Alger Horatio Jr.
Mark Manning's Mission
CHAPTER XV.
THE HERMIT'S BANK
Mark was considerably surprised by the order he had received. What was he do with a spade? They were in the woods, and there was no arable land near. However, Mark was sensible enough to understand that it was his duty to obey, not to question.
"All right, sir!" he said, but there was a wonder in his look which old Anthony noticed with a smile. However, he did not immediately throw any light on the mystery.
They walked possibly a quarter of a mile till they reached a comparatively open space near the center of which stood a tall tree.
"We will stop here," said Anthony.
Mark lowered the spade, which he had been carrying on his shoulder, and waited further instructions.
Old Anthony produced a compass to make sure of his bearings, and a tape measure. One end of this he gave to Mark, saying: "Stand by the tree."
Mark, wondering as much as ever, took his position beside the tree.
"A little more on that side!" was the next direction.
When Mark was placed to suit him, Anthony took the other end of the tape measure, and measured due east sixteen feet.
"Yes," he said musingly, "this must be the spot."
Marking the spot with a stone, he said:
"Bring the spade to me, Mark."
Mark did so.
"I suppose you wonder what I am going to do?" said the hermit with a smile.
"Yes, sir," Mark admitted.
"This is my bank," explained Anthony.
Mark wondered whether the hermit was in his right mind. He stood by curious and attentive, while Anthony began to disturb the soil, throwing up one spadeful of dirt after another.
He continued at his task for ten minutes, and then desisted.
"I get fatigued easily," he said; "here, Mark, take your turn."
Mark took the spade, and continued the excavation. He was young and strong, and bore the fatigue better than his employer. At length he felt the spade striking something hard.
"I have struck something," he said.
"Very well, now proceed more carefully, so as not to break the vessel. Uncover it, and then I will tell you what to do–"
The hole was now about eighteen inches deep. Mark cleared away some of the dirt, and disclosed an earthen pot which appeared to be provided with a cover.
"What shall I do now?" he asked.
"Stoop down, and remove the cover, and take out what you find inside."
Mark got down on his knees, and bending over, accomplished what was asked of him. To his surprise he saw that the bottom of the pot was covered with gold pieces.
"Take them out, and hand them to me," said old Anthony.
"All of them, sir?"
"Yes, I may as well remove them to another place. Besides the balance must be small."
The hermit counted the gold pieces, as they were placed in his hands.
"There are but three hundred and fifty dollars left!" he said.
To Mark this seemed considerable, though it was evident the pot would have contained, if full, many times as much.
"What shall I do with the pot?" asked Mark.
"You can leave it where it is. Anyone is welcome to it, now that it is empty. Put the cover on, and some one will one day stumble upon treasure."
Mark filled up the hole, and disposed leaves over it so as to conceal the work that had been done.
"Very well done, Mark! The last time I did all the work myself, but that was before I had the rheumatism. It has stiffened my joints, and weakened me as I find. Now let us go back."
Mark once more shouldered the spade, and the two walked back side by side.
"I may as well explain how I came to deposit my money there," said old Anthony. "I was sensible that it would be dangerous to leave a large sum in my cabin, and it was not convenient or agreeable for me to make visits to the city from time to time to draw money from my agent. I was in the habit of going but once in a year or two, and then bringing with me enough to last me for a considerable period. I could, of course, have hidden my money under the flooring of my cabin, but that is the very place where burglars would have searched, had they done me the honor to look upon me as a miser, hiding concealed treasures. It was for this reason that I selected a hiding-place so far away from my dwelling. Fearing that I might forget the exact place, I chose a particular tree as a guide, and then measured a distance of sixteen feet due east. Of course there would be no danger of my mistaking the place then."
"Somebody might have seen you digging there, sir."
"True; I used to go early in the morning when no one was likely to be in the wood. Besides, I carefully looked about me before beginning to dig, to make all secure."
"We didn't look about us this afternoon."
"No, it was not necessary. There is no money left, and as for the earthen pot, any one is welcome to it, who will take the trouble to dig for it. I fancy it would hardly repay the labor."
"There is still considerable gold; are you not afraid of being robbed?"
"There is a chance of it. I shall therefore give you half of it to keep for me."
"I am glad you have so much confidence in my honesty, Mr. Taylor. But I hope that no one will suspect that I have so much money, or I might be attacked."
"Better give the greater part to your mother to lock up in a trunk or bureau drawer."
"I think I will, sir. It seems odd to have you choose me as a banker, Mr. Taylor."
"I don't think I shall have any cause to repent it, Mark."
