Joe the Hotel Boy

CONCLUSION.

“Let us go away!” whispered Joe, and moved out of the gathering without delay.

“It was sure rough on ’em,” was Bill Badger’s comment.

“Oh, it was awful!” cried our hero.  “I—­I didn’t expect this, did you?”

“Nobody did.  It must have come sudden like on to ’em.”

“It makes me sick at heart to think of it.  I—­I hope it wasn’t our fault.”

“Not at all.  If they hadn’t broke away they’d be alive this minute.  They’ll never bother you or your friend again, Joe.”

Our hero felt weak at the knees and was glad enough to go back to the train, where he sank into his seat.  He scarcely said another word until the wreck was cleared away and they were once more on their journey.

“I reckon you are glad you got the satchel before this happened,” remarked Bill Badger, when they were preparing to retire.

“Yes.  But I—­I wish they had gotten away.  It’s awful to think they are dead—­and with such bad doings to their credit.”

Joe did not sleep very well and he was up early in the morning and out on the rear platform, drinking in the fresh air.  He felt as if he had passed through some fearful nightmare.

“How do you like this climate?” asked Bill Badger, as he came out.  “Ain’t it just glorious?”

“It certainly is,” said Joe, and he remembered what Ned had told him.  “I don’t wonder some folks like it better than the East.”

“Oh, the East can’t compare to it,” answered Bill Badger.  “Why I was once down to New York and Boston, and the crowd and confusion and smoke and smells made me sick for a week!  Give me the pure mountain air every time!”

The day proved a pleasant one and when he did not remember the tragedy that had occurred our hero enjoyed the ride and the wild scenery.

At last Golden Pass was reached, late at night, and they got off in a crowd of people.

“Joe!”

“Mr. Vane!” was the answering cry, and soon the two were shaking hands.  “Let me introduce a new friend, Mr. Bill Badger.”

“Glad to know you.”

“Mr. Badger helped me get back your satchel,” went on our hero.

“Then I am deeply indebted to him.”

“In that case, just drop the mister from my name,” drawled the young westerner.  “Joe tells me you have a mine up here.  My father has one, too—­the Mary Jennie, next to the Royal Flush.”

“Oh, yes, I know the mine, and I have met your father,” said Maurice Vane.

They walked to a hotel, and there Joe and his young western friend told their stories, to which Maurice Vane listened with keen interest.  The gentleman was shocked to learn of the sudden death of Caven and Malone.

“It was certainly a sad ending for them,” said he.  “But, as Badger says, they had nobody but themselves to blame for it.”

Maurice Vane was extremely glad to get back his mining shares and thanked Bill Badger warmly for what he had done.

“Don’t you mention it,” said the young westerner.  “I’m going to hunt up dad now.  When you get time, call and see us.”

“I’m coming up soon, to find out about that Bill Bodley,” said Joe.

As late as it was Joe listened to what Maurice Vane had to tell.

“Now that Caven and Malone are gone I do not anticipate further trouble at the mine,” said the gentleman.  “I am in practical possession of all the shares, and shall have a clear title to the whole property inside of a few weeks.”

When Joe told him what Bill Badger had had to say about a certain man called Bill Bodley he was much interested.

“Yes, you must find out about this man at once,” said he.  “I will help you, as soon as certain matters are settled.”

The next morning proved a busy one and Joe got no time to call upon Bill Badger’s father.  He visited the mine and looked over it with interest.

During the middle of the afternoon he went back to town on an errand for Mr. Vane.  He was passing a cabin on the outskirts when he heard loud words and a struggle.

“Let me go, you ruffian!” cried a weak voice.  “Leave that money alone!”

“You shut up, old man!” was the answer.  “The money is all right.”

“You are trying to rob me!”

Then there was another struggle, and suddenly a door burst open and a man leaped into the roadway.  At sight of him Joe came to a halt.  The fellow was Bill Butts, the man who had tried to swindle Josiah Bean.

“Stop him!” came from the cabin.  “He has my gold!”

“Stop!” cried Joe, and ran up to Butts.  The next moment man and boy tripped and fell, but, luckily, our hero was on top.

“Let me go!” growled the man.

“So we meet again, Butts!” cried Joe.

The man stared in amazement and then began to struggle.  Seeing this, Joe doubled up his fists and gave him a blow in the nose and in the right eye, which caused him to roar with pain.

“That’s right!” came from the doorway of the cabin.  “Give it to him!  Make him give me my gold!”

“Give up the gold,” ordered Joe.

“There it is!” growled Bill Butts, and threw a buckskin bag towards the cabin.  The man from within caught it up and stowed it away in his pocket.

“Shall I call a policeman?” asked Joe.

