A Cousin's Conspiracy; Or A Boy's Struggle for an Inheritance

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  A COUSIN'S CONSPIRACY

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  "Saving the Indian boy from drowning." (Page 102)]

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  A COUSIN'S CONSPIRACY

  OR

  A BOY'S STRUGGLE FOR AN INHERITANCE

  BYHORATIO ALGER, Jr.

  Author of"Herbert Carter's Legacy," "Young Salesman,""Paul the Peddler," "Phil the Fiddler"

  Made in U. S. A.

  M. A. DONOHUE & COMPANYCHICAGO :: NEW YORK

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  A COUSIN'S CONSPIRACY

  CHAPTER I

  IN A LONELY CABIN

  On the edge of a prairie, in western Iowa, thirty years ago, stood acabin, covering quite a little ground, but only one story high. It washumble enough, but not more so than the early homes of some who havebecome great.

  The furniture was limited to articles of prime necessity. There was astove, a table, three chairs, a row of shelves containing a few articlesof crockery and tinware, and a bed in the far corner of the room, on whichrested a man with ragged gray beard and hair, a face long and thin, andcoal-black eyes.

  It was evident he was sick unto death. His parchment-colored skin waswrinkled; from time to time he coughed so violently as to rack his slightframe, and his hand, thin and wrinkled, as it rested on the quilt thatcovered him, shook as with palsy.

  It was hard to tell how old the man was. He looked over seventy, but therewere indications that he had aged prematurely.

  There was one other person in the room whose appearance contrastedstrongly with that of the old man--a boy of sixteen, with brown hair,ruddy cheeks, hazel eyes, an attractive yet firm and resolute face, and anappearance of manliness and self-reliance. He was well dressed, and wouldhave passed muster upon the streets of a city.

  "How do you feel, Uncle Peter?" he asked as he stood by the bedside.

  "I shall never feel better, Ernest," said the old man in a hollow voice.

  "Don't say that, uncle," said Ernest in a tone of concern.

  There seemed little to connect him in his strong, attractive boyhood withthe frail old man, but they had lived together for five years, and habitwas powerful.

  "Yes, Ernest, I shall never rise from this bed."

  "Isn't there anything I can get for you, uncle?"

  "Is there--is there anything left in the bottle?" asked Peter wistfully.

  Ernest walked to the shelf that held the dishes, and took from a corner alarge black bottle. It seemed light, and might be empty. He turned thecontents into a glass, but there was only a tablespoonful of whisky.

  "It is almost all gone, Uncle Peter; will you have this much?"

  "Yes," answered the old man tremulously.

  Ernest lifted the invalid into a sitting posture, and put the glass to hismouth.

  He drained it, and gave a sigh of satisfaction.

  "It is good," he said briefly.

  "I wish there were more."

  "It goes to the right spot. It puts strength into me."

  "Shall I go to the village and buy more?"

  "I--I don't know----"

  "I can get back very soon."

  "Very well; go, like a good boy."

  "I shall have to trouble you for some money, Uncle Peter."

  "Go to the trunk. You will find some."

  There was a small hair trunk in another corner. Ernest knew that this wasmeant, and he lifted the lid.

  There was a small wooden box at the left-hand side. Opening this, Ernestsaw three five-dollar gold pieces.

  "There are but three gold pieces, uncle," he announced, looking toward thebed.

  "Take one of them, Ernest."

  "I wonder if that is all the money he has left?" thought Ernest.

  He rose and went to the door.

  "I won't be gone long, uncle," he said. He followed a path which led fromthe door in an easterly direction to the village. It was over a mile away,and consisted of a few scattering houses, a blacksmith's shop and astore.

  It was to the store that Ernest bent his steps. It was a one-storystructure, as were most of the buildings in the village. There was a signover the door which read:

  JOE MARKS, Groceries and Family Supplies.

  Joe stood behind the counter; there were two other men in the store, onetall, gaunt, of the average Western type, with a broad-brimmed soft felthat on his head and the costume of a hunter; he looked rough, but honestand reliable, that was more than could be said of the other. He may bestbe described as a tramp, a man who looked averse to labor of any kind, aman without a settled business or home, who cared less for food thandrink, and whose mottled face indicated frequent potations of whisky.

  Ernest looked at this man as he entered. He didn't remember to have methim before, nor was there anything to attract him in his appearance.

  "How are you, Ernest?" said Joe Marks cordially. "How's Uncle Peter?"

  "He's pretty bad, Joe. He thinks he's going to die."

  "Not so bad as that, surely?"

  "Yes, I guess he's right. He's very weak."

  "Well, he's a good age. How old is he?"

  "I don't know. He never told me."

  "He's well on to seventy, I'm thinking. But what can I do for you?"

  "You may fill this bottle; Uncle Peter is weak, he thinks it will put newlife in him."

