Alger Horatio Jr.
Strong and Steady
CHAPTER XXVIII.
STRANGE ACQUAINTANCES
An hour passed without a word being spoken by his singular hostess. She went to the window from time to time, and looked out as if expecting some one. At length Walter determined to break the silence, which had become oppressive. It did not seem natural for two persons to be in the same room so long without speaking a word.
"I should think you would find it lonely living in the woods away from any neighbors," he said.
"I don't care for neighbors," said the woman, shortly.
"Have you lived here long?"
"That's as people reckon time," was the answer.
Walter found himself no wiser than before, and the manner of his hostess did not encourage him to pursue his inquiries further on that subject.
"You don't have far to go for fuel," was the next remark of our hero.
"Any fool might see that," said the woman.
"Not very polite," thought Walter.
He relapsed into silence, judging that his hostess did not care to converse. Soon, however, she began to ask questions.
"Did you say you was a book-peddler?" she inquired.
"I am a book-agent."
"Where are your books,—in that carpet-bag?"
"No, I have sold all my books, and sent for some more."
"Where did you sell them?"
"In C–."
"Have you come from there?"
"Yes, I started from there this forenoon."
"Where did you stop?"
"At the tavern."
"Is your business a good one?" she asked, eying him attentively.
"I have done very well so far, but then I have been at it only a week."
"It's a good thing to have money," said the woman, more to herself than to Walter.
"Yes," said Walter, "it's very convenient to have money; but there are other things that are better."
"Such as what?" demanded the woman abruptly.
"Good health for one thing."
"What else?"
"A good conscience."
She laughed scornfully.
"I'll tell you there's nothing so good as money. I've wanted it all my life, and never could get it. Do you think I would live here in the woods if I had money? No, I should like to be a lady, and wear fine clothes, and drive about in a handsome carriage. Why are some people so lucky, while I live in this miserable hole?"
She looked at Walter fiercely, as if she held him responsible for her ill-fortune.
"Perhaps your luck will change some day," he said, though he had little faith in his own words. He wondered how the tall, gaunt woman of the backwoods would look dressed in silks and satins.
"My luck never will change," she said, quickly.
"I must live and die in some such hovel as this."
"My luck has changed," said Walter, quietly; "but in a different way."
"How?" she asked, betraying in her tone some curiosity.
"A year ago—six months ago—my father was a rich man, or was considered so. He was thought to be worth over a hundred thousand dollars. All at once his property was swept away, and now I am obliged to earn my own living, as you see."
"Is that true?" she asked.
"Yes, it is true."
"How did your father lose his money?"
"By speculating in mines."
"The more fool he!"
"My father is dead," said Walter, gravely. "I cannot bear to hear him blamed."
"Humph!" ejaculated the woman; but what she intended to convey by this utterance Walter could not tell.
Again the woman went to the window and looked out.
"It's time for Jack to be here," she said.
"Your son?" asked Walter.
"No, my husband."
"He'll be pretty wet when he comes in," Walter ventured to say; but his remark elicited no response.
After a while his hostess said, in her usual abrupt tone, "I expect you are hungry."
"Yes," said Walter, "I am, but I can wait till your husband comes."
"I don't know when he'll come. Likely he's kept."
She took out from a small cupboard a plate of bread and some cold meat, and laid them on the table. Then she steeped some tea, and, when it was ready, she put that also on the table.
"Set up," she said, briefly.
Walter understood from this that supper was ready, and, putting on his shoes, which were now dry, he moved his chair up.
"Likely you're used to something better," said the woman.
This was true, but our hero politely said that the supper looked very good, and he did not doubt he would enjoy it.
"That's lucky, for it's all you will get," said the woman.
"There's not much use in wasting politeness on her," thought Walter. "She won't give any in return, that's certain."
The woman poured him out some tea in one of the cracked cups.
"We haven't got no milk nor sugar," she said. "My man and I don't care for them."
The first sip of the tea, which was quite strong, nearly caused a wry expression on Walter's face, but he managed to control himself so far as not to betray his want of relish for the beverage his hostess offered him. The only redeeming quality it had was that it was hot, and, exposed as he had been to the storm, warm drink was agreeable.
"There's some bread and there's some meat," said the woman. "You can help yourself."
"Are you not going to eat supper with me?" asked Walter.
"No, I shall wait for Jack."
