Alger Horatio Jr.
Walter Sherwood's Probation
CHAPTER XXII
AN ADVENTURE
Three months passed without any incident worth recording. Professor Robinson’s success was variable, but upon the whole he had reason to feel encouraged. He was an excellent salesman, and his balm, though it could not perform all the wonderful cures claimed for it, really had merit, and this helped materially.
So far as Walter was concerned, he found the professor an indulgent and honorable employer, whose word was as good as his bond. Every Saturday night there was a statement of sales for the week, and Walter was paid his commission of ten per cent. Though he was obliged to make some disbursements, the largest being for a suit of clothes, he found himself, at the end of fourteen weeks, possessed of a balance of a hundred dollars. This was a source of great satisfaction to Walter, who had known in Chicago how inconvenient it was to be without money.
One day the professor found himself in a Minnesota village. He had secured a vacant lot on the principal street for the display of his merchandise. He met with rather unusual success, a local celebration having drawn a considerable crowd to the town of Warwick. Walter, after playing on the violin, passed among the crowd with a supply of bottles of balm, while the professor was expatiating in an eloquent manner upon its merits. Among the crowd his attention was drawn to a roughly dressed man, in hunting costume, wearing a sombrero with a broad brim. His face was dark and his expression sinister. His eyes were very black and keen. He looked like a Spaniard, and the thought came to Waiter that he would make an ideal highway-man. He was leaning carelessly against the fence that separated the lot from the street. As Walter approached he moved slightly and accosted him.
“Say, young feller, is it all true that he”—with a jerk of his hand toward the professor—“says about this balm?”
“Yes, sir,” answered Walter, in a business-like tone. “It is a very valuable remedy in all cases of bruise, sprain, rheumatism, headache, and other kindred troubles. Can I sell you a bottle?”
“Well, I don’t mind,” and the stranger drew out a silver quarter and tendered it in payment.
“Do you sell much of this stuff?” he asked carelessly.
“Yes, we have large sales.”
“You are making money fast, I reckon?”
“We are doing very well,” answered Walter, cautiously.
“It’s an easy life to lead.”
“Not so very easy. We are on the road early and late.”
“Do you stop here overnight?”
“No; I think we will push on to Fremont.”
“You’ll get there late.”
“Perhaps so. We shall not commence our sales till to-morrow.
“Why is he so inquisitive?” thought Walter, and as he turned back to scan once more the face of his recent customer he became more and more distrustful of him.
“Does that man live in town?” he inquired of a boy.
“Who? That man leaning against the fence?”
“Yes.”
The boy shook his head.
“I never saw him before,” he said. “I guess he came to the celebration.”
When the sale was over Walter and the professor went to the hotel for supper. Walter caught sight of the mysterious stranger in the barroom, and could not avoid seeing that he himself was an object of attention. Why this should be he did not understand. If only he were a mind-reader and could interpret the man’s thoughts it would have relieved his anxiety, for in spite of himself he was becoming anxious and apprehensive, though he could not explain why.
At supper the stranger sat opposite him. He ate heartily and with great rapidity, yet found time to glance repeatedly at Walter and his employer, as if he felt an interest in them.
Walter sought the professor after supper and communicated to him his fears.
Professor Robinson shrugged his shoulders.
“Your imagination is running away with you,” he said. “I don’t see anything extraordinary about this stranger, except that he is far from good-looking.”
“Don’t you think he has a sinister look?”
“He is as homely as the ace of spades, if that is what you mean. Suppose he is. All homely men are not suspicious characters. If they were, how would we be judged?” and the professor laughed in a jolly way.
“You have quite decided to go through to Fremont this evening?”
“Yes; I want to reach Stillman on Saturday—there is to be a county fair there—and to make it in time we must be moving to-night.”
Of course, there was no more to be said. Walter did not care to interfere with the professor’s plans, and he was ashamed to admit that he was nervous and alarmed. Perhaps his fears were groundless. He began to think so when at seven o’clock the stable-boy brought round a powerful black horse to the front of the inn, and the stranger who had given him so much anxiety vaulted into the saddle and rode away, without even turning to look at him.
“Who is that fellow?” he asked of an old man who stood near, smoking a clay pipe.
The old man looked thoughtfully at the stranger, who had now ridden out of the yard.