"Nor I, so far as honesty goes, but I might be robbed."
"We will take our chance of that."
Mark and his employer supposed themselves alone when they were engaged in disinterring the golden treasure, but they were mistaken. Two pairs of very curious eyes watched them from behind a clump of bushes. These eyes belonged to James Collins and Tom Wyman.
They were in the wood with their guns, looking for squirrels, when they saw the approach of Mark and the hermit.
"I wonder what they are going to do," said James. "Mark has got a spade."
"I don't know. Suppose we hide, and then we'll find out."
This proposal struck James favorably, and they concealed themselves behind a clump of low trees, as already described. With eager eyes they watched the preliminary measurement, and the subsequent excavation.
"The old man's a miser," whispered James. "He's got gold hidden there."
"Just what I think," responded Tom, also in a whisper.
"I wonder if there's much."
"Hush! We'll soon see."
They were not near enough to hear what passed between Mark and Anthony, but they saw the gold coins which the boy passed to his employer. Then they saw the dirt replaced, and the spot made to look as before.
When Mark and Anthony had gone, they emerged from their hiding-place, eager and excited.
"Well," said James, drawing a long breath, "we've found the hermit's secret. He must be a miser. I wonder how much more gold there is in the hole."
"Thousands of dollars, very likely," said Tom, who had a vivid imagination. "You know it doesn't take a very big pile of gold to make a thousand dollars."
"Mark Manning is pretty thick with old Anthony. He trusts him more than I would."
"Mark'll rob him someday. See if he don't."
"I shouldn't wonder. I say, Tom, don't you tell a living soul of what we've seen this afternoon. If Mark steals the money, we can expose him. He little thinks we know his secret."
Tom agreed to this, and the two boys went home. When they next saw Mark, they regarded him with a knowing look that puzzled him.
CHAPTER XVI.
LYMAN TAYLOR GAINS SOME INFORMATION
When Lyman Taylor left his uncle and returned to the city, he felt that his visit had been a failure. His traveling expenses had amounted to about two dollars, and he only carried back five dollars with him. Added to this, his prospects of remunerative employment were by no means brilliant. To work, indeed, he was an enemy, and always had been.
"Blessed if I know how I'm coming out," he said to himself, ruefully; "if Uncle Anthony had showed any enterprise, he ought to be well off, and able to lend me a helping hand. Instead of which he is settled down in a tumble-down shanty in the woods, and isn't doing any good to anybody."
Lyman resented it as a wrong done to himself that his uncle was not in a condition to help him.
If he were only living in the city now, he might quarter himself upon him. As matters stood, it was out of the question. It made him shudder to think of becoming a joint tenant of the lonely cabin, with nothing to look to but the homely fare, which no doubt contented his uncle.
"I shall have to shift for myself," he reflected with a sigh; "I always was unlucky. Other fellows are born with a silver spoon in their mouths, and have rich fathers or uncles to provide for them, while I may go to the poorhouse for all the help I am likely to get from Uncle Anthony."
Arrived in New York, however, his prospects rose a little. He met an old acquaintance on the Bowery, and turned into a billiard saloon, where he succeeded in a series of games in raising his small capital to ten dollars.
This gave him a hint of a new way to make a living—a way, as he considered, infinitely preferable to a life of toil. Henceforth he frequented billiard saloons, and occasionally varied his pleasant labors by a game of cards. In spite, however, of his praiseworthy efforts to make an honest livelihood, there came a time when he was reduced to his last quarter of a dollar.
He was sitting moodily in a cheap downtown hotel, when he was addressed by a bearded man dressed in rough miner's costume, a type of man more frequently met in California or Colorado, than in an Atlantic city.
"Have a cigar, stranger?" asked the bearded man socially.
"Thank you; I don't care if I do," said Lyman with alacrity.
"I'm a stranger in York," said the other, "only arrived yesterday. You've got a right smart city here; beats 'Frisco higher'n a kite!"
"Do you come from San Francisco?" asked Lyman with interest.
"I'm from Californy—was up in the mines mostly."
"Did you have much luck?"
"Wal, I made two or three piles, an' lost 'em agin. However, I've got a little left. I've always wanted to see York, and thought I might as well come on and see it before I lost the last."
"I'm glad to meet you," said Lyman, who was speculating as to whether he couldn't make a little something out of his new friend, before his "pile" was wholly reduced in size. "I'm an old Californian myself."
"You don't say so? when was you there?"
Lyman mentioned the time, and the country where he had courted fortune.
"You don't say, stranger?" returned the miner. "Why, I was at that identical place myself. I bought a mine—leastways me and my partner did—of an old man, named Taylor."
