EDWARD STRATEMEYER’S BOOKS
Old Glory Series
_Cloth. Illustrated. Price per volume $1.25._
UNDER DEWEY AT MANILA; Or, The War Fortunes of a Castaway.
A YOUNG VOLUNTEER IN CUBA; Or, Fighting for the Single Star.
FIGHTING IN CUBAN WATERS; Or, Under Schley on the Brooklyn.
UNDER OTIS IN THE PHILIPPINES; Or, A Young Officer in the Tropics.
THE CAMPAIGN OF THE JUNGLE; Or, Under Lawton through Luzon.
UNDER MacARTHUR IN LUZON; or, Last Battles in the Philippines.
The Bound to Succeed Series
_Three volumes. Cloth. Illustrated. Price per volume $1.00._
RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE.
OLIVER BRIGHT’S SEARCH.
TO ALASKA FOR GOLD.
The Ship and Shore Series
_Three volumes. Cloth. Illustrated. Price per volume $1.00._
THE LAST CRUISE OF THE SPITFIRE.
TRUE TO HIMSELF.
REUBEN STONE’S DISCOVERY.
War and Adventure Stories
_Cloth. Illustrated. Price per volume $1.25._
ON TO PEKIN.
BETWEEN BOER AND BRITON.
Colonial Series
_Cloth. Illustrated. Price per volume $1.25._
WITH WASHINGTON IN THE WEST; Or, A Soldier Boy’s Battles in the
Wilderness.
MARCHING ON NIAGARA; Or, The Soldier Boy of The Old Frontier.
(_In press._)
American Boys’ Biographical Series
_Cloth. Illustrated. Price per volume $1.25._
AMERICAN BOYS’ LIFE OF WILLIAM McKINLEY.
_Another volume in preparation._
[Illustration]
REUBEN STONE’S DISCOVERY
OR
_The Young Miller of Torrent Bend_
BY
EDWARD STRATEMEYER
AUTHOR OF “UNDER DEWEY AT MANILA,” “A YOUNG VOLUNTEER IN CUBA,”
“FIGHTING IN CUBAN WATERS,” “THE LAST CRUISE OF THE SPITFIRE,”
“RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE,” “OLIVER BRIGHT’S SEARCH,”
ETC., ETC.
_ILLUSTRATED_
BOSTON
LEE AND SHEPARD PUBLISHERS
COPYRIGHT, 1895,
BY THE MERRIAM COMPANY.
COPYRIGHT, 1900, BY LEE AND SHEPARD.
_All Rights Reserved._
REUBEN STONE’S DISCOVERY.
Norwood Press
J. S. Cushing & Co.――Berwick & Smith
Norwood Mass. U.S.A.
PREFACE TO THE REVISED EDITION.
“Reuben Stone’s Discovery” forms the second volume in the “Ship and
Shore” Series. It tells, in a matter-of-fact way, of the exploits of a
young miller who is left in charge of his father’s property while the
parent goes West to seek a more promising field for business. A great
number of things happen while the youth is thus left to himself, and
he is made to believe several stories concerning his absent parent
and the mill property which cause him great uneasiness in mind.
Suspicious at last that all is not right, Reuben starts out on a tour
of investigation which places him in more than one position of peril.
But the lad never falters, knowing he is doing what is right, and his
triumph at the end is fairly earned.
Reuben tells his own story, and does it in his own peculiar way.
Perhaps this method may not be altogether satisfactory to older heads;
but the success of the first edition of the book had demonstrated the
fact that it is satisfactory to the boys, and it was for these that
the story was set to paper. If Reuben does some astonishing things
throughout the course of the story, it must be remembered that the lad
was acting largely in his father’s place, and that the world moves and
boys of to-day are full of energy.
EDWARD STRATEMEYER.
