A Debt of Honor. Horatio Alger Jr.
like it, but Jake Amsden don’t knuckle down to nobody.”
“Of course not. Why should you?” said Bradley Wentworth.
“Stranger, I don’t know who you are, but you’re the right sort. I’ve got some whisky inside. Will you drink?”
“Thank you,” answered Wentworth hastily, “but I am out of health, and my doctor won’t let me drink whisky. Thank you all the same!”
“Oh, well, if you can’t, you can’t. You ain’t puttin’ on no frills, are you?”
“Not at all, my friend. If you’ll make room for me, I’ll sit down beside you.”
Jake Amsden was sitting on a log. He moved and made room for the visitor.
“Have you lived here long?” asked Wentworth sociably.
“A matter of a few months.”
“What do you find to do?”
“Nothin’ much. I reckon I’m a fool to stay here much longer. I’ll be makin’ tracks soon. Goin’ to stay long yourself?”
“No. I am only here on a short visit. I may go to-morrow.”
“How are you fixed?” asked Jake abruptly.
“Well, I’ve got a little money,” answered Wentworth cautiously.
“You couldn’t spare a chap a dollar, could you?”
“Yes,” said Wentworth, as he took from his pocket a well filled wallet, and after some search took from a roll of larger bills a one-dollar note and handed it to his companion.
If he had noticed the covetous look with which Jake Amsden regarded the wallet, he would have recognized his mistake. But before he looked up, Jake cunningly changed his expression, and said gratefully: “Thank you, boss; you’re a gentleman.”
Bradley Wentworth liked praise, especially where it was so cheaply purchased, and said graciously: “You’re quite welcome, my good man.”
“I’d like to grab the plunder,” thought Jake, but as he took in Wentworth’s robust frame, he decided that he had better not act inconsiderately.
“I’m a poor man,” he said. “I never knowed what it was to have as much money as you’ve got there.”
“Very likely. There are more poor men in the world than rich ones. Not that I am rich,” he added quickly, with habitual caution.
“Is your friend rich?” queried Jake. “The sick man, I mean.”
An idea came to Wentworth.
“I don’t think he has much money,” he answered slowly, “but he has some papers that are valuable.”
“Some papers?” repeated Jake vacantly. “What sort of papers be they?”
“Some papers that belong to me; my name is signed to them.”
“How’d he get ’em, then?”
“I don’t like to say, but they ought to be in my possession.”
“Then why don’t you ask for them?”
“I have.”
“And he won’t give ’em to you?”
“No; though I have offered a good sum of money for them?”
“How much?”
Bradley Wentworth was too sharp to mention the amount he had offered Warren Lane. He was dealing with a character who took different views of money.
“I wouldn’t mind giving a hundred dollars to any one who would bring me the papers,” he answered, looking Jake Amsden full in the face.
“I’d like to make a hundred dollars,” muttered Jake. “Where does he keep ’em?”
“My friend, if I could answer that question, I should not require any assistance, and I would save my hundred dollars. But I think it probable that he keeps the papers somewhere in the cabin.”
“How’d I know ’em?”
“Can you read writing?”
“Well, a little. I never went to no college,” said Jake, with a grin.
“You probably know enough of writing to identify my signature. Do you see this?” and he took from his pocket a paper to which his name was attached.
“Yes.”
“Can you read the name?”
Jake screwed up his face and pored over the signature.
“B-r-a-d – Brad – l-e-y, Bradley.”
“Yes, you are right so far. Now what is the other name?”
“W-e-n-t, went – w-o-r-t-h. What’s that?”
“Wentworth. My name is Bradley Wentworth.”
“I see, boss. I made it out pretty good, considerin’ it is such a long name?”
“Yes,” answered Wentworth encouragingly; “you made it out very well.”
“I’ll think of what you say, boss. That money’ll be sure, won’t it??”
“Yes; it will be promptly paid.”
“All right! You’re my style. Shake!” and he extended a hand which was far from clean to the rich “tenderfoot.”
Bradley Wentworth was fastidious, but he swallowed his disgust and shook the other’s hand heartily.
CHAPTER VI
A STARTLING DISCOVERY
“How long is Mr. Wentworth going to stay here?” asked Gerald, when his father had awakened from his nap.
“I think he will go away to-morrow.”
“What is his object in coming here?”
“I sent for him. I wished to see if he would act a friendly part toward you when I am gone.”
“Do you think he will?” asked Gerald, dubiously.
“He wants to buy the papers which I gave into your keeping for a thousand dollars.”
“So you told me.”
“Shall I make the bargain, Gerald?” asked his father, earnestly. “Remember, I leave you nothing except this poor cabin and its contents, and eighty acres of land which I pre-empted from the government. By the way, I must give you the paper attesting my ownership.”
“Don’t trouble yourself about me, father. I am young and strong,” and Gerald straightened up, and extended his muscular arm. “I ought to be able to fight my way.”
“I hope you can, Gerald. As you say, you are young and strong, and here in this Western country a boy has a better chance than in the East. Still, I should like to feel that you had some money to start with. Now, a thousand dollars would be a large sum to one in your position.”
“It might be considerable for me to receive, but it would be too little for Mr. Wentworth to pay after all his obligations to you. No, father, don’t take the money.”
“This is your settled opinion, Gerald? You have considered carefully all the risk you run, all the inconvenience that may come from poverty?”
“Yes, father.”
“I am glad you have no doubt on the subject. As for me, I have been in great uncertainty.”
“You need be so no longer, father.”
“Then when Wentworth broaches the subject again I will tell him, both for you and myself, that I decline his offer.”
“Yes, father.”
“I don’t think he will increase it.”
“Nor do I.”
“Very well, Gerald.