“Seems to me I’ve seen that face before,” he said slowly, “but I can’t rightly tell where.”
“He doesn’t look like a farmer.”
“No. If he lived anywhere within twenty miles I’d know him. He’s a stranger.”
“His looks don’t recommend him.”
“You’re right there, boy.”
“I shouldn’t be surprised to hear that he was an outlaw.”
“One of Jesse James’ band, mayhap,” suggested the old man, with a smile.
“Yes, he looks it.”
“Well, he’s gone, so he won’t trouble us.”
This was a consoling thought to Walter. He carried a hundred dollars in his pocket, and he had worked too hard for it to feel reconciled to its loss. The stranger, judging from his appearance, was quite capable of relieving him of it; but now he had ridden away, doubtless on business of his own, and the chances were that they would never meet again.
About eight o’clock Professor Robinson’s team was brought round to the door, and he and Walter clambered upon the seat and were under way.
“Were you ever robbed, professor?” asked Walter.
The professor smiled.
“Yes,” he said.
“By a highwayman?”
“No, by my assistant, a young man who occupied your place. He had been with me four weeks, and I reposed a good deal of confidence in him, as I do in you.”
“I hope you won’t repent your confidence in me, professor.”
“I am sure I shall not. But to come back to my story, Charles Wright was a good-looking, smooth-faced fellow of twenty, and had a good turn for business. The trouble with him was that he was extravagant and never had a cent ahead.”
“Did he earn as much as I do?”
“Yes, for business with me was unusually good at the time he was with me. However, he never could save money. Usually we occupied different rooms at the hotels we stopped at, but one night the hotel was crowded and we were obliged to room together. Now, as you know, I am a sound sleeper. I am asleep five minutes after my head touches the pillow, and even a thunder-storm during the night would scarcely waken me. On some accounts this is an advantage, but, as you will see, it turned out unluckily for me on the night I am speaking of. I awoke at the usual time—seven o’clock—and on opening my eyes I saw at once that my young assistant was not in the room. This gave me no uneasiness. I presumed that he had waked after a good night’s sleep and was taking a morning walk. I rose from the bed, put on my clothes leisurely, and it was only after I was completely dressed that I felt in my pocket for my wallet. Then I made a startling discovery. The wallet was gone!”
“Was there much money in it?”
“About a hundred and ten dollars. Fortunately I had about fifty dollars, besides, in another pocket, so that I was not left quite penniless.”
“Was your assistant the thief?”
“There is no doubt about it. He had gone downstairs at five o’clock, told the clerk he was going for a walk, and did not show up after that.”
“Have you seen or heard of him since?”
“No; I may meet him again some time, but I doubt if I should have him arrested. He injured himself more than he did me. I lost a hundred dollars or more, but he lost a good place and his character for honesty. Depend upon it, Walter, honesty is the best policy in the long run.”
“I am sure of that, sir.”
Four miles from the hotel they entered a wood, through which the road ran for half a mile. It was dark, but not completely dark. A few stars sent down a faint light. By the light of these stars Walter descried a man, mounted on a large horse, stationed motionless in the middle of the road, apparently waiting for them to come up.
“Professor,” he exclaimed, clutching his employer by the arm, “that’s the man we saw at the hotel.”
CHAPTER XXIII
WALTER AND THE HIGHWAYMAN
The professor was startled at the exclamation, but was unwilling to believe that the man before him was a highwayman.
“My friend,” he said, “won’t you move to one side? You are in my path.”
“We have a little business together,” said the horseman, grimly, as he drew out and presented a revolver, “that must be attended to first.”
“Do you wish a bottle of balm?” inquired Professor Robinson, in a tremulous voice.
“No; you may need one yourself unless we come to terms.”
“What do you mean?”
“Hand over your pocketbook, old man, and be quick about it.”
“I presume you are joking,” said the professor nervously.
“You won’t find it much of a joke!”
“Are you a—highwayman?” gasped the professor.
The other gave a quick, short laugh.
“You may call me that if you like,” he said.
Now, Professor Robinson had, as was natural, a decided objection to surrendering his money, and, though there seemed little chance of producing an effect on the mind of the outlaw, ventured to remonstrate.
“My friend,” he said, “if you are in want, I will lend, nay, give you five dollars, out of a spirit of humanity; but I trust you will not jeopardize your liberty by descending to robbery.”
