BAD NEWS.
For a moment I could not believe the evidence of my own eyes. I had
fully expected to find the large sloop in the spot I had left her, held
there by the anchor that must have fallen from the deck. But she was
gone, and a rapid survey of the surrounding water convinced me that she
was nowhere within a quarter of a mile.
This discovery was a dismaying one; yet it did not entirely dishearten
me.
The sloop had probably drifted to the lower end of the lake, somewhere
near the Ponoco River, which was its outlet. I would no doubt find her
beached in the vicinity of the south shore.
I at once turned and sped away in that direction. The distance was
about two miles, and in half an hour I had covered it, and skirted the
shore for a considerable length.
The large sloop was nowhere to be seen.
I was now really worried. Was it possible that some one had found the
craft, and towed her off?
It seemed more than probable. The situation was unpleasant, to say
the least. The sloop was now my property just the same as if I had
purchased her, and I did not like the idea of any one making off with
her, and then setting up a claim against me for so doing.
I spent two hours in my search for the craft, but without success. By
this time it was well on in the afternoon, and it became necessary for
me to return to the mill.
With something like a sigh, I tacked about, and started on the return,
resolved to continue the search at daylight on the following day.
In sailing up the lake to the spot where the Torrent Bend emptied, I
had to pass Bend Center; and I decided to tie up at the village, and
settle up with Mr. Jackson, who was so afraid I was going to cheat him.
There was a trim harbor at this spot, and into this I ran and lowered
the mainsail.
“Hullo, Rube!” I suddenly heard some one call; and looking up, I beheld
Tom Darrow, an old fisherman that I knew well, seated at the other end
of the pier, smoking his pipe.
“Hullo, Tom!” I returned. “Through work for the day?”
“Yes.”
“How’s the catch?”
“Pretty poor, Rube. Too windy for pickerel,” returned Tom, as he arose
and knocked some ashes from the top of his pipe-bowl.
“I suppose it is.”
“Where have you been?” he went on, coming to where I was tying up.
“Over to Bayport with a load of middlings.”
“That so? Thought I see you coming up the lake.”
“I’ve been down looking for a sloop that capsized,” I returned. “Did
you see anything of her?”
“What kind of a sloop?”
“A large one, painted blue and white, and named the Catch Me. I believe
she used to belong to some one in Bayport.”
“No, I didn’t see her; that is, I don’t think I did. I saw some fellows
towing something up the lake about an hour ago. But I thought that was
a raft.”
I was interested at once.
“Are you sure it was a raft?”
“Oh, no; come to think of it, it didn’t look very much like a raft,
either. You see, it was out pretty far, and I wasn’t paying much
attention.”
“Who were the fellows?”
“I don’t know. They had a pretty smart-looking craft, but whose it was
I couldn’t make out.”
My heart sank at Tom Darrow’s words. I was certain that the supposed
raft was nothing less than the Catch Me. The question was, what had the
men who found her done with her?
“What makes you so interested in the sloop?” went on Tom curiously.
“She belongs to me, Tom.”
“What! Where did you ever raise money enough to buy her?”
“I didn’t buy her; she was given to me.”
Tom Darrow was more taken aback than ever. I enjoyed his amazement, and
told my story.
“I declare, Rube, you’re quite a hero, and no mistake!” cried the
fisherman. “So he gave you the sloop for the job? It was money easily
earned.”
“It wasn’t earned at all, Tom. But the question is, what has become of
the craft? Unless I find her she won’t do me any good.”
“True enough; but you are sure to find her sooner or later. She can’t
leave the lake very well, and all you’ve got to do is to keep your eyes
open.”
“I don’t know about that,” I replied, shaking my head. “They might
change her rigging a bit, and paint her over, and I would have a job
recognizing her.”
“So they might if they were sneaks enough to do so; and I reckon some
of them north-enders ain’t too good to try it on. Tell you what I’ll
do.”
“What?”
“I’ll try to hunt her up for you.”
“Will you? I’ll pay you for your trouble, Tom.”
“Don’t want no pay, Rube. You’ve done me many a good turn, and so did
your father when he was here. I’ll take a trip around the lake first
thing to-morrow.”
“And so will I. Between the two of us we ought to discover something.”
After this we arranged our plan. Darrow was to start from the Bend,
and go up the west shore, while I was to come down from the mill, and
investigate along the east shore. At noon we were to meet at Bayport
and compare notes.
“By the way,” said he, when this matter was finished, “heard from your
father lately?”
“I expect a letter next week,” I replied. “He is out in South Dakota.
He hasn’t located yet.”
“Hope he strikes it rich when he does,” concluded Darrow. “No man in
these parts deserves it more.”
Leaving the pier, I made my way to Mr. Jackson’s store, which, as I
have said, was the largest at the Bend.
I found the merchant behind the counter, weighing out sugar.
“Well, have you come to settle up?” he asked shortly.
“I have come to pay some on account,” I replied.
“How much?”
“Twenty-one dollars.”
“Why don’t you pay the whole bill of twenty-four, and be done?”
“Because I haven’t so much. Some of the middlings I sold Mr. Carnet got
wet, and I had to make a reduction.”
“Humph! Well, hand over the money. Every little helps. But I can’t
trust out any more goods till the entire amount is settled.”
And Mr. Jackson placed twenty-one dollars in the drawer, and gave me
credit on his books.
I walked out somewhat downcast. I had wanted several things in the
shape of groceries, and with no money to purchase them what was I to do?
As I walked down the one street of the village, I passed the
post-office. Mr. Sandon, the post-master, was at the window, and he
tapped for me to come in.
“A letter just came for you,” he said. And he went behind the counter
and handed it over.
For an instant my heart gave a bound of pleasure as I thought it
must be a letter from my father; then I saw that the handwriting was
strange, and I opened the epistle, wondering what it could contain.
It was dated at Huron, South Dakota, and ran as follows:――
MY DEAR NEPHEW REUBEN,――You will no doubt be very much
surprised to hear from an uncle whom you have never seen, but
circumstances make it necessary that I should address this
letter to you. I wish that my first lines to my nephew might
be brighter, but our wishes cannot always be fulfilled, and we
must bear up bravely under all trials that come to us.
Hear, then, the sad news that your father is dead. He lost his
life by falling down a deep ravine on the morning of the 10th
instant. We were out prospecting for a good mill location,
and he slipped, and, before I could come to his aid, plunged
headlong to the bottom. When I reached him he was unconscious,
and lived but a short hour after. I am now arranging to have
him buried to-morrow, and shall then follow this letter to Bend
Center, to take charge of his affairs.
As you perhaps know, I met your father in Chicago. I loaned him
quite a sum of money, and we went to South Dakota together. But
of this and other important matters we will speak when we meet,
which will be shortly after you receive this letter.
Affectionately your uncle,
ENOS NORTON.
P.S. I would not speak of money matters in such a letter as
this, but I cannot afford to lose that which I have advanced. I
trust the mill is in good running order.
I could hardly finish the communication. I became so agitated that all
the lines seemed to run into each other. Mr. Sandon noticed how I was
disturbed.
“Anything wrong, Rube?” he asked kindly.
“My father is dead!” I gasped out, and sank down on a box completely
overcome.