NEWARK, N.J.,
June 1, 1899.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE YOUNG MILLER 7
II. AT THE BANK 16
III. BAD NEWS 26
IV. MR. ENOS NORTON 33
V. HOT WORDS 42
VI. AT ROCK ISLAND 51
VII. A PITCHED BATTLE 62
VIII. A BLOW FROM BEHIND 69
IX. THE TWO STRANGERS 77
X. A SURPRISE 85
XI. MR. NORTON’S MOVE 93
XII. A MIDNIGHT CRIME 100
XIII. AT SQUIRE SLOCUM’S HOUSE 108
XIV. MR. NORTON’S STATEMENT 116
XV. SOME FACTS IN THE CASE 124
XVI. A FRIEND IN NEED 133
XVII. BACK TO THE MILL 140
XVIII. A MOMENT OF EXCITEMENT 149
XIX. LIVELY WORK 157
XX. WE MAKE A PRISONER 165
XXI. A STORM ON THE LAKE 173
XXII. AN INTERESTING CONVERSATION 182
XXIII. CAPTURED 190
XXIV. IN THE WOODS 198
XXV. A MIRACULOUS ESCAPE 204
XXVI. THE CHASE 212
XXVII. AT THE DEPOT 218
XXVIII. THE PURSUIT BECOMES PERILOUS 224
XXIX. MR. NORTON’S ACCUSATION 230
XXX. NORTON BIXBY 237
XXXI. A LUCKY FIND 243
XXXII. A WELCOME ARRIVAL 249
XXXIII. A HAPPY ENDING 254
REUBEN STONE’S DISCOVERY.
CHAPTER I.
THE YOUNG MILLER.
“It ain’t no use to talk, Rube, that bill has got to be paid.” Mr.
James Jackson brought his fist down on the little desk in one corner of
the mill with such force that everything jumped. “I’ve waited for it
till I’m all out of patience, and now I want my money.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Jackson,” I replied, “very sorry indeed to keep you
waiting; but it cannot be helped. Business has been backward this
summer, as you know, and money is tight.”
“It never was tight when your father was here,” growled the principal
storekeeper of Torrent Bend, as he strode up and down the whitened
floor. “Every bill was paid on the spot.”
“That is true, sir; but father knew the business was getting poorer
every day, and that is the reason he left to see if he couldn’t locate
in some place in the West.”
“Might better have stayed here and tended to this place, and not let
his son run it into the ground.”
“I am not running the business into the ground,” I cried, with some
show of spirit, because I thought the assertion an unfair one. “I do
all the grinding that comes in, and even go over to Bayport and down to
Sander’s Point in the boat to get it.”
“Pooh! don’t tell me! Young men around here don’t amount to much! But
that ain’t here or there. I came for that money.”
“I will see if I can pay it to-day. I have a load of middlings to take
over to Mr. Carnet this morning, and if he pays me I will come right
down to the Bend and settle up.”
“And if he don’t pay?”
“I trust he does.”
“Well, pay or not, I’ve got to have my money, and that’s all there is
to it. You can’t have any more goods till you square accounts.”
And having thus delivered himself, Mr. Jackson stamped out of the mill,
jumped into his buckboard, and drove off for the village.
He did not leave me in a very happy state of mind. I was in sole charge
of the mill, and I was finding it hard work to make everything run
smoothly.
Two months before, my father had departed for the West, with a view to
locating a new mill in any spot that might promise well. Affairs in
Torrent Bend were nearly at a standstill, with no prospect of improving.
I was but sixteen years old, but I had been born and raised in the
mill, and I understood the business fully as well as the average miller.
I ground out all the wheat, corn, rye, and buckwheat that came to hand,
took my portion of the same and disposed of it to the best advantage.
In addition to this I used up all my spare time in drumming up trade;
and what more could any one do?
With the exception of my father, and an uncle whom I had never seen, I
was alone in the world. My mother had died four years before, while I
was still attending the district school, and two years later my twin
sisters had followed her.
These deaths had been a severe blow to both my father and myself. To me
my mother had been all that such a kind and loving parent can be, and
my sisters had been my only playmates.
My father and I were not left long to mourn. There were heavy bills to
be met, and we worked night and day to get out of debt.
At length came the time when all was free and clear, and we were nearly
two hundred dollars ahead. Then my father got it into his mind that he
could do better in some new Western place; and he left to be gone at
least three months.
For a time all worked smoothly. I had for a helper a young man named
Daniel Ford, a hearty, whole-souled fellow, and we got along splendidly
together; but one night an accident happened.
The raceway to the mill was an old one, and a heavy rain-storm
increased the volume of water to such an extent that it was partly
carried away. I had the damage repaired at once; but the cost was such
that it threw us once more into debt, and made it necessary for me to
purchase groceries from Mr. Jackson on credit.
This I hated to do, knowing well the mean spirit of the man. But his
store was the only one on this side of Rock Island Lake where my father
was in the habit of purchasing, and I had to submit.
“Humph! seems to me old Jackson is mighty sharp after his money,”
observed Ford, who was at work in the mill, and had overheard our
conversation.
“If Mr. Carnet pays up I won’t keep him waiting.” I replied. “I suppose
he’s entitled to his money.”
