Alger Horatio Jr.
Walter Sherwood's Probation
CHAPTER XXV
DICK RANNEY’S SCHEME
Dick Ranney—for the first time we give the name of the highwayman—had no intention of going away without his revolver. It had been his constant companion for years, and had served him well during his connection with the famous band of Jesse James. Now, his leader dead, he was preying upon the community on his own account. So daring and so full of resources was he that he had never been arrested but once, and then managed to escape from the cabin in which he was temporarily confined.
The weapon he was so anxious to recover had been given him by his old commander, and for this reason, and also because the revolver was a very handsome and valuable one, he was willing to expose himself to the risk of capture in order to recover it.
The opposition he met with from a “beardless boy”—as he styled Walter—irritated and surprised him. He was fifty pounds heavier than Walter, and he had expected that a mere boy would give in almost immediately. But he saw that he had misjudged the lad. He was little more than a boy in years and appearance, but he evidently had a man’s courage and spirit. Ranney would have secured another revolver if he had not felt so certain of recovering his own. After his last failure he began to consider what course to adopt.
It was easy to find out the professor’s route. He knew that he was to stay a night at Stilwell, and to Stilwell he went. He did not venture into the village until nightfall, and then, for reasons easy to divine, he abstained from visiting the hotel.
Looking about for a confederate, his attention was drawn to a boy of sixteen who was sawing wood in front of a humble cottage half a mile from the village.
“I see you know how to work,” said Dick Ranney, affably, as he leaned carelessly against the fence.
“I know how, but I don’t like it,” answered the boy, pausing in his task.
“I don’t blame you. I don’t like that kind of work myself.”
“I guess you don’t have to do it now,” answered the boy, glancing at the neat and expensive attire of his new acquaintance.
“Well, no; I can do better.”
“Are you in business?”
“Yes,” answered Ranney, vaguely. “I am traveling for a house in New York.”
“I should like that.”
“Give me your name. I may be able to give you a place some day.”
“My name is Oren Trott.”
Dick Ranney took out a note-book and put the name down, greatly to the boy’s satisfaction.
“By the way,” went on Ranney, “do you want to earn half a dollar?”
“Yes,” answered Oren, with alacrity.
“Perhaps I can put you in the way of doing so. Do you know the hotel people?”
“Yes, sir. I worked there for a short time.”
“All the better. Then you know about the house, the location of rooms, etc.?”
“Yes, sir.”
“There are two parties staying there in whom I am interested. One is Professor Robinson.”
“Yes, I know—the man that sells bottles of balm.”
“The same.”
“I saw him come into town with his wagon.”
“Well, I want to find what room he will occupy to-night. The fact is,” he continued, as he noted Oren’s look of surprise, “the man owes me quite a sum of money and is trying to evade payment.”
“He doesn’t look like that kind of man,” said Oren, thoughtfully.
“My boy, you are young and are hardly qualified to judge of a man by his appearance. The man looks honest, I admit, but he’s slippery. And, by the way, did you notice a young fellow in the wagon with him?”
“Yes, sir; he isn’t much larger than I am.”
“Exactly so. Well, I want to find out what room he occupies, also.”
“Yes, sir,” answered Oren, looking a little surprised.
“You see,” explained Dick Ranney, “I want to make the professor a call, and I can perhaps tell from the outside whether he is in or not. He will avoid meeting me if he can. Now, do you think you can find out for me what I require?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then go at once.”
“Shall I find you here when I get back?” asked Oren, cautiously.
“Yes.”
“I wouldn’t like to take all that trouble for nothing.”
“You won’t. Here is a quarter in advance, and I will give you the fifty cents besides if you find out what I wish.”
“Good for you! You’re a gentleman!” said Oren, with an expression of satisfaction on his honest country face.
Two hours later Walter and the cattle dealer returned from a walk they had taken together. Walter found his new acquaintance, though not an educated man, an agreeable companion, and by no means deficient in shrewdness, though he had allowed himself to be robbed by Dick Ranney.
