Alger Horatio Jr.
Joe the Hotel Boy; Or, Winning out by Pluck
CHAPTER XXV
JOE VISITS CHICAGO
Joe found Millville a sleepy town of three or four hundred inhabitants. There was one main street containing two blocks of stores, a blacksmith shop, a creamery and two churches.
When he stepped off the train our hero was eyed sharply by the loungers about the platform.
“Anything I can’ do for you?” asked one of the men, the driver of the local stage.
“Will you tell me where Mr. Joseph Korn lives?”
“Joe lives up in the brown house yonder. But he ain’t home now. He’s doing a job of carpentering.”
“Can you tell me where?”
“Up to the Widow Fallow’s place. Take you there for ten cents.”
“Very well,” and our hero jumped into the rickety turnout which went by the name of the Millville stage.
The drive was not a long one and soon they came to a halt in front of a residence where a man wearing a carpenter’s apron was mending a broken-down porch.
“There’s Joe,” said the stage driver, laconically.
The man looked up in wonder when Joe approached him. He dropped his hammer and stood with his arms on his hips.
“This is Mr. Joseph Korn, I believe?”
“That’s me, young man.”
“I am Joe Bodley. You wrote to Mr. Talmadge, of Riverside, a few days ago. I came on to find out what I could about a Mr. William A. Bodley who used to live here.”
“Oh, yes! Well, young man, I can’t tell you much more ‘n I did in that letter. Bodley sold out, house, goods and everything, and left for parts unknown.”
“Did he have any relatives around here?”
“Not when he left. He had a wife and three children—a girl and two boys—but they died.”
“Did you ever hear of any relatives coming to see him—a man named Hiram Bodley?”
“Not me—but Augustus Greggs—who bought his farm—might know about it.”
“I’ll take you to the Greggs’ farm for ten cents,” put in the stage driver.
Again a bargain was struck, and a drive of ten minutes brought them to the farm, located on the outskirts of Millville. They found the farm owner at work by his wood pile, sawing wood. He was a pleasant appearing individual.
“Come into the house,” he said putting down his saw. “I’m glad to see you,” and when our hero had entered the little farmhouse he was introduced to Mrs. Greggs and two grown-up sons, all of whom made him feel thoroughly at home.
“To tell the truth,” said Mr. Greggs, “I did not know William Bodley very well. I came here looking for a farm and heard this was for sale, and struck a bargain with him.”
“Was he alone at that time?” questioned Joe.
“He was, and his trouble seemed to have made him a bit queer—not but what he knew what he was doing.”
“Did you learn anything about his family?”
“He had lost his wife and two children by disease. What had happened to the other child was something of a mystery. I rather supposed it had died while away from home, but I was not sure.”
“Have you any idea at all what became of William Bodley?”
“Not exactly. Once I met a man in Pittsburg who had met a man of that name in Idaho, among the mines. Both of us wondered if that William A. Bodley was the same that I had bought my farm from.”
“Did he say what part of Idaho?”
“He did, but I have forgotten now. Do you think he was a relative of yours?”
“I don’t know what to think. It may be that he was my father.
“Your father?”
“Yes,” and Joe told his story and mentioned the documents found in the blue tin box.
“It does look as if he might be your father,” said Augustus Greggs. “Maybe you’re the child that was away from home at the time his other children and his wife died.”
“Do you think anybody else in this village would know anything more about this William Bodley?”
“No, I don’t. But it won’t do any harm to ask around. That stage driver knows all the old inhabitants. Perhaps some of them can tell you something worth while.”
Upon urgent invitation, Joe took dinner at the Greggs’ farm and then set out to visit a number of folks who had lived in Millville and vicinity for many years. All remembered William A. Bodley and his family, but not one could tell what had become of the man after he had sold out and gone away.
“Maybe you had better advertise for him,” suggested one man.
“It will cost a good deal to advertise all over the United States,” replied Joe; “and for all I know he may be dead or out of the country.”
Joe remained in Millville two days and then took the train back to the East. Ned was the first to greet him on his return to Riverside.
“What luck?” he asked, anxiously.
“None whatever,” was the sober answer.
“Oh, Joe, that’s too bad!”
“I am afraid I am stumped, Ned.”
