Ralph Raymond's Heir

The outline of the pond was irregular. In one place there was a recess, surrounded by woods, within which they would be shielded from view. It seemed a fitting place for a tragedy.

When they were fairly within it, Cromwell said:

"Now you may take the oars."

Robert rose from his seat, and stepped toward the center of the boat. His movements were naturally rather unsteady. James Cromwell turned pale, and he braced his shrinking nerve. He felt that now was his time. Unless he acted now, his opportunity would be gone.

As Robert approached, he suddenly seized the unsuspecting boy around the middle, and threw him into the water. So suddenly was it done, that before the boy understood what had happened to him, he found himself engulfed.

Never once looking back, James Cromwell seized the oars, and rowed himself swiftly back. When he got on shore, he looked nervously out over the surface of the pond. All was still. Nothing was visible of Robert.

"He is drowned!" said Cromwell to himself, wiping away the large drops of perspiration from his forehead.

CHAPTER XIX.

CATO

Such was the suddenness with which Robert had been hurled into the water that he had no chance to defend himself. He was scarcely conscious of having been attacked until he found himself in the water struggling for life. He knew nothing of swimming from actual experience, yet under the stress of necessity, and with death staring him in the face, he instinctively struck out, and managed temporarily to keep his head above water. But the shore was a hundred yards distant, and to reach it would have been beyond his unskilled strength to accomplish, if he had not luckily happened to receive assistance.

Unknown to James Cromwell, there had been a spectator of his dastardly attempt to drown the boy who had been placed in his charge.

The spectator was an odd character; an old negro, who years ago had built for himself a rude cabin in the shadow of the woods. He had formerly been a slave in Kentucky, but had managed to escape from servitude, and built himself this cabin, where he lived by himself. He supported himself by working for any one who needed help on the farm or in the garden, and cooked his own food in his simple dwelling.

When he saw the boy flung into the water he was standing on the bank, unobserved on account of his color. He recognized Cromwell, for he had been to the drug store only a day or two previous to buy some medicament for the rheumatism which he occasionally suffered from. He knew Robert also.

"What debble's work is dis?" he said to himself. "What's he goin' to kill de boy for? Can't let de poor boy drown, no way."

As he spoke, he flung himself into the water and swam with vigorous strokes toward the place where Robert was struggling.

"Hold up a minute, young massa," he cried, for in his freedom he preserved the language of former days, "hold up a minute, and I'll save yer."

Robert heard this, and it gave him courage to struggle longer. In a short time the negro was at his side and seizing him by the arm, turned and headed for the shore. It was soon reached, and the two stood side by side, both dripping with moisture. Had James Cromwell turned back he might have discovered the rescue, but he did not dare to do so until he reached the opposite side, and then there was nothing to be seen.

"What's all this mean, young massa?" asked Cato, for this was the name of the negro. He had brought no other with him, but one was quite sufficient for his modest requirements.

"I don't know," said Robert. "The man that was with me suddenly seized me round the waist, and flung me into the pond."

"I saw him do it," said Cato. "What made him?"

"That's more than I can tell, unless he is crazy," said Robert.

"Is dis de fust time he try to drown you?" asked Cato.

Robert started as the force of this question dawned upon him. He recalled the scene at Niagara Falls, and the narrow escape he had from a horrible death at that time. He remembered that he had been forcibly pushed by James Cromwell on that occasion, and only saved himself by clutching hold of him, while the latter did not pull him back till his own danger seemed imminent. At the time he accepted Cromwell's explanation, but now, since this second attempt had been made, he could not shut his eyes from the fact that Cromwell had sought his destruction. What could have been his motive was to him a profound mystery.

"No," he answered, "he tried to push me over Niagara Falls once, but I thought it was an accident then. I don't think so now."

"You lib with him?"

"Yes; my guardian placed me with him."

"He's a wicked man. Don't you go nigh him again."