They went up to the desk for their keys.
“Will you two gentlemen do me a favor?” asked the clerk.
“What is it?” asked the cattle dealer.
“A gentleman and lady have just arrived and want to stay here to-night, but the number of our rooms is limited and we are full. Now, if you, sir, will go into Mr. Sherwood’s room—there are two beds there—we shall be able to give the party yours.”
“I have no objection if he hasn’t,” said the cattle dealer.
“I have none whatever,” said Walter, cheerfully.
“Then we can fix it. I am sure I am very much obliged to you both. By the way, Mr. Sherwood, there was a boy here a little while since who was anxious to find out what room you occupied, also what room was Professor Robinson’s.”
“A boy?” repeated Walter, puzzled.
“Yes, a village boy—Oren Trott.”
“I don’t know any such boy.”
“He is a good, industrious lad.”
“That may all be, but what does he want to know about my room for?”
“That’s the question I put to him. I found him very close-mouthed at first, but finally he admitted that he was employed by some man—a stranger in the village—to find out.”
Walter and the cattle dealer exchanged glances. The same thought had come to each.
“Did he describe the man?”
“No; it seems he did not take much notice of him.”
“Was that all the boy wanted to know?”
“Yes.”
“He didn’t say what the man’s object was in seeking this information?”
“No. Probably he didn’t know.”
Walter and his new friend, whom we will call Manning, went upstairs.
“What does it all mean, Mr. Manning?” asked Walter.
“It probably means that our old friend proposes to make a call upon you during the night.”
“Do you really think so?” asked Walter, naturally startled at the suggestion.
“Yes. You still have his revolver, you know.”
“I think he will find me ready for him,” said Walter, resolutely.
“He will find us ready, you mean,” corrected Manning. “You know I am going to be your roommate.”
“I am glad of that, under the circumstances.”
“So am I. I should like to recover the money the fellow robbed me of. I should like to know his name.”
“I can tell you that. I was examining the revolver this afternoon, when I saw a name engraved upon it in very small letters.”
“What name?”
“R. Ranney.”
“Then,” said Manning, in excitement, “he is the famous Dick Ranney, formerly with Jesse James.”
“I never heard of him.”
“He is well known in this Western country. Why, there is a reward of a thousand dollars offered for his apprehension.”
“I should like to earn that money,” said Walter.
“You shall; and this very night, if I can bring it about.”
“Half of the reward should be yours.”
“I am rich enough without It. As to the money the fellow robbed me of, I shall try to recover that, though the loss won’t in the least embarrass me.”
“How do you think Ranney will try to get into the room?”
“Through the window. The casements are loose, and nothing could be easier.”
Walter went to the window and found that there was no way of fastening it.
“I think we could fasten it with a knife.”
“I don’t want it fastened,” said Manning.
“Why not?”
“I want Mr. Ranney to get into the room. Once in, we must secure him. If we are smart, our enterprising visitor will find himself in a trap.”
CHAPTER XXVI
THE EVENTS OF A NIGHT
In the country it may safely be assumed that by twelve o’clock at night every sound and healthy person will be asleep. Dick Ranney gave an extra margin of half an hour, and thirty minutes after midnight made his appearance in the hotel yard. Thanks to the information given by his young messenger, Oren Trott, who, of course, did not know that in this way he was assisting a dishonest scheme, he was able to fix at once upon the windows of the rooms occupied by Walter and the professor.
He decided to enter Walter’s chamber first, partly because he wanted his revolver, which would be of service to him in case he were attacked. Then, again, he wanted the satisfaction of triumphing over the boy who had had the audacity to defy him—a full-grown man, and one whose name had carried terror to many a traveler.
There was a long ladder leaning against the stable. Dick Ranney could not call this providential without insinuating that Providence was fighting on the side of the transgressor, but he called it, appropriately, a “stroke of luck,” as indeed it seemed at the time.
