“He has confessed in the hearing of one of your men that he tried to steal five thousand dollars to shut up Sam’s mouth,” said the visitor.
“Who is Sam?” Uncle Bob managed to ask. “Now, Mr. Evans, I don’t understand you at all, and I wish you would be more explicit. You surely do not mean to hint that Arthur had anything to do with the accident that befell his cousin?”
“It was no accident, Mr. Howard,” said the visitor, bluntly. “It was a put-up job, and I mean to say, in just so many words, that Arthur knew it was going to happen before it did happen. Sam—I don’t think there is any one on the ranch who knows what his other name is—used to be one of your brother’s herdsmen. He was discharged for cause, and ordered never to show himself in the valley again; but on the day you arrived, he came back, and sought employment. Managing in some way to scrape an acquaintance with Arthur, he proposed a plan to get rid of Bob, and your son consented to it. Sam carried out that plan by sawing the oars that belonged to the skiff, so that they would break when the boys tried to pull up out of the current.”
“I don’t believe a word of it,” declared Uncle Bob, who, during this long explanation, had managed to collect a few of his scattered wits. Then, seeing that his visitor’s eye began to sparkle threateningly, he hastened to add, “I beg your pardon, Mr. Evans, but somebody has been imposing upon you with a story that cannot have the least foundation in fact. According to your own statement, Arthur took no active part in this thing, and neither did he have any hand in sawing the oars—if, indeed, they were sawed at all.”
“But he was an accessory,” said Mr. Evans, earnestly, “and he is a doomed boy, unless you take immediate steps to protect him. My advice to you would be to see him without the loss of a moment. You will probably find him in the grove—at any rate, that was the place where he held his interview with Sam this morning.”
Uncle Bob thought this a suggestion that was worth acting upon. He put on his hat and left the office, while Mr. Evans seated himself in front of the window and watched him as he hurried toward the grove.
Just then the door opened, and old Ike thrust his head into the room.
“Mr. Evans,” said he, in a cautious whisper, “I can’t keep this secret in much longer. It’s growing bigger every minute, and I shall have to tell it pretty soon, or bust!”
“You hold your tongue—that’s all you have to do,” said Mr. Evans, sternly.
“But what will the boys do to me, when they find it out?” asked Ike, anxiously.