UNHORSED
“Letter for you, Tom,” announced Sam one day, as his chum came in.
“From home, I guess,” for Tom had told his chums the name of his home
town, and it was plainly to be observed in the postmark.
“That’s good!” Tom said, as he took the envelope. “Yes, it’s from
mother,” he added, as he recognized the dear, familiar handwriting--a
handwriting cramped of late, Tom thought, by too much sewing.
“I wonder if I’ll ever be able to help her, and relieve her of that
hateful work,” he thought, as he tore the covering off the epistle. “It
sure is a long time to wait--two years more, and then four more before
I’ll really be earning anything worth while. Oh, why can’t I get hold
of that railroad land?”
Tom’s self-asked question was accented in his mind a moment later by
what he read in his mother’s letter.
“I wonder if it is possible, Tom, for you to send me a little money?
I know you spoke of being paid a salary, and that it was held to
accumulate for you. You said you would not need it all, and as I am a
little pressed for cash just now, and as the sewing is falling off a
little, I thought perhaps the authorities would give you some of what
is rightfully yours.”
“Great Scott!” cried Tom, aloud, before he thought of what he was
saying.
“No bad news, I hope, old man! is there?” asked Sam.
“No--er--that is not exactly--no,” Tom stammered. “It’s just a little
matter. I dare say it will be all right.”
Though he tried to speak calmly, Tom’s mind was in a tumult. He hardly
knew what to do, and for a moment he was tempted to lay the whole
matter before Sam; but a natural delicacy stopped him.
Sam was wealthy, Tom knew, and he felt that as soon as money was
mentioned his chum would offer to get him as much as was needed.
“I’ll try to get what is my own first,” Tom decided. “It isn’t much,
but it will help mother out. Hang it all! Why can’t I earn money? Or
why can’t I get what I believe is rightfully ours. I’m going to do
something!”
Just what he was going to do Tom did not know. He could not decide so
suddenly. Slowly he folded the letter from his mother, and placed it in
his pocket. Sam watched his chum, covertly, and wished he could aid him.
“I’m pretty sure that was bad news Tom got,” reflected Sam, when his
chum had gone out. “And it must have been about money, for if it was a
death, or anything like that, he’d have been willing enough to tell. I
wish he would tell me. I’d lend him all he needs. But he’s too proud to
ask, and I can’t offer, for that might hurt his feelings. Well, I’ll
wait a bit and see what turns up.”
Matters were rapidly shaping themselves for the upturn, but neither Tom
nor Sam knew this.
Our hero walked out to think alone for a time. He wondered if the plan
his mother suggested were feasible. He resolved to find out, and began
making some judicious inquiries.
The answers Tom received told him that it would be better not to ask
for this money just at present for certain reasons that need not be
detailed.
“One thing I am going to do though, is to tackle old Hawkesbury!” Tom
decided. “It’s time I did, and I wish I had done so as soon as I came
back with that copy of the trust deed. Doolittle must have written and
told him what I said, and maybe the captain is wondering why I haven’t
been to him before. Probably he’s all primed and ready for me, and
will unlimber with all his guns, but I can’t help that. I’ve got to do
something for my mother. I can’t have her suffer!”
Tom had a bitter feeling in his heart against the old army officer,
but he endeavored to keep it down, and remain cool as he planned the
interview.
He saw Captain Hawkesbury that afternoon, having received permission
from his immediate superior to make the visit.
“Come in!” called the captain sharply as Tom knocked.
Tom entered, trying to calm the rapid beating of his heart. Buttoned
under his closely-fitting coat was the rough draft of the trust deed.
Tom expected to use it.
“Well, what do you want?” was the not very pleasant greeting of Captain
Hawkesbury.
“A few moments’ conversation with you, sir,” Tom answered. The captain
did not ask him to sit down, but remained seated at his own desk,
looking at Tom with sharp eyes, in which our hero fancied he could
detect a gleam of hate.
“I haven’t much time,” said the military man. “Is it something in
regard to your duties here?”
“No, it is something personal.”
“I have nothing to do with you, personally!” was the frigid answer.
“There was a time when you were glad to have something to do with us,”
went on Tom, boldly. “When father--”
“That’s enough!” exclaimed Captain Hawkesbury sharply. “You need not
bring up the past. I was very much disappointed in your father. He made
a failure, and I and some of his friends were hard put to make matters
come out right for the estate.”
“I don’t believe that!” cried Tom, stung by the cruel words.
“What! Do you mean to tell me that I am not speaking the truth?”
Captain Hawkesbury almost leaped from his chair.
