SAM ASKS FOR HIS PAY.
“We did our very best to save him, but he’s gone, and my father is a
millionaire.”
This was the burden of Arthur Howard’s thoughts, as he wandered
restlessly about the grove, with his hands in his pockets, and his eyes
fixed on the ground. The bank of the river was deserted by all save
himself.
The herdsmen were gathered in little groups about the ranch, conversing
in hushed tones, and now and then there was an ominous growl among them
that boded no good to somebody, and threatening eyes and scowling faces
were turned toward the window of the office.
The superintendent and Mr. Evans stood off by themselves, occasionally
exchanging a word or two, but generally remaining silent and thoughtful.
Uncle Bob sat alone in the office, thinking sometimes of his lost
nephew, but more frequently of the bright and dazzling future which had
so suddenly and unexpectedly opened before him. Like Arthur, he was
entirely unnoticed, the men about him having no sympathy for him. Their
thoughts were with Bob and his companion.
“The old fellow seems to take it very much to heart,” said Mr. Jacobs.
“But it’s my opinion it is all put on for the occasion.”
“That seems to be the opinion of the herdsmen, too, if one may judge by
their looks and actions,” answered Mr. Evans. “If they had the least
excuse for it, they would put the dogs on him and his son and drive them
out of the valley.”
“I know their temper better than you do, and I am not far from right
when I say that they would serve them worse than that,” said the
superintendent. “If the men thought that Arthur and his father were in
any way mixed up with this morning’s work, a regiment of soldiers could
not save them.”
“I would give the world, if I owned it, to know whether or not they
suspect anything,” thought Arthur, who now and then stopped behind a
tree or a clump of bushes to take an anxious survey of the groups about
the ranch. “Why don’t they go off about their work, and let me go to my
room? They needn’t blame me for anything that happened, for I didn’t
suggest it, and I had no hand in carrying it out. Sam did it out of a
desire to be revenged on Bob for telling Mr. Jacobs that he could not
have employment on the ranch. But, great Scott! what a sight that was!”
said Arthur, covering his eyes with his hands. “I don’t think I shall
ever forget it.”
And he never did. The pale, despairing face which the helpless Bob had
turned toward the shore, just before his boat took its final plunge,
haunted him day and night as long as he lived.
Just then Arthur was startled by a rustling in the thicket close by his
side (he was so timid now, that every little thing frightened him), and
turned quickly, to find Sam at his side.
The latter was as serene and smiling as usual, and did not look at all
like a man who had been guilty of a crime for which his life might at
any time pay the forfeit.
Arthur was glad to see him on some accounts, and on others he wasn’t. As
he could not bear to be alone with his accusing conscience, he wanted
somebody to talk to, but he would rather it had been somebody besides
Sam.
It would have been a great relief to him if the herdsman had saddled his
horse and left the valley, never to return; but something told him that
Sam did not intend to do anything of the kind. He was more familiar in
his manner than he was the day before, and not quite so civil.
“Well, what do you think of it?” said he, at the same time backing up
against a tree, so that he could not be seen by the men about the ranch.
“You’ve got your cousin’s fortune, and I have had my revenge.”
“I wish you hadn’t done it,” was all Arthur could say, in reply.
“That’s a pretty way for you to talk, now, when it is too late—isn’t
it?” said Sam, in disgust. “Yesterday, you were eager for it. I saw it
very plainly, and that was the reason I proposed it.”
“But I didn’t suppose you would do it.”
“That was because you didn’t know me. I never fool about such things.
You were in dead earnest, and I knew it, and acted accordingly.”
“Do you suppose that the men suspect anything?”
“If they did, they would make short work of us,” assured the herdsman
with a grim smile. “We wouldn’t be here to see another sunrise, I bet
you.”
Arthur winced at this, and he was greatly alarmed, too.
Sam’s use of the personal pronoun seemed to indicate that he was not
willing to shoulder all the responsibility himself. According to his way
of thinking, Arthur was as deep in the mud as he was, and Sam did not
mean to let him forget it, either.
“Everything is in our favor,” continued the herdsman. “I have heard
Bob’s father tell him more than once that he didn’t look for anything
but to see him lost in the canyon some day, and there are others who
have heard him say the same thing. So, why should they suspect that we
had anything to do with it?”
“I don’t know, I am sure. I asked the question because the men up
there,”—here Arthur nodded his head toward the ranch—“seem to be angry
about something.”
“Probably they are; for, as I told you yesterday, they don’t like you or
your father. They know that you will come into possession of this
property now, and they don’t want to have it so.”
“I don’t see how they are going to help it.”
“I don’t either; but they can make this a hot country for you, if they
set about it. Now, then, to business! I have come for my pay.”
“For your pay!” echoed Arthur.
“That’s what I said. You don’t suppose that I am going to put you into
possession of a property worth millions of dollars, and take the risk of
a lynching for nothing, do you? What kind of a hair-pin do you think I
am, anyway?”
Arthur was almost overwhelmed with amazement and terror. He had never
dreamed of this.
