the stranger rose leisurely, and with a brief "Mornin', colonel," passed out of the car. Whether he got into the next one or got out at the station which they were approaching Jasper could not distinguish, nor did he feel specially interested in the matter.
The time soon came when he felt his interest increased.
A few miles further on the conductor entered the car.
It was one of his usual rounds to look at tickets.
When he came up to Jasper, he said:
"Be lively now. Let me see your ticket."
"Isn't it in my hat?" asked Jasper, taking it off.
"No; did you put it there?"
"I thought I did," said our hero, surprised. "It was there when you last passed round."
"Look in your pockets."
Jasper felt in all of them, but the missing ticket could not be found.
"It may have fallen on the floor," he said, and rising he looked under the seat.
But in vain.
"Did you have any ticket?" asked the conductor, suspiciously.
"Certainly. You have looked at it yourself several times."
"You are mistaken; I got on at the last station."
"I have come all the way from Cincinnati," said Jasper, uncomfortably. "I couldn't have come so far without a ticket. What shall I do?"
"You'll have to pay from the last station to St. Louis."
This was not very agreeable in the state of Jasper's finances.
"How much is it?" he asked.
"Two dollars."
Jasper felt for his pocket-book, when a new surprise awaited him. A look of consternation swept over his countenance.
His pocket-book was gone.
"Don't keep me waiting," said the conductor, impatiently.
"My pocket-book is gone!" exclaimed our hero, gazing in blank dismay at the expectant official.
"What?"
"I can't find my pocket-book."
"Look here, young man," said the conductor, roughly, "that's too thin."
"It's true!" said Jasper.
"It won't go down, young man. I've seen such customers as you before. You're a beat!"
"A what?"
"A beat—a dead-beat, if you prefer it. Off you go at the next station!"
Jasper was greatly alarmed at the unexpected turn affairs had taken.
"Let me go to St. Louis, and I'll get money to pay you."
"It's no use," said the conductor, inexorably. "My orders are strict. If you can't pay, you can't ride."
"But my pocket was picked," said Jasper, new light flashing upon him. "There was a stranger who sat beside me a while ago. He must have taken my ticket and money, too."
"Of course there was," said the conductor, with sarcasm. "That's the way it usually happens. I'm used to such games, young man. It won't do you any good. Out you go!"
"Let me go through the cars and see if I can't find the man that robbed me. I'd know him in a minute."
"Well," said the conductor, relenting slightly, "be quick about it."
Jasper waited for no more. He rose from his seat and, carpet-bag in hand, passed into the next car.
It proved to be the smoking car.
Groups of men were playing cards, and, as Jasper judged, were playing for money. Among them, to his great joy, he recognized his shabby companion, the cotton broker of St. Louis. The latter was playing with three other men, black-bearded, and loud both in their dress and speech.
Without a moment's hesitation Jasper advanced and touched his late companion on the shoulder.
The latter looked up, and without a sign of recognition said:
"What's wanted, sir?"
For the first time it struck Jasper that his errand was rather an awkward one. How could he ask this man if he had taken his property?
"I beg your pardon, sir," said he, "but did you see anything of my ticket and money?"
"What do you mean, stranger?"
"You were sitting by me a little while ago, in the rear car."
"I don't remember it."
"And I thought you might have seen my pocket-book and ticket."
"Well, I didn't," said the other, fiercely. "What made you think I did?"
"I can't find them."
"I don't know anything about them. General, it's your deal."
He turned abruptly away from Jasper, and the boy slowly withdrew to a little distance, sorely puzzled. On the one hand, he felt convinced that this man had abstracted his ticket and money. On the other, he doubted whether it would be safe to charge him with it.
While he was hesitating, the cars began to go more slowly.
The conductor entered the car.
"Have you found your ticket?" he asked.
"No."
"Then leave the train at this next stopping-place."
Jasper had no chance to remonstrate. Obeying necessity, he stepped upon the platform, and the train swept on.
CHAPTER XVII.
THE DESERTED HOUSE
To be without money is far from pleasant under any circumstances, but to be penniless a thousand miles from home, in the midst of strangers, is far worse. Jasper found himself in this position so unexpectedly that as he stood beside the little depot with his carpet-bag in his hand he felt utterly bewildered.
He looked around him.
Not a house was in sight. Why the railroad company should have established a depot there he could not understand. Probably there must be some village not far away.