They walked to the Talmadge mansion, and that evening talked the matter over with Ned’s father.
“I will arrange to have an advertisement inserted in a leading paper of each of our big cities,” said Mr. Talmadge. “That will cost something, but not a fortune.”
“You must let me pay for it,” said our hero.
“No, Joe, you can put this down to Ned’s credit—you two are such good chums,” and Mr. Talmadge smiled quietly.
The advertisements were sent out the following day, through an advertising agent, and all waited for over two weeks for some reply, but none came.
“It’s no use,” said Joe, and it must be admitted that he was much downcast.
In the meantime he had seen Andrew Mallison and the hotel man said he would willingly hire him for the summer as soon as the season opened, and also give Frank Randolph a situation.
“You had better be my guest until that time,” said Ned to our hero, when he heard of this.
“Thank you, Ned, but I don’t wish to remain idle so long.”
The very next mail after this talk brought news for our hero. A letter came from Maurice Vane, asking him if he wished to go to Montana.
“I am now certain that that mine is valuable,” wrote the gentleman. “I am going to start West next Monday. If you wish to go with me I will pay your fare and allow you a salary of ten dollars per week to start on. I think later on, I will have a good opening for you.”
“That settles it, I am going West!” cried Joe, as he showed the letter to his chum.
“Well, I don’t blame you,” was the reply. “I know just how nice it is out there. You’ll be sure to get along.”
Before going to bed Joe wired his acceptance of the offer, and in the morning received a telegram from Maurice Vane, asking him to go to Chicago, to the Palmer House.
“That settles it, I’m off,” said our hero, and bought a ticket for the great city by the lakes without delay. Then he said good-bye to the Talmadges and the Gussings, and boarded the train at sundown.
Joe was now getting used to traveling and no longer felt green and out of place. He had engaged a berth, and took his ease until it was time to go to bed. Arriving at Chicago he made his way without delay to the Palmer House.
He found the hotel crowded and had some difficulty in getting a room. Mr. Maurice Vane had not yet arrived.
“I guess I’ll leave a note for him,” thought our hero, and sauntered into the reading-room to pen the communication.
While Joe was writing, two men came into the room and sat down behind a pillar that was close at hand. They were in earnest conversation and he could not help but catch what was said.
“You say he is coming West?” said one of the pair.
“Yes,—he started yesterday.”
“And he has found out that the mine is really valuable?”
“I think so. Anyway he is quite excited about it. He sent a telegram to that boy, too.”
“The hotel boy you mean?”
“Yes.”
So the talk ran on and Joe at length got up to take a look at the two men. They were Gaff Caven and Pat Malone. At once our hero drew out of sight again.
“How can you get the best of Vane, Gaff?” asked Malone, after a pause.
“There is but one way, Malone.”
“And that is?”
“Can I trust you?”
“Haven’t you trusted me before?”
“We must—” Caven paused. “We won’t talk about it in this public place. Come to my room and I’ll lay my plan before you.”
Then the two arose and left the reading-room as rapidly as they had entered it.
CHAPTER XXVI
HOW A SATCHEL DISAPPEARED
“They certainly mean mischief,” Joe told himself, after the two men had vanished. He saw them enter an elevator, but did not know at what floor they alighted.
Looking over the hotel register he was unable to find the names of either Caven or Malone, or even Ball. Evidently the rascals were traveling under other names now.
“They’ll bear watching,” he concluded. “I must put Mr. Vane on guard as soon as he comes in.”
He gave up the idea of leaving a note and took his station in the corridor of the hotel. After waiting about two hours he saw a well-known form approaching, dress-suit case in hand.
“Mr. Vane!”
“Oh, Joe, so you’re here already! I’m glad I won’t have to wait for you.”
“I’m afraid you won’t be able to get a room, Mr. Vane. But you can have mine.”
“I telegraphed ahead for a room, Joe.”
“Do you know that your enemies are here?” went on our hero.
“My enemies?”
“Gaff Caven and Pat Malone. But they are traveling under other names.”
“Have they seen you?”
“I think not, sir.”
Mr. Vane soon had his room assigned to him and he and our hero passed up in the elevator. As soon as they were in the apartment by themselves, Joe related what he had seen and heard.