“I don’t owe you anything,” he managed to say at last. “I told you that
I would use my influence with my father to have you employed on the
ranch; and so I will, just as soon as Mr. Evans goes away and I can find
an opportunity to speak with him in private; but, beyond that, I can do
nothing for you.”
“It ain’t enough, pilgrim!” replied Sam, in quiet, but decided tones.
“Must have more.”
“But I say I don’t owe you anything.”
“I reckon I could make you change your mind in just two minutes, if I
should set about it,” said Sam, looking at Arthur in a way that made him
shiver all over.
“How much do you want?”
“Well, five thousand dollars will do to start on!”
“Five thousand dollars!” gasped Arthur, who thought he would surely have
fallen to the ground, if he had not placed his hand against the nearest
tree to steady himself. “Why, I haven’t got five thousand cents to my
name.”
“No, I suppose not,” replied Sam, indifferently. “Clerks, who sport such
dry goods as you had on your back when you first came here, don’t
generally have any loose change laying around. But your father’s got it.
He must have twenty or thirty thousand dollars in that safe of his.”
“But he wouldn’t give any of it to me,” said Arthur, who was every
moment growing more astonished and alarmed.
“Oh, I guess he would, if he knew all the circumstances,” answered the
herdsman, significantly.
“But I don’t want him to know all the circumstances,” protested Arthur,
quickly. “And what excuse can I make to him for demanding so large a sum
of money?”
“That is a matter in which I am not at all interested. I don’t care how
you get it, so long as you get it; and I fancy you will make up your
mind to do it after you’ve had time to think the matter over.”
“No, I won’t,” said Arthur, his fears giving away to anger. “You had no
right to ask it of me, and I shall make no effort to get it. I shouldn’t
succeed if I did. You proposed this thing yourself, and did the work
alone and unaided, and I—”
“Well, why don’t you go on?” inquired Sam, when the other paused and
looked at him. “See here, my friend,” he added, shaking his finger at
Arthur, while his eyes flashed threateningly, “you have had your say,
and now I am going to have mine. I want that money, and I am going to
have it, too. You hear me? If you won’t get it for me, I will go
straight to your father, and tell him the whole story. I think he would
rather give me the money than lose all Bob’s millions—don’t you?”
“Oh, don’t do that!” implored Arthur, whose anger was all gone now.
“I’ll ask him for it the first chance I get.”
“But if he wouldn’t—if he doesn’t fork out on demand, I will see that
the boys get wind of the whole affair, and what do you suppose would be
the result? They are just in the right humor for business now, and if I
should leave a little note where one of them could find it, you and your
father would be—”
Here Sam stopped, and looked up at the branches over his head. It needed
no words to explain what he meant.
“Don’t! don’t!” cried Arthur, who was trembling in every limb. “I will
ask for the money before I go to sleep to-night—honor bright, I will.”
“I knew you would change your mind after you had thought the matter
over,” said Sam, with a meaning smile. “Now, how soon may I expect to
get the five thousand?”
“Just as soon as I can induce my father to give it to me,” promised
Arthur.
“Well, say to-morrow, then. I will meet you here in the grove right away
after breakfast. I don’t want a job at herding sheep, now, and I don’t
want to hang around any longer than I can help; so don’t waste any
time.”
“Are you going away?” asked Arthur, eagerly.
“You bet! I don’t think my constitution can stand this climate.”
“And will you promise that you’ll never come back and make any more
demands upon me?”
“Not much! I’ve struck a bonanza, and I’m going to work it as long as
the lead holds out. I know what you are thinking of, young man; but
you’ll find that I’m nobody’s fool. Now, remember, I shall be on hand
to-morrow morning, and I want to find you here with that money.”
Sam disappeared, and Arthur resumed his wanderings about the grove. He
was frightened almost out of his senses, and wished from the bottom of
his heart that he had never seen or heard of his companion in guilt. He
even went further than that, and wished that his uncle had given his
property into the keeping of somebody else, and that he and his father
were back in Bolton, where they came from. What in the world could he
say that would induce his cousin’s guardian to give him the five
thousand dollars that Sam demanded as hush-money? He knew very well that
he couldn’t get it; and even if he did, what good would it do him?
There was evil coming upon him; he was sure of it. And this money would
only postpone it for a little while. It would not avert it, for Sam had
said very plainly that he was not going to be satisfied with the amount
he had named—that he intended to make demands as often as he felt like
it.
Arthur grew almost wild when he recalled the man’s words. He wrung his
hands, and even quickened his steps to a run, as if he hoped to leave
his haunting fears behind him.
“There is only one thing I can do,” said he to himself, after he had
bestowed as much thought upon the situation as the perturbed state of
his mind would permit. “I must get away from here. Father must give me
money enough to take me back to Bolton. I say _must_ do it, or I shall
help myself to what I need. There goes Mr. Evans, and father is probably
alone in the office. If he is, I will settle this matter with him before
I am an hour older.”
So saying, Arthur wiped the big drops of perspiration from his face, put
on as bold a front as he could, and started toward the ranch. A few of
the herdsmen had dispersed to their work, but those who remained scowled
at him so savagely as he passed that Arthur made all haste to get into
the hall out of their sight.