No other passenger had got out with Jasper. There was no other person in sight but the station-master, a tall, sallow-faced man, in a slouched hat, who eyed our hero curiously.
Jasper approached him.
"What place is this?" he asked.
"Don't you know?" questioned the man.
"No."
"What made you stop here, then?"
Jasper hesitated. There seemed no use in taking this man into his confidence.
"I am going to take a look at the village. I suppose there is a village?"
"Well," drawled the man, "there's some houses back."
"What's the name of the place?"
"Croyden."
"How far back is the village?"
"A matter of two miles."
"Is it easy to find the way?"
"There's the road."
The station-master pointed out a road leading through woods.
"Thank you," said Jasper.
"You don't happen to have any 'baccy with you?" asked the station-master.
"No, I am sorry to say."
"I thought maybe you might. I'm most out."
Jasper took the road indicated by his informant and pressed on.
When he had walked half a mile along the lonely road he stopped suddenly and asked himself:
"What are my plans? What use is there in going to Croyden?"
It was a hard question to answer.
Still, he must go somewhere. He could not go to St. Louis without money, and there was a bare possibility that he might find something to do in Croyden. If he could earn a few dollars he could go on, and once in a large city there would be hope of permanent employment.
How different would have been his situation if he had not lost his money, and how unfortunate it was that he should have been set down at this dismal place!
He kept on, meeting no one.
Finally he came to a place where the road divided into two forks or branches, one leading to the right, the other to the left.
"Which shall I take?" he asked himself.
There seemed no choice so far as he could see. Neither was very promising, nor was there any sign-post to inform him of what he wished to know.
"I wish somebody would come along," thought Jasper.
But nobody did.
Forced to decide, he decided in favor of the left-hand road, and walked on.
After a while he began to suspect that he had made a wrong decision. The road became little more than a lane, and seemed unfrequented. But just as he was going to turn back he espied at some distance from the road a rude dwelling, which, from its weather-beaten appearance, seemed never to have been painted.
"I can find out something there, at any rate," thought Jasper, and he bent his steps toward it.
Brief time brought him in front of the house. It was certainly a quiet-looking place.
"It must be dismal to live here," thought Jasper.
He knocked with his fist at the door. On account of the smallness of the house the knock certainly must have been heard, but there was no response.
"The people must be deaf," thought Jasper.
He knocked again, this time considerably louder, and waited for some one to answer his summons.
He waited in vain.
"It must be a deserted house," thought our hero. "I have a great mind to explore it—that is, if I can get in."
He tried the door, and, a little to his surprise, it yielded to his touch. The door being in the centre of the house, there was a room on each side. The door to the left; opened into a room which was quite bare of furniture. On the other side, however, was a room containing a table and three chairs. On the table was a dirty clay-pipe and a box of tobacco, and there was a dead odor of tobacco-smoke lingering in the closely-shut room.
"That looks as if there were somebody living here," thought Jasper.
"Halloo!" he shouted, raising his voice.
He felt that it would be better to make his presence known, as otherwise he might be suspected of entering the house with burglarious designs, though it would have puzzled a burglar to find anything worth purloining.
"There can't be anybody in the house or I should have been heard," thought our hero. "However, I'll call again."
This time there was a faint sound that came to his ears. It seemed like the voice of a child.
"Where did that come from?" Jasper considered.
And he waited to hear if it would be repeated.
It was repeated, and now he could make out that it came from above.
"I'll go up," he decided.
He climbed the rude staircase, and pushed open the door of the room above the one in which he had been standing a moment before. He gazed in wonder at the spectacle before him.
A boy, five years of age, who in spite of his frightened expression possessed great personal beauty, was lying on a bed in one corner of the room. He looked at Jasper in uncertainty at first, then with confidence, and said:
"Did you come for me?"
"Do you live here?" asked Jasper, in surprise, for this boy was not at all like the children usually to be found in such houses as this.
His complexion was of dazzling whiteness, his hair was a bright chestnut, and his clothing was such as wealthy parents can afford to give to their children.
"Do you live here?" repeated Jasper.
"No," said the child.
"How came you here, then?"
"Big man—big, ugly man brought me."
"When?"
"I don't know," said the child.
He was evidently too young to measure the lapse of time.
"Was it yesterday?"
"No; long ago."
