Do and Dare: A Brave Boy's Fight for Fortune

Melville in peril.

Col.  Warner and his companion enjoyed the effect of their presence upon their intended victim, and smiled in a manner that boded little good to Melville, as they dismounted from their steeds and advanced to the door of the cabin.

“How are you, Melville?” said Warner, ironically.  “I see you have not forgotten me.”

“No, I have not forgotten you,” answered Melville, regarding his visitor uneasily.

“This is my friend, Mr. Brown.  Perhaps you remember him?”

“I do remember him, and the circumstances under which I last saw him,” replied Melville, rather imprudently.

Brown frowned, but he did not speak.  He generally left his companion to do the talking.

“Being in the neighborhood, we thought we’d call upon you,” continued Col.  Warner.

“Walk in, gentlemen, if you see fit,” said Melville.  “I suppose it would be only polite to say that I am glad to see you, but I have some regard for truth, and cannot say it.”

“I admire your candor, Mr. Melville.  Walk in, Brown.  Ha! upon my word, you have a nice home here.  Didn’t expect to see anything of the kind in this wilderness.  Books and pictures!  Really, now, Brown, I am quite tempted to ask our friend, Melville, to entertain us for a few days.”

“I don’t think it would suit you,” said Melville, dryly.  “You are probably more fond of exciting adventure than of books.”

“Does the boy live with you?” asked Warner, dropping his bantering tone, and looking about his searchingly.

“Yes, he is still with me.”

“I don’t see him.”

“Because he has gone to Deer Creek on business.”

When Melville saw the rapid glance of satisfaction interchanged by the two visitors he realized that he had made an imprudent admission.  He suspected that their design was to rob him, and he had voluntarily assured them that he was alone, and that they could proceed without interruption.

“Sorry not to see him,” said Warner.  “I’d like to renew our pleasant acquaintance.”

Melville was about to reply that Herbert would be back directly, when it occurred to him that this would be a fresh piece of imprudence.  It would doubtless lead them to proceed at once to the object of their visit, while if he could only keep them till his boy companion did actually return, they would at least be two to two.  Even then they would be by no means equally matched, but something might occur to help them.

“I suppose Herbert will return by evening,” he replied.  “You can see him if you remain till then.”

Another expression of satisfaction appeared upon the faces of his two visitors, but for this he was prepared.

“Sorry we can’t stay till then,” said Warner, “but business of importance will limit our stay.  Eh, Brown?”

“I don’t see the use of delaying at all!” growled Brown, who was not as partial as his companion to the feline amusement of playing with his intended victim.  With him, on the contrary, it was a word, and a blow, and sometimes the blow came first.

“Come to business!” continued Brown, impatiently, addressing his associate.

“That is my purpose, friend Brown.”

“Mr. Melville, it is not solely the pleasure of seeing you that has led my friend and myself to call this afternoon.”

Melville nodded.

“So I supposed,” he said.

“There is a little unfinished business between us, as you will remember.  I owe you a return for the manner in which you saw fit to throw suspicion upon me some time since, when we were traveling together.”

“I shall be very glad to have you convince me that I did you an injustice,” said Melville.  “I was led to believe that you and your friend now present were leagued together to rob us of our money and valuables.  If it was not so—­”

“You were not very far from right, Mr. Melville.  Still it was not polite to express your suspicions so rudely.  Besides, you were instrumental in defeating our plan.”

“I can’t express any regret for that, Col.  Warner, or Jerry Lane, as I suppose that is your real name.”

“I am Jerry Lane!” said Warner, proudly.  “I may as well confess it, since it is well that you should know with whom you have to deal.  When I say that I am Jerry Lane, you will understand that I mean business.”

“I do,” answered Melville, quietly.

“You know me by reputation?” said the outlaw, with a curious pride in his unenviable notoriety.

“I do.”

“What do men say of me?”

“That you are at the head of a gang of reckless assassins and outlaws, and that you have been implicated in scores of robberies and atrocities.”

This was not so satisfactory.

“Young man,” said Lane—­to drop his false name—­“I advise you to be careful how you talk.  It may be the worse for you.  Now, to come to business, how much money have you in the house?”

“Why do you ask, and by what right?”

“We propose to take it.  Now answer my question.”

“Gentlemen, you will be very poorly paid for the trouble you have taken in visiting me.  I have very little money.”

“Of course, you say so.  We want an answer.”

“As well as I can remember I have between forty and fifty dollars in my pocketbook.”

Brown uttered an oath under his breath, and Lane looked uneasy.

“That’s a lie!” said Brown, speaking first.  “We were told you had five thousand dollars here.”

“Your informant was badly mistaken, then.  I am not very wise, perhaps, in worldly matters, but I certainly am not such a fool as to keep so large a sum of money in a lonely cabin like this.”

“Perhaps not so much as that,” returned Lane.  “I don’t pretend to say how much you have.  That is for you to tell us.”

George Melville drew from his pocket a wallet, and passed it to the outlaw.

“Count the money for yourself, if you wish,” he said.  “You can verify my statement.”

Lane opened the wallet with avidity, and drew out the contents.  It was apparent at the first glance that the sum it contained was small.  It was counted, however, and proved to amount to forty-seven dollars and a few silver coins.

The two robbers looked at each other in dismay.  Was it possible that this was all?  If so, they would certainly be very poorly paid for their trouble.

“Do you expect us to believe, Mr. Melville,” said Jerry Lane, sternly, “that this is all the money you have?”

“In this cabin—­yes.”

“We are not so easily fooled.  It is probably all you carry about with you; but you have more concealed somewhere about the premises.  It will be best for you to produce at once, unless you are ready to pass in your checks.”

“That means,” said Melville, growing pale in spite of himself, for he knew from report the desperate character of his guests, “that means, I suppose, that you will kill me unless I satisfy your rapacity.”

“It does,” said Lane, curtly.  “Now for your answer!”

“Gentlemen, I cannot accomplish impossibilities.  It is as I say.  The money in your hands is all that I have by me.”

“Do you mean to deny that you are rich?” asked Lane.

“No, I do not deny it.  That is not the point in question.  You ask me to produce all the money I have with me.  I have done so.”

“Do you believe this, Brown?” asked the captain, turning to his subordinate.

“No, I don’t.”

“It is strictly true.”

“Then,” said Brown, “you deserve to die for having no more money for us.”

“True,” chimed in Lane.  “Once more, will you produce your secret hoard?”

“I have none.”

“Then you must be dealt with in the usual way.  Brown, have you a rope?”

“Yes.”

“Is there a convenient tree near by.”

“We’ll find one.”

The two seized Melville, and, despite his resistance, dragged him violently from the cabin, and adjusted a rope about his neck.  The young man was pale, and gave himself up for lost.