Alger Horatio Jr.
The Young Bank Messenger
CHAPTER XIV.
ERNEST HAS AN ADVENTURE
Luke Robbins remained at the farm-house over night and till the middle of the next day. At that hour the sum of money which Mason had withdrawn from the bank was transferred to the party for whom it was intended, and Luke's mission was at an end.
He received from the farmer the stipulated five dollars and started on his return to Emmonsville, Ezekiel Mason driving him the greater part of the way.
Luke arrived at the bank half an hour before it closed and reported his success, including the capture of John Fox. He was congratulated, but noticed that the officers of the bank looked grave.
"Is anything the matter?" he asked.
"Yes," answered the cashier. "At one o'clock yesterday we sent your young friend Ernest with a thousand dollars in United States bonds to the bank at Lee's Falls. He did not return last night, and we have received no tidings from him."
"What do you fear?" asked Luke, hurriedly.
"We fear that he may have been captured by some of the Fox gang, and be at present in confinement, or else–"
"What?"
"Killed or wounded," added the cashier.
"He could not have met John Fox, for I held him in custody."
"There was the other brother, James, who was at large."
"James is the tall brother?"
"Yes."
"Then," said Luke, "I shall have to hunt him, too. Will you grant me leave of absence?"
"Gladly. We want to recover the bonds, but we care still more for the safety of the boy."
Indeed, Ernest had become popular with the bank officials, as well as with the residents of Emmonsville. The cashier spoke truly when he said he cared more for the boy's safety than for the recovery of the bonds.
"Can you tell me anything that will help me in my expedition?" asked Luke. "Have you any idea where the Fox gang would be likely to carry Ernest?"
"It is generally supposed that the band have a secret rendezvous somewhere within a dozen miles, but no one has been able to discover where it is."
"And you think that Ernest would be carried there?"
"Yes, they would hardly bring themselves to kill a young boy. He would, of course, be easily overpowered by a grown man, so that there would be no excuse for murderous violence."
"This spoils all my pleasure at capturing John Fox," said Luke, ruefully. "I should be willing to have him go free if only I could get the boy back. How did the boy go?"
"He walked."
"But it was a long distance."
"Yes, about ten miles. We at first thought of providing him with a saddle-horse, but there was one objection."
"What was that?"
"He would have been more likely to be suspected of being out on some mission. But on foot he would not be apt to attract attention. A boy of sixteen is not very apt to be a custodian of money."
"True."
Leaving Luke Robbins to start on his search for Ernest, we will go back to the time when the boy messenger left the bank on the day previous.
The United States bonds were inclosed in an envelope and carried in an inner pocket, which had been expressly made by an Emmonsville tailor on his first connecting himself with the bank. The pocket was unusually deep, so as to accommodate a long parcel.
This was the most important commission on which Ernest had been employed, and he was pleased with the confidence reposed in him. He did not dread the long walk, for he was a strong and active boy. Besides, he was authorized to accept a ride if one should be offered him.
He would, of course, arrive at Lee's Falls after the bank was closed, but he was instructed to call at the residence of the cashier and leave the bonds.
Ernest had walked three miles when he met with an adventure.
On the borders of a small pond he caught sight of a small Indian boy playing. He was probably not more than three years of age. A stick he was playing with fell into the pond, and the little fellow reached over to recover it. In doing so he lost his balance and fell into the water; there was a scream and a splash, and Ernest no sooner saw the accident than he ran up, threw off his coat and vest lest he should wet the bonds, and plunged into the pond.
The young bank messenger was an expert swimmer, and in an instant had seized the child and placed him out of danger. The little Indian boy clung to him instinctively, feeling safe with his young protector.
"Where do you live, little boy?" asked Ernest.
"Out yonder," answered the child.
Ernest had not been quite sure whether he would be able to understand or speak English, but having been brought up among white people, he was as familiar with English as most white boys of his age.