"I suppose it seems long to him," thought Jasper.
"Is there nobody else in the house?" asked Jasper.
"There's a woman," said the little boy.
"Is she the wife of the man who took you away?"
But this question the little boy did not seem to comprehend.
"Have you got a mother?" asked Jasper.
"Take me to mamma," said the little fellow, stretching out his arms, and beginning to cry. "I want to see my mamma."
Jasper advanced to the bed.
He began to understand that the boy had been kidnapped, and he felt great compassion for him.
He tried to raise the boy from the bed and take him in his arms, when he made an unexpected discovery.
The boy's ankles were firmly tied by a rope, which connected with the bedpost, so that it was impossible for him to leave the bed.
"Who did this?" asked Jasper, indignantly. "Who tied you?"
"It was the man—the big, ugly man," answered the child.
"I will soon unfasten you," said Jasper, and he set to work untying the knot.
"Will you take me home?" asked the little boy.
"Yes," said Jasper, soothingly, "I'll take you home."
But just as he had completed his task he heard steps upon the stairs. What if it were the man of whom the child spoke!
Jasper threw one arm around the child, and with his teeth set hard fixed his eyes expectantly upon the door.
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE KIDNAPPED CHILD
The woman who entered was of middle size, dressed in a cheap print, dirty and faded, which corresponded very well with her general aspect. She looked weary and worn, and moved languidly as if she had little interest in life. She looked startled at the sight of Jasper, and pressed her hand to her heart.
"Who are you?" she asked.
"A stranger," answered our hero.
"How came you here?"
"I suppose I ought to apologize for being here, but I knocked twice and got no answer. That made me think the house was deserted. I entered, and hearing a low cry, came to this room."
The woman sank into a chair near the door.
"Is this your child?" asked Jasper, in his turn.
The woman answered hesitatingly, after a pause:
"No."
"I knew he could not be. How did he come here?'
"My husband brought him here," answered the woman, with some hesitation.
"Is he any relation to you?"
"N-no."
"Is he boarding here?"
"Yes."
The woman's hesitation increased Jasper's suspicion. He said:
"I found the boy tied to the bedpost. Did you tie him?"
"Yes."
"Why did you do that?"
"I thought he might slip off while I was out I went out for some water. That is the reason I did not answer your knock."
"Madam," said Jasper, coming to the point, "you may answer me or not; but if you do, tell the truth. Was not this child stolen?"
The woman looked nervous and frightened, and moved restlessly in her chair.
"Don't blame me," she said. "It wasn't my fault."
"Whose was it, then?"
"It was my husband's."
"Then the child was stolen?"
"Yes."
"I suppose your husband kidnapped the child in order to get money from the parents for his return?"
"Yes," the woman admitted.
"How can you assist him in such wicked practices?"
"What can I do?" said the woman, helplessly. "I have spoken to him, but it does no good. He won't heed anything that I say."
Jasper began to pity the poor woman. It looked as if she were an unwilling helper in her husband's crimes.
"Do you know where your husband got this boy from?" he asked.
"No; he didn't tell me."
"Is this the first child he has kidnapped?"
"I ought not to speak against my husband," said the woman, uneasily, appearing to think that she had already told too much.
"Yes, you ought. Otherwise you will be as bad as he."
"He will beat me."
"Does he ever do that?" asked Jasper, compassionately.
"He is very rough sometimes," said the wife, shrinking.
"I am sorry for you," said Jasper, gently. "Where is your husband now?"
"He went out this morning. Perhaps he is hunting. He never tells me where he is going."
"When do you expect him back?"
"I can't tell. He may be here in five minutes; he may not be here before night."
"In that case," thought Jasper, "I had better be off as soon as possible. I should be no match for this brute in human form. Judging from what I have heard of him, he would kill me without scruple if he thought I were interfering with his plans."
"How long has this child been here?" he asked.
"Three or four days."
"I am going to take him away," proceeded Jasper, fixing his eyes earnestly upon the woman, to see how she took the proposal.
"No, no!" she exclaimed, quickly. "My husband won't allow it."
"He won't know it."
"It won't do," she continued, rapidly. "He would kill you if he overtook you."
This was a serious consideration, truly. Jasper had no weapons, and a boy of his age would have been a poor match for a strong man, as the kidnapper probably was.
"After all, I had better not interfere," he thought. "It can do no good, and will only expose me to great danger."
