Robert Coverdale's Struggle; Or, on the Wave of Success
Page 17
CHAPTER XVII
JOHN TRAFTON'S NEW PLAN
With the new but unlawful purpose which he had begun to entertain JohnTrafton resolved to find out all he could about the hermit, and herightly judged that Robert could give him more information than anybodyelse.
He decided to go home early and question his nephew cautiously. If hecould find out something about the hermit's habits and peculiarities itwould help him in his plan, for there was no beating about the bushnow.
He acknowledged to himself that he meant to enter the cave, and if hecould only find the gold, which he was persuaded the occupant owned inlarge quantities, to enrich himself at his expense.
His imagination was dazzled at the prospect. All his life he had beenworking for a bare living. Probably, in his most prosperous year, notover three hundred dollars in money had come into his hands as therecompense of his toil.
Probably there are few people who do not, at some time, indulge indreams of sudden wealth. This time had come to John Trafton, and,unfortunately, the temptation which came with it was so powerful as toconfuse his notions of right and wrong and almost to persuade him thatthere was nothing very much out of the way in robbing the recluse of hishoards.
"It don't do him any good," argued the fisherman, "while it would makeme comfortable for life. If I had ten thousand dollars, or even five,I'd go away from here and live like a gentleman. My wife should berigged out from top to toe, and we'd jest settle down and take thingseasy."
John Trafton was not very strict in his principles, and his consciencedid not trouble him much. Even if it had, the dazzling picture which hisfancy painted of an easy and luxurious future would probably havecarried the day.
It was only eight o'clock in the evening when the fisherman lifted thelatch of the outer door and entered the cabin.
His wife and Robert looked up in surprise, for it was about two hoursearlier than he generally made his appearance.
Another surprise--his gait and general appearance showed that he wasquite sober. This was gratifying, even if it was the result of hiscredit being exhausted.
During the preceding week it may be mentioned that he had worked moresteadily than usual, having made several trips in his boat, and had thusbeen enabled to pay something on his score at the tavern.
John Trafton sat down before the fire.
His wife was mending stockings by the light of a candle which burned onthe table at her side and Robert was absorbed by the fascinating pagesof Scott's "Rob Roy."
A side glance showed the fisherman how his nephew was employed, and,rightly judging where the book came from, he seized upon it as likely tolead to the questions he wanted to ask.
"What book have you got there, Bob?" he inquired.
"It Is a story by Sir Walter Scott, uncle."
"Never heard of him. Does he live in Boston?" asked Trafton.
"No, he was a Scotchman."
"Some Scotchmen are pretty smart, I've heard tell."
"Scott was a wonderful genius," said Robert, glowing with enthusiasm.
"I dare say he was," said the fisherman placidly. "Where did you get thebook?"
"I borrowed it of the hermit."
This was the name which Robert used, for even now he had no knowledge ofhis mysterious friend's name.
"Has he got many books?"
"A whole bookcase full."
"He must be a rich man," suggested John Trafton with apparentcarelessness.
"I think he is," said Robert, wondering a little at his uncle's newborninterest in his new acquaintance, but suspecting nothing of his designin asking the question.
"It stands to reason he must be," continued the fisherman. "He doesn'tdo anything for a living."
"No."
"Then, of course, he's got enough to live on."
"Besides, all his furniture is very nice," cried Robert, falling intothe trap. "He seems not to mind money and talks as if he was always usedto it."
"I s'pose he pays you for running of errands for him," said Trafton.
"Yes," answered Robert reluctantly, for he feared that his uncle wouldask to have the money transferred to him. But the next words of Traftonreassured him.
"That's all right," he said. "You can spend the money as you please. Idon't ask you for any of it."
"Thank you, uncle," said Robert warmly.
Mrs. Trafton regarded her husband in surprise. He was appearing in acharacter new to her. What could his sudden unselfishness mean?
"I only asked because I didn't want you to work for nothing, Bob," saidhis uncle, not wishing it to appear that he had any other motive, as hisplan must, of course, be kept secret from all.
"I wouldn't mind working for nothing, uncle. It would be small pay forhis saving my life," Robert said with perfect sincerity.
"He wouldn't want you to do it--a rich man like him," returned thefisherman complacently. "It's the only money he has to spend, exceptwhat he pays for victuals. I'm glad you've fallen in with him. You mightas well get the benefit of his money as anybody."
"Uncle seems to think I only think of money," Robert said to himselfwith some annoyance. "I begin to like the hermit. He is very kind tome."
He did not give utterance to this thought, rightly deeming that it wouldnot be expedient, but suffered his uncle to think as he might.
"Does the hermit always stay at home in the evening?" asked thefisherman after a pause.
"Sometimes he goes out in his boat late at night and rows about half thenight. I suppose he gets tired of being alone or else can't sleep."
John Trafton nodded with an expression of satisfaction.
This would suit his plans exactly. If he could only enter the cave inone of these absences, he would find everything easy and mightaccomplish his purpose without running any risk.
It was clear to him now that the gold of which the trader spoke wasgiven to his nephew by the hermit. He was justified in thinking so, asthere was no other conceivable way in which Robert could have obtainedit. He coveted the ten-dollar gold piece, but he was playing for ahigher stake and could afford to let that go for the present at least.
The fisherman lit his pipe and smoked thoughtfully.
His wife was not partial to the odor of strong tobacco, but tobacco, shereflected, was much to be preferred to drink, and if her husband couldbe beguiled from the use of the latter by his pipe then she would gladlyendure it.
John Trafton smoked about ten minutes in silence and then rose from hischair.
"I guess I'll go out on the beach and have my smoke there," he said ashe took his hat from the peg on which he had hung it on entering thecabin.
"You're not going back to the tavern, John?" said his wife in alarm.
"No, I've quit the tavern for to-night. I'll just go out on the beachand have my smoke there. I won't be gone very long."
When Trafton had descended from the cliff to the beach he took thedirection of the hermit's cave.
Of course he had been in that direction a good many times, but thenthere was nothing on his mind and he had not taken particular notice ofthe entrance or its surroundings.
It was a calm, pleasant moonlight night and objects were visible for aconsiderable distance. Trafton walked on till he stood at the foot ofthe cliff containing the cave. There was the rude ladder leading to theentrance. It was short. It could be scaled in a few seconds, and the boxor chest of gold, in whose existence Trafton had a thorough belief,could be found. But caution must be used. Possibly the hermit might beat home, and if he were, he would, of course, be awake at that hour.Besides, the cave was dark and he had no light.
"When I come I will bring matches and a candle," thought the fisherman."I can't find the gold unless I can see my way. What a fool this hermitmust be to stay in such a place when with his money he could livehandsomely in the city! But I don't find fault with him for that. It'sso much the better for me."
He turned his eyes toward the sea, and by the light of the moon he sawthe hermit's slender skiff approaching.
The old man was plainly visible,with his long gray hair floating over his shoulders as he bent to theoars.
"He mustn't see me," muttered the fisherman. "I had better go home."