THE TRANSFORMATION.
Silas Morgan was one of the proudest men that the sun ever shone upon,
and he would have been supremely happy if it had not been for two
things, over which he could exercise no control.
One was that Mr. Warren and the sheriff intended to keep a sharp eye on
him, and see that he did not squander any of the money he had earned
by capturing the robber. The other was that Dan claimed recognition,
and was determined to have it, too, in spite of the mean trick he had
played upon his father.
When Silas arose the next morning the first thought that came into
his mind was that he was a rich man. It excited him to such a degree
that he could not eat any breakfast. He managed to drink a single cup
of coffee, and then shouldered his gun and set out for Hobson's,
to exhibit himself to the loafers who made the Half-way House their
headquarters, while Joe hastened off to Mr. Hallet's to assist Tom and
Bob.
Dan was left to pass the time as he pleased, and it suited him to sun
himself on the bank of the river and bemoan his hard luck.
The first man Silas saw as he drew near to Hobson's place of business
was Brierly, who dropped some hints that set him to thinking. After
congratulating Silas on his good fortune, he inquired what use he
intended to make of the reward when he got it.
"I ain't just made up my mind yet," was Silas Morgan's guarded reply.
"I don't reckon I'm going to get it right away, 'cause old man Warren
he's went and 'p'inted himself to be my guardeen, and I say that ain't
right. I ketched that there bugglar without no help from anybody. The
reward belongs to me, and I had oughter have it!"
To his utter astonishment Brierly promptly answered:
"No, you hadn't. You don't know how to take care of so much money,
more'n I do, and it's the properest thing that somebody should look
out for it. I tell you, Silas, I ain't the man I was when that Joe of
your'n ordered me out of old man's Warren's wood lot. Do you know what
I did the minute I got home yesterday? Well, I went down to the hotel
and give the landlord the twenty-five dollars that I had cheated Mr.
Brown out of. The landlord knows where he lives, and will send it to
him."
"Joe tells me that Mr. Brown was a mighty scared man after you lost him
in the woods," observed Silas.
"It was a mighty mean trick," declared Brierly; "but the fact of it was
I was hard up for money, and didn't care much how I got it. I think
different now. I've got a chance to be something better'n the lazy,
ragged vagabone I have always been, and I am going to keep it. I am,
for a fact! I have been waiting for it, and now that I have got it, I
intend to make the most of it. I think I shall let the heft of my money
stay where it is this winter, and get my grub and clothes by chopping
wood for old man Warren. You want to look out for Hobson. He's got an
eye on them dollars of your'n. He tried to shove lots of things onto me
this morning, but I wouldn't take 'em."
Silas Morgan never expected to hear such counsel as this from Brierly,
who, like himself, had always been in the habit of squandering his
slim earnings as fast as he could get hold of them, and it excited a
serious train of reflections in his mind. Being on his guard, Hobson's
blandishments had no effect upon him.
"You're the luckiest man I ever heard of!" exclaimed the proprietor of
the Half-way House, coming out from behind his counter and greeting
Silas with great cordiality. "Warren's hired man told the stage driver
all about it, and he told us. Want anything in my line this morning?"
"There's plenty of things I want," replied Silas; "but I ain't got a
cent of money."
"No matter for that. Your credit is good."
"And what's more, I don't reckon I can get any of that reward under six
weeks," continued Silas. "The court don't sit till then, you know,
and I won't see the color of them dollars till the bugglars gets their
sentence."
"But Joe's pay-day will come sooner than that," suggested Hobson.
"Well, now, look here," said Silas, slowly. "Don't you think it would
be mighty mean for a man who is worth twenty-five hundred dollars to
take the money his little boy makes by living up there alone in the
woods? I do. And I've about made up my mind that I won't do it."
"Didn't you tell me that you thought the head of the family ought to
have the handling of all the money that came into the house?" demanded
Hobson, who was really astonished to hear such sentiments as these come
from Silas Morgan.
"I did think so once, but I don't now," was the reply. "And furder'n
that, I don't reckon I'll get my money all in a lump, like I thought
I was going to, 'cause old man Warren he's gone and made himself my
guardeen; and if I run in debt now, I'll have to give you an order on
him for the money. Of course he would want to see the bill, and mebbe
he'd take particular notice of the items that's into it."
"Do you mean to let him boss you around in that way?" exclaimed Hobson.
"I thought you had more pluck than that. You are old enough to be your
own master, if you are ever going to be."
"Well," said Silas, again, "there's one thing that I ain't master of,
and I know it. That's money. Whenever I get a dollar bill in my hands,
it burns me so't I have to drop it somewheres. I reckon I won't touch
that reward this winter."
Hobson was so angry and disgusted that he could not say a word in
reply. He went around behind his counter, and when Silas turned to
go out, he informed him, in a savage tone of voice, that there was a
little difference of a dollar and a half between them, and he would be
glad to have him settle up then and there.
"Didn't I tell you when I first come in that I ain't got a cent to
bless myself with?" reminded Silas. "But me and Dan are going to
work for old man Warren this very afternoon, and I'll be around next
Saturday, sure pop."
"I'll bear that in mind," said Hobson. "If you are not on hand, I shall
ride down to your house to see what is the matter."
"That's always the way with them kind of fellows," said Brierly, in a
low tone. "As long as you've got plenty of money, and spend it free
with them, you're a first-rate chap; but the very minute you turn over
a new leaf, and try to be honest and sober, they ain't got no use for
you. I'm done with 'em."