"Anthony Taylor?" asked Lyman, eagerly.
"That was the old fellow's name. Did you know him, stranger?"
"I should say I did. He is my uncle. Did you—pay much for the claim?"
"We paid five thousand dollars cash down."
Lyman Taylor whistled in amazement.
"Was it worth it?" he added.
"We took out ten thousand dollars, and I heerd that the old man took out as much before selling it to us."
"What month did you buy it?" asked Lyman, breathless.
"Let me see, it was in September. You seem to be interested, stranger?"
"I should say I was. That claim was half mine, and my uncle never gave me a cent of the purchase money."
"Where were you all the time?"
"I left in disgust, for we'd worked a long time without making it pay."
"You left too soon. The old man struck it rich some time early in August, and carried away ten thousand dollars, besides what we gave him. We didn't make so much of a spec, for too much had been taken out already. Where is your uncle now?"
"Living in the country. I went up to see him two or three weeks since."
"How's he fixed? Did he hang on to his pile?"
"He's hanging on to it now," answered Lyman, with an oath. "He made out he was poor, and sent me off with a beggarly five-dollar note."
"Perhaps he's lost his money."
"More likely he's keeping it out of the way. He ought to give me half he made out of the claim."
"I don't know about that, stranger. You gave up and left, and all he made afterwards, went of right to him."
Lyman Taylor, however, did not regard the matter in that light. Discreetly losing sight of the circumstances under which he left his uncle, carrying off all the gold dust he had then accumulated, he persuaded himself that he had suffered a great wrong in not having shared in the subsequent rich development.
"Just my luck!" he said to himself, moodily.
"If I'd only waited a couple of months I'd have left California a rich man. How was I to guess how the claim was going to pan out. I didn't think Uncle Anthony would have treated me so meanly. I wonder how much he's got left?"
This was an interesting subject of consideration, but unfortunately, Lyman had no data to go upon; or, rather, what data he had, were not calculated to favor the presumption that his uncle was a rich man.
It did not look very likely that a rich man, or even one moderately well-to-do, would voluntarily make his home in a poor cabin, like that which old Anthony occupied.
Lyman began to fear that his uncle had managed to lose by bad investments the money he had obtained from the claims, and was really as poor as appearances would seem to indicate.
"Are you livin' in this hotel?" asked the miner.
"I'm not living anywhere in particular," answered Lyman. "Fact is, I'm rather down on my luck. There are no 'piles' to be made in New York."
"I've been there myself, stranger. Here, take this, and pay it back when it's convenient."
Lyman eagerly accepted the twenty-dollar gold piece offered him by his liberal new acquaintance, and leading the way to the bar, they cemented their new-born friendship by a drink in true California style. He then proposed a game of cards, but the miner declined.
"I never cared much for keerds," he said. "Excuse me! I don't mind playing a game of pool if you're agreeable."
When the two parted, they were sworn friends. Lyman, however, found that his miner friend had all his wits about him, and that the twenty dollar loan was all he was likely to extract from him.
"I must make another visit to that uncle of mine," said Lyman to himself, as he sauntered down the Bowery. "He ought to pay me half the money he got for that claim."
CHAPTER XVII.
ON THE TRAIL OF GOLD
Keen on the scent of anything likely to turn to his own advantage, Lyman Taylor arranged the very next day to make a second visit to Pocasset, and find out definitely, if possible, whether his uncle had saved any of the large sum which his claim had yielded him.
He hardly knew what to think. Anthony was not the man to waste money on extravagant living, but then he might have made poor investments, and reduced himself to a pittance. Cases of that kind were common enough in California, as Lyman knew well enough.
He preferred, however, to think that his uncle had turned miser, and was still the possessor of a handsome fortune. In that case, as the only near relative, it ought to come to him some day.
"Let me see," he mused, "how old is Uncle Anthony! Fifty-nine!" he resumed, after a mental calculation. "That isn't very old, but he looks a good deal older. He is about played out—a physical wreck," he reflected, complacently, "and may not live a year.
"In that damp cabin it could not be expected. Of course it's his own lookout. If he chooses to live there, I don't see that it's any of my business. I ought to come to a friendly understanding with him, and get him to recognize me as his heir. I dare say he's got his money hidden away in some out-of-the-way place. It would be a sorry joke if he should die, and it shouldn't be found."
Lyman shuddered uneasily, as he thought of this contingency.
"He ought to place his money in charge of some competent manager," he resumed. "I'd take care of it myself, and save him all business cares, if he'd let me."