“They are certainly on my trail,” mused Maurice Vane. “And they must have kept pretty close or they wouldn’t know that I had asked you to accompany me.”
“They have some plot, Mr. Vane.”
“Have you any idea what it is?”
“No, sir, excepting that they are going to try to do you out of your interest in that mine.”
Maurice Vane and Joe talked the matter over for an hour, but without satisfaction. Then they went to the dining room for something to eat.
“We start for Montana in the morning,” said the gentleman. “I think the quicker I get on the ground the better it will be for me.”
Although Maurice Vane and Joe did not know it, both were shadowed by Caven and Malone. The two rascals had disguised themselves by donning false beards and putting on spectacles.
“They leave in the morning,” said Caven. “Malone, we must get tickets for the same train, and, if possible, the same sleeping car.”
“It’s dangerous work,” grumbled Pat Malone.
“If you want to back out, say so, and I’ll go it alone.”
“I don’t want to back out. But we must be careful.”
“I’ll be careful, don’t fear,” answered the leader of the evil pair.
At the ticket office of the hotel, Maurice Vane procured the necessary tickets and sleeper accommodations to the town of Golden Pass, Idaho. He did not notice that he was watched. A moment later Gaff Caven stepped up to the desk.
“I want a couple of tickets to Golden Pass, too,” he said, carelessly.
“Yes, sir.”
“Let me see, what sleeper did that other gentleman take?”
“Number 2, sir—berths 7 and 8.”
“Then give me 9 and 10 or 5 and 6,” went on Caven.
“9 and 10—here you are, sir,” said the clerk, and made out the berth checks. Without delay Caven hurried away, followed by Malone.
“We’ll be in the sleeping compartment right next to that used by Vane and the boy,” chuckled Gaff Caven. “Pat, it ought to be dead easy.”
“Have you the chloroform?”
“Yes, twice as much as we’ll need.”
“When can we leave the train?”
“At three o’clock, at a town called Snapwood. We can get another train two hours later,—on the northern route.”
All unconscious of being watched so closely, Maurice Vane and Joe rode to the depot and boarded the train when it came along. Joe had been looking for Caven and Malone, but without success.
“I cannot see those men anywhere,” he said.
“They are probably in hiding,” said his employer.
The train was only half full and for the time being Caven and Malone kept themselves either in the smoking compartment or in the dining car. It was dark when they took their seats, and soon the porter came through to make up the berths for the night.
“I must confess I am rather sleepy,” said Maurice Vane.
“So am I,” returned our hero. “I am sure I can sleep like a top, no matter how much the car shakes.”
“Then both of us may as well go to bed at once.”
So it was arranged, and they had the porter put up their berths a few minutes later. Maurice Vane took the lower resting place while our hero climbed to the top.
Although very tired it was some time before Joe could get to sleep. He heard Maurice Vane breathing heavily and knew that his employer must be fast in the land of dreams.
When Joe awoke it was with a peculiar, dizzy feeling in his head.
His eyes pained him not a little and for several minutes he could not remember where he was. Then came a faint recollection of having tried to arise during the night but of being held down.
“I must have been dreaming,” he thought. “But it was exactly as if somebody was keeping me down and holding something over my mouth and nose.”
He stretched himself and then pushed aside the berth curtain and gazed out into the aisle of the car. The porter was already at work, turning some of the berths into seats once more. Joe saw that it was daylight and consulted the nickel watch he carried.
“Eight o’clock!” he exclaimed. “I’ve overslept myself sure! Mr. Vane must be up long ago.”
He slipped into his clothing and then knocked on the lower berth.
He heard a deep sigh.
“Mr. Vane!”
“Eh? Oh, Joe, is that you? What time is it?”
“Eight o’clock.”
“What!” Maurice Vane started up. “I’ve certainly slept fast enough this trip. Are you getting hungry waiting for me?”
“I just woke up myself.”
“Oh!” Maurice Vane stretched himself. “My, how dizzy I am.”
“I am dizzy too, sir. It must be from the motion of the car.”
“Probably, although I rarely feel so, and I ride a great deal. I feel rather sick at my stomach, too,” went on the gentleman, as he began to dress.
Joe had just started to go to the lavatory to wash up when he heard his employer utter an exclamation.
“Joe!”