Ernest looked in the direction pointed out by the boy. At the distance of a hundred rods he saw a rude log house, which seemed to contain but one room. Smoke was curling from a chimney projecting from the roof. Outside sat an Indian, about forty years of age, smoking a pipe.
He seemed busily thinking, having the grave face characteristic of the average Indian. He did not immediately notice the approach of his little son. But when they were near, the Indian boy uttered a cry, pronouncing some Indian word which possibly meant "father."
Then the red man looked up, and his grave face changed as he recognized his boy in the company of a young white stranger.
He rose hastily from his seat, and advanced quickly to meet the two who were approaching.
"What has happened?" he asked in clear and distinct English.
"Your little boy fell into the water," explained Ernest.
"And you saved him?"
"Yes," answered Ernest, modestly. "I saw him fall, and jumped in after him."
"Was the water deep?"
"About so deep," said Ernest, placing his hand about five feet from the ground.
"Then he would have been drowned if you had not been near?"
"Yes, if he could not swim."
"He is too young to swim. But you are wet," added the Indian, noticing for the first time the condition of Ernest's clothes.
"Yes, a little."
"Come in," said the Indian abruptly.
He led the way into the log cabin.
There was a stove in the centre of the room, and the air was so heated as to be uncomfortable. As he led the child in, a stout Indian woman came forward with a cry and took him in her arms. Her husband rapidly explained what had happened. She instantly stripped the clothes from the child, and put on a dry change.
"Now," said the Indian, turning to Ernest, "take off your wet clothes."
Though Ernest knew that it was wise to do so, he felt bashful about removing them in presence of the woman. But his Indian host brought from a nail, on which they hung, a pair of buckskin breeches of his own, and offered them to Ernest for his temporary use.
Ernest no longer hesitated, but made the substitution.
As the Indian was four or five inches taller than himself, the legs covered his feet. He laughed as he saw how they looked, and the Indian's serious face relaxed a little from the same cause.
"Now I will dry your clothes," he said.
He took a chair and, hanging the wet garments over the back, placed it very near the stove. Ernest hardly liked to lose so much time, but he knew that it would not be safe to wear the trousers in their soaked condition.
"You speak English very well," he said, turning to the Indian.
"Yes, I have spent much time with white people," was the answer.
"Do you support yourself by hunting?" went on Ernest.
"Yes, I am a hunter, but I go with rich white people from the cities, and with Englishmen, who want a guide."
"And do they pay you well?" asked Ernest, not quite sure whether he was not showing too much curiosity.
"Yes, they pay me well. I have some money in the bank."
Then Ernest remembered having seen the Indian one day at the bank. He was told at the time that his name was John Castro, and that he had several hundred dollars on deposit.
CHAPTER XV.
A NEW ACQUAINTANCE
While Ernest's clothes were drying the Indian woman was bustling about the stove. The boy did not suspect her object till she placed on the table a plate of Indian cakes hot from the oven, and he was invited to partake.
It was the first time he had ever been a guest in an Indian family, and he hesitated, but saw that his refusal to partake might hurt the feelings of his new friends. He seated himself at the table and found the cakes really very good.
When his clothes were dry he rose to go.
"Won't you stay all night?" asked Castro.
"Thank you. I cannot spare the time. I must push on."
"Where are you going?" asked the Indian.
"To Lee's Falls."
"I will go with you a short distance."
So they set out together.
At length John Castro stopped.
"That is your way," he said. "I wish you a pleasant journey. I will not forget what you have done for my little son. If ever you are in trouble, send for John Castro."
"I thank you."
The Indian shook hands with him gravely, and turned back towards his cabin.
All this had taken time. Ernest had no watch with him, but he estimated that the adventure had cost him two hours. However, he had saved a boy's life.
Again, he had made a friend. The friend was an Indian, but Ernest was wise enough to consider that no friend, however humble, is to be despised.
It was clear that he would reach his destination late, and he began to wish that some carriage would overtake him in which he might ask for a ride.