Lyman did not appreciate the absurdity of this plan. Few persons think themselves unfit to be trusted with money. What he thought of his own honesty can only be conjectured. Probably he did not regard himself with the eyes of those who knew him.
Such thoughts were passing through the mind of the hermit's nephew, as he was traveling from New York to Pocasset. Arrived at the depot, he set out for the village at a brisk pace.
Presently he espied in advance of him a couple of boys, whose figures looked familiar. It did not take him long to recall the two boys he had met in the pasture on his former visit. Of course they were James and Tom.
"Just the ones I want to see," he said to himself. "I may get some news from them."
He quickened his pace, and soon overtook them.
"Good morning, young gentlemen!" he said, urbanely. "I believe we have met before."
The boys turned around. They, too, recognized him.
"Yes, sir," answered James. "You are old Anthony's nephew."
"The same! I am glad you remember me. Have you seen or heard of my uncle lately?"
"Yes; we saw him yesterday in the wood."
"Has he recovered from his rheumatic attack?"
"I guess so," said Tom. "He is looking pretty well now."
"I came down to inquire his condition. I am his only relative, and though he is prejudiced against me, I can't help feeling anxious about his health. Can you tell me anything about him?"
"He has that boy, Mark Manning, about him all the time."
"What can be the boy's object in keeping company with a poor old man, who has no way of rewarding him?"
"I am not so sure about that," said James.
"About what?" asked Lyman, quickly.
"About his being poor."
"Have you any reason to think my uncle has money?" asked Lyman, eagerly, fixing a sharp glance of inquiry on the speaker.
James looked at Tom, as if to consult him about the propriety of telling what he knew.
"As I am his nephew and only relation, and—heir," continued Lyman, "you can freely tell me anything you have found out."
"Would you?" asked James, turning to his companion.
"I don't see why not," returned Tom.
"Then," said James, who rather enjoyed the prospect of telling the story, "I'll tell you what I saw the other day—that is, Tom and I."
"Yes, yes, what did you see?" interrupted Lyman, eagerly.
"We were out in the woods about a quarter of a mile from the hermit's cabin, when we all at once heard voices. Slipping behind a tree we saw old Anthony and Mark coming along. Mark had a spade over his shoulder. We wondered what it all meant, and so kept hidden. Well, the two came up to a big tree, and then measured with a tape measure to a place about a rod distant. Then old Anthony took the spade and began to dig. But I guess he got tired, for pretty soon he gave the spade to Mark, and got him to dig."
"Well?" ejaculated Lyman, who was listening with intense interest.
"Pretty soon he struck something hard. It turned out to be an earthen pot with a cover."
"Did they take it up?"
"No; but Mark took off the cover, and then took out, oh, such a lot of gold pieces."
"Just what I thought!" exclaimed Lyman, in excitement. "I was sure my uncle kept his money hidden in the ground somewhere. Do you know how much money he took out of the jar?"
"There must have been hundreds of dollars—maybe a thousand."
"And what then?"
"The cover was put on again, and then Mark filled up the hole, and covered it with leaves, so that nobody would think the ground had been disturbed, then they went away."
"That shows there must be more money there, don't you think so?"
"Of course, or they wouldn't have taken so much trouble to cover it up again," answered James, readily.
"You are right. I see you are sharp. What a fine detective you would make!"
James looked pleased at this compliment, and it inclined him in favor of the appreciative stranger.
"Do you think," asked Lyman, after a pause, "you could find the spot again?"
"Yes, I guess so. Why?"
"I should like to go there."
"But," objected James, cautiously, "what would you do if you found it?"
"I would dig down and find the jar."
"But you would have no right to do that; the money belongs to old Anthony."
"Who is my uncle. But you are mistaken. I don't want to take it. I want to see if the gold is still there."
"Why shouldn't it be?"
"Because," answered Lyman, with a lucky thought, "the boy knows where it is. What is to prevent his going there by himself and carrying off all there is. My uncle would have no proof that it was he."
"I never thought of that," said James, quickly. "It would be just like Mark."
"Do you think he is honest?"
"I wouldn't answer for him. He is a poor boy."
"Exactly, and the gold would be a great temptation. As the legal heir of Uncle Anthony, I think I ought to look into the matter. Suppose my uncle should die, wouldn't this Mark get the money, even if he hasn't done it already, and no one would be the wiser?"
"Of course!" James readily assented. "What do you want us to do?"
"Lead me to the place, and let me see for myself if the money is still there."
"Shall we, Tom?"
"I think it would be only fair."
"Then come along. I'll get a spade from the house as we pass."
The spade was obtained, and the three set out for the wood.