He secured the ladder and put it up against the window of Walter’s room. The window, as he could see, was partly open, it being a summer night.
Dick Ranney observed this with a grim smile of satisfaction.
“He’s making things easy for me,” he said to himself.
As softly and cautiously as a cat he ascended the ladder, but not softly enough to escape the vigilant ear of Manning, who was expecting him.
Manning at the sound stepped from the bed—he had thrown himself on the outside, without undressing—and stepped into a closet, as he did not wish Ranney to learn that there were two persons in the chamber. Walter was awake, but he lay in bed motionless and with his eyes closed. The revolver was in Manning’s hands, but he had placed his clothing temptingly over a chair between the bed and the window, but in such a position that his companion on coming out of the closet would be between the window and the burglar. Dick Ranney stood on the ladder and looked in.
What he saw reassured him. Walter was in bed, and seemed to be fast asleep.
“The coast is clear,” he murmured softly. “Now, where is the revolver?”
He could not see it, but this did not trouble him. Probably the boy had it under his pillow, and in that case he could obtain it without trouble. Meanwhile, it would be well to secure the boy’s pocketbook. Though he underrated Walter’s wealth, he thought he might have twenty dollars, and this would be worth taking.
He lifted the window softly and entered the room. In order to deaden the sound of his steps he had taken off his shoes and placed them on the ground beside the foot of the ladder.
Having entered the room, he strode softly to the chair over which Walter had thrown his clothes and began to feel in the pockets of his pantaloons. There was a purse in one of the pockets which contained a few small silver coins, but it is needless to say that Walter had disposed of his stock of bank bills elsewhere. He felt that prevention of robbery was better than the recovery of the goods stolen.
Meanwhile, Manning, whose hearing was keen, was made aware through it that the burglar had entered the room. He opened the door of the closet and, walking into the center of the apartment, placed himself, revolver in hand, in front of the window.
Though his motions were gentle, the outlaw’s ears were quick. He turned swiftly, and with a look of dismay realized that he had walked into a trap. He had not felt afraid to encounter a boy of eighteen, but here was a resolute man, who had the advantage of being armed, and well armed.
Dick Ranney surveyed him for a minute in silence, but was very busily thinking what were his chances of escape.
“Well,” said Manning, “we meet again!”
“Again?” repeated Ranney, in a questioning tone.
“Yes. When we last met, you had the drop on me and relieved me of my wallet. To-night I have the drop on you.”
Dick Ranney paused for reflection.
“That’s so,” he said. “Do you want your wallet back?”
“Yes.”
“Then we’ll make a bargain. Give me that revolver, promise not to raise the house, and I will give you back your wallet.”
“With all the money inside?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t think I will,” said Manning, after a pause.
“Don’t be a fool! Come, be quick, or the boy will wake up.”
“He is awake already,” said Walter, raising his head from the pillow.
“Were you awake when I entered the room?” asked Dick Ranney, quickly.
“Yes.”
“Fooled again!” exclaimed Ranney, bitterly. “Boy, I believe you are my evil genius. Till I met you, I thought myself a match for any one.”
“You were more than a match for me,” said Manning, “but he wins best who wins last.”
“Well, what do you mean to do?” asked Ranney, doggedly.
“To capture you, Dick Ranney, and hand you over to the law which you have so persistently violated.”
“That you will never do,” said Ranney, and he dashed toward the window, thrusting Manning to one side.
But what he saw increased his dismay. The ladder had been removed, and if he would leave the room he must leap to the ground, a distance of over twenty feet.
“Confusion!” he exclaimed. “The ladder is gone!”
“Yes, I directed the stable-boy to keep awake and remove it,” explained Manning.
“I may be taken, but I will be revenged first,” shouted Dick Ranney, and he flung himself on Manning, who, unprepared for the sudden attack, sank to the floor, with Ranney on top. But the outlaw’s triumph was short-lived. Walter sprang to Manning’s rescue, seized the revolver, and, aiming it at the burglar, cried quickly:
“Get up, or I’ll fire!”