  "So it will, Ernest; there's nothing like good whisky to make an old manstrong, or a young man, for that matter."

  It is easy to see that Joe did not believe in total abstinence.

  "I don't drink myself!" said Ernest, replying to the last part of Joe'sremark.

  "There's nothing like whisky," remarked the tramp in a hoarse voice.

  "You've drunk your share, I'm thinking," said Luke Robbins, the tallhunter.

  "Not yet," returned the tramp. "I haven't had my share yet. There's lotsof people that has drunk more'n me."

  "Why haven't you drunk your share? You hadn't no objections, I reckon?"

  "I hadn't the money," said the tramp sadly. "I've never had much money. Iain't lucky."

  "If you had more money, you might not be living now. You'd have drunkyourself to death."

  "If I ever do commit suicide, that's the way I'd like to die," said thetramp.

  Joe filled the bottle from a keg behind the counter and handed it toErnest. The aroma of the whisky was diffused about the store, and thetramp sniffed it eagerly. It stimulated his desire to indulge his cravingfor drink. As Ernest, with the bottle in his hand, prepared to leave, thetramp addressed him.

  "Say, young feller, ain't you goin' to shout?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "Ain't you goin' to treat me and this gentleman?" indicating LukeRobbins.

  "No," answered Ernest shortly. "I don't buy it as drink, but asmedicine."

  "I need medicine," urged the tramp, with a smile.

  "I don't," said the hunter. "Don't you bother about us, my boy. If we wantwhisky we can buy it ourselves."

  "I can't," whined the tramp. "If I had as much money as you"--for he hadnoticed that Ernest had changed a gold piece--"I'd be happy, but I'm outof luck."

  Ernest paid no attention to his words, but left the store and struck thepath homeward.

  "What's that boy?" asked the tramp.

  "It's Ernest Ray."

  "W
here'd he get that gold?"

  "He lives with his uncle, a mile from the village."

  "Is his uncle rich?"

  "Folks think so. They call him a miser."

  "Is he goin' to die?"

  "That's what the boy says."

  "And the boy'll get all his money?"

  "It's likely."

  "I'd like to be his guardian."

  Joe and Luke Robbins laughed.

  "You'd make a pretty guardian," said Luke.

  CHAPTER II

  UNCLE PETER'S REVELATION

  Ernest went direct to his home, for he knew his uncle would be waiting forhim.

  The old man's eyes were closed, but he opened them when Ernest entered.

  "Was I gone long?" asked the boy.

  "I don't know. I think I fell asleep."

  "Shall I give you some of the drink?"

  "Yes."

  He drank a small amount, and it seemed to brighten him up. "You lookbetter, Uncle Peter. You may live some time."

  Peter shook his head.

  "No, boy," he replied; "my time has come to die. I know it. I would liketo live for your sake. You will miss me when I am gone, Ernest?"

  "Yes, uncle, I shall miss you very much."

  The old man seemed gratified. Ernest was the only one he cared for in allthe world.

  "I don't care so much about dying, but I am anxious for you. I wish I hadmoney to leave you, Ernest, but I haven't much."

  "I am young and strong. I can get along."

  "I hope so. You will go away from here?"

  "Yes, uncle. I don't think I shall care to stay here after you are gone."

  "You will need money to take you away."

  "There is a little more in the trunk."

  "But only a little. It is not quite all I have. I have a hundred dollarsin gold laid away for you."

  Ernest looked surprised.

  "I must tell you where it is while I still have life. Do you remember theoak tree on the little knoll half a mile away?"

  "Yes, I know it."

  "Dig under that tree five feet in a westerly direction. There is a woodenbox about a foot below the surface. There's nothing to mark the spot, forit was buried a year since, and the grass has grown over it. After I amgone go there and get the money, but don't let anyone see you. It will bebest to go at night. There are evil-disposed men who would rob you of it.I am sorry it is so little, Ernest."

  "But it seems to me a good deal."

  "To a boy it may seem so. Once I thought I might have a good deal more toleave you. Go to the trunk and search till you find a paper folded in anenvelope with your name."

  Ernest went to the trunk. He found the envelope readily, and held it up.

  "Is that it, uncle?"

  "Yes. Put it in your pocket, and read it after I am gone. Then be guidedby circumstances. It may amount to something hereafter."

  "Very well, uncle."

  "I have told you, Ernest, that I do not expect to live long. I have afeeling that twenty-four hours from now I shall be gone."

  "Oh, no, uncle, not so soon!" exclaimed Ernest in a shocked tone.

  "Yes, I think so. If you have any questions to ask me while I yet havelife, ask, for it is your right."

  "Yes, Uncle Peter, I have long wished to know something about myself. HaveI any relatives except you?"

  "I am not your relative," answered the old man slowly.

  "Are you not my uncle?" he asked.

  "No; there is no tie of blood between us."

  "Then how does it happen that we have lived together so many years?"