“Yes, sir!”
“Did you see anything of my satchel?”
“You took it into the berth with you.”
“I don’t see it.”
“It must be somewhere around. I saw it when you went to bed.”
“Yes, I put it under my pillow.”
Both made a hasty search, but the satchel could not be found. The dress-suit case stood under the seat and Joe’s was beside it.
“This is strange. Can I have been robbed?”
“Was there much in that satchel, Mr. Vane?”
“Yes, those mining shares and some other articles of value.”
“Then we must find the satchel by all means.”
“I’ll question the porter about this.”
The colored man was called and questioned, but he denied having seen the bag. By this time quite a few passengers became interested.
“Has anybody left this car?” asked Maurice Vane.
“The gen’men that occupied Numbers 9 and 10, sah,” said the porter.
“When did they get off?”
“‘Bout three o’clock, sah—when de train stopped at Snapwood.”
“I haven’t any tickets for Snapwood,” said the conductor, who had appeared on the scene.
“Then they must have had tickets for some other point,” said Joe.
“That looks black for them.”
The porter was asked to describe the two men and did so, to the best of his ability. Then another search was made, and in a corner, under a seat, a bottle was found, half filled with chloroform.
“It’s as plain as day to me,” said Maurice Vane. “Joe, I was chloroformed.”
“Perhaps I was, too. That’s what gave us the dizzy feeling.”
“And those two men—”
“Must have been Caven and Malone in disguise,” finished our hero.
CHAPTER XXVII
JOE MAKES A DISCOVERY
“Who are Caven and Malone?” asked the conductor of the train, while a number of passengers gathered around, to hear what Maurice Vane and our hero might have to say.
“They are two rascals who are trying to do me out of my share of a mine,” explained Maurice Vane. “I had my mining shares in that satchel.”
“If you wish I’ll telegraph back to Snapwood for you,” went on the train official.
“How many miles is that?”
“A little over two hundred.”
“What is the next stop of this train?”
“Leadington.”
“When will we get there?”
“In ten minutes.”
A telegram was prepared and sent back to Snapwood as soon as Leadington was reached. The train was held for five minutes and it was learned that nobody had been seen at the station there at three in the morning, as the night operator and station master were away, there being no passengers to get on the train bound West.
Maurice Vane was much disturbed and did not know what to do.
“To go back and look for them at Snapwood may be a mere waste of time,” said he. “On the other hand, I don’t feel much like going on while the shares are out of my possession.”
“If you wish it, Mr. Vane, I’ll go back,” said Joe. “You can go ahead, and if anything turns up I will telegraph to you.”
This pleased the gentleman, and he said Joe could go back on the very next train. The conductor was again consulted, and our hero left the train bound West a quarter of an hour later.
“Here is some money,” said Maurice Vane on parting. “You’ll need it.” And he handed over two hundred dollars.
“Oh, Mr. Vane! will I need as much as this?”
“Perhaps. If you see those rascals you may have a long chase to capture them. Do not hesitate to spend the money if it appears necessary to do so.”
Long before noon our hero was on the way East on a train scheduled to stop at Snapwood. He went without his dress-suit case and carried his money in four different pockets.
The train was almost empty and the riding proved decidedly lonely. In a seat he found an Omaha paper, but he was in no humor for reading. When noon came he took his time eating his dinner, so that the afternoon’s ride might not appear so lasting.
About half-past two o’clock the train came to an unexpected halt.
Looking out of the window Joe saw that they were in something of a cut, close to the edge of a woods.
The delay continued, and presently one passenger after another alighted, to learn the meaning of the hold-up. Joe did likewise, and walked through the cut toward the locomotive.
The mystery was easily explained. On one side of the cut the bank had toppled over the tracks, carrying with it two trees of good size. A number of train hands were already at work, sawing the trees into pieces, so that they might be shifted clear of the tracks.
Joe watched the men laboring for a few minutes and then walked up the bank, to get a look at the surroundings. Then he heard a whistle and saw a train approaching from the opposite direction. It came to a halt a few hundred feet away.
As the delay continued our hero walked along the bank of the cut and up to the newly-arrived train. The latter was crowded with passengers, some of whom also got out.
“Did that train stop at Snapwood?” he asked of one of the passengers.