She sat down in a chair before the fire, leaving Walter to take care of himself, and seemed plunged in thought.
"What a strange woman!" thought Walter. "I wonder if her husband is anything like her. If he is, they must be an agreeable couple."
He ate heartily of the food, and succeeded in emptying his cup of tea. He would have taken another cup if there had been milk and sugar, but it was too bitter to be inviting.
"Will you have some more tea?" asked the hostess, turning round.
"No, I thank you."
"You miss the milk and sugar?"
"I like them in tea."
"We can't afford to buy them, so it's lucky we don't like them."
There was a bitterness in her tone whenever she talked of money, which led Walter to avoid the topic. Evidently she was a discontented woman, angry because her lot in life was not brighter.
Walter pushed his chair from the table, and sat down again before the fire. She rose and cleared the table, replacing the bread and meat in the cupboard.
"Where are you going next?" she asked, after a pause.
Walter mentioned the name of the place.
"Have you ever been there?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Is it a flourishing place?"
"Yes, good enough, but I haven't been there for a year. It may have burned down for all I know."
"I wonder what sort of a woman she was when she was young?" thought Walter. "I wonder if she was always so unsociable?"
There was silence for another hour. Walter wished it were time to go to bed, for the presence of such a woman made him feel uncomfortable. But it was too early yet to suggest retiring.
At length the silence was broken by a step outside.
"That's Jack," said the woman, rising hastily; and over her face there came a transient gleam of satisfaction, the first Walter had observed.
Before she could reach the door it was opened, and Jack entered. Walter looked up with some curiosity to see what sort of a man the husband of this woman might be. He saw a stout man, with a face like a bull-dog's, lowering eyes, and matted red hair and beard.
"They are fitly mated," thought our hero.
The man stopped short as his glance rested upon Walter, and he turned quickly to his wife.
"Who have you got here, Meg?" he asked, in a rough voice.
"He was overtaken by the storm, and wanted me to take him in, and give him supper and lodging."
"He's a boy. What brings him into these woods?"
"He says he's a book-peddler."
"Where are his books?"
"I have sold them all," said Walter, feeling called upon to take a personal share in the conversation.
"How many did you have?"
"Twenty."
"How much did you charge for them?"
"Three dollars and a half apiece."
"That's seventy dollars, isn't it?"
"Yes."
"Well, you can stay here all night if you want to. We aint used to keepin' a tavern, but you'll fare as well as we."
"Thank you. I was afraid I might have to stay out all night."
"Now, Meg, get me something to eat quick. I'm most famished."
While his wife was getting out the supper again, he sat down beside the fire, and Walter had a chance to scan his rough features. There was something in his appearance that inspired distrust, and our hero wished the night were past, and he were again on his way.
CHAPTER XXIX.
DANGER THREATENS
After supper, which the man devoured like a wild animal, he proved more sociable. He tried in a rough, uncouth manner to make himself agreeable, and asked Walter numerous questions.
"Do you like peddlin'?" he asked.
"I can't tell yet," said Walter. "I haven't been at it long enough."
"You can make money pretty fast?"
"I don't know. Some days I expect to do well, but other days I may not sell any books. But I like travelling about from place to place."
"I don't know but I should like travellin' myself," said Jack. "Hey, Meg?"
"Anything better than staying in this miserable hole," said the woman. "I'm sick and tired of it."
"Well, old woman, maybe we'll start off soon. You couldn't get me a chance in your business, could you?"
Walter doubted strongly whether a rough, uneducated man like the one before him would be well adapted for the book business, but he did not venture to say so.
"If you would like to try it," he said, "I can give you the name of the agent in Cleveland. He is authorized to employ agents, and might engage you."
"Would he engage the old woman too?"
"I don't know whether he has any female agents."
"I couldn't do nothing sellin' books," said Meg, "nor you either. If it was something else, I might make out."
"Well, we'll think about it. This aint a very cheerful place to live, as you say, and it's about time for a change."
About nine o'clock Walter intimated a desire to go to bed.
"I have been walking considerable to-day," he said, "and I feel tired."
"I'll show you the place you're to sleep in," said the woman.
She lit a candle, and left the room, followed by Walter. She led the way up a rough, unpainted staircase and opened the door of the room over the one in which they had been seated.
"We don't keep a hotel," said she, "and you must shift as well as you can. We didn't ask you to stay."
