MR. SILVERTHORN’S TREACHERY.
The little party generally lay down to sleep soon after eight. The days
were always fatiguing, and they were in the habit of rising early.
The weather was warm, for it was toward the end of June, and they did
not even raise the tent, but lay down on the ground with a blanket
underneath and above them. Mrs. Cooper generally slept in the wagon.
“We have an extra pair of blankets, Mr. Silverthorn,” said Mrs. Cooper.
“We cannot offer you a bed; you will fare as well as my husband and the
boys.”
“How kind you are!” murmured Dionysius. “To me this simple provision
will be a luxury. For a week I have slept on the bare ground without a
blanket.”
“You need not go to bed as early as the rest of us, unless you like.”
“My dear lady, if you don’t object, I will retire into the woods for an
hour and indulge in religious meditation. I wish to express my thanks to
Providence for my happy encounter with your kind party.”
“There is no objection, I am sure, Mr. Silverthorn,” said Mrs. Cooper.
“What a good man he is!” she said to herself.
“That man makes me sick,” remarked Tom, aside to Grant.
“I think he is a humbug,” whispered Grant.
“I am sure he is.”
The little party stretched themselves on the ground, and Dionysius
Silverthorn walked pensively into the woods.
When he returned, Mr. and Mrs. Cooper and Tom were asleep.
The pair of blankets assigned to the stranger lay ready for use. He did
not immediately lie down, but thoughtfully surveyed the sleepers.
“They seem fast asleep, but perhaps it will be better to wait awhile,”
he murmured thoughtfully to himself. “It will not do for me to get
caught. That young man, Tom, is very muscular, and the old man is strong
in spite of his years. I will lie down awhile.”
It was well for him that he decided thus, for Grant awoke—a thing
unusual for him—and, looking around, saw their visitor.
“Haven’t you gone to bed yet, Mr. Silverthorn?” he asked.
“No, my young friend; I have been into the woods, engaged in meditation
and thanksgiving, but now I feel weary and I think I shall soon be
lulled to rest. Do you often wake during the night?”
“No; it is unusual for me to wake at all.”
“That is well. Boys like you should sleep soundly. I would I were a boy
again! Good-night, my dear young friend.”
“Good-night!”
Grant was soon asleep. An hour later Mr. Silverthorn, who had been lying
quietly, lifted his head gently, and throwing off his blanket, rose to
his feet.
He walked up to where Grant lay asleep.
“I wonder whether the boy has any money in his pocket?” he thought.
He went up softly to where Grant lay, and, kneeling down, quietly
detached the blanket, so that Grant would be uncovered. Then he inserted
his hand into his pocket, and drew out some silver change, about two
dollars in all.
He looked at it with disappointment.
“Is that all he has?” he muttered. “It won’t pay me for my trouble.”
He was about to search his other pocket, but Grant stirred in his sleep,
and, fearing he would awake, Dionysius rose hastily.
“I would try the others,” he said, “but I don’t dare to. If they should
wake, they might murder me, particularly the young man. Now I will lie
down again, and get up about four o’clock. I must have a little rest.”
Dionysius Silverthorn was one of those men who can rouse themselves at
any hour they fix upon. It didn’t vary much from four o’clock in the
morning when he rose and rubbed his eyes. It was already growing light
in the east, and there was promise of a fine day.
“I feel quite refreshed,” he said, stretching himself. “It is time I
took my departure. Is there nothing else I can take?”
Some remains of the supper of the previous night had been left near the
wagon, including a box of crackers.
“I will pocket a few crackers,” said Dionysius, “and keep them for
lunch. I will take the liberty of breakfasting before I go. Shall I take
the blankets?” he said thoughtfully. “No, they would be in my way. I
wish I had a little more money—but it would be dangerous to seek for it.
I will, however, take the liberty of borrowing the horse, as he will
materially assist me in my journey.”