“I don’t know,” said the man from the cabin.  He wore a troubled face and had white hair and a white beard.  “It may be—­Wha—­where did you come from?” he gasped.

“Where did I come from?” asked Joe.

“Yes! yes!  Answer me quickly!  You are—­you must be a ghost!  I saw you in my dreams last week!”

“I don’t understand you,” said Joe, and arose slowly to his feet, at which Bill Butts did likewise and began to retreat.  “I never met you before.”

“No?  It’s queer.”  The man brushed his hand over his forehead.  “Yes, I must be dreaming.  But I am glad I got my gold back.”

“So am I, but the rascal has run away.”

“Never mind, let him go.”

“What makes you think you’ve seen me before?” questioned Joe, and his breath came thick and fast.

“I—­er—­I don’t know.  You mustn’t mind me—­I have queer spells at times.  You see, I had a whole lot of trouble once, and when I get to thinking about it—­” The man did not finish.

“May I ask your name?” asked Joe, and his voice trembled in spite of his efforts at self-control.

“Sure you can.  It’s Bill Bodley.”

“William A. Bodley?”

“Yes.  But how do you happen to know my full name?”

“Did you once own a farm in Millville, Iowa?”

“I had a farm in Iowa, yes.  It was Millville Center in those days.”

Joe drew closer and looked at the man with care and emotion.

“Did you ever have a brother named Hiram Bodley?”

“I did—­but he has been dead for years.”

“No, Hiram Bodley died only a short time ago,” answered Joe.  “I used to live with him.  My name is Joe Bodley.  He told me I was his nephew.”

“You his nephew!  Hiram Bodley’s nephew!  We didn’t have any brothers or sisters, and he was a bachelor!”

“I know he was a bachelor.  But I don’t know—­” Joe paused.

“He told me Joe died, at least I got a letter from somebody to that effect.  But I was near crazy just then, and I can’t remember exactly how it was.  I lost my wife and two children and then I guess I about lost my mind for a spell.  I sold out, and the next thing I knew I was roving around the mountains and in rags.  Then I took to mining, and now I’ve got a mine of my own, up yonder in the mountains.  Come in and talk this over.”

Joe entered the cabin and sat down, and William Bodley plied him with questions, all of which he answered to the best of his ability.

“There was a blue tin box I had,” said he, presently, “that contained some documents that were mine.”

“A blue tin box!” ejaculated Joe.  “Hiram Bodley had it and it got lost.  I found it a long time afterwards and some parts of the documents were destroyed.  I have the rest in my suit case at the hotel.”

“Can I see those papers?”

“Certainly.”

“Perhaps you are my son, Joe?”

“Perhaps I am, sir.”

They went to the hotel, and the documents were produced.  Then William Bodley brought out some letters he possessed.  Man and boy went over everything with care.

“You must be my son!” cried William Bodley.  “Thank heaven you are found!” And they shook hands warmly.

He told Joe to move over to the cabin, and our hero did so.  It was a neat and clean place and soon Joe felt at home.  Then he heard his father’s tale in detail—­an odd and wonderful story—­of great trials and hardship.

“There will always be something of a mystery about this,” said William Bodley.  “But, no matter, so long as I have you with me.”

“Uncle Hiram was a queer stick,” answered Joe.  “I suppose if he was alive he could explain many things.”  And in this Joe was correct.

Let us add a few words more and then draw our tale to a close.

When Joe told Maurice Vane how he had found a father the gentlemen was much astonished.  So were the Badgers, but all were glad matters had ended so well.

It was found that William Bodley’s mine was a valuable one.  The ore in it was about equal to the ore in the mine owned by Maurice Vane, and this was likewise equal to that in the mine run by Mr. Badger.

After some conversation on the subject it was agreed by all the interested parties to form a new company, embracing all the mines.  Of the shares of this new concern, one-third went to Maurice Vane, one-third to the Badgers, and one-third to William Bodley and Joe.  The necessary machinery was duly installed, and to-day the new company is making money fast.

On the day after his trouble with Mr. Bodley, Bill Butts disappeared from town.  But a week later he was arrested in Denver and sent to jail for two years for swindling a ranchman.

During the following summer Joe received a visit from his old friend Ned, and the two boys had a delightful time together.  In the meantime Joe spent half of his time at the mine and half over his books, for he was determined to get a good education.

For a long time William Bodley had been in feeble health, but with the coming of Joe on the scene he began to mend rapidly, and was soon as hale and hearty as anybody.  He was an expert miner, and was made general superintendent for the new company.

To-day Joe has a good education and is rich, but come what may, it is not likely that he will forget those days when he was known as “Joe the Hotel Boy.”