CHAPTER XV.

GUS HEARS THE NEWS.

For long hours Joe Lufkin lay there upon the lounge, with his left hand thrust deep into his pocket, so that he could feel the bills, and all the while he was wondering how he was going to spend his money. He wanted a boat more than anything else, and he wished more than once that he had stuck out for a hundred dollars. Nobody could buy a boat worth anything for fifty dollars; and suppose he paid the cash for it, the inquiry would naturally rise, where did he get so much money?

"I declare it seems as though I have got to keep my money, now that I have got it," said Joe, getting so nervous that he could scarcely lie still. "I never thought of the way I was going to spend it, and here I am no better off than I was before. But I've got fifty dollars, and that's more than every man can say."

Finally the cat-birds and the robins began to sing, and that admonished him that morning was coming; and in a few minutes more Hank's door opened and the boy came out. He was surprised to find his father lying there on the lounge with his clothes on, as if he hadn't been to bed at all.

"Why, father, when did you get up?" he asked.

"I've been this way all night," said Joe. "I didn't shut my eyes in sleep last night."

"Were you sick?"

"No; I have been worrying about myself. Here you are making all the money that comes into the house and I ain't making a thing. I get that way sometimes," said Joe, drawing on his imagination, "and I don't sleep for three or four nights."

"But, father, if you would only try to get work we could get along a great deal better," said Hank.

"I can't find any work to suit me. This wound in my side bothers me awful."

Hank didn't say any more. When he got to talking about the wound in his side, which he wouldn't have known he had there if he did not look at the scar now and then, it shut off all argument. He went into the kitchen and started the fire, after which he came out with his hat on.

"I guess I'll go now," said he. "Bob always has a cup of coffee waiting for me. Good-bye."

"I reckon all the fishing you do with Bob Nellis to-day won't hurt you much," said Joe, with a chuckle. "If the J. W. Smart is as swift as they say she is, she's a hundred miles at sea. I will go and hide this money while I am about it, for if anything should get out on me I'd be in a fix."

He sat up on the lounge, yawned and stretched himself, and went out behind the house. He found a hoe there, where it had remained in all sorts of weather—ever since, in fact, he had got through hoeing a half-row of peas—and with it in his hand he vanished behind some currant-bushes. Joe was a worker if he set about it, and in five minutes he had a hole dug and his roll of bills covered up. When his wife called him to breakfast he was busy in pulling the weeds from some string-beans.

"I have been working at that just to see if I could stand it in the hay-field," said Joe, placing his hand on his side and sinking down on the lounge, "but I find that I can't. Halloo, Hank! What brought you back to the house all on a sudden? Your face is pale, too."

"Father," said Hank, in a trembling voice, "where did you say you saw Samson last night?"

"Out in front of his saloon," replied Joe. "He and Barlow were out there the whole evening. Why do you ask that question?"

"They have been up to something, and I wish I could prove it on them," said Hank, seating himself in the nearest chair and resting his elbows on his knees. "Bob and Ben Watson have not been home since last night."

"Well, what of that? They have gone off a-fishing, likely."

"But their beds haven't been slept in. The doors of the house are all open and the lamp burning, just as it was when Bob left there."

"Why, what do you think has become of them?" asked Mrs. Lufkin, who stood by holding a dish of fried potatoes in her hand.

"They have been shipped off to sea; that's what's the matter with them. The J. W. Smart isn't in her berth, either. She's gone."

Mrs. Lufkin was overcome with astonishment, while Joe drew his chair up to the table and sat down to his breakfast as if nothing had happened.

"You mark my words: They have gone off somewhere, and of course there wasn't anybody to leave word with where they had gone. They'll be around all right in the course of the day."

"Where are you going?" asked Mrs. Lufkin, as Hank arose to his feet.

"I am going down to see Mr. Gibbons about it," said Hank.

"Better sit up and have some breakfast first," said his father.

"No, sir. It is too serious a matter to waste time eating breakfast. If Mr. Gibbons thinks they have gone, all right. I am going to see him the first thing I do."

"Why, Gibbons don't know any more about it than you," said his father. "They went off—"

But Hank was already on his way toward the gate. Having made up his mind that the lawyer was the one to see, he lost no time in getting there; but when, after half an hour's rapid running, he rang the bell and Mr. Gibbons came to the door, he saw by the blank look on the gentleman's face that he did not comprehend the matter any better than he did.

"Why, I can't imagine what sent them away," said Mr. Gibbons. "I did not know that they intended to go anywhere."

"But, Mr. Gibbons, they have been shipped on board some vessel that they never signed articles for," said Hank, earnestly. "They would never go off in this way without letting me know it, for I agreed to go fishing with Bob to-day."

