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CHAPTER XXXIV.
BOWMAN'S PANIC

Paul Bowman, who was driving, the landlord having given up the reins to him, checked the horse and hailed Fred in evident surprise.

"Where have you been?" he inquired abruptly.

"I have been to ride," answered Fred, with an appearance of unconcern.

"I thought you were going to call on Sinclair."

"So I was, but after you left I decided to take a walk in another direction. I met John, and engaged him to take me to drive."

"Are you going home now?"

"Yes, I think so. Can you take me to the hotel, John?"

"Yes," answered his companion readily.

"Then we will follow along behind Mr. Bowman."

Of course there could be no private conversation, so John and he spoke on indifferent topics. When they reached the hotel Fred jumped from the buggy.

"Good-by, John," he said. "You will hear from me soon," he added in a significant tone.

Then he joined Bowman, who was wholly unsuspicious of the disaster that had befallen him.

"I should like to go over to Sinclair's," thought Fred, "but I suppose Bowman will expect me to keep him company."

But in this he was agreeably disappointed.

At seven o'clock the landlord drove round, and Bowman sprang into the buggy.

"Sorry to leave you, Fred," he said, "but we are going to Vaudry on a little business. Hope you won't be lonely."

"Never mind me, Mr. Bowman. I think I will go over to see Mr. Sinclair. He will probably expect me. Have you any message?"

Bowman looked significantly at the landlord.

"Tell him I will call to-morrow or next day," he said. "At present I am very busy."

The two drove away, leaving Fred and a stable boy named Jack looking after them.

"He's going to skip to-morrow," said Jack confidentially.

"Who?"

"Mr. Bowman."

"How do you know?" asked Fred in excitement.

"I heard him say so to the boss. He doesn't want you to know it."

"Why not?"

"He is afraid you will tell his partner, the sick man."

Fred whistled.

"That is news," he said. "I suspected it might be so, but didn't know for sure."

"Shall you tell Mr. Sinclair?"

"Yes, I think I ought to do so."

"That's so! He's a nicer man than old Bowman."

Fred, immersed in thought, walked over to the cottage. James Sinclair received him with evident joy.

"I expected you this afternoon," he said. "The hours seemed very long."

"I was employed on very important business," said Fred significantly.

"You don't mean – "

"I mean," said Fred, bending over and whispering in the sick man's ear, "that I have found the bonds."

"Where are they?"

"On the way to New York, by express."

"What a burden off my heart!" ejaculated Sinclair fervently. "Tell me about it," he added, after a pause.

Fred did so.

"Now," he added, "there will be nothing to prevent your coming to New York and taking your old place."

"I think I shall recover now," responded Sinclair. "Your news makes me feel fifty per cent. better."

"I have more news for you."

"What is it?"

"Bowman is planning to leave St. Victor to-morrow, without a word to you. He means to leave you in the lurch."

"He can go now. I shall be glad to part with him – and forever."

"That is his intention, but when he finds the bonds have disappeared, I don't know what he may decide to do."

"When do you mean to start for New York?"

"I would start to-night if I could."

"You can. There is a train which passes through St. Victor at ten o'clock this evening. But, no, on second thought it goes to Ottawa."

"I don't care where it goes. I don't wish to remain in St. Victor any longer than is absolutely necessary. Besides, if Bowman suspects and follows me he will be likely to think I have gone in a different direction."

"I am sorry to have you go, Mr. Fenton."

"We shall meet again soon, I hope in New York."

Fred reached the inn at nine o'clock, left the amount of his bill in an envelope with the boy Jack, and walked over to the station, where he purchased a ticket for Ottawa. While he was in the depot building Bowman and the landlord drove by. Before they had reached the inn the train came up and Fred entered the rear car.

He breathed a sigh of relief as the cars quickened their speed and St.

Victor faded in the distance.

Meanwhile Bowman and the landlord reached the hotel. Jack, the stable-boy, came forward and took charge of the team.

"Here is a letter for you, Mr. Bluff," he said.

"A letter!" repeated the landlord, with a look of wonder. He opened it and uttered a cry of surprise.

"The boy's gone!" he ejaculated.

"What boy?" asked Bowman, not suspecting the truth.

"Young Fenton."

"Gone away! What do you mean?"

"Read that."