The horse had been tied to a tree. Mr. Silverthorn gently unfastened the
rope and led him away. He was nervously anxious lest he should whinny or
make some noise that would arouse the little party. But the horse seemed
unusually docile, and, though he was probably sorry to be roused from
sleep quite so early, allowed himself to be led away without any
manifestation of discontent.
An hour later Tom Cooper stretched himself and opened his eyes.
“Another fine day!” he said to himself. “Well, we must make the most of
it. It is high time we began to make preparations to start. Hello,
Grant!” he said, shaking the boy till he murmured drowsily, “What is it,
Tom?”
“Time to get up, Grant, my boy. We must be on our way by six.”
Grant jumped up, and, throwing off the blankets, began to fold them up.
“Where’s Mr. Silverthorn?” he asked, turning his eyes in the direction
of the stranger’s bed.
“There’s his blankets!” said Tom. “Perhaps he has gone to the woods to
meditate,” he added, with a laugh. “I shan’t be sorry, for one, if he
doesn’t come back.”
“Nor I,” assented Grant.
“It’s my belief that he’s a rascal!”
“Whether he is or not, _I_ don’t like him.”
“You forget, Grant, that you are the image of his lost boy,” said Tom,
with a laugh.
“I hope not. I shouldn’t like to look like any one belonging to him. Do
you believe his story about the Indians attacking his party?”
“It may be true, though I think the man is capable of lying. Well, I
must wake up father.”
The blacksmith was soon roused.
“A fine day!” he said cheerily. “We are in luck. Where is the horse?” he
asked abruptly, the next instant.
Startled by the question, Tom and Grant turned their eyes in the
direction of the tree to which old Dobbin had been tethered.
“Sure enough, where is he?” ejaculated Tom.
“Wasn’t he securely tied?”
“Yes,” answered Grant. “I tied him myself. He couldn’t have got away
without hands.”
“I tell you what, Grant,” said Tom Cooper suddenly, “that scoundrel’s
stolen him!”
“What scoundrel? Whom do you mean?” demanded the father.
“That tramp—Silverthorn.”
“Why, he’s gone, too!”
“Yes, and has stolen Dobbin to help him on his way. I’d like to get hold
of the rascal!” And stern resolution glittered in the eyes of the young
man.
“But I don’t understand it.”
“It’s easy enough to understand. The man’s a humbug. All his story was
made up to impose upon us.”
“Then you don’t believe his party was attacked by Indians?”
“No, I don’t; but if I catch him he’ll think he has been attacked by
Indians.”
“It will be a serious loss to us, Tom,” said the blacksmith, with a
troubled face.
“We’ll get him back if we can, father. I wonder if the fellow has stolen
anything else.”
Grant thrust his hand into his pocket and made a discovery.
“I’ve lost about two dollars in silver,” he said.
“It may have slipped out of your pocket during the night.”
Grant examined the ground on which he had been lying, and shook the
blankets; but not one of the missing silver coins was found.
“No,” he said. “The silver must have been taken from my pocket. No; I
had some bills in my right-hand pocket. I was lying on my right side, so
he could not get at it without the risk of waking me up. Have you lost
anything, Tom?”
Tom had been examining his pockets.
“No,” he said grimly. “The fellow didn’t dare to tackle me, I reckon. If
I had caught him at it I would have strangled him. Father, how is it
with you?”
“I am all right, Tom.”
“Then he didn’t get much outside of the horse. But that’s a serious
enough loss. Poor Dobbin!”
“If I only knew which way he went,” said Tom slowly.
But this was not clear. There was nothing to do but to get ready for the
day’s march, and set out. The loss of Dobbin made it necessary that all
should walk except Mrs. Cooper, who sat in the wagon.
They had been about three hours on the way when a tramping sound was
heard, and Dobbin came running up to the party, whinnying with joy.
“There’s nothing amiss with him,” said Tom joyfully. “I wonder how he
got away from the man that stole him. Are you glad to get back, old
fellow?”
There could be no doubt on that point, for the horse seemed content and
happy.
“Where’s old Silverthorn, I wonder?” said Tom.
The question was soon to be answered.