“It did,” was the answer.
“Did you see anybody get on?”
“No, but somebody might have gotten on. I wasn’t looking.”
“Thank you.”
“Looking for a friend?”
“No,” said Joe, and moved on.
Without delay our hero ran to the front end of the newly-arrived train and got aboard. As he walked through he gave every grown passenger a close look.
At the end of the third car he came upon two suspicious-looking individuals, who were gazing at a bit of paper in the hands of one. Joe came closer and saw that the paper was a mining share.
“Caven and Malone, as sure as fate!” he murmured to himself. “What had I best do next?”
While Joe was trying to make up his mind, Caven chanced to glance up and his eyes fell upon our hero. He gave a cry of dismay and thrust the mining share out of sight.
“What’s the matter?” asked Malone in a low tone.
“Look there, Pat! That boy!”
“No!”
“But it is!”
“How did he get on this train?”
“I don’t know. But it’s unpleasant enough for us.”
“Do you suppose Vane is around?” asked Malone, nervously.
“He may be.”
The two men stared around the car. Only some women and children were present, the men having gone out to learn the cause of the delay.
“Perhaps we had better get out,” went on Malone.
“All right.”
They arose, and, satchel in hand, started to leave the train.
“Stop!” cried Joe, and caught Caven by the arm.
“Let go of me, boy!” ejaculated the rascal, and tried to pull himself loose.
“I won’t let go, Gaff Caven.”
“If you don’t, it will be the worse for you! I am not to be trifled with!”
“You must give up that satchel.”
“Bah!”
“If you don’t, I’m going to have you arrested.”
“Who is going to arrest me here?” sneered the man who had robbed Maurice Vane. “Don’t you know we are miles away from any town?”
“I don’t care. Give up the satchel, or I’ll call the train hands.”
“I’ll give up nothing, boy! Stand out of my way!”
Gaff Caven gave Joe a violent shove which sent our hero up against a seat. Then he turned and ran from the car, with Pat Malone ahead of him.
“Stop them!” cried Joe, as soon as he could recover. “Stop the thieves!”
Others took up the cry, but before anything could be done Caven and Malone were out of the car and on to the tracks. Both stared around in perplexity for a second.
“Come on, we can’t afford to waste time here!” cried Caven, and ran for the bank of the cut, up which he scrambled hastily, with his confederate at his side.
Joe saw them make the move and was not slow to follow. Near at hand was a tall, western young man, with bronzed features and a general outdoor manner.
“Say!” cried our hero. “Will you help me to catch those two men? They are thieves and I want them arrested. If you’ll help me catch them I’ll pay you well for your trouble.”
“I’ll go you, stranger!” answered the western young man, readily. “You are certain of your game?”
“Yes. That satchel has their plunder in it. They robbed a friend of mine.”
“This suits me then, friend. We’ll round ‘em up in short order.”
By this time Caven and Malone had gained the woods. Looking back they saw Joe coming behind, accompanied by the westerner.
“He’s after us, and he has got somebody to help him,” ejaculated Malone.
“Well, I reckon we can run as fast as they can,” answered Gaff Caven. “Come ahead!”
He led the way along a trail that ran through the woods and came out on a winding country road. Beyond was another patch of timber.
“This way, Pat,” said he. “We’ll have to take to the woods again. They are too close for comfort.”
“Can’t we climb a tree, or hide in a hollow?” questioned the confederate.
“We’ll see,” said Caven.
They pushed on harder than ever, and passed in among some tall trees. Then they came to a tree that was bent over.
“Up you go,” cried Caven, and gave his confederate a boost into the tree. Then he hauled himself up.
“Now climb to the top,” he went on, and Malone did as requested. Caven followed suit, and both hid themselves among the thick branches.
“They won’t find us here,” said Malone, after ten minutes had passed.
“Don’t make a noise,” whispered Caven.
After that they remained silent. From a great distance came a shouting, and the whistling of locomotives. The trees were being hauled from the car tracks. A little later they heard more whistling and then the two trains passed on their way.
“The trains have gone,” whispered Malone. “Do you think the boy got aboard one of them?”
“No, I don’t,” answered his companion. “He is too determined a lad to give up so easily. He must be still looking for us.”