Looking around him, Walter found that the chamber which he had entered was as bare as the room below, if not more so. There was not even a bedstead, but in the corner there was a bed on the floor with some ragged bedclothes spread over it.
"That's where you're to sleep," said the woman, pointing it out.
"Thank you," said Walter.
"There isn't much to thank me for. Good-night."
"Good-night," said Walter.
She put the candle on the mantel-piece, for there was no bureau or table in the room, and went out.
"This isn't a very stylish tavern, that's a fact," thought Walter, taking a survey of the room. "I shall have a hard bed, but I guess I can stand it for one night."
There was something else that troubled him more than the poor accommodations. The ill looks of his host and hostess had made a strong impression upon his mind. The particular inquiries which they had made about his success in selling books, and their strong desire for money, led him to feel apprehensive of robbery. He was in the heart of the woods, far away from assistance, and at their mercy. What could he, a boy of fifteen, do against their combined attack? He would have preferred to sleep in the woods without a shelter, rather than have placed himself in their power.
Under the influence of this apprehension, he examined the door to see if there was any way of locking it. But there was neither lock nor bolt. There had been a bolt once, but there was none now.
Next he looked about the room to see if there was any heavy article of furniture with which he could barricade the door. But, as has already been said, there was neither bureau nor table. In fact, there was absolutely no article of furniture except a single wooden chair, and that, of course, would be of no service.
"What shall I do?" thought Walter. "That man can enter the room when I am asleep, and rob me of all my money."
It was a perplexing position to be in, and might have puzzled an older and more experienced traveller than our young hero. He opened his pocket-book, and, taking out the money, counted it. There were sixty dollars and a few cents within.
"Where shall I hide it?" he considered.
Looking about the room, he noticed a closet, the door of which was bolted on the outside. Withdrawing the bolt he opened the door and looked in. It was nearly empty, containing only a few articles of little or no value. A plan of operations rapidly suggested itself to Walter in case the room should be entered while he was awake. In pursuance of this plan he threw a few pennies upon the floor of the closet, and then closed the door again. Next he drew from the pocket-book all the money it contained, except a single five-dollar bill. The bank notes thus removed amounted to fifty-five dollars. He then drew off his stockings, and, laying the bills in the bottom, again put them on.
"He won't suspect where they are," thought Walter, in a tone of satisfaction. "If he takes my pocket-book, I can stand the loss of five dollars."
He put on his shoes, that he might be ready for instant flight, if occasion required it, and threw himself down on the outside of the coverlid.
If our young hero, who, I hope, will prove such if the danger which he fears actually comes, could have overheard the conversation which was even then going on between Jack and Meg, he would have felt that his apprehensions were not without cause.
When the woman returned from conducting Walter to his room, she found her husband sitting moodily beside the fire.
"Well, Meg," he said, looking up, "where did you put him?"
"In the room above."
"I hope he'll sleep sound," said Jack, with a sinister smile. "I'll go up by and by and see how he rests."
"What do you mean to do?" asked Meg.
"He has got seventy dollars in that pocket-book of his. It must be ours."
His wife did not answer immediately, but looked thoughtfully into the fire.
"Well, what do you say?" he demanded impatiently.
"What do I say? That I have no objection to taking the money, if there is no danger."
"What danger is there?"
"He may charge us with the theft."
"He can't see me take it, when his eyes are shut."
"But he may not be asleep."
"So much the worse for him. I must have the money. Seventy dollars is worth taking, Meg. It's more money than I've had in my hands at one time for years."
"I like money as well as you, Jack; but the boy will make a fuss when he finds the money is gone."
"So much the worse for him," said Jack, fiercely. "I'll stop his noise very quick."
"You won't harm the lad, Jack?" said Meg, earnestly.
"Why not? What is he to you?"
"Nothing, but I feel an interest in him. I don't want him harmed. Rob him if you will, but don't hurt him."
"What should you care about him? You never saw him before to-day."
"He told me his story. He has had ill-luck, like us. His father was very rich, not long since, but he suddenly lost all his property, and this boy is obliged to go out as a book-peddler."
"What has that to do with us?"
"You mustn't harm him, Jack."
"I suppose you would like to have him inform against us, and set the police on our track."
"No, I wouldn't, and you know it."
"Then he must never leave this cabin alive," said Jack.
"You would not murder him?" demanded Meg, horror-struck.