Dick Ranney rose sullenly. He paid Walter the compliment of believing he meant what he said.
“It’s your turn, boy,” he muttered.
“Stay where you are!” ordered Walter, and he walked slowly backward, still covering the robber with the revolver, till he reached the door opening into the entry.
Dick Ranney watched him closely, and did not offer any opposition, for it occurred to him that the opening of the door would afford him a better chance for flight.
No sooner, therefore, was the door open than he prepared to avail himself of the opportunity, running the risk of a bullet wound, when his plans were frustrated by the entrance of two village constables—strong, sturdy men.
“Dick Ranney, do you surrender?” asked Walter, in a clear, resolute tone.
Ranney looked slowly from one to the other and calculated the chances. The ladder was gone and he found himself facing four foes, three of them strong men, some of them armed.
“It’s all up with me!” he said quietly. “I surrender.”
“You do wisely,” remarked Manning. “Now, will you restore my wallet?”
The outlaw took it out of his pocket and handed it over.
“There it is,” he said. “I suppose you won’t me to pay interest for the use of the money.”
The two constables advanced, and one of them took out a pair of handcuffs.
“Hold out your hands!” he said.
The burglar did so. He saw that opposition would not benefit him, and he yielded to the inevitable with a good grace.
“It seems I walked into a trap,” he said. “If you don’t mind telling me, were you expecting me?”
“Yes,” answered Walter.
“Did the boy betray me?” he asked quickly.
“No; the boy suspected nothing wrong, but his questions excited suspicion.”
“Dick Ranney,” said the outlaw, apostrophizing himself, “you’re a fool! I should like to kick you!”
“I think you were imprudent, Mr. Ranney,” said Manning,
“It was this revolver that undid me,” said Ranney. “I wanted to recover it, for it was given me by my old captain. It was never out of my possession till that boy snatched it from me. I suppose it was to be,” and he sighed, comforted, perhaps, by the thought that it would have been useless to struggle against fate.
CHAPTER XXVII
WALTER BECOMES A CAPITALIST
Professor Robinson slumbered on, blissfully unconscious of the events that had made the night an exciting one. When he came downstairs early in the morning he strayed accidentally into the room where Dick Ranney was confined under guard. Being short-sighted, he did not see the captive until Ranney hailed him.
“Good morning, professor!”
The professor skipped nimbly back and gazed at the prisoner in alarm.
“You here?” he exclaimed.
“Yes,” answered Dick, grimly.
“But how did it happen?”
“I came to the hotel a little after midnight to make you a call, but went first to the room of your assistant.”
“What, after midnight?”
“Yes. It is hardly necessary to explain what happened. Here I am!”
“Ah, my friend,” said the professor, “this may be fortunate for you, if it leads you to consider and reflect upon the errors of your life.”
“Oh, stow that!” exclaimed Ranney, in disgust. “I’m not that kind of a man. I follow my own course and take the consequences.”
The professor shook his head sadly and went out. Later, when he heard what had happened, he said to Walter: “If that man had come into my room at midnight I should have died of fright.”
“There was no occasion to be alarmed,” returned Walter, “We were prepared for him.”
“I—I am afraid I was never cut out for a hero,” said the professor. “My nervous system is easily upset.”
The plain truth was that Professor Robinson was a born coward, though he was stronger and more muscular, probably, than Grant, Sherman or Sheridan. But it is not brawn and muscle that make a hero, but the spirit that animates the man, and of this spirit the professor had very little. Yet in after years when he had retired from business and was at leisure to live over again his past life, he used to tell with thrilling effect how he and Walter had trapped and captured the daring outlaw, Dick Ranney, and received admiring compliments upon his courage and prowess, which he complacently accepted, though he knew how little he deserved them.