He passed the note to Bowman, who read as follows:

DEAR SIR: – I am called away on business. I enclose the amount due you. If it is not right I will communicate with you as soon as I have reached New York. Remember me to Mr. Bowman.

FRED FENTON.

"Called away on business!" repeated Bowman suspiciously. "That is queer. What did the boy say?" he asked of Jack. "When did he first speak of going away?"

"I think he made up his mind sudden, sir."

"Did he say where he was going?"

"He said he was goin' back to New York."

"Received a summons from his employer, I suppose."

"Very likely, sir."

"Do you know if he went to see Mr. Sinclair?"

"Yes, sir. He went fust part of the evenin'."

"Then Sinclair can tell me about it."

"Very likely, sir."

Not daring to take Jack too deeply into his confidence, Fred had told him that he was going to New York, which was true, or would be very shortly.

"If he had waited till to-morrow we might have gone together," thought Bowman, "at least a part of the way. It will be some time before I shall dare to set foot in New York."

Bowman went to bed with a vague feeling of uneasiness for which he could not account. He felt that it would be impossible for him to remain in the dull little village any longer. Should he, or should he not, go to see Sinclair before he went away? On the whole he resolved to secure the bonds first, and then decide.

The next day after breakfast he strolled down to the lake, got out the boat, and rowed rapidly toward the farther shore. There was no time to waste now. He tied the boat to a sapling growing close to the bank, and struck into the woods.

He made his way at once to the tree which he had used as a safe deposit vault, and with perfect confidence thrust in his hand. But the package which his fingers sought for seemed to have slipped out of reach. He continued his search anxiously, with increasing alarm, but in vain.

A terrible fear assailed him. He peered in through the cavity, but neither sight nor touch availed. Gradually the terrible thought was confirmed – the parcel had been stolen! Thirteen thousand five hundred dollars, nearly the entire proceeds of his crime, had vanished – but where?

He staggered to a stump close by, and sitting down, buried his face in his hands. What was he to do? He had but twenty-five dollars left.

"Who can have taken it?" he asked himself with feverish agitation.

He rose and made his way mechanically back to the boat.

An hour later he staggered into the little cottage occupied by his sick partner. His hair was disheveled, his manner wild.

"What is the matter, Bowman?" asked Sinclair.

"We are ruined!" said Bowman in a hollow voice. "The bonds are gone!"

"When did you miss them?" asked Sinclair quickly.

"To-day. They were safe yesterday. Do you think it was the boy?"

"What could he know of the bonds? Did you ever speak to him about them?"

"Of course not. What shall I do?"

"Inquire whether any one has been seen near the place where you hid them. Do your best to recover them."

This advice struck Bowman favorably. He devoted the remainder of the day to the inquiry, but learned nothing. There was no further occasion to remain in St. Victor. He left the inn in the evening, forgetting to pay his reckoning.

CHAPTER XXXV.
FRED'S REWARD

John Wainwright, the wealthy banker, sat in his office looking over the letters that had come by the morning mail. Some of them he turned over to his confidential clerk to answer. Others, more important, he reserved to reply to with his own hand.

"Busy, Wainwright?" asked a gentleman, Arthur Henderson, entering without ceremony.

"I always have something in hand, but I have time enough for an old friend."

"By the way, have you heard anything of the bonds you lost some time since?"

"I know where they are."

"You do?"

"Yes, they are in Canada."

Henderson laughed.

"That means that you will never get them back."

"I don't know. I have sent a messenger to recover them."

"Who is it?"

"My office boy."

Henderson stared.

"I suppose that is a joke."

"By no means."

"What is the age of your office boy?"

"I should judge from his appearance that he is sixteen."

"Do you mean to say that you have intrusted a boy of sixteen with so important a commission?"

"I do."

"Really, Wainwright, I don't like to criticise, but it appears to me that you have taken leave of your senses."

The banker laughed good-humoredly.

"Perhaps I ought not to be surprised at that."

"Then you acknowledge your lack of wisdom?"

"By no means. What I have done I would do again."

"Couldn't you find a more suitable messenger?"

"Not readily."

"It would have been worth while to go yourself, as the amount is considerable."

"That would never have answered. I should be recognized, and excite suspicion."

"Do you really expect that boy to recover the bonds?"

"I think it possible, at any rate."

"Suppose he does, what is to hinder his keeping them himself?"

"His honesty."

"Pardon me, Wainwright, but I have had a pretty extensive experience, and I would be willing to wager ten to one that you will never see your bonds again."