"Yes, I would, if there is need of it."
"Then I will go up and bid him leave the house. Better turn him out into the forest than keep him here for that."
She had got half way to the door when her husband sprang forward, and clutched her fiercely by the shoulder.
"What are you going to do?" he growled.
"You shall not kill him. I will send him away."
"I have a great mind to kill you," he muttered fiercely.
"No, Jack, you wouldn't do that. I'm not a very good woman, but I've been a faithful wife to you, and you wouldn't have the heart to kill me."
"How do you know?" he said.
"I know you wouldn't. I am not afraid for myself, but for you as well as this boy. If you killed him, you might be hung, and then what would become of me?"
"What else can I do?" asked her husband, irresolutely.
"Threaten him as much as you like. Make him take an oath never to inform against you. He's a boy that'll keep his oath."
"What makes you think so?"
"I read it in his face. It is an honest face, and it can be trusted."
"Well, old woman, perhaps you are right. The other way is dangerous, and if this will work as well, I don't mind trying it. Now let us go to bed, and when the boy's had time to fall asleep, I'll go in and secure the money."
CHAPTER XXX.
THE ROBBER WALKS INTO A TRAP
Walter's feelings, as he lay on his hard bed on the floor, were far from pleasant. He was not sure that an attempt would be made to rob him, but the probability seemed so great that he could not compose himself to sleep. Suspense was so painful that he almost wished that Jack would come up if he intended to. He was tired, but his mental anxiety triumphed over his bodily fatigue, and he tossed about restlessly.
It was about nine o'clock when he went to bed. Two hours passed, and still there were no signs of the apprehended invasion.
But, five minutes later, a heavy step was heard upon the staircase, which creaked beneath the weight of the man ascending. Jack tried to come up softly, but it creaked nevertheless.
Walter's heart beat quick, as he heard the steps approaching nearer and nearer. It was certainly a trying moment, that might have tested the courage of one older than our hero. Presently the door opened softly, and Jack advanced stealthily into the chamber, carrying a candle which, however, was unlighted. He reckoned upon finding Walter undressed, and his clothes hanging over the chair; but the faint light that entered through the window showed him that his intended victim had not removed his clothing. Of course this made the task of taking his pocket-book much more difficult.
"Confusion!" he muttered. "The boy hasn't undressed."
Walter had closed his eyes, thinking it best to appear to be asleep; but he heard this exclamation, and it satisfied him of Jack's dishonest intentions.
The robber paused a moment, and then, stooping over, inserted his hand into Walter's pocket. He drew out the pocket-book, Walter making no sign of being aware of what was going on.
"I've got it," muttered Jack, with satisfaction, and stealthily retraced his steps to the door. He went out, carefully closing it after him, and again the steps creaked beneath his weight.
"I'm afraid he'll come back when he finds how little there is in it," thought Walter. "If so, I must trust to my plan."
Meg looked up with interest when her husband re-entered the room. She had been listening with nervous interest, fearing that there might be violence done. She had been relieved to hear no noise, and to see her husband returning quietly.
"Have you got the pocket-book?" she asked.
"Yes, Meg," he said, displaying it. "He went to bed with his clothes on, but I pulled it out of his pocket, as he lay asleep, and he will be none the wiser."
"How much is there in it?"
"I'm going to see. I haven't opened it yet."
He opened the pocket-book, and uttered a cry of disappointment.
"That's all," he said, displaying the five-dollar bill. "He must have had more."
"He did have more. When he paid me the dollar for stoppin' here, he took it from a roll of bills."
"What's he done with 'em, the young rascal?"
"Perhaps he had another pocket-book. But that's the one he took out when he paid me."
"I must go up again, Meg. He had seventy dollars, and I'm goin' to have the rest. Five dollars won't pay me for the trouble of stealin' it."
"Don't hurt the boy, Jack."
"I will, if he don't fork over the money," said her husband, fiercely.
There was no longer any thought of concealment. It was necessary to wake Walter to find out where he had put the money. So Jack went upstairs boldly, not trying to soften the noise of his steps now, angry to think that he had been put to this extra trouble. Walter heard him coming, and guessed what brought him back. I will not deny that he felt nervous, but he determined to act manfully, whatever might be the result. He breathed a short prayer to God for help, for he knew that in times of peril he is the only sufficient help.
