A Debt of Honor

“But I have something to add. I can be a bitter enemy when I am badly treated.”

“I suppose that is meant as a threat, Mr. Wentworth,” said Gerald calmly.

“You can take it so.”

“Then I have my answer ready. I care neither for your friendship nor your enmity. I shall do what I consider right, and if my own conscience approves I shall seek no other approval.”

“You are very independent for a young boy, especially one in your circumstances,” sneered Wentworth.

“You may be right. I am independent, and I intend to remain so.”

“Wait till you get older, and have been buffeted by the world. You will understand then that you have made a serious mistake in repelling my offer of help.”

“Have you anything more to say to me, Mr. Wentworth?”

“No, unless to add that I generally get even with those who oppose me. Indeed, I have a great mind to chastise you here and now.”

Gerald rose from his seat and confronted the angry man, but without betraying any trace of excitement or fear.

“You are probably more than a match for me physically, Mr. Wentworth,” he said, “but if you undertake anything of that kind you will meet with a determined resistance.”

And as Wentworth looked into the boy’s resolute face he quite understood that he spoke only the truth.

“No,” he said, after a brief pause, “I will bide my time. You may repent of your folly and decide to come to terms with me. If you don’t – ”

He did not finish the sentence, for a man on horseback came galloping up to the cabin. He checked his horse, and said inquiringly, “Is this Mr. Bradley Wentworth?”

“I am he,” answered Wentworth, rising.

“Then here is a telegram for you. It came to Denver, and I have ridden seventy miles to bring it to you.”

Wentworth tore open the message. It contained these words:

“Come home at once. The men are on strike. I can do nothing without your authority.

    “Morgan.”

“This is from my foreman. I am summoned home,” said Wentworth, looking up. “How soon can I leave here?”

“At once. I engaged a wagon that will be here in fifteen minutes.”

In fifteen minutes Bradley Wentworth set out on his return. His mind was so much occupied with the serious news from home that he left without a word to Gerald, who stood watching the conveyance till it disappeared behind a bend in the cliff.

“Now I am indeed alone!” he reflected, as his eyes rested sadly on the poor cabin which he and his father had occupied for three years. “I am alone in the world, with no friend, but with one powerful enemy.”

CHAPTER X

AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR

Gerald had often thought vaguely of the time when he would be left alone. Between him and his father there had been an intimacy and mutual dependence greater than usually exists between father and son. Now that his father had passed away, a sudden feeling of desolation chilled the boy’s spirits, and he asked himself what life had in store for him of hope and happiness. But youth is buoyant, and Gerald was but sixteen. He felt that he had something to live for. He would redeem his father’s reputation, and instead of giving way to his feelings would fight manfully the great battle of life.

But how? To what should he turn? He began to consider his resources. First and most available was money. He emptied his pockets, and took account of his worldly wealth. It amounted to one dollar and sixty-five cents, all told.

“That isn’t much,” thought Gerald. “I shall have to go to work without delay.”

He prepared supper as usual, but had small heart to sit down to it alone. Little as he liked Bradley Wentworth he would have been glad to have his company till he could endure the thought of solitude. But he was not destined to eat by himself. Going to the door of the cabin just as his simple preparations were made, he caught sight of an approaching figure. It was that of a stranger, a strong, robust man of little more than thirty, with a florid face and dressed like an English tourist.

“Hallo, there!” called out the stranger, as he caught sight of Gerald.

“Hallo!” responded Gerald.

“Is there any hotel round here?”

“Not that I know of, sir.”

“As I feared. I’ve been wandering round this confounded country till I’ve got lost. It’s a beastly wilderness, that’s what it is.”

Gerald smiled. His experience of men was limited, and he had never met a British tourist before.

“May I sit down awhile?” went on the newcomer.

There was a long seat built against the cabin, with the wall of the latter for a back.

“Certainly, sir. I shall be glad of company.”

“Do you live here?”

“Yes, sir. I have lived here for three years.”

“I should think you’d commit suicide, I should, upon my word. Does no one live with you?”

“Not now,” answered Gerald gravely. “My father died two days since.”

“Oh, I beg your pardon, I do indeed,” said the Englishman in a tone of sympathy. “It wasn’t an accident, was it?”

“No, he had long been sick of consumption. I was feeling very lonely, for he was only buried to-day.”

“I hope I don’t intrude. I wouldn’t do that on any account.”

“No; on the contrary I am glad to have company. I was about to sit down to supper. If agreeable I shall be pleased to have you join me.”

“Supper!” repeated the tourist with sudden animation. “It is the one thing I have been longing for. I haven’t eaten a particle of food since morning, and didn’t know where to find any, though my pocket is full of money.”

“I can’t offer you anything very inviting,” said Gerald, as he led the way into the cabin. “I have some fish and potatoes, bread and coffee, but I have neither milk nor butter.”

“Don’t apologize, my young friend,” interposed the Englishman. “It is a feast fit for the gods. I have an appetite that will make anything palatable. But where do you get your bread? There can’t be any bakers’ shops in this wilderness.”

“There are not. I make my own bread.”