“If I was in your place I’d make him wait. I wouldn’t take any such
talk without making him suffer for it. Do you want to load these bags
on the boat now?”
“Yes; sixteen of them.”
Getting out the wheelbarrow, the young fellow piled it high with the
bags of middlings, and carted them down to the sloop that was tied to
the wharf that jutted out into the lake. It was only a short distance,
and the job was soon finished.
“Now I’m off,” I said, as I prepared to leave. “You know what to do if
anything comes in while I’m gone.”
“Oh, yes.”
“And in the meanwhile you can get that flour ready for Jerry Moore.”
“I will.”
I jumped aboard the sloop, unfastened the painter, hoisted the mainsail,
and stood out for the other shore. A stiff breeze was blowing, and I was
soon well underway.
Rock Island Lake was a beautiful sheet of water, four miles wide by
twelve long. Near its upper end was a large island covered with rough
rocks, bushes, and immense pine-trees. On one side of it was the
thriving town of Bayport; and opposite, the village of Bend Center,
situated a mile below the Torrent Bend River, which emptied into the
lake at the spot where my father had located his mill.
The two resident places were in sharp contrast to each other. Bend
Center was a sleepy spot that had not increased in population for
twenty years, while Bayport, which had been settled but fifteen years,
was all life and activity.
Among the attractions at the latter place were three large summer
hotels, now crowded with boarders. The hotels were built upon the edge
of the lake, and boats on fishing and pleasure trips were to be seen in
all directions.
On this bright morning in midsummer the scene was a pretty one, and had
I felt in the humor I could have enjoyed it thoroughly.
But I was out of sorts. As I have said, I was doing my best to pay off
what bills were due; and to have Mr. Jackson, or, in fact, any one,
insinuate that I didn’t amount to much, and that my father had made a
mistake in trusting the business to me, cut me to the heart.
I was but a boy, yet I was doing a man’s work, and doing it as manfully
as I knew how. I arose every morning at five o’clock, and sometimes
worked until long after sundown.
I kept a strict account of what came in and went out; and looking at
the account-book now, I am satisfied that I did as well as any one
could have done under the circumstances.
The work around the mill was hard, but I never complained. I did fully
as much as Ford, and if at night my back ached as it never had before,
no one ever heard me mention it, and I was always ready for work on
the following morning.
During the two months that had passed I had received but three letters
from my father. He was out in South Dakota, and had not yet been able
to locate to his satisfaction. In his last communication he had written
that he was about to take a journey to the north, and that I need not
expect to hear from him for two weeks or more.
This was somewhat of a disappointment; yet I trusted the trip he was
about to undertake would be a fruitful one. The whole West was booming,
and why could we not participate in the fortunes to be made?
As the sloop sped on its way I revolved the matter over in my mind. So
busy did I become with my thoughts, I did not notice the freshening of
the wind until a sudden puff caught the mainsail, and nearly threw the
craft over on her side.
Springing up, I lowered the sheet, and then looked to see if the cargo
was still safe.
Luckily Ford had placed the bags tight up near the cuddy, and not one
had shifted. Seeing this, I ran the sail up again, trimmed it, and
stood on my course.
As I did so I saw a large sloop not a great distance ahead of me. It
had all sails set, and was bowling along at a lively rate.
I became interested in the large sloop at once. By the manner in which
she moved along I was certain those in charge of her did not understand
the handling of such a craft. The mainsail and jib were set full, and
the boom of the former was sweeping violently in the puffs of wind.
“On board the sloop!” I called out. “Why don’t you take in some sail?”
“We can’t!” came back the answer. “The ropes are all stuck fast.”
By this time I had come up to starboard of them. I saw that there were
two men, a woman, and a little boy on board.
The two men were trying in vain to lower the sails. They had evidently
knotted the ropes when tying them, and now they were so taut nothing
could be undone.
“What shall we do?” called the elder of the two men.
“If you can’t untie the knots, cut the rope,” I called back, “and don’t
lose any time about it.”
One of the men immediately started to follow out my suggestion. I saw
him draw out his pocket-knife, open the blade, and begin to saw on the
rope.
The next instant another puff of wind, stronger than any of the others,
came sweeping down the lake. I was prepared for it, and sheered off to
windward.
But the puff caught the large sloop directly broadside. The mainsheet
and the jib filled, then the craft careened, and before I could realize
what was happening, the four occupants were sent tumbling out into the
waters of the lake.