The door was thrown open, and Jack strode in, bearing in his hand a candle, this time lighted. He advanced to the bed, and, bending over, shook Walter vigorously.
"What's the matter?" asked our hero, this time opening his eyes, and assuming a look of surprise. "Is it time to get up?"
"It's time for you to get up."
"It isn't morning, is it?"
"No; but I've got something to say to you."
"Well," said Walter, sitting up in the bed, "I'm ready."
"Where've you put that money you had last night?"
"Why do you want to know?" demanded Walter, eying his host fixedly.
"No matter why I want to know," said Jack, impatiently. "Tell me, if you know what's best for yourself."
Walter put his hand in his pocket.
"It was in my pocket-book," he said; "but it's gone."
"Here is your pocket-book," said Jack, producing it.
"Did you take it out of my pocket? What made you take it?"
"None of your impudence, boy!"
"Is it impudent to ask what made you take my property?" said Walter, firmly.
"Yes, it is," said Jack, with an oath.
"Do you mean to steal my money?"
"Yes, I do; and the sooner you hand it over the better."
"You have got my pocket-book already."
"Perhaps you think I am green," sneered Jack. "I found only five dollars."
"Then you had better give it back to me. Five dollars isn't worth taking."
"You're a cool one, and no mistake," said Jack, surveying our hero with greater respect than he had before manifested. "Do you know that I could wring your neck?"
"Yes, I suppose you could," said Walter, quietly. "You are a great deal stronger than I am."
"Aint you afraid of me?"
"I don't think I am. Why should I be?"
"What's to hinder my killin' you? We're alone in the woods, far from help."
"I don't think you'll do it," said Walter, meeting his gaze steadily.
"You aint a coward, boy; I'll say that for you. Some boys of your age would be scared to death if they was in your place."
"I don't think I am a coward," said Walter, quietly. "Are you going to give me back that pocket-book?"
"Not if I know it; but I'll tell you what you're goin' to do."
"What's that?"
"Hunt up the rest of that money, and pretty quick too."
"What makes you think I have got any more money?"
"Didn't you tell me you sold twenty books, at three dollars and a half? That makes seventy dollars, accordin' to my reckonin'."
"You're right there; but I have sent to Cleveland for some more books, and had to send the money with the order."
This staggered the robber at first, till he remembered what his wife had told him.
"That don't go down," he said roughly. "The old woman saw a big roll of bills when you paid her for your lodgin'. You haven't had any chance of payin' them away."
Walter recalled the covetous glance of the woman when he displayed the bills, and he regretted too late his imprudence in revealing the amount of money he had with him. He saw that it was of no use to attempt to deceive Jack any longer. It might prove dangerous, and could do no good.
"I have some more money," he said; "but I hope you will let me keep it."
"What made you take it out of your pocket-book?"
"Because I thought I should have a visit from you."
"What made you think so?" demanded Jack, rather surprised.
"I can't tell, but I expected a visit, so I took out most of my money and hid it."
"Then you'd better find it again. I can't wait here all night. Is it in your other pocket?"
"No."
"Is that all you can say? Get up, and find me that money, or it'll be the worse for you."
"Then give me the pocket-book and five dollars. I can't get along if you take all my money."
Jack reflected that he could easily take away the pocket-book again, and decided to comply with our hero's request as an inducement for him to find the other money.
"Here it is," he said. "Now get me the rest."
"I hid some money in that closet," said Walter. "I thought you would think of looking there."
No sooner was the closet pointed out than Jack eagerly strode towards it and threw open the door. He entered it, and began to peer about him, holding the candle in his hand.
"Where did you put it?" he inquired, turning to question Walter.
But he had scarcely spoken when our hero closed the door hastily, and, before Jack could recover from his surprise, had bolted it on the outside. To add to the discomfiture of the imprisoned robber, the wind produced by the violent slamming of the door blew out the candle, and he found himself a captive, in utter darkness.
"Let me out, or I'll murder you!" he roared, kicking the barrier that separated him from his late victim, now his captor.
Walter saw that there was no time to lose. The door, though strong, would probably soon give way before the strength of his prisoner. When the liberation took place, he must be gone. He held the handle of his carpet-bag between his teeth, and, getting out of the window, hung down. The distance was not great, and he alighted upon the ground without injury. Without delay he plunged into the woods, not caring in what direction he went, as long as it carried him away from his dishonest landlord.