  "I was a servant in your father's family. When your father died the careof you devolved upon me."

  "Where was I born?"

  "In a large town in the western part of New York State. Your grandfatherwas a man of wealth, but your father incurred his displeasure by hismarriage to a poor but highly educated and refined girl. A cousin of yourfather took advantage of this and succeeded in alienating father and son.The estate that should have descended to your father was left to thecousin."

  "Is he still living?"

  "Yes."

  "But my father died?"

  "Yes; he had a fever which quickly carried him off when you were fiveyears of age."

  "Was he very poor?"

  "No; he inherited a few thousand dollars from an aunt, and upon this helived prudently, carrying on a small business besides. Your mother diedwhen you were three years old, your father two years later."

  "And then you took care of me?"

  "Yes."

  "And I have been a burden to you these many years!"

  "No! Don't give me too much credit. A sum of money was put into my handsto spend for you. We lived carefully, and it lasted. We have been herethree years, and it has cost very little to live in that time. The hundreddollars of which I spoke to you are the last of your inheritance. You arenot indebted to me for it. It is rightfully yours."

  "What is my uncle's name?"

  "Stephen Ray. He lives a few miles from Elmira on the Erie Road."

  "And is he quite rich?"

  "Yes; he is probably worth a quarter of a million dollars. It is moneywhich should have gone to your father."

  "Then the wicked are sometimes prospered in this world?"

  "Yes, but this world is not all."

  "Has there been any communication with my cousin in all these years?"

  "Yes; two years ago I wrote to him."

  "What did you write?"

  "You must forgive me, Ernest, but I saw you growing up without education,and I felt that you should have advantages which I could not give you. Iwrote to your cousin, asking if he would pay your expenses in apreparatory school and afterwards at college."

  "What did he reply?"

  "Go to the trunk. You will find his letter there. It is in the tray, andaddressed to me."

  Ernest found it readily.

  "May I read it?" he asked.

  "Yes, I wish you to do so."

  It ran thus:

  Peter Brant--Sir: I have received your letter making an appeal to me in behalf of Ernest Ray, the son of my cousin. You wish me to educate him. I must decline to do so. His father very much incensed my revered uncle, and it is not right that any of his money should go to him or his heirs. The son must reap the reward of the father's disobedience. So far as I am personally concerned, I should not object to doing something for the boy, but I am sure that my dead uncle would not approve it. Besides, I have myself a son to whom I propose to leave the estate intact.

  It is my advice that you bring up the boy Ernest to some humble employment, perhaps have him taught some trade by which he can earn an honest living. It is not at all necessary that he should receive a college education. You are living at the West. That is well. He is favorably situated for a poor boy, and will have little difficulty in earning a livelihood. I don't care to have him associate with my boy Clarence. They are cousins, it is true, but their lots in life will be very different.

  I do not care to communicate with you again.

  Stephen Ray.

  Ernest read this letter with flushed cheeks.

  "I hate that man!" he said hotly, "even if he is a relative. Peter, I amsorry you ever applied to him in my behalf."

  "I would not, Ernest, if I had understood what manner of man he was."

  "I may meet him some time," said Ernest thoughtfully.

  "Would you claim relationship?"

  "Never!" declared Ernest emphatically. "It was he, you say, who prejudicedmy grandfather against my poor father."

  "Yes."

  "In order to secure the estate himself?"

  "Undoubtedly that was his object."

  "Nothing could be meaner. I would rather live poor all my life than getproperty by such means."

  "If you have no more questions to ask, Ernest, I will try to sleep. I feeldrowsy."

  "Do so, Uncle Peter."

  The
old man closed his eyes, and soon all was silent. Ernest himself laydown on a small bed. When he awoke, hours afterward, he lit a candle andwent to Peter's bedside.

  The old man lay still. With quick suspicion Ernest placed his hand on hischeek.

  It was stone cold.

  "He is dead!" cried Ernest, and a feeling of desolation came over him.

  "I am all alone now," he murmured.

  But he was not wholly alone. There was a face glued against thewindow-pane--a face that he did not see. It was the tramp he had metduring the day at the village store.

  CHAPTER III

  ROBBERY

  The tramp stood with his face glued to the pane, looking in at the boy. Hecould not quite understand what had taken place, but gathered that the oldman was dead.

  "So much the better!" he said. "It will make my task easier."

  He had hoped to find both asleep, and decided to wait near the house tillthe boy went to bed. He had made many inquiries at the store of Joe Marks,and the answers led him to believe that old Peter had a large amount ofmoney concealed in his cabin.

  Now Tom Burns was a penniless tramp, who had wandered from Chicago on apredatory trip, to take any property he could lay his hands on. The chancethat presented itself here was tempting to a man of his character.

  Earlier in the evening he had reached the cabin, but thought it best todefer his work until later, for Ernest was awake and stirring about theroom.