"I never bet, and hold that betting is no argument. But I too have had some experience of men and consider my chance of recovering the stolen property fairly good."

"How long since your messenger started on his expedition?"

"About two weeks."

"Have you heard from him?"

"Yes, once. There are reasons why it is imprudent for him to write too often."

Henderson smiled significantly.

"I dare say he is having a good time at your expense. What was the amount of your loss?"

"About fifteen thousand dollars."

"Since you won't bet, I will make you a proposal. If the boy recovers your bonds and restores them to you I will offer him a place in my own counting-room at twenty dollars a week."

"I don't think in that case I should be willing to lose his services. I would pay him as much as he could get elsewhere."

"There is very little chance of my being called upon to redeem my promise."

At that moment an express messenger entered the office.

"Here is a parcel for you, sir," he said.

It was a small package wrapped in brown paper, carefully tied and sealed.

John Wainwright paid the express charges, receipted for the package, and then eagerly opened it.

It was the same package which Fred had expressed from Hyacinth.

The banker's eyes were full of triumph.

"What do you say to that, my friend?" he asked.

"What is it?"

"The missing bonds. Nothing could have happened more apropos."

"You don't mean to say – "

"Listen. Let me read you this letter from the messenger you thought me foolish in sending to Canada."

Here is a copy of Fred's letter.

JOHN WAINWRIGHT, ESQ.

MY DEAR SIR: I have at length recovered the bonds which were stolen from you, and send them by express herewith. I have not time to go into details, but will only say that I found them in a hollow tree. I secured them in the nick of time, for I have reason to think that to-morrow they would have been removed by Bowman, who has got tired of St. Victor, and will probably leave the neighborhood to-morrow. I do not dare to keep the bonds in my possession, as I may be followed, but consider it safer to express them to you at once. I shall go back to New York by a roundabout way, but shall probably arrive very nearly as soon as the package.

Yours respectfully,

FRED FENTON.

P. S. The money and U. S. bonds have been used, but you will find $13,500 in other securities in this package. They would have been spent too, but the holder found it impossible to negotiate them.

"There, Henderson, what do you think of that?" asked Mr. Wainwright, in a quiet tone of triumph. "I was a fool, was I, to trust this boy?"

"I don't know what to say, but my offer holds good. If you will release the boy I will take him into my employment at twenty dollars a week."

"I will give him as much as he can get elsewhere," repeated the banker.

There was a quick step heard outside, and Fred Fenton entered the office.

"Good morning, Mr. Wainwright," he said. "Did you receive the package?"

"It just reached me, Fred. Shake hands, my boy. You have justified my confidence in you."

"I did my best, sir."

"Tell me all about it. My curiosity is excited."

Fred gave a rapid account of his adventures in search of the missing bonds. It was listened to with equal interest by the banker and his friend.

"Wainwright, introduce me," said Henderson abruptly.

"Fred," said the banker smiling, "let me make you acquainted with my friend, Arthur Henderson. He is a commission merchant. He may have a proposal to make to you."

"Young man, if you will enter my employment I will pay you twenty dollars a week," said merchant.

Fred looked amazed.

"That is a great deal more than I am worth," said.

"Then you accept?"

Fred looked wistfully at Mr. Wainwright.

"I should not like to leave Mr. Wainwright," he said.

"Especially as he has raised your pay to twenty-five dollars a week," said the banker smiling.

"You can't be in earnest, sir?"

"When you get your first week's salary on Saturday, you will see that I am in earnest."

"I see, then, that I must do without you," said the merchant. "Wainwright, I take back all I said. I advise you to keep Fred by all means as long as he will stay with you."

The banker had opened his check book and was writing out a check. He tore it from the book and handed it to Fred. It ran thus:

No. 10,531

PARK NATIONAL BANK.

Pay to the order of FRED FENTON

ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS.

$1000.

JOHN WAINWRIGHT.

"Is this for me?" asked Fred in amazement.

"Yes. I ought perhaps to make it more, for it is less than ten per cent. of the value of the bonds."

"How can I thank you, sir?" ejaculated Fred, feeling uncertain whether he was awake or dreaming. "I feel like a millionaire."

"Have you been home yet, Fred?"

"No, sir; I came here at once."

"Go home, then, and spend the rest of the day with your mother. Do you want to cash the check this morning?"