“Five dollars won’t do, old man! Hand over your wallet, with all there is in it, and dry up that Sunday-school talk.”
“What shall I do, Walter?” asked the poor professor.
“I am afraid you will have to let him have it, professor.”
“That’s where your head is level, boy!” said the highwayman approvingly. “Just fling over your wallet, and be quick about it.”
“Tell him to ride up and get it,” said Walter, in an undertone.
Though the professor did not understand Walter’s object in suggesting this, he was in a mood to be guided by any one, and repeated Walter’s words.
“Anything to oblige,” said the stranger.
“Don’t give it to him till I say the word,” whispered Walter.
The highwayman, lowering his revolver, rode up alongside of the wagon and held out his hand for the wallet.
Walter had conceived a bold scheme for disarming him and rendering him harmless.
“Give the wallet to me, professor,” he said.
His employer meekly obeyed.
Then Walter, rising, dropped the wallet on the floor of the wagon, and reaching over suddenly grasped the revolver from the unsuspecting robber, and before he recovered from his amazement brought down the whip with terrible force on the flanks of his horse. The startled animal gave a spring that nearly unseated his rider and dashed madly down the road.
The robber was furious. As soon as he could he regained control of his steed and galloped back.
“Give me that revolver!” he shouted, in a rage.
Walter held the weapon in his hand and steadily pointed it at its late owner.
“I’ll give you the contents if you don’t ride off.”
“Confound you, you young rascal! If you don’t give me back my weapon I’ll kill you!”
It was an empty threat, as Walter well knew.
“Do you hear me?” he said quietly.
The robber scanned him curiously. He had thought him a mere boy, without spirit or courage. Now he was compelled to revise his opinion of him. Threats would not answer. He must have recourse to strategy.
“You’re smart, youngster. I’ll give you credit for that,” he said, in a milder tone. “You’ve got the best of me, I admit.”
“Yes,” answered Walter, “I have the advantage of you.”
“I meant to take your money, but I won’t do it now.”
“Thank you!” said Walter, with an ironical smile.
“Just give me back that weapon of mine, and I’ll ride off and let you alone.”
“I don’t think it would be wise.”
The highwayman frowned.
“Don’t be a fool, youngster!” he said. “Do you doubt my word?”
“I don’t know you well enough to decide whether you are to be trusted, but I guess I’ll keep the revolver.”
“Then you will have robbed me.”
“Walter,” said the professor nervously, “perhaps you had better give him back his weapon. He has promised not to molest us further.”
“That’s where you talk sense, old man,” said the robber approvingly. “You’re a gentleman, you are.”
“You hear, Walter?”
“Yes, youngster, you hear? Give me back my weapon and we’ll part friends.”
“And I trust, my friend, you will see the error of your ways and adopt some honest business.”
“I will, old man, believe me!” said the robber, in a melodramatic tone. “I was not always thus.”
“You will have my best wishes for your prosperity, and if you are in need I will give you five dollars.”
“No, I will not take advantage of your liberal offer. Only give me the revolver and I will ride away.”
“Come, Walter, give the man his revolver.”
“Professor,” said Walter, quietly, “you must excuse me, I can’t comply with your request. This man is humbugging you. If I give him back the revolver you will have to give him your wallet too.”
“Didn’t I promise to ride away?” demanded the outlaw, angrily.
“Yes; but I have no confidence in your promise. Now, go at once, or I fire!”
Walter pointed the revolver full at the robber’s head. He met the unflinching gaze of Walter’s resolute eyes and saw that our hero was in earnest.
“Do you mean to keep my property?” he demanded hoarsely.
“No; come round to the hotel in Fremont to-morrow morning and you shall have your weapon.”
With an execration the outlaw turned his horse and dashed off at full speed.
“There, he is gone!” said Walter, sinking back in his seat with an air of relief. His nerves had been at high tension, though he was outwardly calm, for he knew that he had to deal with a desperate man, and feared a sudden attack, which might have resulted disastrously for him.
“I don’t know whether you have done right, Walter,” said the professor, in a tone of mild deprecation.
“Surely, professor, you would not have had me give back the revolver?”
“He promised to ride off and leave us to ourselves.”
“What is the word of such a man worth? He would have ridden off, but he would have carried with him your wallet and mine. Was there much money in yours?”