Mr. Gibbons started as if he had been shot. He got his hat and started toward Ben Watson's house (all the while he moved so fast that Hank had to trot to keep pace with him), and during the walk he inquired closely in regard to what Barlow and Samson had been doing the night before.

"They did not have any hand in doing it, Mr. Gibbons," said Hank. "Father saw them when he came by the saloon about ten o'clock, and Samson said how nice it would be if he could capture _him_ and send him off to sea. Barlow and Samson were around their saloon all the evening."

Being thus baffled at the very outset, Mr. Gibbons did not come to any conclusion regarding the mysterious disappearance of his two friends. When he reached the house with Hank he went all over it, but not the smallest thing did he find in the shape of a clue. Remember, the two men had been captured out of doors, and consequently there was not the first thing in the house disturbed. He put out the lamp and went down to the beach, to where the boats lay. Not a thing had been disturbed there, either; but, looking in the direction that Hank pointed, he saw that the J. W. Smart had left her moorings. There was one thing about it, he told himself: "Ben and Bob were aboard that vessel; but who was to blame for putting them there?"

"This beats me!" said he, in an undertone. "I wish I knew who is at fault in this."

"So do I," said Hank, his eyes filling with tears. "Bob wanted to let every fellow alone, and they wouldn't let him. They had to interfere with him and send him off to sea. There's no knowing whether he will come back or not."

"Let us hope that he will," said the lawyer, fervently. "Now, the next thing is something else."

"What are you going to do?"

"I am going to lock the house up and take the key with me," said Mr. Gibbons, "and then I am going around to the livery-stable to inquire if he has been there. If his horses are still in the stable, I shall get out a warrant for Barlow's and Samson's arrest. I am going to make them tell, under oath, where they were last night."

Hank did not say a word to Mr. Gibbons about it, but he determined to keep near him until he found out what had become of Bob Nellis. He accompanied him toward the livery-stable, and was not much surprised to hear the proprietor say that he hadn't seen Bob since he brought his ponies there to be taken care of. There was something on Hank's face that made the livery-stable keeper inquire:

"What's wrong about Bob? Has he gone off?"

"I should say he has," replied Mr. Gibbons. "He has gone off, and nobody seems to know where he is. His house was open and the lamp was lighted, just as it would be if Bob was going to come back to it in the dark."

"He's aboard the Smart; that's where he is," said Hank. "And he did not sign articles, neither."

"The Smart?" echoed the proprietor. "I'll bet there's just where he is, for yesterday the captain came to me and asked me, in a joking sort of way, if I could find a man to help him out. He had a man or two less than he wanted, and he would be short-handed even then."

"I guess Barlow and Samson can tell all about it," said the lawyer. "At any rate, I am going to try them."

"Are you going to arrest them? I think that will be a good plan. I will go with you. Those pestiferous men have been a heap of mischief in this town, and I should be glad to see them swept out of it."

The three left the livery-stable, and in due course reached 'Squire Sprague's office. There were half a dozen persons in the room, one of whom was a constable. Mr. Gibbons stated his grievance, to which all present listened with interest, and finally asked for a warrant for Barlow and Samson.

"I reckon you've got them this time," said 'Squire Sprague, during which he drew a sheet of paper toward him. "I ought to have arrested them when I went in to stop a fight, but my boy thought that a lawyer had better be consulted first. We will have them up here in short order."

The warrant was speedily made out, and the constable took it and disappeared down the stairs. While he was gone, Mr. Gibbons explained that he was arresting them merely on supposition; that Bob and Ben Watson were gone, and that Barlow's conduct was such that they naturally connected him with it. He wanted him to state positively where he had been the night before. While he was talking about it the constable and his prisoners came up; and this was not all of them, either. All the hangers-on about his saloon accompanied them—some as witnesses, and some merely to look on. Barlow was mad, there was no two ways about that, while his barkeeper was as indifferent as you please.

"Look a-here, 'squire," said Barlow, in a gruff voice, "I'd like to know what I have been arrested for now."

"Take off your hat and sit down, and in a few minutes you will find out," said the 'squire. "Do you want a lawyer?"

"No, I don't. I am innocent of any wrong, and I am able to defend myself. I ain't had a fuss in my house since you was there."

After a few preliminaries had been gone through Mr. Gibbons took up the questioning, and informed him that Bob and Ben Watson had been missing ever since the night before, and Barlow was supposed to know where they were. He had threatened to kidnap Ben Watson and send him aboard ship—

"I didn't, neither," interrupted Barlow. "Ben was asleep and dreamed it all."