"No, sir."

"Indorse it, then, and I will hand you the money in bills to-morrow."

Fred, his face radiant with joy, left the office, and going to the nearest station on the Sixth Avenue Elevated Road bought a ticket and rode up town.

There a surprise awaited him.

CHAPTER XXXVI.
A LETTER FROM TOM SLOAN

When Fred presented himself at home, after a fortnight's absence, his mother and little brother were overjoyed.

"It's been awfully lonely since you went away, Fred," said Albert.

"I have felt like Albert," said Mrs. Fenton. "But it was not that that worried me most. I was afraid you might meet with some accident."

"I've come home safe and sound, mother, as you see. But you don't ask me whether I succeeded in my mission."

"I don't know what your mission was."

"No; it was a secret of Mr. Wainwright's, and I was bound to keep it secret. I can tell you now. I was sent to Canada to recover over ten thousand dollars' worth of stolen bonds."

Mrs. Fenton looked amazed.

"A boy like you!" she said.

"I don't wonder you are surprised. I was surprised myself."

"But who had the bonds, and how did you recover them?"

"Two men were in the conspiracy. One of them was sorry for the theft, and ready to help me. The other meant to keep them. He had taken them away from his partner and hidden them in the forest."

"And you found them?"

"Yes; sit down and I will tell you the story."

Fred did so, and when it was finished he added: "How much do you think Mr. Wainwright paid me for my trouble?"

"He ought to pay you handsomely."

"What would you consider paying me handsomely?"

"Fifty dollars," answered his mother.

"He gave me a thousand dollars!"

"A thousand!" ejaculated Mrs. Fenton, incredulous.

"Yes."

"Where's the money?" asked Albert.

"He gave it to me in a check. I shall collect it to-morrow, and invest it in some safe way."

"I can't realize it, Fred," said Mrs. Fenton. "Why, it will make us rich."

"But that isn't all. My salary is raised to twenty-five dollars a week."

"I never heard of such wages being given to a boy like you."

"It was my second offer this morning. A merchant, a friend of Mr. Wainwright, offered me twenty dollars to go into his office."

"That is better than being a train boy, Fred."

"Yes; but I was glad to work on the trains when I had nothing better to do."

Just then the peculiar whistle of the postman was heard.

"Run down-stairs, Albert, and see if there are any letters for us," said Fred.

The little boy returned in a moment with an envelope directed to Fred Fenton, and postmarked Central City, Colorado. He opened it hastily, and exclaimed: "This is from Mr. Sloan, who visited us a few months since."

"Read it, Fred."

The letter was written in rather an illegible hand, and the spelling was rather eccentric, for Mr. Sloan was not a scholar. As corrected it ran thus:

FRIEND FRED – I suppose you haven't forgotten your old friend Tom Sloan. I have often thought of how I enjoyed myself at your home, and wished I could call in and take a cup of tea with you and your mother.

About that land you asked me to see, I've got good news for you. There's a town built around it, and the price has gone up to fancy figures. There's a party here that wants to buy it for five thousand dollars, but I think I can get a little more. If your mother will send me a power of attorney, I will sell it, and send you on the money. I'll do my best for you. No wonder that old skinflint, your uncle, wanted to buy it. He'd have made a big thing out of it. He was a fool not to take it at your own figures.

I hope you are all well, and I shouldn't wonder if I might see you pretty soon. I've been lucky myself, and made a respectable pile. Old Tom Sloan doesn't get left if he can help it.

Well, good-by. Send on the power of attorney by return of mail.

Yours till death,

TOM SLOAN.

"Five thousand dollars!" ejaculated Mrs. Fenton. "I can't believe it."

"You will, mother, when you get the money. There's no time to be lost. I'll go out at once and get the power of attorney, and we'll write at once, telling Mr. Sloan to do whatever he thinks best. Do you agree to that, mother?"

"Yes, Fred. He is a good man and I trust him entirely."

CHAPTER XXXVII.
COUSIN FERGUSON

In a fortnight Fred received from Colorado an order on a New York banker for six thousand five hundred dollars, being the purchase money on the Colorado lands.

He at once carried it to Mr. Wainwright, and invested it in securities recommended by that gentleman.

"I congratulate you heartily, Fred," said the banker. "I didn't know that I was taking into my employ a young man of fortune."

"It has come upon me so suddenly that I can't realize it myself."

