CHAPTER XXV.

SAM ASKS FOR HIS PAY.

“We did our very best to save him, but he’s gone, and my father is a millionaire.”

This was the burden of Arthur Howard’s thoughts, as he wandered restlessly about the grove, with his hands in his pockets, and his eyes fixed on the ground. The bank of the river was deserted by all save himself.

The herdsmen were gathered in little groups about the ranch, conversing in hushed tones, and now and then there was an ominous growl among them that boded no good to somebody, and threatening eyes and scowling faces were turned toward the window of the office.

The superintendent and Mr. Evans stood off by themselves, occasionally exchanging a word or two, but generally remaining silent and thoughtful. Uncle Bob sat alone in the office, thinking sometimes of his lost nephew, but more frequently of the bright and dazzling future which had so suddenly and unexpectedly opened before him. Like Arthur, he was entirely unnoticed, the men about him having no sympathy for him. Their thoughts were with Bob and his companion.

“The old fellow seems to take it very much to heart,” said Mr. Jacobs. “But it’s my opinion it is all put on for the occasion.”

“That seems to be the opinion of the herdsmen, too, if one may judge by their looks and actions,” answered Mr. Evans. “If they had the least excuse for it, they would put the dogs on him and his son and drive them out of the valley.”

“I know their temper better than you do, and I am not far from right when I say that they would serve them worse than that,” said the superintendent. “If the men thought that Arthur and his father were in any way mixed up with this morning’s work, a regiment of soldiers could not save them.”

“I would give the world, if I owned it, to know whether or not they suspect anything,” thought Arthur, who now and then stopped behind a tree or a clump of bushes to take an anxious survey of the groups about the ranch. “Why don’t they go off about their work, and let me go to my room? They needn’t blame me for anything that happened, for I didn’t suggest it, and I had no hand in carrying it out. Sam did it out of a desire to be revenged on Bob for telling Mr. Jacobs that he could not have employment on the ranch. But, great Scott! what a sight that was!” said Arthur, covering his eyes with his hands. “I don’t think I shall ever forget it.”

And he never did. The pale, despairing face which the helpless Bob had turned toward the shore, just before his boat took its final plunge, haunted him day and night as long as he lived.

Just then Arthur was startled by a rustling in the thicket close by his side (he was so timid now, that every little thing frightened him), and turned quickly, to find Sam at his side.

The latter was as serene and smiling as usual, and did not look at all like a man who had been guilty of a crime for which his life might at any time pay the forfeit.

Arthur was glad to see him on some accounts, and on others he wasn’t. As he could not bear to be alone with his accusing conscience, he wanted somebody to talk to, but he would rather it had been somebody besides Sam.

It would have been a great relief to him if the herdsman had saddled his horse and left the valley, never to return; but something told him that Sam did not intend to do anything of the kind. He was more familiar in his manner than he was the day before, and not quite so civil.

“Well, what do you think of it?” said he, at the same time backing up against a tree, so that he could not be seen by the men about the ranch. “You’ve got your cousin’s fortune, and I have had my revenge.”

“I wish you hadn’t done it,” was all Arthur could say, in reply.

“That’s a pretty way for you to talk, now, when it is too late—isn’t it?” said Sam, in disgust. “Yesterday, you were eager for it. I saw it very plainly, and that was the reason I proposed it.”

“But I didn’t suppose you would do it.”

“That was because you didn’t know me. I never fool about such things. You were in dead earnest, and I knew it, and acted accordingly.”

“Do you suppose that the men suspect anything?”

“If they did, they would make short work of us,” assured the herdsman with a grim smile. “We wouldn’t be here to see another sunrise, I bet you.”

Arthur winced at this, and he was greatly alarmed, too.

Sam’s use of the personal pronoun seemed to indicate that he was not willing to shoulder all the responsibility himself. According to his way of thinking, Arthur was as deep in the mud as he was, and Sam did not mean to let him forget it, either.

“Everything is in our favor,” continued the herdsman. “I have heard Bob’s father tell him more than once that he didn’t look for anything but to see him lost in the canyon some day, and there are others who have heard him say the same thing. So, why should they suspect that we had anything to do with it?”

“I don’t know, I am sure. I asked the question because the men up there,”—here Arthur nodded his head toward the ranch—“seem to be angry about something.”

“Probably they are; for, as I told you yesterday, they don’t like you or your father. They know that you will come into possession of this property now, and they don’t want to have it so.”

“I don’t see how they are going to help it.”

“I don’t either; but they can make this a hot country for you, if they set about it. Now, then, to business! I have come for my pay.”

“For your pay!” echoed Arthur.

“That’s what I said. You don’t suppose that I am going to put you into possession of a property worth millions of dollars, and take the risk of a lynching for nothing, do you? What kind of a hair-pin do you think I am, anyway?”

Arthur was almost overwhelmed with amazement and terror. He had never dreamed of this.