“Two hundred and fifty dollars.”
“That’s too much to lose. Take my advice, professor, and put the greater part of the money in one of your pockets. That is what I have done, for I suspected that this gentleman would lie in wait for us.”
“What put it into your head to seize the pistol, Walter? If your attempt had miscarried he might have shot you.”
“I don’t propose to give up my money without a struggle. When the time came to act I moved suddenly upon the enemy. I did not propose to fail.”
“You were very quick. You were like a flash of lightning.”
“I meant to be,” said Walter, smiling. “I haven’t attended a gymnasium for nothing.”
“Do you think he will attack us again?” asked the professor timidly.
“No; he has no revolver and I have. Besides, I don’t mean to be taken at a disadvantage. If you will drive, I will hold the revolver ready for instant use.”
There was no further interruption during their ride, and about ten o’clock they drew up in front of the hotel in Fremont. Rooms were secured, and both Walter and the professor retired to rest.
About seven o’clock the next morning there was a knock at Walter’s door. He opened it, half dressed, and found a boy of sixteen with a note in his hand.
“A gentleman gave me this for you,” he said.
Walter opened the note and read these lines, which had been hastily scribbled:
“Give the bearer my revolver. I have a long journey before me and shall need it.
“YOU KNOW WHO.”
“Where is the gentleman who gave you the note?” asked Walter.
“Down the road a piece. He asked me to be quick.”
“Tell him,” said Walter, putting the note in his vest pocket, “that he will have to come here himself.”
He finished his toilet and went down to breakfast, but the robber did not put in an appearance. He probably thought that Walter was laying a trap for him.
CHAPTER XXIV
AN ATTEMPT TO RECOVER THE REVOLVER
As Walter had been brought up with a strict sense of honesty, he was somewhat in doubt whether he ought to keep the revolver, which was a handsome one, silver-mounted. He decided, however, that it would be quixotic to disarm himself and put the outlaw in a position to renew his attack, as he undoubtedly would, if only because he would wish to get even with the boy who had humiliated him. Walter had, to be sure, promised to give it up if the owner called for it, but he meant at the same time to secure his arrest.
He did not mention to the professor that he had received a letter from the owner of the weapon, as his employer would have insisted upon his giving it up. Professor Robinson was a timid man, and, though he was of stout build and possessed a fair measure of strength, he had not as much spirit as some boys of ten.
“What are you going to do with the revolver, Walter?” he asked uneasily, as they set out on their way from Fremont to Stilwell.
“I am going to carry it with me, professor.”
“Then you had better withdraw the charges.”
“Why should I?”
“The weapon might go off.”
“I mean that it shall if the owner makes another attack upon us.”
“You don’t think he will?” asked the professor, nervously.
“I think it very probable.”
“I wish we had never met him,” said the unhappy professor.
“So do I; but as we have, we must make the best of it.”
“If you had only given him back the revolver we should have had no more trouble.”
“Pardon me, professor, I think we should have had a great deal of trouble. Once give the fellow his old advantage over us and he would use it.”
“I never had such an experience before,” complained the professor, looking at Walter reproachfully, as if he thought that somehow it was the fault of his young assistant.
Walter smiled.
“Do you know, professor,” he said, “your remark reminds me of a statement in an Irish paper to this effect: ‘Several persons have died during the last year who never died before.’”
“I don’t see the point,” said the professor, peevishly.
They were about half-way to the next town when Walter heard the sound of a galloping horse behind him.
Looking out of the side of the wagon, he saw the now familiar figure of the outlaw as he rode up alongside. He looked critically at Walter, and saw that the coveted revolver was in our hero’s hand, ready for action.
“Why didn’t you give the revolver to my messenger this morning, boy?” he demanded, with a frown.
“I didn’t think it would be safe,” Walter answered significantly.
“Didn’t you know it was my property?”
“I wasn’t sure of it.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I didn’t know whether you had paid for it.”
“You are impudent. Professor Robinson, will you make the boy give me back my revolver?”
“I have told him to,” answered the professor, in an apologetic tone, “but he won’t obey me.”
“Then why don’t you discharge him? I wouldn’t keep a boy in my employ who disobeyed me.”
“I am well satisfied with him, except on this point.”
“I am ready to leave you, professor, if you say the word,” said Walter, and he made a motion as if to jump out of the wagon.