But he walked two miles farther without encountering any team. At last, however, he heard the rumble of wheels, and turning round to see whether there was room in the vehicle, he saw that it was a buggy driven by a tall, thin man with dark hair, swarthy face, and a long, aquiline nose.
The driver eyed Ernest sharply and brought the buggy to a standstill.
"Where are you going, boy?" he asked.
"To Lee's Falls."
"Where have you come from?"
"From Emmonsville."
"It is a long walk."
"Yes. Do you think you could give me a lift?"
"Perhaps so. Jump in."
Ernest lost no time in availing himself of the invitation. He was footsore and weary, and it was with a sensation of relief that he seated himself beside the driver.
The latter, who had been going at good speed, pulled his horse down to a walk and showed indications of becoming sociable.
"Where were you going in Lee's Falls?" he asked.
Ernest felt that it would be imprudent to mention that his destination was the bank, so he answered guardedly, "I am going to see the town. I may stop over night."
"At the hotel?"
"Yes."
"It is not much of a place to see," said the driver, watching his companion curiously.
"It is larger than Emmonsville, isn't it?"
"Yes. How long have you been in Emmonsville?"
"Not long."
"Where do you live there?"
"At Mrs. Larkins'."
"Do you go to school?"
"No."
Ernest began to think that his companion was decidedly inquisitive, and something told him that he would do well to be on his guard. Why should he ask so many questions of a boy with whom he had no acquaintance?
Meanwhile the horse was travelling very slowly, and it seemed to Ernest that he would go over the road quite as fast if he had continued to walk. However, it was easier riding, and this was a consideration. He began to think it was his turn to ask questions.
"Are you going all the way to Lee's Falls?" he asked.
"I may go nearly there."
"I am very much obliged to you for giving me a lift. I was quite tired."
The driver smiled.
"Perhaps I have an object," he said.
Ernest looked an inquiry.
"The pleasure of your company," explained his companion, with a smile.
"Thank you," answered Ernest.
"Now I come to look at you, I think I have seen you before," continued the driver.
"Where?"
"In Emmonsville–at the bank."
Ernest became alarmed. There was a significance in his companion's tone which excited his alarm. But he did not dare show his feelings. He remained outwardly calm, though inwardly disturbed.
"Very probably," he said; "I have been there."
His companion laughed. He was playing with the boy as a cat plays with a captive mouse. Ernest began to consider whether he could not think of some pretext for getting out of the buggy.
Suddenly the buggy stopped.
"I will get out here," said Ernest, quickly.
"Not quite yet. I have not got through questioning you."
"I am in a hurry," said Ernest.
"You must wait till your hurry is over. Now tell me truly, are you not bound for the Lee's Falls bank?"
Ernest was startled.
"You see I know more about you than you suppose. You are the bank messenger."
It seemed useless to deny it. The important question now was, was his secret packet in danger?
"I have sometimes acted as bank messenger," he said warily.
"And you are acting in that capacity now. What are you taking to the Lee's Falls bank?"
Ernest turned pale. His worst fears were confirmed.
"Why do you ask?" he said.
"Because I want to know."
"What business can it be of yours?" demanded Ernest, boldly.
"Don't be impudent, boy! Hand me the package of money."
"I have no package of money."
"Then you have bonds."
Ernest remained silent.
"I see that I have hit it. Now hand over the bonds, if you value your life."
He spoke sternly, and looked so fierce that the boy messenger became more and more alarmed. He saw that he must give up the package, but determined to hold out in his resistance as long as possible.
"The package is not mine, and I have no right to surrender it," he said.
"I'll take the responsibility, boy. You can't be blamed, for you can't help your self."
As he spoke, he passed his hand over Ernest's vest, which he saw projected more than was usual, and discovered the hiding-place of the important package.
Instantly he had torn open the vest and drawn out the envelope.