—"Send him aboard a ship," continued the lawyer, paying no heed to the breaking of his speech; and they wanted to know right where he had kept himself when Bob and Watson were captured. Where was he the night before? Barlow listened attentively to all the lawyer had to say, as if the news was quite new to him, and more than one in the courtroom believed that he had heard it for the first time. When Mr. Gibbons asked him this question he said:

"I don't know where the boy is any more than the man in the moon. I was around my house the whole evening except about an hour, when I went into the back room to take a short nap; and my man Samson knows it. Just 'cause ole Ben Watson fell asleep and dreamed that we were going to kidnap him and send him off to sea, you suspect me when anything turns up."

"You are strongly blamed for everything that has happened in regard to men going off to sea," said Mr. Gibbons.

"But that ain't the kind of proof you want here," said Barlow. "You want to know I did it. You can't put your thumb on a man that I have kidnapped and sent off to sea."

That was just the trouble with Mr. Gibbons. He could not prove anything, although he was like hundreds of others in the village—he suspected Barlow had a hand in most of it.

"You ask any of these men around here," continued Barlow. "They were all around my saloon last night."

The lawyer tried by every means in his power to get Barlow to confess where he was during the hour he was absent from his saloon, but all he could gain was that he was in the back room and fast asleep. He hadn't any idea what had become of Bob Nellis. As he paused a moment in his questioning, Mr. Sprague arose from his seat and moved into a remote corner of the room, and Mr. Gibbons followed him. The two gentlemen engaged in an earnest whisper, and finally the lawyer said:

"I haven't got to that case yet. He is easily frightened, I know, but I want to get the dead wood on him, sure."

Mr. Sprague was speaking of Captain Nellis, and of the scenes Barlow had witnessed on the stormy morning, which he wouldn't tell to anybody. Mr. Sprague wanted Mr. Gibbons to take that up and question Barlow, but the lawyer was not ready to do it yet. He didn't expect Barlow would tell the truth (he knew that he had told him a pack of lies during this examination); and although Mr. Layton was the man who was easily frightened, he was anxious to confront him with the strongest testimony.

"Well, Barlow," said the lawyer, coming back to his seat, "you can go. I have got done with you."

"All right, sir," returned Barlow, putting on his hat. "I knew you would let me go when you knew the facts of the case. I don't like the reputation I have got of kidnapping men and sending them off to sea. It will take me years to get out of it."

"It will probably stay with you as long as you remain in this village," said 'Squire Sprague. "And understand, Barlow, this isn't the last of it. You may be summoned to appear before me again at any time."

"Very good, sir. Whenever you want me you know where to find me."

The lawyer had not taken more than an hour with his examination, but the court-room was crowded, not only with Barlow's friends, but with those who were anxious to know what had become of Bob Nellis and Ben Watson. Barlow crowded his way through them without receiving a smile from anybody, and in a few minutes gained the street.

"I hope that man, ole Ben Watson, is where he will get his pay for dreaming that thing about me," said Barlow. "I may be summoned to appear again at any time, may I? Well, he can't hear any different story from me than what he has heard already. If I knew where Bob Nellis was I'd tell him in a minute."

Among those who heard about Bob Nellis's and Ben Watson's disappearance was one who was utterly confounded, and did not know whether he stood on his head or his heels when he listened to it. It was Gus Layton, who had come down to the post-office for his mail, his father having taken a good deal to staying around the house of late. It was told to him by one who was as mean as himself—a boy who could not keep a secret if he tried. He was to the village what Simpson was to the academy.

"Ah! Gus, good-morning to you," said he. "You have been back some time, but I haven't seen you before. Clifton is in an uproar this morning, isn't it?"

"I noticed that something was up," replied Gus, "and everyone looks at me as though I had some hand in it. What's up?"

"You didn't have a hand in it, did you?"

"In what?"

"In sending Bob and Ben off to sea."

"Why, I don't understand you."

"Didn't you know that those two men had gone to sea? Well, they have. They went last night, and never said good-night to anybody. They have had Barlow down to the 'squire's, examining him, but I'll bet they didn't get at the truth of the story. You are all right now, ain't you?"

Gus was thunderstruck at first, but as he listened to the story—some meagre outlines were all the boy could tell him—he felt like yelling and dancing a hornpipe; but knowing that that wouldn't do, he held his peace and gazed down at the ground very solemnly. He said he was sorry, for Bob was not cut out for a sailor, expressed himself as being glad that his father and mother were gone, so that they couldn't hear of it, and then got his mail and turned his steps homeward.

"And this will be my home, now, forever," said Gus, hardly able to control himself. "Bob and Ben are gone, and there will be no one to interfere with me. I guess I had better go and get those ponies the first thing I do. He probably left them at the livery-stable, and they won't want to take care of them, now that there is no one to pay for them. Hoop-pe! I am in luck."

