A FALSE IDENTIFICATION.
"Gone!"
That was the single word which dropped from Earl's lips as he stood at
the window of the telegraph office at Spruceville and hunted for the
missing letter from his Uncle Foster. He cared nothing for the
message,--that could easily be rewritten,--but the letter was highly
important.
Not finding it about his person, he commenced to retrace his steps with
his eyes on the ground. An hour was spent in this manner, and then he
returned slowly to the office.
"I want to send a message to San Francisco, and I had a letter with me
to show that it was all right," he explained. "Will you send the message
anyhow and collect at the other end? The man who is to receive the
message wanted it sent that way."
The telegraph operator mused for a moment. Then he asked Earl who he was
and where he lived, and finally said he guessed it would be all right.
The message was again written out, and ten minutes later it was on its
long journey westward, by way of Boston. The business finished, Earl
thanked the operator and started on his return home.
He was very much out of sorts with himself, and wondered what his
younger brother would think of him. "I needn't find fault with Randy for
being careless after this," he sighed, almost bitterly. "I'm as bad as
he is, and worse. One thing is a comfort, though: I remember the name of
that Boston firm that is to provide us with our money--Bartwell & Stone.
I had better make a note of that." And he did.
The evening shadows were beginning to fall when Basco was again reached.
On the main street of the little town Earl halted to think matters over.
Why wouldn't it be a good thing to let folks know that they wanted to
sell out their household goods and their tools and other things? He made
his way to the general store.
"Well, Portney, I heard you had been put off your place," was the
greeting received from the general storekeeper.
"We have not been put off--we are going to leave it, Mr. Andrews."
"Oh! Where are you going?"
"To Alaska."
"Alaska? You must be joking."
"No, sir. My uncle, Foster Portney, has sent for Randy and me to come to
San Francisco, and the three of us are going to some new gold fields."
"Well, what about my bill?" asked the storekeeper, anxiously. He was
interested in but little outside of his business. "Of course that has
got to be settled before you leave."
"We will pay up, never fear. But we want to sell off all our stuff
first. Will you let me write out a notice to that effect and post it
outside?"
"Yes, you can do that. Going to sell off, eh? What have you got?"
Earl enumerated the various articles he and Randy had listed to sell.
They were not of great value, and the storekeeper smiled grimly.
"They won't bring much."
"They ought to bring thirty or forty dollars."
"You'll be lucky to get ten."
"Ten dollars won't see us through. We have got to get enough to pay our
bills and secure our passage down to Boston."
"And how much will that be?" questioned Peleg Andrews, cautiously. Earl
made a rapid calculation. With the money already on hand and that owing
for tools and groceries, twenty-five dollars ought to see them through.
"We must have thirty dollars for the stuff."
Peleg Andrews said no more, but turned away to wait on a customer that
had just come in. Procuring sheets of paper, Earl set to work and penned
two notices, both alike, stating that the goods and chattels of the
Portney brothers would be sold within the next three days, to the
highest bidders, and a list of the articles followed. One of the notices
was tacked up in front of the store and the other in front of the hotel,
and then Earl returned home.
As the big brother had expected, Randy was much put out about the loss
of the letter, but he was glad that Earl had gone ahead, nevertheless,
and before he retired that night, he brought forth some of the articles
to be sold, and mended and cleaned them up.
The two were eating breakfast when the first prospective buyer rode up
in a farm wagon. It was a lumberman from over the ridge behind Basco,
who was thinking of settling down to cabin life by himself. He made an
offer of fifteen dollars for everything in sight, but Earl held out for
forty dollars.
The man was about to drive away, when a second lumberman drove up,
followed by Peleg Andrews in his store wagon. Both of the newcomers were
eager to buy, although they affected indifference. Bidding became rather
lively, and at last the goods were split up between the first comer and
the storekeeper, the former paying thirty dollars and the latter twenty
dollars for what they got. This made fifty dollars in all, and out of
this amount Earl settled with Peleg Andrews on the spot.
It was while the men were loading the goods preparatory to taking them
away, that Caleb Norcross appeared. He had expected to make a cheap
purchase, and was keenly disappointed to find he was too late.
"Getting out, eh?" he ventured.
"Yes," answered Earl, briefly. "You can have your keys in a couple of
hours. Here is your money."
"I ain't in any hurry," grumbled the landlord.