“I don’t owe you anything,” he managed to say at last. “I told you that I would use my influence with my father to have you employed on the ranch; and so I will, just as soon as Mr. Evans goes away and I can find an opportunity to speak with him in private; but, beyond that, I can do nothing for you.”

“It ain’t enough, pilgrim!” replied Sam, in quiet, but decided tones. “Must have more.”

“But I say I don’t owe you anything.”

“I reckon I could make you change your mind in just two minutes, if I should set about it,” said Sam, looking at Arthur in a way that made him shiver all over.

“How much do you want?”

“Well, five thousand dollars will do to start on!”

“Five thousand dollars!” gasped Arthur, who thought he would surely have fallen to the ground, if he had not placed his hand against the nearest tree to steady himself. “Why, I haven’t got five thousand cents to my name.”

“No, I suppose not,” replied Sam, indifferently. “Clerks, who sport such dry goods as you had on your back when you first came here, don’t generally have any loose change laying around. But your father’s got it. He must have twenty or thirty thousand dollars in that safe of his.”

“But he wouldn’t give any of it to me,” said Arthur, who was every moment growing more astonished and alarmed.

“Oh, I guess he would, if he knew all the circumstances,” answered the herdsman, significantly.

“But I don’t want him to know all the circumstances,” protested Arthur, quickly. “And what excuse can I make to him for demanding so large a sum of money?”

“That is a matter in which I am not at all interested. I don’t care how you get it, so long as you get it; and I fancy you will make up your mind to do it after you’ve had time to think the matter over.”

“No, I won’t,” said Arthur, his fears giving away to anger. “You had no right to ask it of me, and I shall make no effort to get it. I shouldn’t succeed if I did. You proposed this thing yourself, and did the work alone and unaided, and I—”

“Well, why don’t you go on?” inquired Sam, when the other paused and looked at him. “See here, my friend,” he added, shaking his finger at Arthur, while his eyes flashed threateningly, “you have had your say, and now I am going to have mine. I want that money, and I am going to have it, too. You hear me? If you won’t get it for me, I will go straight to your father, and tell him the whole story. I think he would rather give me the money than lose all Bob’s millions—don’t you?”

“Oh, don’t do that!” implored Arthur, whose anger was all gone now. “I’ll ask him for it the first chance I get.”

“But if he wouldn’t—if he doesn’t fork out on demand, I will see that the boys get wind of the whole affair, and what do you suppose would be the result? They are just in the right humor for business now, and if I should leave a little note where one of them could find it, you and your father would be—”

Here Sam stopped, and looked up at the branches over his head. It needed no words to explain what he meant.

“Don’t! don’t!” cried Arthur, who was trembling in every limb. “I will ask for the money before I go to sleep to-night—honor bright, I will.”

“I knew you would change your mind after you had thought the matter over,” said Sam, with a meaning smile. “Now, how soon may I expect to get the five thousand?”

“Just as soon as I can induce my father to give it to me,” promised Arthur.

“Well, say to-morrow, then. I will meet you here in the grove right away after breakfast. I don’t want a job at herding sheep, now, and I don’t want to hang around any longer than I can help; so don’t waste any time.”

“Are you going away?” asked Arthur, eagerly.

“You bet! I don’t think my constitution can stand this climate.”

“And will you promise that you’ll never come back and make any more demands upon me?”

“Not much! I’ve struck a bonanza, and I’m going to work it as long as the lead holds out. I know what you are thinking of, young man; but you’ll find that I’m nobody’s fool. Now, remember, I shall be on hand to-morrow morning, and I want to find you here with that money.”

Sam disappeared, and Arthur resumed his wanderings about the grove. He was frightened almost out of his senses, and wished from the bottom of his heart that he had never seen or heard of his companion in guilt. He even went further than that, and wished that his uncle had given his property into the keeping of somebody else, and that he and his father were back in Bolton, where they came from. What in the world could he say that would induce his cousin’s guardian to give him the five thousand dollars that Sam demanded as hush-money? He knew very well that he couldn’t get it; and even if he did, what good would it do him?

There was evil coming upon him; he was sure of it. And this money would only postpone it for a little while. It would not avert it, for Sam had said very plainly that he was not going to be satisfied with the amount he had named—that he intended to make demands as often as he felt like it.

Arthur grew almost wild when he recalled the man’s words. He wrung his hands, and even quickened his steps to a run, as if he hoped to leave his haunting fears behind him.

“There is only one thing I can do,” said he to himself, after he had bestowed as much thought upon the situation as the perturbed state of his mind would permit. “I must get away from here. Father must give me money enough to take me back to Bolton. I say _must_ do it, or I shall help myself to what I need. There goes Mr. Evans, and father is probably alone in the office. If he is, I will settle this matter with him before I am an hour older.”

So saying, Arthur wiped the big drops of perspiration from his face, put on as bold a front as he could, and started toward the ranch. A few of the herdsmen had dispersed to their work, but those who remained scowled at him so savagely as he passed that Arthur made all haste to get into the hall out of their sight.