But just at this instant the little boy's soft hand slid into his, and he could not resist the touching appeal for his protection.
"I shall take the risk," he said. "I can't leave the boy here. I will try to find his parents and restore him to them."
He had scarcely said this when the woman, who had casually glanced out of the window, started up in alarm, exclaiming:
"There is my husband coming! Oh, what shall we do?"
CHAPTER XIX.
A BRUTE IN HUMAN SHAPE
Jasper could not help feeling that he was in rather a critical position. A man whose business it was to kidnap young children in order to extort money from their friends was not likely to be very scrupulous, and the fear of having his secret divulged might lead him to extreme measures.
"Is your husband likely to come up here?" he asked.
"I don't know; he may," answered the woman, anxiously.
"Can't you hide me?" suggested Jasper.
"Yes, yes," she said, recovering something of her presence of mind. "There, get into that closet. I'll come and let you out when he is gone."
She opened the door of a closet in one corner of the room. It was quite dark inside, and except a stool, it was entirely empty.
"Sit down there," said the woman. "I must go down now."
She buttoned the door, and our hero found himself a close prisoner in the dark. It certainly gave him a peculiar sensation. Only a week before he had been at his Eastern home. Now he was more than a thousand miles away, penniless, and a prisoner. But though he was peculiarly situated, he was not discouraged. In fact, with a brave boy's love of adventure, he felt a certain exhilaration and wondered what was coming next. His courage and enterprise rose with the occasion, and he began to consider what course he should take after he got out.
While he is sitting in the closet in dark captivity, we will go below and make acquaintance with the man whose arrival had produced so great a sensation.
Before going down, the woman said to the child:
"Don't tell anybody about the boy in the closet."
"No, I won't," said the child, obediently.
The woman hurried down stairs, but her husband was already waiting for her.
He was a black-browed ruffian, with a rough beard of a week's growth. He threw himself sullenly into a chair and growled:
"Where were you? You're always out of the way when I come home."
"I just went up stairs a minute, Dick," she answered.
"To see the brat, I suppose."
"Yes."
"I've a great mind to knock him on the head."
"Oh, Dick, you wouldn't injure the little innocent," she said, earnestly.
"Wouldn't I? I would if I was paid enough, but there's nothing to be made by killing him."
"Thank heaven!" uttered the woman, fervently.
"You haven't got the heart of a chicken!" said the man, contemptuously. "Give me something to eat. I'm hungry."
The woman began to bustle around in obedience to his command.
"I haven't got much in the house, Dick," she said, apologetically.
"What have you got?" he growled.
"Some eggs and a little bacon. Shall I make you some tea?"
"No; bring out the whisky."
"There's none left, Dick."
The man uttered an oath expressive of disappointment.
"Well, give me some slops, then," he said. "I must have something to drink."
"Didn't you shoot anything?" she ventured to ask.
"I haven't been hunting."
"I thought you took out your gun."
"What if I did? I don't always hunt when I take my gun. I expected to hear from the friends of that brat this morning, but I didn't. They must hurry up with their money if they don't want me to strangle him."
"Perhaps they didn't get your letter, Dick."
"Yes, they did. I took care of that. I s'pose they're hatching up some plot to have me arrested. If they do, it'll be a bad day for the brat."
He looked fierce and brutal enough to execute the dark threat at which he indirectly hinted. There was a cruel look in his eye which showed that he would have had small scruples about injuring an innocent child, if provoked by the desire for revenge.
While his wife was cooking the eggs he filled his pipe and began to smoke. She made all the haste she could, knowing that her husband was far from patient. Soon the frugal repast was ready. She set it on the table, and said:
"It's all ready, Dick. Better eat it while it's hot."
"I'll eat it when I choose," he growled, in his usual spirit of contradiction.
However, he was hungry, and laying aside his pipe, did as she requested. Soon he had dispatched all the food set before him.
"There isn't enough to keep a kitten from starving," he said.
"I'm sorry, Dick."
"Much you are sorry," he growled. "A pretty wife you are."
"I wish there were more. If you'll give me some money I'll go out and buy something."
"Money!" he snarled. "You're always wanting money. Do you think I am made of money?"
"No, Dick; but you know I have none. I wish I knew of any way to earn it."
"You do?"
"Yes, Dick."
"Then I suppose you'd be leaving me," he said, suspiciously.