“I don’t mean anything of the sort,” went on Tom, resolved to stake
everything now. “I think you and Mr. Doolittle were mistaken about my
father, and that there is a misunderstanding somewhere. Perhaps this
will help to clear it up,” and Tom suddenly produced the draft of the
deed. Caution for the moment left him, and he tossed the document on
the desk in front of the angry captain.
“Eh! What’s this? What’s this?” exclaimed the officer, putting on his
glasses and taking up the paper. “What is this to me?”
“It is a copy of a deed of trust, drawn by my father, naming you
and Mr. Doolittle as trustees of the property that was bought by the
railroad for their bridge approach,” Tom said, speaking rapidly. “It is
only a copy, of course, and was never executed. What I want to know is
whether any such paper was ever legally drawn up, and whether or not my
mother and I can get any money from that land. We need it--she needs
it--very much.”
Tom was pleading now. He had put his pride behind him.
“Certainly not! Certainly not!” cried Captain Hawkesbury, fairly
spluttering. “How dare you come to me with such a question? That land
Mr. Doolittle and I took for some of the money your father owed us. It
barely sufficed. There was not a dollar left. Something for you? Indeed
not! If I had what was right you would be paying me now. But I will let
that pass. I am surprised at your impudence in coming to me with such a
suggestion.
“This document is worthless--utterly worthless. I never saw it before,
and certainly there is none like it on file. It is of no value!”
Saying which Captain Hawkesbury tore the copy of the trust deed into
several pieces, and threw them into the waste-paper basket.
“Stop!” cried Tom. “That paper is mine!”
He sprang forward, but was too late.
“What, would you raise your hand to me?” fairly shouted the captain.
“This is insubordination, sir! I could order you under arrest for that!”
Tom drew back. He could not afford to have his career at West Point
spoiled.
“But that paper! It was mine. You had no right to destroy it!” he said.
“How dare you speak to me like that?” exclaimed the old army officer
with a frown. “Leave my room this instant. I destroyed that paper
because it had my name on it and I will not have you going around
showing it to every one and repeating a silly, baseless story. I had
a right to destroy it as one of the men involved in your father’s
affairs. Now go!”
He pointed to the door.
Tom hesitated. He might create a scene, raise a disturbance and carry
the matter to the superintendent. Tom did not think the part Captain
Hawkesbury had played in his father’s estate gave him a right to thus
summarily destroy any document he pleased.
But Tom reflected quickly. Captain Hawkesbury, who had a certain power,
might make matters appear so that Tom would seem to be in the wrong.
Tom might even be dismissed. He could not afford to suffer that.
“And, after all,” Tom reflected, “the paper isn’t of any value. It
isn’t as if it were the real deed. I guess I’d better let the matter
drop. But he is an insufferable cad! I--I’d like to--fight him!”
Tom felt a wild rage in his heart, which was natural enough under the
circumstances. He swallowed a lump in his throat, looked unfalteringly
into the eyes of the old army officer, and, saluting stiffly, turned
and went out.
Tom fancied Captain Hawkesbury breathed a sigh of relief. Was it fancy?
Tom had staked his little all, and he had, apparently, lost. What would
be the next move?
Tom’s immediate need was to get money for his mother, and this problem
was unexpectedly solved for him. His chum, Sam, had guessed right, and,
making bold, urged Tom to tell the truth.
“Look here old man,” he said, bruskly but very kindly, “won’t you let
me help you out? I think I’ve guessed.”
Then Tom told the story, with the result that Sam’s father advanced
enough on some rather poor securities Tom’s mother held to enable the
widow to make ends meet. The securities could not be negotiated save by
some one in Mr. Leland’s line of business, but he said he was really
running no financial risk. So that matter was settled for the time
being.
As to the trust deed, Tom had given up hope about that.
The work at West Point went on, Tom progressing rapidly. He enjoyed,
most of all, the horsemanship, at which he was among the most expert.
That being so, it was difficult to account for what occurred one day.
The battalion to which Tom was attached was engaged in a sham battle,
and there was some wild riding. Tom held his own, however, until toward
the close. He was riding alone when suddenly Captain Hawkesbury, on a
mettlesome steed, dashed out from the line of officers. At first it
seemed as though he had come out to speak to Tom, and the latter drew
rein.
“Go on! Go on!” shouted the captain. “Don’t stop in my way!”
Tom was confused. His horse became a little unmanageable, and as
Captain Hawkesbury came on at top speed there was a collision between
them. Tom was unhorsed and fell heavily. He felt a sharp pain in his
head, his eyes saw nothing but blackness, and then he lay unconscious,
dimly hearing, as the fast sound, the gallop of horses’ hoofs as his
companions rode toward him.