"I thought I should find it," he said in a tone of triumph.
Ernest felt very much dejected. It was a mortification to lose the first large sum with which he had been intrusted.
"Will you tell me who you are?" he asked abruptly.
"First, let me know who you think I am."
As the driver spoke he eyed Ernest sharply. "Is your name Fox?" asked the young messenger.
His companion laughed.
"I know Mr. Fox," he answered.
"You are either Fox or a member of his band."
"You seem to be a sharp boy; I won't tell you whether you are right or not."
"I suppose I may go now."
"Where do you want to go?"
Ernest hesitated. This was a question which he could not at once answer. To go on to Lee's Falls without the packet would do little good. Yet the bank officers there ought to know that the bonds intended for them had been stolen. Besides, he was too far from Emmonsville to return that night.
"I will go to Lee's Falls," he said.
"Not at present; I have other views for you." As he spoke the robber turned his horse to the right. Wholly ignorant as to where he was to be carried, Ernest sank back in his seat and resigned himself as well as he could to the situation.
CHAPTER XVI.
THE OUTLAW'S HOME,
Where he was to be carried or what was to be his fate Ernest could not conjecture, nor did he speculate much. It was enough for him to know that he was in the power of one of the notorious outlaws.
There was considerable difference between his appearance and that of the man at his side. He was silent and depressed, while James Fox, for it was he, seemed in excellent spirits. He turned to the boy with the remark, "You don't say much."
"No, for it would be no good."
"Brace up, boy! There is no occasion to look as if you were going to a funeral."
"Give me back the bonds and I will look lively enough."
"Come now, don't be foolish. These bonds don't belong to you."
"They were given into my care."
"Very well! You took as good care of them as you could."
"I shall be held responsible for them."
"No, you won't. I shall send your employers a letter, letting them know that you did the best you could to keep them out of my hands. But perhaps they never heard of me," and he laughed.
"If your name is Fox, they have heard of you."
"There is no need to beat about the bush. My name is Fox–James Fox."
"What made you take up such a business, Mr. Fox?" asked Ernest, gravely.
"Well, I like that! You, a kid, undertake to lecture me."
"You were once a kid yourself."
The outlaw's face grew grave suddenly, and his tone became thoughtful.
"Yes, I was a kid once. At sixteen–is that your age?"
"Yes."
"Well, at sixteen I was as innocent as you. I had a good mother then. If she had lived, perhaps I would have turned out different. Why, it seems a great joke, doesn't it? I attended Sunday-school till I was fifteen."
"You haven't forgotten it, then?"
"No, nor the lessons I learned there. But it is of no use to recall those days. Are you afraid that you will come to harm?"
Ernest looked intently in the brigand's face.
"No," he said, after a pause. "I think you won't do me any more harm. But you can do me a great favor."
"What is that–return you the bonds?"
"I would ask that if I thought you would do it, but I don't expect it. I should like to have you release me and let me go home."
"I can't do that, for I want you to visit me. You may not think it, but I always like young people. It will be quite a pleasure to me to have you for a visitor."
"Thank you, but I am afraid that I shall become an unwilling guest."
"Besides, it will be a pleasure to my little boy to meet you. He does not often meet other boys."
"Have you a son?" asked Ernest in surprise.
The outlaw's face softened.
"Yes," he answered. "He is a sweet little boy, as I can say, even if he is my son. His name is Frank. Would you like to see his picture?"
"Yes," answered Ernest with interest.
James Fox drew from an inner pocket a small card photograph of a young boy with a very winning face. Ernest was attracted, for, unlike many boys of his age, he liked younger children. He looked at the picture long and earnestly.
"It is a sweet face," he said at last. "Isn't it?" asked the proud father.
"Is his mother living?"
"No."
"Was there no difficulty in getting it taken?"
"I suppose you mean on account of my profession. Well, there might be around here, but this was taken in Minneapolis–about a year ago. It was one of the few visits that Frank has made with me."
