The two did not speak as Uncle Bob took up the lamp and revolver and led the way to their room.
He did not appear to be angry, either; but Arthur was almost beside himself with fury. He was more—he was desperate. There was still one plan to be tried, and, if that failed, it was all over with him and Uncle Bob.
“Perhaps, when it is too late, he will wish he had let me have that money,” thought Arthur, as he tumbled into bed and turned his face to the wall. “His excuse for refusing me is a very flimsy one. He’s got Bob’s money, and I believe he would rather risk his life than lose his grip on a single dollar of it.”
Arthur slept in spite of the exciting scene through which he had passed, but his slumber was disturbed with frightful dreams, in which the angry herdsmen and Bob Howard’s broken oar, which, in some mysterious way, was brought forward as evidence against him, bore prominent parts.
His father greeted him in the morning as cordially as he always did, but Arthur was too angry and sulky to be civil. He ate but little breakfast, and as soon as he arose from the table he went to the grove to keep his appointment with Sam.
He would have been glad to postpone the interview indefinitely, but he was afraid to do it. He believed that Sam would have something to say to his father, now, and, before he did that, Arthur wanted to make a few suggestions.
He found the herdsman in the grove, waiting for him. It is probable that he fully expected to receive the money he had demanded for holding his tongue; for, when he saw Arthur approaching, he advanced to meet him, at the same time extending his hand, as if he thought the latter was going to put something into it.
“I haven’t got it,” said Arthur, shortly.
Sam scowled fiercely, and looked mad enough to do almost anything.
“I can’t help it,” continued Arthur, “I did the best I could for you. I asked my father for it yesterday, as I told you I would, but he wouldn’t give it to me; and last night I tried to take it out of the safe, but he caught me at it.”