Silas walked home in a brown study. The first thing he did after he
crossed the threshold of his humble abode was to put his gun in its
place over the door, and the second, to take an axe and whetstone out
of the chimney corner. With these in his hand, he went out on the bank
where Dan was still sunning himself.
"It's a long time since you seen this here little tool, ain't it?" said
Silas, cheerfully; but there was something in the tone of his voice
that made the boy tremble. "Looks kinder like it used to last winter,
don't it? Now, sharpen it up so't you can drive it clear in to the eye
every clip, and after dinner me and you will toddle down to old man
Warren's, and ask him where he wants us to cut that wood; won't we,
Dannie?"
"No, we won't," shouted Dan.
"Won't, eh?" said his father, calmly. "Well, them that don't work can't
eat, and a boy that won't help himself when he's got a chance, can't
get no dollar a day out of me when I go into that boat business. He
won't be worth it, and Mr. Warren will think so too, when he hears of
it. I reckon the best thing you can do is to put that there axe in
shape and be ready to go with your pap after dinner."
When he had taken time to think about it, Dan came to the same
conclusion. It cost him a struggle to do it, but when his father
shouldered his axe and set out for Mr. Warren's house, Dan went with
him.
The gentleman was glad to hear that Silas did not intend to remain idle
simply because he had twenty-five hundred dollars in prospect, gave
him some good advice, and told him where to go to cut the wood.
The road they followed to get to it took them close by the cabin of the
young game-warden, whom they found busily engaged in setting things to
rights.
Of course, it made Dan angry to see his brother surrounded by so many
comforts, and in a position to make his money so easily, but there was
no help for it.
His father was on Joe's side now; Dan could see that easily enough, and
an attempt on his part to annoy the young game-warden in any way would
bring upon him certain and speedy punishment.
After that, things went smoothly with Joe Morgan.
During that fall and winter Mr. Warren's imported game was never
interfered with, and the reason was because all the worst poachers
in the country, including Brierly and his gang, as well as Joe's own
father, had given up the precarious business of market-shooting.
More than that, when Silas paid his bill at Hobson's, which he did,
according to promise, he gave the loungers about the Halfway House to
understand that he had taken Joe under his protection, and that any one
who troubled either him or Mr. Warren's blue-headed birds, might expect
to answer to him for it.
As Silas Morgan's prowess in battle was well known to every body for
miles around, the market-shooters took him at his word, and kept away
from Mr. Warren's wood-lot.
The savage, half-starved dogs in the settlement which had become so
fond of hunting deer that they sometimes chased them on their own
responsibility, were either chained up or given away, and the only
hounds that gave tongue among the Summerdale hills during the winter
were those which, like Tom Hallet's beagle, were trained to hunt foxes
and coons.
While the pleasant weather continued, the young game-wardens searched
the woods thoroughly, in the hope of finding the guns that the
robbers had thrown away during their flight, but their efforts were
unrewarded, and finally the snows of winter came and covered them up.
One day, just before Christmas, Mr. Warren's hired man came up,
bringing, among other things, a few magazines and papers, a supply of
provisions for Joe's use, some grain for the birds, and a long, shallow
box which he placed carefully upon the table.
"Mr. Warren says that you will want to go home on Christmas, and
there's a little something for your folks to eat," said he, handing Joe
a nice fat turkey, all dressed and ready for the oven. "In that box you
will find a present from St. Nick. Look at it, and see if you ain't
glad you lost your rusty old single-barrel."
"I know what it is," replied Joe. "Is it mine to keep, or to use while
I am acting as game-warden?"
"It is yours to keep. It is intended to replace the one the robbers
stole from you."
The sight that met the boy's gaze when he unlocked the box made his
eyes open wide with wonder and delight. Inside, was a breech-loader,
with pistol-grip and all the necessary loading tools. Of course, it
was a fine weapon. Mr. Warren never did things by halves.
It was the first Christmas present Joe had ever received.
Contrary to Mrs. Morgan's expectations, there was not the least trouble
in the house over the young game-warden's money. She had enough and to
spare, and so had Silas and Dan.
The former worked faithfully, because his ambition had been aroused,
and Dan toiled steadily by his side, because he knew if he didn't, he
would lose the dollar a day he was looking forward to. He got it, too.
The robbers were duly convicted and sentenced, and, when spring came,
Silas had his twenty-five hundred dollars intact; or, to speak more
correctly, somebody had it for him.
Silas did not know just where it was, whether in Mr. Warren's hands
or the sheriff's, and indeed he did not care. All the bills he made
in buying his boat, building his new house and fencing the piece
of ground that Mr. Warren leased to him, were promptly met by that
gentleman, and Silas highly elated at the prospect of having a paying
business of his own, worked to such good purpose that when the guests
began to arrive he was ready to serve them.
For the first time in his life, Dan Morgan looked as "spick and span as
anybody" in his blue uniform, with a wide collar and sailor necktie,
all bought with his own money, too; and he often walked up and down in
front of the hotel to show himself to the people who were sitting on
the veranda.
He proved to be a good boatman, and easily earned the dollar a day his
father paid him for his services.
Joe held to his resolution, and entered the Bellville Academy when the
spring term opened. He is there now; and he often says that he likes
his school duties much better than those he was called on to perform
while he was acting as Mr. Warren's game-warden.
THE END.
End of Project Gutenberg's The Young Game-Warden, by Harry Castlemon