“No, no!” exclaimed the professor, in alarm. “I don’t want you to leave me.”
“Then I won’t. I think it might be bad for you if I did,” said Walter, with a significant look at the horseman.
“Well, boy,” said the outlaw, harshly, “I can’t waste my time here. You sent me a message to come for my revolver myself if I wanted it.”
“Yes.”
“Well, here I am. Now give me the weapon.”
“I think I shall have to decline.”
“Are you going back on your word?” demanded the outlaw.
“Not exactly.”
“Then what do you propose to do?”
“Keep along with us till we reach Stilwell. Then we will go before a magistrate. You will make your demand for the weapon, and in his presence I will surrender it.”
“Do you take me for a fool?” thundered the robber.
“No, and I want you to understand that I am not a fool, either.”
“You are acting like a fool and a knave.”
“I should certainly be acting like a fool if I gave up the revolver, and had it immediately pointed at me or my companion, with a demand for our money.”
“But I gave you my word—”
“Of course you did, but I put no confidence in your word.”
While this conversation was going on the poor professor looked on and listened with an expression of helplessness on his broad face. He was essentially a man of peace, and was by no means fitted to deal with a highwayman.
“Look here,” said the outlaw, after a pause, and in a milder tone, “I have a special attachment for that weapon, or I would drop the whole matter and buy another one. But this was given me by an old pal, now dead, and I set great store by it. Professor, although the revolver is mine by rights, I will waive all that and offer you twenty-five dollars for it. That will pay you for all the trouble I have put you to.”
Professor Robinson, though not a mean man, was fond of money, and this offer tempted him. It would be getting twenty-five dollars for nothing, and that was a piece of good luck not likely to present itself every day.
“I accept your offer,” he said gladly.
“But I don’t,” put in Walter, calmly. “Allow me to say that the professor has no claim to the weapon. I took it with my own hand, and it has never been in his possession.”
“All right! Then I’ll give you twenty-five dollars for it.”
“I decline your offer.”
“I’d like to wring your neck, you young thief!”
“I have no doubt you would.”
“Once more, and for the last time, will you give me back that revolver?”
“I have told you when and on what conditions I would surrender it.”
“When?”
“At Stilwell, in the presence of a magistrate.”
“You are very crafty. You want me to be arrested for attempted robbery.”
“Yes, that is my wish.”
“I’ve a great mind to snatch the revolver from you.”
“Come on, then!” said Walter, holding it firmly, pointing at the outlaw.
“You’ve got the drop on me, youngster, but mark my word, I’ll have that weapon yet, and I’ll punish you for giving me all this trouble.”
“Have you anything more to say?”
“No.”
“Then suppose you ride on. We have been delayed long enough.”
The robber did go, but aimed a volley of imprecations at Walter, of which the latter took no notice.
In the early evening they arrived at Stilwell and secured rooms at the hotel.
Among the guests was a cattleman from Dakota, who had been to Chicago with a herd of cattle and was now on his way back. He was loud in his complaints of a highwayman whom he had met two days previous, who had relieved him of a wallet containing five hundred dollars.
“Won’t you describe him?” asked Walter, struck by a sudden suspicion.
The cattle dealer did so. His description tallied with the personal appearance of Walter’s enemy.
“Was he on foot?” asked Walter.
“No; he was on a black horse.”
Walter nodded.
“I know him,” he said.
“Has he robbed you?”
“No; I have robbed him.”
“What do you mean?” inquired the cattle dealer, in wonder.
“Do you recognize this?” and Walter exhibited the revolver.
“Yes; it looks like the revolver he pointed at me.”
“Probably it is.”
“But how do you happen to have it?”
“I took it from him.”
“You—a mere boy!” exclaimed the cattle dealer, incredulously.
“Yes. I will tell you about it.”
And Walter gave an account of the circumstances under which the revolver had come into his possession.
“It is a handsome weapon,” said the cattle dealer, taking it into his hands and examining it. “It must be worth a hundred dollars.”
“I think I shall keep it for my own use,” said Walter, quietly.
“I’ll give you seventy-five dollars for it.”
“I would rather not part with it. Indeed, I should not feel justified in selling it, considering the way it came into my hands.”
“Well, boy, you’re a smart one; but I surmise you haven’t seen the last of the owner.”
The speaker was right.