He kept up a slow and dignified tread, and walked with his head down as long as he remained on the street, for fear that somebody was watching him; but the moment the gate closed behind him, and the bushes shut him off from all pedestrians on the road, he broke into a run, made his way up the steps and into the hall. Giving his hat a fling at the hat-rack, he went into the library, the door of which he closed and fastened.

"Why, Augustus, have you taken leave of your senses?" asked his father.

"I have got the best news you have had for many a day," whispered Gus, drawing a chair up beside his father. "No more hard work for either of us. Bob Nellis and old Ben Watson were kidnapped last night and sent to sea."

Mr. Layton, who had been in the act of unfolding a paper, dropped it into his lap and turned paler than usual. He gazed at Gus, but had nothing to say.

"They have had Barlow before the 'squire's court, but didn't make anything out of him," added Gus.

"Augustus, are you crazy?" said his father.

"I never was more sane than I am at this minute," replied Gus. "I feel as though I should fly. Here's just the way it happened."

Gus went on and told the story just as he heard it from the boy in the post-office. There wasn't much to tell, of course, but it was enough to make Mr. Layton see that his troubles were ended for the time being. He even smiled, and that was the first effort Gus had seen him make in that line since he came home.

"I am very sorry to hear that about Bob," said Mr. Layton, with a long-drawn sigh.

"So am I," said Gus. "They will treat him dreadful. But Barlow is true-blue," he added to himself. "If he had told what happened there in his house before Mr. Sprague came in he would have got father and me in a dreadful fix." Then he said aloud: "But, father, there are those ponies. There will be nobody to pay for their board, and I might as well have them as anybody else."

"Where do you suppose he left them?"

"At the livery-stable."

"Well, let us wait a little while. We mustn't be too quick to take advantage of Bob's absence. Now, Gus, suppose you leave me alone for a short time. I am sure I can't get over this. You're sure they are gone?"

"As certain as I can be," replied Gus, earnestly. "The whole village is in an uproar, and I couldn't make out what it was until this boy told me. I declare, that Bob Nellis has got more friends than I ever had. I'd like to see how many he'll get on shipboard."

"Augustus, I am surprised at you," said his father.

"Well, father, if you had been in my place, and taken all the abuse I have, you would say the same thing," replied Gus. "Of course he will have more enemies than he's had here, and there won't be anybody to toady to him because he is the son of the wealthiest captain in Clifton. Well, if you want to be alone I'll go away for a little while. I know what you want," he added, in an undertone. "You want to be alone, so that you can gloat over Bob's disappearance. Now, I will go down and see about those ponies the first thing I do."

Gus found his hat on the hall floor, put it on and struck up a lively whistle as he bent his steps toward the gate; but as soon as the gate closed behind him and he began to meet the pedestrians on the street he cut short his whistle and walked along with his gaze fastened on the ground. It seemed as if everybody he met looked at him with a sidelong glance, as if to say that they knew he was in some way responsible for Bob's disappearance. Probably his guilty conscience had something to do with it. After a few minutes he reached the stable, and he knew by the looks of the men that the news had got around there also. They were all angry about something, he could see that plainly enough.

"Halloo, Gus!" exclaimed the proprietor as he came in. "You are clear of your cousin now, at any rate."

"So I have heard," said Gus. "He has gone off to sea and never said a word about it. Do you know where he is?"

"Do I? I guess you had better go aboard the J. W. Smart, and you will find him there."

It was plain that Gus did not want to talk to the livery-stable keeper too much. It was evident that he had something back of it.

"Did Bob bring some horses here yesterday for you to take care of?" he asked, going into his business at once.

"He did," replied the proprietor.

"Well, now, there isn't anybody to pay for their keeping—"

"Oh, yes, there is. Bob paid for them for a whole month."

"A whole month! Then he must have known that he was going away."

"No, I don't reckon he did. Did you want to take the ponies and take care of them? You will have to see Mr. Gibbons about that. He is the man who stands closer to Bob than anybody else. Besides, Bob will be back some day, and I want to turn his horses over to him in just as good condition as when they were received."

"Then I had better get an order for them."

"Exactly. That's the way for you to do."

"It beats the world, but you can't throw a stone in any direction without hitting one of Bob's friends," said Gus, as he turned and left the stable. "Everybody is friendly to him. Mighty clear of my going to Gibbons for that order. The ponies can stay there until they die of old age before I try to get them out. But he says Bob was going to come back some day. That bothers me worse than anything else."

Gus walked briskly away, as if he were going to the lawyer's office, but when he had turned three or four corners and got out of sight of the stable he bent his steps toward home.