It so chanced that Stilwell was the county seat and court was in session at that time, and nearly ready to wind up its business. It was owing to this circumstance that the trial of Dick Ranney was held at once. By request Walter and the professor remained to bear testimony against the prisoner, and Manning also strengthened the case against him. Within less than a week the trial was concluded, a verdict of guilty was brought in, and the prisoner sentenced to a ten years’ term of imprisonment.
Dick Ranney heard the sentence with philosophical calmness.
“My good friend,” said the professor, “I trust that in your long years of confinement you will reflect upon—”
“Don’t worry about that,” interrupted Dick. “I sha’n’t be in prison three months.”
“But I thought—”
“Bolts and bars can be broken, professor. When I do get out I will inquire what part of the country you are in and will make you a visit.”
This promise, so far from cheering Professor Robinson, seemed to disconcert him extremely, and he shortened his talk with his road acquaintance.
After the trial was over Walter was waited upon by an official, who tendered him the reward of one thousand dollars offered for the capture of Dick Ranney.
“Mr. Manning has waived his claim in your favor,” explained the official, “and therefore there is no question that to you belongs the reward.”
“There are two others whose services deserve recognition,” said Walter; “the two constables who made the arrest.”
“There is no additional sum at our command,” explained the official.
“None is needed,” returned Walter. “I shall pay each a hundred dollars out of the reward which has been awarded to me.”
It is needless to say that the two constables, both of whom were poor men with large families, were very grateful for this substantial recognition of their services.
CHAPTER XXVIII
WALTER GOES OUT OF BUSINESS
By the time Walter received his prize of eight hundred dollars he had saved enough out of his wages to make nearly a thousand. He reflected with pride that this money had not been left him, but was the fruit of his own exertions. He resolved to say nothing in his letters home of his good fortune, but wait till he returned, when he would have the pleasure of taking his guardian by surprise.
A day later he received a letter from Doctor Mack, which had been forwarded from one place to another, and was now nearly three weeks old.
It ran thus:
DEAR WALTER: You give but scanty intelligence of your progress and success, or want of it. I respect you for your determination to support yourself, but I don’t want you to carry your independence too far. As you have never fitted yourself for any kind of business, I presume your earnings are small. I should not be surprised to hear that you are straitened for money. If you are, don’t let your pride prevent your informing me. I can easily send you fifty dollars, for your property was not all lost, and it is not fitting that you should deprive yourself of the comforts of life when there is no occasion for it.
“Nancy often speaks of you, and, indeed, I may say that we both miss you very much, and wish the year were up, so that you might return to us. I have hopes of righting your property, so that you may go back to Euclid College at the beginning of the fall session. I am glad to learn by your last letter that your health is excellent. Once more, don’t hesitate to write to me for money if you need a remittance.
“Your affectionate guardian,
“EZEKIEL MACK.”
Walter smiled as he finished reading the letter.
“I wonder what my good guardian would say,” he soliloquized, “if he knew that I had nearly a thousand dollars saved up? He would open his eyes, I fancy.”
He sat down at once and made a reply, in the course of which he said: “Don’t trouble yourself to send me money. I can get along with the wages I receive. When I left home I made up my mind not to call upon you for help, and I am glad to say there is no occasion to do so as yet. I think my year’s absence from college will do me good. I am ashamed when I consider how poorly I appreciated the advantages of study, and how foolishly I spent my time and money. If I ever go back to college I shall turn over a new leaf. I have seen something of the world and gained some experience of life, and feel about half a dozen years older than when I left college.”
When Doctor Mack, a week later, read these lines he smiled contentedly.
“My experiment is working well,” he said. “It is making a man of Walter. He has been a drone, hitherto. Now he has become a worker, and, though I may not like him better, for he was always near to my heart, I respect him more.”
A week later Walter, on returning from a walk, found a middle-aged stranger in conversation with Professor Robinson.
The professor seemed a little embarrassed when Walter entered.
