“And then?” asked Sam, as the old miser paused to take a bite of bread and meat.
“Then he told a queer story about a nugget of gold brought down to this place from Alaska. He was very mysterious, and at last he said the nugget was right down in my cellar, and if I’d dig it up fer him he’d give me half. At first I thought he was fooling, or wasn’t just right in his mind, but a nugget of gold—even a little one—isn’t to be sneezed at, and it wouldn’t cost me nuthing to go down cellar and look. So I starts to go down the stairs when he says to be careful, that he would look around, to make sure nobuddy was a-spying on him. He said the nugget was in the northwest corner. I went down and the next thing I knew I heard a strange cry upstairs. ‘You shan’t rob me! The nugget is mine!’ yells that fellow and bang! goes that trap door, and then he up and bolts it fast, so I couldn’t open it. I calls to let me out, and he calls back for me to keep quiet until he got some friends, so I couldn’t rob him of that nugget. Then he slammed around upstairs here something awful. At last he went away; and that’s the last I seen or heard of him.”
“What did you do? Didn’t you try to get out?” questioned Songbird.
“For a long time I waited, thinking he would come back. And as he seemed so sure about the nugget I took the lantern and looked for it. But there wasn’t no signs of any gold. Then the lantern got dry and went out, leaving me in the dark. I didn’t know what to make of it. I went up the stairs and tried to open the door, but I couldn’t budge it. Then I tried to dig my way out of the hole, but the old shovel I had broke and there I was. I’m an old man and pretty full of rheumatism, and staying down cellar all night has most finished me,” concluded Hiram Duff, with a groan.
“Did the fellow say where he was going?” asked Sam, after a pause.
“Said he was going to get help, that’s all, so I couldn’t rob him of that nugget. I don’t know what to make of it. Might be he was a lunatic, eh?” went on the old miser, suddenly. “Maybe he run away from some asylum.”
“Possibly,” answered Sam, shortly. “Did he take anything, do you suppose?” he went on.
“Take anything? You mean steal anything?” cried Hiram Duff, and started back. The sandwich he had made for himself dropped from his hand. “I—I wonder if he did take anything,” he muttered, and his eyes roved towards the other room of the cottage.
“Better take a look around, if you had anything of value,” said Sam, and gave Songbird a meaning look.
With feeble steps the old miser walked out of the kitchen into what had been the sitting room of the cottage. As he was too feeble to sleep upstairs, Hiram Duff now used the apartment for a bedroom as well. He closed the door between the two rooms and the boys heard him rummaging around among his possessions. Then came a wild cry.
“It’s gone! It’s gone! My tin box is gone!”
“Your tin box?” repeated Songbird, as the old man threw open the door.
“Yes! yes! The fellow has robbed me! Oh, this is dreadful! What shall I do? I am a poor man! Oh, I’ll have to go to the poorhouse!” And the miser commenced to wring his hands.
“What did you have in the box?” questioned Sam.
“I had—some—er—some money, and some—er—jewelry,” faltered Hiram Duff. He was a very secretive man naturally and it galled him to make the admission.
“How much money, Mr. Duff?”
“Oh, a—er—quite some. Oh, this is too bad! What shall I do? This will ruin me! Oh, where is that rascal? How can I catch him?” and the old man ran around the kitchen, staring at one thing and another, and at the boys.
“This must be Tom’s work,” whispered Sam to Songbird. “I wonder what I had best do about it?”
“Wait until you are sure it was Tom,” advised the would-be poet.
Sam commenced to question the old miser regarding the looks of the fellow who had visited him. He soon became convinced that it must have been Tom. Clearly his brother must now be completely out of his mind.
“Poor, poor Tom,” he sighed. “If he is going to act this way, what will he do next? I wish I could find him, and that Dick was here to help me to take care of him and clear up this mess.”
“I don’t know what I’m a-going to do,” whined Hiram Duff. “I gotter find that box.”
“How big a box was it?” questioned Sam.
“’Twasn’t so very big—a fellow could put it in his pocket. But it had gold—I mean money—in it, and my dead wife’s jewelry.”
“How much money, Mr. Duff?”
“What business is that of yours?” demanded the miser, suspiciously.
“Why, I think—maybe I can help you get it back,” stammered Sam. He grew red in the face. “To tell the plain truth, I think I know who that fellow was.”
“Who?”
“Tell me what you lost first.”
“Well, if you must know, that box had three hundred dollars in gold in it, besides the jewelry. That my wife got from her folks when they died, and they said it was wuth over a hundred dollars.”
“Is that all?”
“Ain’t that enough? Land sakes! I ain’t no millionaire! That gold was a-going to keep me from the poorhouse.” And Hiram Duff shook his head dolefully. He did not tell the young collegiates that he had an even ten thousand dollars in the banks. He had saved money all his life, denying himself and his wife almost the necessities of life.
“Do you suppose anybody else could have come in and taken the box?” said Songbird.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, did anybody come in after that fellow left?”
“How should I know?—I was down cellar.”
“Did you hear anybody?”
