Do and Dare — a Brave Boy's Fight for Fortune

“Good heavens! Do you see that?” exclaimed Herbert. “It is the road agents. Quick, or we shall be too late!”

Jack had seen. He had not only seen, but he had already acted. Quick as thought he raised his weapon, and covered Brown. There was a sharp report, and the burly ruffian fell, his heart pierced by the unerring bullet.

Herbert dashed forward, and, seizing the rope, released his friend.

“Thank Heaven, Herbert! You have saved my life!” murmured Melville, in tones of heartfelt gratitude.

“There’s another of them!” exclaimed Jack Holden, looking up into the tree, and he raised his gun once more.

“Don’t shoot!” exclaimed the man, whom we know best as Col. Warner; “I’ll come down.”

So he did, but not in the manner he expected. In his flurry, for he was not a brave man, outlaw though he was, he lost his hold and fell at the feet of Holden.

“What shall we do with him, Mr. Melville?” asked Jack. “He deserves to die.”

“Don’t kill him! Bind him, and give him up to the authorities.”

“I hate to let him off so easy,” said Jack, but he did as Melville wished. But the colonel had a short reprieve. On his way to jail, a bullet from some unknown assailant pierced his temple, and Jerry Lane, the notorious road agent, died, as he had lived, by violence.

CHAPTER XXXVIII. CONCLUSION

It had been the intention of George Melville to remain in Colorado all winter, but his improved health, and the tragic event which I have just narrated, conspired to change his determination.

“Herbert,” he said, when the business connected with the sale of the mine had been completed, “how would you like to go home?”

“With you?”

“Yes, you don’t suppose I would remain here alone?”

“If you feel well enough, Mr. Melville, there is nothing I should like better.”

“I do feel well enough. If I find any unfavorable symptoms coming back, I can travel again, but I am anxious to get away from this place, where I have come so near losing my life at the hands of the outlaws.”

There was little need of delay. Their preparations were soon made. There was an embarrassment about the cottage, but that was soon removed.

“I’ll buy it of you, Mr. Melville,” said Jack Holden.

“I can’t sell it to you, Mr. Holden.”

“I will give you a fair price.”

“You don’t understand me,” said George Melville, smiling. “I will not sell it, because I prefer to give it.”

“Thank you, Mr Melville, but you know I am not exactly a poor man. The sale of the mine—-”

“Jack,” said Melville, with emotion, “would you have me forget that it is to you and Herbert that I owe my rescue from a violent and ignominious death?”

“I want no pay for that, Mr. Melville.”

“No, I am sure you don’t. But you will accept the cabin, not as pay, but as a mark of my esteem.”

Upon that ground Jack accepted the cottage with pleasure. Herbert tried to tempt him to make a visit to the East, but he was already in treaty for another mine, and would not go.

The two stayed a day in Chicago on their way to Boston.

“I wonder if Eben is still here?” thought Herbert.

He soon had his question answered. In passing through a suburban portion of the great city, he saw a young man sawing wood in front of a mean dwelling, while a stout negro was standing near, with his hands in his pockets, surveying the job. He was the proprietor of a colored restaurant, and Eben was working for him.

Alas, for Eben! The once spruce dry-goods clerk was now a miserable-looking tramp, so far as outward appearances went. His clothes were not only ragged, but soiled, and the spruce city acquaintances whom he once knew would have passed him without recognition.

“Eben!”

Eben turned swiftly as he heard his name called, and a flush of shame overspread his face.

“Is it you, Herbert?” he asked, faintly.

“Yes, Eben. You don’t seem very prosperous.”

“I never thought I should sink so low,” answered Eben, mournfully, “as to saw wood for a colored man.”

“What are you talkin’ about?” interrupted his boss, angrily. “Ain’t I as good as a worfless white man that begged a meal of vittles of me, coz he was starvin’? You jest shut up your mouf, and go to work.”

Eben sadly resumed his labor. Herbert pitied him, in spite of his folly and wickedness.

“Eben, do you owe this man anything?” he added.

“Yes, he does. He owes me for his dinner. Don’t you go to interfere!” returned the colored man.

“How much was your dinner worth?” asked Herbert, putting his hand into his pocket.

“It was wuf a quarter.”

“There is your money! Now, Eben, come with me.”

“I’ve been very unfortunate,” wailed Eben.

“Would you like to go back to Wayneboro?” asked Herbert.

“Yes, anywhere,” answered Eben, eagerly. “I can’t make a livin’ here. I have almost starved sometimes.”

“Eben, I’ll make a bargain with you. If I will take you home, will you turn over a new leaf, and try to lead a regular and industrious life?”

“Yes, I’ll do it,” answered Eben.

“Then I’ll take you with me to-morrow.”

“I shouldn’t like my old friends to see me in these rags,” said Eben, glancing with shame at his tattered clothes.