“I have some news for you, Walter,” he said. “I am afraid it will not be welcome to you.”
“Please let me hear it, professor,” said Walter.
“This gentleman is Nahum Snodgrass, of Chicago, who has been for some years a traveler for a large wholesale-drug-house.”
“I am glad to meet you, Mr. Snodgrass,” said Walter, politely.
Snodgrass, who was a thin, dry-looking man, nodded briefly.
“I have just sold out my business to him,” went on Professor Robinson, “and henceforth shall aim to live more easily and enjoy the presence of my family.”
“I congratulate you, professor,” said Walter. “I think you deserve a life of leisure.”
“Mr. Snodgrass is willing to take you into his employ, but he does not think he can afford to pay you as much as I did.”
“No,” said Snodgrass, clearing his throat, “I find that Professor Robinson has been foolishly liberal. The ten per cent. commission which he has paid you is simply—stu—pendous!”
Walter smiled.
“I have not been in the habit of taking that view of it,” he said.
“Perhaps not, but I do,” said Snodgrass, firmly. “You are a very young man, and ought not to expect much pay. I will give you two dollars a week and pay your traveling expenses.”
“I beg to decline your offer, Mr. Snodgrass,” said Walter, politely. “I have thought of changing my business before, but was unwilling to leave the professor. As we are strangers, I need have no further hesitation.”
“Young man,” said Snodgrass, “I think you are making a mistake. It will not be so easy getting another place as you suppose.”
“Perhaps not, but I can afford to live a few weeks without work.”
“Your savings will soon go”—Snodgrass knew nothing of Walter’s prize money—“and then what will you do?”
“Trust to luck,” answered Walter, lightly.
Nahum Snodgrass shook his head gloomily. He thought Walter a very foolish young man.
Had Walter lost his position two months earlier it would have been a serious matter to him, but now, with a capital of nearly a thousand dollars, he could afford to be independent. As he expressed it, he could afford to be idle for a few weeks. Still, he didn’t wish to remain unemployed for a long time. He felt happier when at work, but wished to secure some employment that would be congenial.
“Mr. Snodgrass,” said the professor, “I think you are making a mistake in not employing Walter Sherwood.”
Nahum Snodgrass shrugged his shoulders.
“I don’t mean to pay away all my profits to an assistant,” he said.
“But you can’t get along alone very well.”
“I will try, unless I can find some one that will take what I am willing to pay.”
He finally succeeded in doing this. A young man of eighteen, employed in a drug-store in town, who was on the point of being discharged, agreed to take the position, and stepped into Walter’s place. To anticipate a little, he disappeared two weeks later, carrying with him fifty dollars belonging to his employer.
Walter stayed two days longer at the hotel, and then, sending his valise ahead to Burnton, twenty miles farther on, started to walk the distance. He was in a mountainous country, and the scenery was wild and attractive, so that he felt that this arrangement would prove agreeable to him. He provided himself with a stout staff and started at good speed. He had accomplished about eight miles, when he was overtaken by a shabbily dressed traveler riding on the back of a fine horse. The horseman slackened his pace when he reached Walter.
“Good morning, stranger!” he said.
“Good morning!” responded Walter, turning his head.
“I am glad to have company. It’s a lonesome stretch of road here.”
“Yes,” answered Walter, carelessly. “But there isn’t any danger, is there?”
“Well, there might be. A friend of mine was stabbed and robbed here three months since.”
“Indeed!”
“Yes; and though I haven’t much money with me, I shouldn’t like to be robbed of what I have.”
“It would be inconvenient.”
“Do you carry much money with you?” asked the other, in a careless tone.
Walter was not disposed to take a stranger into his confidence.
“Not much!” he responded.
“You are prudent. Are you armed?”
Walter drew out Dick Ranney’s revolver, which he still carried. The stranger eyed him respectfully.
“That’s a mighty handsome weapon,” he said. “Just let me look at it.”
Walter began to think he had fallen in with a highwayman again.