"No, I wouldn't. You know I wouldn't, Dick."
"So you say," he answered, brutally, "How's the brat? Has it been crying?"
"No; it is a very good child."
"I'll go up and take a look at it."
He arose from his seat, and advanced toward the door.
His wife followed him.
"Where are you going?" he asked, turning upon her.
"I'm going up, too," she answered, meekly.
"What for? Can't you trust me with the brat?"
"Yes, Dick, but it isn't much used to you. You might frighten it, and make it cry."
"That's all right," he answered, smiling grimly. "I like to hear children cry."
"How can you enjoy the sufferings of a child?"
"Halloo! What's that?" he said, looking sharply at her. "You dare to find fault with me, do you?"
"I didn't mean that, Dick," she said, submissively.
"It's lucky you didn't," he said, warningly. "I don't allow none of that, wife or no wife."
"May I go up?"
"If you want to."
So the two went up stairs together.
The wife was nervous lest the child in some way might excite the suspicions of her husband and betray the presence of Jasper. She felt, therefore, very ill at ease.
The child was sitting up in bed.
"Halloo, young 'un, how yer gettin' along?" asked the man, roughly.
The child did not answer, but looked frightened.
"Why don't you answer?" demanded the man, frowning.
The child looked toward the woman, and seemed on the point of crying.
"Can't you say something to the gentleman?" said the woman, soothingly.
Thus adjured, the little boy said:
"Won't you take me to my mamma?"
"Oh, yes, I'll take you as soon as your mamma sends me some money," said the man named Dick, "and she'd better do it pretty soon, too," he muttered.
He threw himself into a chair, and ceased to notice the child.
"Do you know, old woman," he said in a different tone, "I've heard news that'll rather take you by suprise?"
"I hope it is good news," said his wife, anxiously.
"Well, that's as may be," he answered. "It ought to be good news for us, but there's no saying. You know my sister?"
"Mrs. Thorne?"
"Yes. Well, she's had a stroke of luck."
"How was that?"
"Well, you see she went as governess into a family. The man was rich and an invalid—a widower, too. What does she do but get him to marry her?"
"She has been fortunate."
"That isn't all of it. She hadn't been married but two or three months when her husband died, leaving her a third of his property and guardian to his son, who inherits the rest. So she's a rich woman. I say she ought to do something for her brother Dick. Don't you say so?"
"I think she would be willing," said the wife.
"She ought to be, but she's selfish. She always was. If only I had the money I'd go East, and see what I could get out of her."
"You'd take me with you, Dick?"
"No, I wouldn't. It'll be all I can do to raise money enough to pay my own expenses, let alone yours. If I get anything I'll come back, and you'll get your share. That's why I want the parents of that brat to fork over the cash pretty quick."
"How did you learn the news about your sister, Dick?"
"An old pal of mine has just come from that way and told me all about it."
Every word of this dialogue was beard by Jasper in his place of concealment. He was astonished beyond measure to learn that this ruffian was the brother of his step-mother.
"No wonder I don't like her," he thought, "if they have any traits in common. What a fate, for my kind and gentle father to marry the sister of such a man!"
"I'm glad of it," said his wife.
"Well, so am I, if she'll do the right thing by me; but if she don't, then I'm sorry."
"What shall I do when you're away, Dick?"
"Get along as well as you can. Folks'll give you victuals, if you get hard up."
"I don't like to beg."
"Wish me good luck, then, and money enough to take care of you. What are you starin' at, young 'un?"
This he said to the child, whose eyes, as if by a species of fascination, were fixed upon him.
"Take me home to mamma!" pleaded the child, beginning to cry.
"Shut up!" said the ruffian, harshly, striding to the bed and pinching the boy's arm till he cried with the pain.
"Oh, don't, Dick," pleaded the woman, who was fond of children, though she had never been a mother.
"I'll give the brat something to cry for," said her husband, and he pinched him again.
"Oh, Dick, how can you torture the poor child?" said his wife, braver in the little boy's defence than in her own.
"What business has it to cry, then? I'd like to choke it. If you don't hush I'll serve you the same way."
Jasper had listened to this brutality as long as he could, but his indignation became too hot to be repressed. Thoughtless of consequences, he burst open the closet door and strode into the presence of the astonished ruffian, his fists involuntarily clenched, and his eyes kindling with indignation.
