Cast Upon the Breakers by Jr. Horatio Alger (i love reading books TXT) 📕

“Yes; you are the boy clerk at the Miners’ Rest.”

“You both put up there about two weeks since,” said Rodney, examining closely the faces of the two men.

“Right you are, kid!”

“What can you possibly want of me?”

“Don’t be too curious. You will know in good time.”

Rodney remembered that the two men had remained at the hotel for a day and night. They spent the day in wandering around Oreville.

He had supposed when they came that they were in search of employment, but they had not applied for work and only seemed actuated by curiosity. What could be their object in stopping him now he could not understand.

It would have been natural to suppose they wanted money, but they had not asked for any as yet. He had about fifty dollars in his pocketbook and he would gladly have given them this if it would have insured his release. But not a word had been said about money.

They kept on their journey. Montana is a mountainous State, and they were now in the hilly regions. They kept on for perhaps half an hour, gradually getting upon higher ground, until they reached a precipitous hill composed largely of rock.

Here the two men stopped as if they had reached their journey’s end.

One of them advanced to the side of the hill and unlocked a thick wooden door which at first had failed to attract Rodney’s attention. The door swung open, revealing a dark passage, cut partly through stone and partly through earth. Inside on the floor was a bell of good size.

One of the men lifted the bell and rang it loudly.

“What does that mean?” thought Rodney, who felt more curious than apprehensive.

He soon learned.

A curious looking negro, stunted in growth, for he was no taller than a boy of ten, came out from the interior and stood at the entrance of the cave, if such it was. His face was large and hideous, there was a hump on his back, and his legs were not a match, one being shorter than the other, so that as he walked, his motion was a curious one. He bent a scrutinizing glance on Rodney.

“Well, Caesar, is dinner ready?” asked one of the men.

“No, massa, not yet.”

“Let it be ready then as soon as possible. But first lead the way. We are coming in.”

He started ahead, leading the horse, for the entrance was high enough to admit the passage of the animal.

“Push on!” said the other, signing to Rodney to precede him.

Rodney did so, knowing remonstrance to be useless. His curiosity was excited. He wondered how long the passage was and whither it led.

The way was dark, but here and there in niches was a kerosene lamp that faintly relieved the otherwise intense blackness.

“I have read about such places,” thought Rodney, “but I never expected to get into one. The wonder is, that they should bring me here. I can’t understand their object.”

Rodney followed his guide for perhaps two hundred and fifty feet when they emerged into a large chamber of irregular shape, lighted by four large lamps set on a square wooden table. There were two rude cots in one corner, and it was here apparently that his guides made their home.

There was a large cooking stove in one part of the room, and an appetizing odor showed that Caesar had the dinner under way.

Rodney looked about him in curiosity. He could not decide whether the cave was natural or artificial. Probably it was a natural cave which had been enlarged by the hand of man.

“Now hurry up the dinner, Caesar,” said one of the guides. “We are all hungry.”

“Yes, massa,” responded the obedient black.

Rodney felt hungry also, and hoped that he would have a share of the dinner. Later he trusted to find out the object of his new acquaintances in kidnaping him.

Dinner was soon ready. It was simple, but Rodney thoroughly enjoyed it.

During the meal silence prevailed. After it his new acquaintances produced pipes and began to smoke. They offered Rodney a cigarette, but he declined it.

“I don’t smoke,” he said.

“Are you a Sunday school kid?” asked one in a sneering tone.

“Well, perhaps so.”

“How long have you lived at Oreville?”

“About four months.”

“Who is the head of the settlement there?”

“Jefferson Pettigrew.”

“He is the moneyed man, is he?”

“Yes.”

“Is he a friend of yours?”

“He is my best friend,” answered Rodney warmly.

“He thinks a good deal of you, then?”

“I think he does.”

“Where have you been—on a journey?”

“Yes, to the town of Babcock.”

“Did he send you?”

“Yes.”

“What interest has he there?”

“He is chief owner of a mine there.”

“Humph! I suppose you would like to know why we brought you here.”

“I would very much.”

“We propose to hold you for ransom.”

“But why should you? I am only a poor boy.”

“You are the friend of Jefferson Pettigrew. He is a rich man. If he wants you back he must pay a round sum.”

It was all out now! These men were emulating a class of outlaws to be found in large numbers in Italy and Sicily, and were trading upon human sympathy and levying a tax upon human friendship.