"I consider you worthy of your good luck, my boy. You ought to save up money out of your wages."

"I intend to sir, but I am going to give my mother a better home now that I can afford it, and will see that my little brother has a better education than I have had."

"It is not too late to supply the deficiency in your own case. You cannot do better than join the evening classes of the Young Men's Christian Association, and do what you can to improve yourself."

"I will follow your advice, Mr. Wainwright. Now that I am no longer anxious about money matters, I want to qualify myself for a better social position."

Only two days after the receipt of the money from Colorado, another letter, as unexpected as Mr. Sloan's, reached Mrs. Fenton. The substance of it was comprised in the closing paragraph "Send your son round to my house this evening I am prepared to make you a better offer for the Colorado laud. It's of little value, but some day may be worth more than at present. As you are straitened in means I can better afford to wait than you, and I shall feel satisfaction in relieving your necessities."

Fred read this letter attentively. "I hate a hypocrite," he said. "Mr. Ferguson pretends that he wants to help us, while he is scheming to cheat us out of a large sum, relying upon our ignorance of the increased value of the land."

"Shall I write and tell him that we have sold the land?" asked Mrs. Fenton.

"No, I will call and see him this evening, as he requests."

"But it will do no good."

"I want to find out how much he is willing to give. I shan't let him know that the land is sold till he has made an offer."

"Don't say anything to provoke Cousin Ferguson, Fred."

"Don't worry, mother. I will be perfectly respectful."

About half-past seven Fred rang the bell at the door of the house on East Thirty-Ninth Street. Evidently he was expected, for, on his inquiring for Mr. Ferguson, he was shown at once into the presence of his rich relation.

"Good evening, Frederick," said Mr. Ferguson, With unusual graciousness. "How is your mother?"

"Very well, thank you, sir."

"I hope you are getting along comfortably."

"Yes, sir; we have no right to complain."

"That is well," said Mr. Ferguson condescendingly. "I presume the boy is making five dollars a week or some such matter," he soliloquized. "That is very well for a boy like him."

"I made you an offer for your father's land in Colorado a few months ago," he went on carelessly.

"Yes, sir."

"You thought my offer too small."

"Yes, sir. Twenty-five dollars would be of very little value to us."

"There I disagree with you. Twenty-five dollars to a family situated as yours is, is no trifle."

A faint smile flickered over Fred's face. He wondered what Mr. Ferguson would say if he knew precisely how they were situated.

"Still," resumed the merchant, "you did right to refuse. I am inclined to think the land is a little more valuable than I supposed."

Fred was rather surprised. Was Cousin Ferguson going to act a liberal part, and offer anything like a fair price for the land? He waited curiously to hear what he would say next.

"Yes," continued Mr. Ferguson magnanimously, "I admit that I offered you too little for your land."

"So I thought at the time, sir," Fred said quietly.

"And I am now prepared to rectify my mistake. You may tell your mother that I will give her a hundred dollars for it."

"A hundred dollars?"

"Yes; that is probably more than it is worth at present, but I can afford to wait until it increases in value."

Mr. Ferguson sat back in his armchair and fixed his eyes on Fred with the air of one who has made a most generous offer.

"Did your mother authorize you to make a bargain?" he inquired.

"No, sir."

"She wished you to report to her, I suppose. This offer will hold good for twenty-four hours. You can come around to-morrow evening, and the matter can be settled at once. It may be well for your mother to come round also, as her signature will be required to the bill of sale."

"I am sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Ferguson, but I don't think we will sell."

"Young man," said Ferguson severely, "if you advise your mother to reject this offer, you will take upon yourself a great responsibility."

"Mr. Ferguson," rejoined Fred, fixing his eyes on the merchant, "do you advise my mother, as a friend, to accept this offer?"

"Of course, of course. It is the best thing she can do."

"I have no right to doubt your sincerity, but I think the land is worth more than you offer."

"What can you know about it?" demanded Ferguson impatiently.

"A gentleman who had traveled in Colorado called on us a while ago. He seems to think the land is quite valuable."

"Stuff and nonsense! The man was humbugging you."

"He was a miner," continued Fred placidly. "He promised to look up the matter for us."

"You were very rash to trust a stranger. The best thing you can do is to disregard any advice he may have given you, and accept my offer."

"There is one difficulty in the way," said Fred.

"What is that?"

"We have sold the land!"