"Isn't Dan Roland going to take the property?" asked Randy, curiously.
"No, he backed out last night," answered Caleb Norcross, and to avoid
being questioned further he moved away.
Fortunately for the two boys, there was an old trunk in the cabin, and
also a small wooden box which could be made to hold clothing, and these
they packed with such effects as they intended to take along. A bargain
was struck with the man who had failed to purchase any of the other
goods, and the two boxes were placed in his wagon, and then the lads
were ready to leave the spot which had been their home for many years.
"Well, I'm sure I wish you success," said Peleg Andrews, as he shook
each by the hand. "But it looks foolhardy to me--going away off to
Alaska."
"You'll be glad enough to come back home, see if you don't," put in
Caleb Norcross. He did not offer to shake hands, at which the boys were
just as well satisfied. In a minute more the brothers were up beside the
lumberman on the wagon seat, the whip cracked, and the horse started;
and the long trip to Alaska could be said to have fairly begun.
A stop was made at Basco, where Earl settled up such bills as still
remained unpaid, and then the horse set off on a trot for Spruceville,
which was reached less than three-quarters of an hour later. At the
latter place a way train for Bangor was due, and they had barely time to
procure tickets and get their baggage checked before it came along and
took them on board.
"We've made a flying start and no mistake," was Randy's comment, as he
leaned back in the cushioned seat. "Two days ago we never dreamed of
going to Alaska or anywhere else."
"I hope we haven't any cause to regret our hasty action," answered Earl,
gravely. Then he immediately brightened up. "But we've started now, so
let us make the most of it."
The ride over the rough roads had made them hungry, but they had to wait
until Bangor was reached before they could obtain anything to eat. It
was late in the evening when the train rolled into the station and they
alighted. Both boys had been in Bangor several times, so they did not
feel quite like strangers. Having obtained supper at a restaurant, they
made their way to the river docks and asked concerning the boat for
Boston, having decided to make that trip by water. The boat was in, and
having procured their passage, they were privileged to go on board and
sleep there over-night.
The trip to Boston was an uneventful one, although full of novelty to
Earl and Randy, who had never taken such a voyage before. They might
have enjoyed it still more had they not been so anxious concerning what
was before them. Alas! little did they dream of all the grave perils the
future held in store.
"We don't want to look too green," said Earl, when the steamboat was
tying up at her wharf and the passengers were preparing to go ashore.
"Oh, I guess we'll pass in a crowd," said Randy, laughing. "All we want
to look out for is that we are not robbed, or something like that."
Leaving their baggage on check, the two boys started from Foster's wharf
up into the city. They had no idea where the firm of Bartwell & Stone
were located, but Earl was certain they could easily be found by
consulting a directory.
The elder brother was on the point of entering a large store in quest of
the book mentioned when Randy pulled his arm and pointed down the
street. "There goes a fire engine, Earl!" he cried. "Let's follow it. I
should like to see how they manage a fire in a city."
Earl was willing, and away they went, easily keeping up with the engine,
which had to proceed slowly through the crowded thoroughfare. The fire
was in a paint and oil works, and burnt fiercely for over an hour
before it was gotten under control. The boys lingered around, watching
the movements of the firemen with keen interest, and it was two hours
later before Earl caught Randy by the shoulder and hauled him out of the
mob of people.
"Remember, we're bound for Alaska," he said. "We can't afford to stop at
every sight on the way."
A few blocks further on a directory was found in a drug store and the
address of Bartwell & Stone jotted down. They lost no further time in
hunting up the firm of bankers and brokers, who occupied the ground
floor of a substantial business structure.
"I am Earl Portney," explained Earl, to the clerk who asked them what
they wanted. "This is my brother Randolph. Our uncle, Foster Portney,
said he would send on some money for us from San Francisco. Has it
arrived yet?"
"I'll see. Was it a telegraph order?"
"I suppose so."
The clerk disappeared into an inner apartment, to be gone several
minutes. When he came out he was accompanied by a tall, sharp-eyed man
in rusty black.
"These are not the young men who called for the money," said the man in
rusty black. "There must be some mistake here."
"Were the other men identified, Mr. Stone?" questioned the clerk, while
both Randy and Earl pricked up their ears.
"Oh, yes; a clerk from Johnston's restaurant identified them as Earl and
Randolph Portney. Besides, they held the original letter which had been
sent by their uncle, Foster Portney, from San Francisco."