“I heard something. Maybe it was somebody, or maybe it was my sheep. They come up to the house sometimes.”
“I see.”
“But what do you know about this?” demanded Hiram Duff, turning to Sam. “You said you might help me to git the money back.”
“I’ll tell you,” said Sam, and related how his brother had disappeared and how the blow on the head seemed to have affected him.
“That’s it! That’s him! That’s the man!” cried the old miser. “He did it! You catch him and git my money back!” he went on, excitedly.
“I’ll certainly do my best to find him, Mr. Duff,” answered Sam. “And if he really took your box you shall have what you lost back.”
“Is he crazy, do you think?”
“He wouldn’t do such a thing if he was in his right mind.”
“Tom Rover is as honest as the day is long,” declared Songbird. “If he really took your box he didn’t know what he was doing.”
“Well, he certainly did act queer,” agreed Hiram Duff. “But that ain’t here nor there. I want my box back, with all that’s in it, and I’m going to have it. I guess I had better go to town and tell the police about this.”
CHAPTER XIII
THE WESTERN EXPRESS
The old miser was very much excited and began to pace the floor of his cottage.
“Yes, I better tell the police, that’s what I better do,” he muttered.
“There won’t be any necessity to tell the police—if it was really my brother who did it,” said Sam.
“Why not, I’d like to know?” challenged Hiram Duff. “He ain’t no better’n other folks.”
“If he took the box, I and my family will see to it that you are repaid for your loss, Mr. Duff,” answered the youngest Rover.
“Humph! Do you guarantee that?” demanded the old miser, suspiciously.
“Yes.”
“And you can take his word for it, sir,” added Songbird. “The Rovers are well-known and wealthy, and they will do exactly as they promise.
“I’ve heard that name before. Didn’t you have some trouble with the railroad company?” asked Hiram Duff. “Abou
t a busted-up flying machine?”
“Yes,” replied Sam.
“And got the best of that skinflint lawyer, Belright Fogg?”
“We made Mr. Fogg pay for the biplane, yes.”
“I know all about it,” chuckled Hiram Duff. “Served Fogg right. And he lost his job with the railroad company, too.” The old man pursed up his lips. “Well, if you’ll give me your word that you will settle with me I won’t go to the police. But I want every cent that is coming to me, understand that.”
“You’ll get it—if my brother took the box,” answered Sam. “But listen to me. First of all I want to find my brother. I think he ought to be under a doctor’s care.”
“He ought to be in an asylum,” responded Hiram Duff, bluntly. “It’s dangerous to allow sech a feller at large.”
“Maybe. We are going on a hunt for him right now,” answered Sam. “I’ll come back here, or you can come to see me at Brill. And don’t worry, Mr. Duff,—you’ll not lose a cent,” added the youth, earnestly.
Luckily Hiram Duff had heard all about the trouble the Rovers had had with the railroad lawyer, and had at the time also heard that Sam’s family were wealthy and of high standing. This being so, he took matters far more calmly than would otherwise have been the case. But he wanted something in writing and Sam quickly wrote out a statement and signed it.
“Now we must get after my brother,” said the youth. “Although you say you have no idea where he went?”
“No, I ain’t got the least idee.”
“Let us drive on towards Hoopville,” suggested Songbird. “We can make inquiries along the way.”
In a few minutes more the pair were on the way, Hiram Duff gazing after them anxiously.
“Don’t forget to let me hear from you!” he called out.
“Songbird, this is terrible!” murmured Sam, as they drove on. “I wish Dick was here to advise me.”
“He’ll come as quickly as he can, don’t worry about that, Sam. I only hope we catch Tom before he gets too far away.”
About a mile was covered along the road leading to Hoopville, a small village, the single industry of which was the making of barrel hoops. Then they came to another farmhouse, where they saw a boy of fifteen sitting on a horse-block, whittling a stick.
“Hello, there!” called out Sam. “Say, I’m looking for a young fellow that passed here yesterday. Did you see anything of him? Here is his picture.”
“Sure I saw him,” answered the boy, after a glance at the photograph. “I drove him over to Morton’s Junction.”
“Drove him over to Morton’s Junction?” repeated Sam. “When?”
“Yesterday afternoon. But we didn’t git to the Junction till seven o’clock.”
“Where did you go to?”
“What do you want to know for?” asked the boy, curiously.
“He is my brother and I want to find him, just as quickly as I can.”
“Oh! Well, he wanted to catch a train. He just got it, too.”
“What train?”
“The Western Express. He wouldn’t have got it only it was about ten minutes late. He got aboard just as she started out from the depot.”
Sam’s heart sank at this news. Tom on the Western Express! For what place had he been bound?
“Did he say where he was going?” put in Songbird.
“To Chicago, I think. He talked to himself a good deal. Said something about Chicago and St. Paul and Seattle. I asked him if he was on business and he said he was going to pick up nuggets of gold. I guess he was poking fun at me,” went on the boy, sheepishly. “But he paid me two dollars for driving him over,” he added, with satisfaction.
“Did he have much money?” asked Sam. “Tell me all you know. I might as well tell tell you, that was my brother, and he is sick in his head, so that he doesn’t know just what he is doing.”