"I won't," said Robert. "I shouldn't feel safe with him. But I don't know where to go to-night."

"Come to my cabin!" said Cato. "It's a poor place for the likes of you, young massa, but it's better dan sleepin' out in de woods."

"Thanks, Cato," said Robert, for he knew who it was that had saved him. "I will accept your invitation, gladly. Lead the way, and I will follow."

The negro's hut was near by. It was small enough, being only about ten feet square. On the floor was spread a blanket over some straw, and Cato signed to Robert to lie down. But first he advised him to take off his wet clothes. He gathered some sticks and made a fire for the purpose of drying these.

Robert lay down on the rude bed, and though excited by the peril through which he had passed, and by the thought that James Cromwell had been guilty of such an atrocious attempt, nature at last asserted her supremacy, and he sank to sleep. When he woke the sun had already risen. The first sight upon which his eyes rested was the black face of his companion bending over him. He did not immediately remember where he was, and cried, raising his head, "Where am I?"

"Here, young massa, in Cato's cabin," said the negro.

"Yes, I remember now," said Robert.

"Did you sleep well, young massa?"

"Yes, Cato. I slept soundly. Only don't call me young master, for I am not likely to be any body's master, except, perhaps, my own."

"Just as young massa says," said Cato, rather inconsistently. "Here's your clothes, just as dry as can be; only don't get up till you get rested. There's plenty of time."

"I'm rested now, Cato, thank you," said Robert.

He sprang from his couch and hastily put on his clothes. He found that through the kind services of the negro they were quite dry, though his shirt-bosom and cuffs presented rather a limp appearance, the starch having soaked out of them. This was, however, a minor calamity, to which he paid but little attention.

When he was dressed he turned to go away, though he hardly knew where to direct his course.

"Stop," said Cato. "Cato have breakfast ready in a minute."

"Do you mean that I am to take breakfast with you, Cato?"

"Yes; young massa will be so kind."

"I think the kindness is all on the other side," said Robert, laughing. "Yes, I will accept your invitation with much pleasure; particularly as I don't know where else to go for any."

Cato appeared to consider that a great favor had been granted to him in acceptance of the invitation, and he set to work zealously to prepare a meal of which his young guest might partake.

He had a small stove in his cabin in which he generally kept a fire, for being used to a warm climate, it was easy for him to stand a degree of heat which would have baked a white man. Nor was he a mean cook. Indeed, while in Kentucky, he had officiated for a considerable time in his master's kitchen, and had not wholly forgotten his ancient skill.

In the course of an hour, Cato produced a breakfast consisting of hot hoe cakes and fried eggs, which not only had a very appetizing flavor, but stood the test of eating, remarkably well. Robert's peril of the previous night had by no means injured his appetite, and he did full justice to the breakfast provided. Cato gazed with much satisfaction at the evidences of his young guest's relishing the repast provided, and appeared to regard it as a personal compliment to himself.

While Robert was eating he was considering his future plans. As to going back to James Cromwell, he decided that this was out of the question. His life would not be safe. He determined that it would be his proper course to return to New York, and report to his guardian the character of the man in whose care he had placed him. He hoped then to be allowed to go back to school, and resume the studies which had recently been interrupted. Had he known that his guardian was at the bottom of the plot which had so nearly culminated in his death, he would have decided differently; but of this he had no suspicion.

He had in his pocket the sum of ten dollars, which, though soaked in water, he was able to dry; and this, though insufficient to defray his expenses, would at least start him on his journey. As to what he might do, after this was exhausted, he did not know, but he was buoyant in hope, and he felt that it was no use to anticipate trouble. Enough to meet it when it came.

His course would be to reach the bank of the Ohio, and get conveyance on its waters as far East as he could. To this end he obtained directions from Cato, and shortly after breakfast, after shaking the kind negro by the hand and thanking him heartily for his kindness, which he meant some day to reward substantially, he set out on his way.