Robert Coverdale's Struggle Part 25

"Besides, all his furniture is very nice," cried Robert, falling into the trap. "He seems not to mind money and talks as if he was always used to 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 would ask to have the money transferred to him. But the next words of Trafton rea.s.sured him.

"That's all right," he said. "You can spend the money as you please. I don't ask you for any of it."

"Thank you, uncle," said Robert warmly.

Mrs. Trafton regarded her husband in surprise. He was appearing in a character new to her. What could his sudden unselfishness mean?

"I only asked because I didn't want you to work for nothing, Bob," said his uncle, not wis.h.i.+ng it to appear that he had any other motive, as his plan must, of course, be kept secret from all.

"I wouldn't mind working for nothing, uncle. It would be small pay for his saving my life," Robert said with perfect sincerity.

"He wouldn't want you to do it--a rich man like him," returned the fisherman complacently. "It's the only money he has to spend, except what he pays for victuals. I'm glad you've fallen in with him. You might as well get the benefit of his money as anybody."

"Uncle seems to think I only think of money," Robert said to himself with some annoyance. "I begin to like the hermit. He is very kind to me."

He did not give utterance to this thought, rightly deeming that it would not be expedient, but suffered his uncle to think as he might.

"Does the hermit always stay at home in the evening?" asked the fisherman after a pause.

"Sometimes he goes out in his boat late at night and rows about half the night. 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 in one of these absences, he would find everything easy and might accomplish his purpose without running any risk.

It was clear to him now that the gold of which the trader spoke was given to his nephew by the hermit. He was justified in thinking so, as there was no other conceivable way in which Robert could have obtained it. He coveted the ten-dollar gold piece, but he was playing for a higher 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, she reflected, was much to be preferred to drink, and if her husband could be beguiled from the use of the latter by his pipe then she would gladly endure it.

John Trafton smoked about ten minutes in silence and then rose from his chair.

"I guess I'll go out on the beach and have my smoke there," he said as he took his hat from the peg on which he had hung it on entering the cabin.

"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 beach and have my smoke there. I won't be gone very long."

When Trafton had descended from the cliff to the beach he took the direction of the hermit's cave.

Of course he had been in that direction a good many times, but then there was nothing on his mind and he had not taken particular notice of the entrance or its surroundings.

It was a calm, pleasant moonlight night and objects were visible for a considerable distance. Trafton walked on till he stood at the foot of the cliff containing the cave. There was the rude ladder leading to the entrance. It was short. It could be scaled in a few seconds, and the box or chest of gold, in whose existence Trafton had a thorough belief, could be found. But caution must be used. Possibly the hermit might be at 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 hermit must be to stay in such a place when with his money he could live handsomely in the city! But I don't find fault with him for that. It's so much the better for me."

He turned his eyes toward the sea, and by the light of the moon he saw the hermit's slender skiff approaching. The old man was plainly visible, with his long gray hair floating over his shoulders as he bent to the oars.

"He mustn't see me," muttered the fisherman. "I had better go home."

CHAPTER XVIII

A DESPERATE CONFLICT

About eight o'clock the next evening John Trafton sat in the barroom at the tavern enjoying himself in the manner characteristic of the place.

All day long his mind had been dwelling upon the plan which he had so recently formed, and he felt a feverish desire to carry it out.

"One bold stroke," he said to himself, "and I am a made man. No more hard work for me. I will live like a gentleman."

It was rather a strange idea the fisherman had--that he could live like a gentleman on the proceeds of a burglary--but there are many who, like him, consider that nothing is needed but money to make a gentleman.

That very night John Trafton decided to make the attempt, if circ.u.mstances seemed favorable. He shrank from it as the time approached and felt that he needed some artificial courage. For this reason he visited the tavern and patronized the bar more liberally than usual.

Trafton had prudently resolved to keep his design entirely secret and not to drop even a hint calculated to throw suspicion upon him after the event.

But there is an old proverb that when the wine is in the wit is out, and, though the fisherman indulged in whisky rather than wine, the saying will apply just as well to the one as to the other.

Among the company present in the barroom was one man who had been in the village a day or two, but was a stranger to all present.

He was a short, powerfully made man, roughly dressed, with a low brow and quick, furtive eyes that had a look of suspicion in them.

He had naturally found his way to the tavern bar and proved himself a liberal patron of the establishment. Therefore the landlord--though he did not fancy the looks of his new guest--treated him with politeness.

Somehow the conversation on that particular evening drifted to the probable wealth of city people who made their homes at Cook's Harbor during the summer. It was afterward remembered that the roughly dressed stranger had introduced the subject in a casual way.

"It's my opinion," said Ben Barton, "that Mr. Irving is our richest man."

"What makes you think so, Ben?" asked the landlord.

"The way he lives partly. He's got everything that money can buy.

Besides, I heard his boy say that his father's watch cost him five hundred dollars. Now, it stands to reason that a man don't wear a watch like that unless he's got the money to back it."

"There's something in that," the landlord admitted.

The stranger seemed interested.

"Does this Irving stay down here himself?" he asked.