"Are you going to bring him up to your business?"
"Take care, boy," said the outlaw, frowning. "Don't be impertinent."
"I don't mean to be. Do you think the question an improper one?"
"Well, perhaps I have no right to think so. Somehow the business, though it seems all right for me, I couldn't think of for my boy. No, I shall soon place him at school where no one will know that he is related to the celebrated outlaw. I want him brought up to lead an honest life."
"I am glad you do. I respect you for that."
"My lad, you seem to be one of the right sort. As you will see my son, I want you to promise me that you won't say a word about the business I am engaged in."
"I will make that promise. Then the boy doesn't know?"
"No; he has no suspicion. He is too young to think much about that. Perhaps if he had associated with other boys much he would have found out."
While this conversation was going on they had entered a wood, and the road became wilder and rougher. Indeed, it was hardly a road, but rather a lane, narrow and grass-grown.
Ernest began to wonder in what sort of a home his companion lived. His evident affection for his son gave Ernest a different feeling towards him. It was plain that he had a softer side to his nature, bandit though he was.
Ernest had never read the story of Jekyll and Hyde, but he felt instinctively that the man beside him had a double nature. On the road he was an outlaw, with corresponding traits, a rough and unscrupulous man, but at home, and in the presence of his son, as Ernest judged, he was a warm-hearted and affectionate father.
In truth, the young bank messenger looked forward with interest to a meeting with the boy who was so dear to the heart of a man whom the world generally supposed to be a stranger to the softer emotions.
At length they reached a rocky hillside. Here the outlaw pulled up his horse and jumped from the buggy. Ernest looked at him in a questioning way.
"You can get out," he said. "We have arrived."
Ernest alighted and looked about him. He naturally expected to see a dwelling of some kind, but there was none in sight. If it was at a distance, why should they not have driven to it?
James Fox looked at him with a smile, enjoying his perplexity.
From his pocket he drew a handkerchief.
"Come here, my boy," he said.
Ernest did not quite understand what he proposed to do, but he felt better acquainted with the outlaw now, and he knew that there was no cause for apprehension. He accordingly approached without question.
James Fox bandaged his eyes so that he could see nothing. Then he took him by the hand and led him forward.
Ernest could not tell what was being done, but he found himself walking on a rocky path, hand in hand with his guide. How long he walked he could not tell. It might have been two hundred feet. Then his guide stopped, and of course he stopped, too.
Next the handkerchief was removed, and he found himself in what seemed a rocky cavern. At any rate it was a large room, of irregular shape, but the stone floor had been made smooth, and was covered by a soft carpet. It was furnished like a sitting-room in a private house. There were comfortable chairs, including a rocking-chair, and a capacious arm-chair. On one side of the room was an inviting-looking couch.
Of course there would have been perfect darkness but for artificial light. On a table was a large student's lamp, and in a niche in the wall was another. Besides this, there was a lantern hanging from the roof of the chamber, but this was not lighted.
Ernest looked about him with curiosity and surprise. It was something new to him, and recalled a story he had once read, in which a cave-dwelling was described.
"Well, what do you think of it?" asked the outlaw, smiling.
"It is wonderful," said Ernest.
"You did not know where I was bringing you?"
"No. It is a cave, is it not?"
"Well, it looks like it."
"There are other rooms, are there not?"
"Yes, but this is my private apartment; my parlor, you may call it. This is my sleeping-room."
He drew aside the hangings on the further side and revealed an inner chamber, of less size.
On a bed Ernest's attention was drawn to the figure of a sleeping boy evidently the original of the picture which the outlaw had shown him.
"That is your son?" asked Ernest.
"Yes, that is Frank."
The outlaw's stern countenance softened as he regarded the sleeping boy.
Suddenly the boy stirred; he opened his eyes, and when he recognized his father a glad smile lighted up his innocent face.
"Papa!" he said, and James Fox bent over and kissed him.