“Say, I thought he was queer—he had such a look out of his eyes, and talked so much to himself. He only had about ten dollars in bills. But he said he had some gold in his pocket, in a box. He didn’t show it, though. He said he was on Bill Stiger’s trail.”
“Bill Stiger’s trail,” murmured Sam, and his mind went back to the night Tom had gone to see the moving picture drama entitled “Lost in the Ice Fields of Alaska.” Bill Stiger had been the name of the villain in the play—the rascal who had robbed the hero of his golden nuggets.
“He didn’t have no ticket,” went on the boy. “So he could get off the train anywhere.”
“We must hurry to Morton’s Junction and see if we can find out anything more,” said Sam to his college chum. His face showed plainly how greatly he was worried.
The boy told them how to go and they made the best time possible, arriving at the Junction some time after noon. They found the depot master on the platform.
“I remember the fellow you mean,” he said. “He got on the last car. Dunkirt, the conductor, helped him up. But I don’t know where he went to. Maybe Dunkirt could tell you, when he gets back here.”
“When will he be back?”
“He’s off today and he’ll be here on the one-thirty train. You can talk to him when he comes in, if you want to.”
“I’ll do it,” answered Sam.
He and Songbird had an even hour to wait, and the latter suggested that they go to the Junction Hotel for dinner.
“Might as well eat, Sam,” he said, kindly “It won’t help matters any to go hungry.”
“I don’t care much about eating, Songbird,” was the answer. “But I’ll go along and take a bite. I wish I knew just where Tom had gone. I might telegraph ahead for him.”
“Well, let us hope that conductor can tell you something.”
With nothing to do but to wait, the boys took their time over the midday meal, and while doing this they had the team fed. Then they sauntered down to the depot to await the arrival of the man they wanted to interview. Presently the train came in and the depot master pointed out the conductor.
“Excuse me, but are you Mr. Dunkirt?” asked Sam.
“That’s my handle,” was the prompt reply.
“I am looking for the young man who jumped on your train just as it was leaving here yesterday.”
“Ha! I thought somebody might be after that fellow!” exclaimed the conductor, quickly.
In a few words Sam explained as much of the situation as seemed necessary, the conductor listening with interest. He nodded his head several times.
“I thought he was a little bit off in his upper story,” he said. “He talked rather wildly of going far away to get gold nuggets. He paid his fare to Chicago and that’s as far as I carried him.”
“What did he pay with?” asked Sam.
“He gave me a ten-dollar gold piece. He had quite a lot of gold with him.”
“Did he say where he was going from Chicago?”
“Oh, yes, he had it all mapped out. He was going to St. Paul first and then straight west to Seattle. From there he was going to Alaska.”
“Alaska!” cried Sam and Songbird, in a breath.
“That is what he said.”
“What part of Alaska?” asked Sam, faintly.
“He didn’t tell me and I didn’t ask him. I rather thought he was kidding me, he acted so queer-like when he talked.”
After this the conductor told all he could remember about Tom. He said that the youth had left the train at Chicago in a large crowd and that was the last he had seen of the youth.
“I’ll send another telegram to Dick,” said Sam to his chum.
“Why not telephone to Ashton first?” suggested the other. “There may be a telegram for you there.”
“I’ll do it,” said Sam, and got the station master at Ashton on the wire as soon as possible.
“Yes, a telegram came in for you an hour ago,” was the answ
er, over the telephone wire. “I sent it up to Brill.”
“Will you have the operator read it to me?” asked the youth.
“Sure. Hold the wire a minute.”
Another connection was apparently made and Sam heard a different voice.
“Is this Samuel Rover?”
“Yes.”
“Want that message from Richard Rover?”
“If you please.”
“He says he is coming up to Ashton on the train that gets here at eleven-fifteen tonight.”
“Is that all?”
“Yes.”
“Very well. Thank you,” and Sam hung up the receiver.
“What’s the news, Sam?” questioned Songbird, and when told he looked relieved. “Dick will know what to do.”
“I know what I am going to do, Songbird. I am going right back to Brill and get ready to follow Tom.”
“I supposed you’d do that. I’d like to go with you.”
“I know it. But that won’t be necessary—if Dick goes with me.” Sam drew a deep breath. “I—I guess I’d better stop at Hope on the way back and let the girls know how matters stand,” he added, soberly.
“I can go up tomorrow and tell them, Sam.”
“No. I’d rather tell them myself,” answered the youngest Rover. He knew exactly how Nellie and Grace would feel when he broke the news to them.
It was a very sober and thoughtful pair of boys that got in the carriage and started back to Brill by the way of Hope Seminary. Sam was laying his plans how to follow Tom in his wild trip West and Songbird was wondering how he could be of assistance to the Rovers. Several times the would-be poet started to quote some original verse, but each time cut himself short.
Presently they came in sight of Hope, just as the girls were coming from their afternoon classes. They espied Nellie and Grace, and beckoned to them. Both came forward on a run.
The Rover Boys Megapack Page 279