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Robert Coverdale's Struggle; or, On The Wave Of Success, a novel by Horatio Alger |
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Chapter 12. A Mysterious Disappearance |
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_ CHAPTER XII. A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE As they were rowing back they scanned the sea in every direction, but nowhere did they discover any signs of Robert or his raft. "Perhaps," suggested Herbert, breaking a long silence, "Bob is already at home." He looked inquiringly in the face of his companion to see what he thought of the chances. "Mayhap he is," said Ben Bence slowly, "but I mistrust he found it too rough for the raft." "In that case----" said Herbert anxiously and stopped without answering the question. "In that case the poor boy's at the bottom of the sea, it's likely." "He could swim, Mr. Bence." "Yes, but the tide would be too strong for him. Just about now there's a fearful undertow. I couldn't swim against it myself, let alone a boy." "If anything has happened to him it's his uncle's fault," said Herbert. "John Trafton will have to answer for it," said the fisherman sternly. "There ain't one of us that don't love Bob. He's a downright good boy, Bob Coverdale is, and a smart boy, too." "If he's lost I will never have anything more to do with George Randolph. I will ask mother to pack him back to Boston to-morrow." "George ain't a mite like you," said Ben Bence. "I hope not," returned Herbert hastily. "He's one of the meanest boys I ever met. He might just as well have taken poor Bob off the island this afternoon, if he hadn't been so spiteful and ugly." "It would serve him right to leave him there a while himself," suggested Bence. "I agree with you." There was another pause. Each was troubled by anxious thoughts about the missing boy. When they reached the shore Herbert said: "I'm going to Mr. Trafton's to see if Bob has got home." "I'll go with you," said the fisherman briefly. They reached the humble cabin of the Traftons and knocked at the door. Mrs. Trafton opened it. "Good evening, Mr. Bence," she said. "I believe this young gentleman is Master Herbert Irving? I have often heard Robert speak of him." "Is Robert at home?" asked Herbert eagerly. "No, he has been away all day," answered his aunt. "Do you know where he is?" inquired Ben Bence soberly. "Mr. Trafton wouldn't tell me. He said he had sent him away on some errand, but I don't see where he could have gone, to stay so long." It was clear Mrs. Trafton knew nothing of the trick which had been played upon her nephew. "Tell her, Mr. Bence," said Herbert, turning to his companion. "Has anything happened to Robert?" asked Mrs. Trafton, turning pale. They told her how her husband had conveyed Robert to Egg Island and then treacherously left him there, to get off as he might. "Was there any difficulty between Bob and his uncle?" asked Ben Bence. "Yes; the boy had a little money which had been given him and my husband ordered him to give it up to him. He'd have done it, if he hadn't wanted to spend it for me. He was always a considerate boy, and I don't know what I should have done without him. Mr. Bence, I know it's a good deal to ask, but I can't bear to think of Robert staying on the island all night. Would you mind rowing over and bringing him back?" As yet Mrs. Trafton did not understand that any greater peril menaced her nephew. "Mrs. Trafton, we have just been over to Egg Island," said the fisherman. "And didn't you find him?" "No; he was not there." "But how could he get off?" "He was seen this afternoon making a raft from the old timbers he found in the wreck. He must have put to sea on it." "Then why is he not here?" "The sea was rough, and----" Mrs. Trafton, who had been standing, sank into a chair with a startled look. "You don't think my boy is lost?" "I hate to think so, Mrs. Trafton, but it may be." From grief there was a quick transition to righteous indignation. "If the poor boy is drowned, I charge John Trafton with his death!" said the grief-stricken woman with an energy startling for one of her usually calm temperament. "What's this about John Trafton?" demanded a rough voice. It was John Trafton himself, who, unobserved, had reached the door of the cabin. Ben Bence and Herbert shrank from him with natural aversion. "So you're talking against me behind my back, are you?" asked Trafton, looking from one to the other with a scowl. His wife rose to her feet and turned upon him a glance such as he had never met before. "What have you done with Robert, John Trafton?" she demanded sternly. "Oh! that's it, is it?" he said, laughing shortly. "I've served him as he deserved." "What have you done with him?" she continued in a slow, measured voice. "You needn't come any tragedy over me, old woman!" he answered with annoyance. "I left him on Egg Island to punish him for disobeying me!" "I charge you with his murder!" she continued, confronting him with a courage quite new to her. "Murder!" he repeated, starting. "Come, now, that's a little too strong! Leaving him on Egg Island isn't murdering him. You talk like a fool!" "Trafton," said Ben Bence gravely, "there is reason to think that your nephew put off from the island on a raft, which he made himself, and that the raft went to pieces." For the first time John Trafton's brown face lost its color. "You don't mean to say Bob's drowned?" he ejaculated. "There is reason to fear that he may be." "I'll bet he's on the island now." "We have just been there and he is not there." At length Trafton began to see that the situation was a grave one, and he began to exculpate himself. "If he was such a fool as to put to sea on a crazy raft it ain't my fault," he said. "I couldn't help it, could I?" "If you hadn't left him there he would still be alive and well." John Trafton pulled out his red cotton handkerchief from his pocket and began to wipe his forehead, on which the beads of perspiration were gathering. "Of course I wouldn't have left him there if I'd known what he would do," he muttered. "Did you mean to leave him there all night?" asked Bence. "Yes, I meant it as a lesson to him," said the fisherman. "A lesson to him? You are a fine man to give a lesson to him! You, who spend all your earnings for drink and leave me to starve! John Trafton, I charge you with the death of poor Robert!" exclaimed Mrs. Trafton with startling emphasis. Perhaps nothing more contributed to overwhelm John Trafton than the wonderful change which had taken place in his usually gentle and submissive wife. He returned her accusing glance with a look of deprecation. "Come now, Jane, be a little reasonable," he said. "You're very much mistaken. It was only in fun I left him. I thought it would be a good joke to leave him on the island all night. Say something for me, Ben--there's a good fellow." But Ben Bence was not disposed to waste any sympathy on John Trafton. He was glad to see Trafton brought to judgment and felt like deepening his sense of guilt rather than lightening it. "Your wife is right," he said gravely. "If poor Bob is dead, you are guilty of his death in the sight of God." "But he isn't dead! It's all a false alarm. I'll get my boat and row over to the island myself. Very likely he had gone to sleep among the bushes and that prevented your seeing him." There was a bare possibility of this, but Ben Bence had little faith in it. "Go, if you like," he said. "If you find him, it will lift a great weight from your conscience." John Trafton dashed to the shore, flung himself into his boat, and, with feverish haste, began to row toward the island. He bitterly repented now the act which had involved him in such grave responsibility. He was perfectly sober, for his credit at the tavern was temporarily exhausted. Of course those who remained behind in the cabin had no hope of Robert being found. They were forced to believe that the raft had gone to pieces and the poor boy, in his efforts to reach the shore, had been swept back into the ocean by the treacherous undertow and was now lying stiff and stark at the bottom of the sea. "What shall I ever do without Robert?" said Mrs. Trafton, her defiant mood changing, at her husband's departure, to an outburst of grief. "He was all I had to live for." "You have your husband," suggested Ben Bence doubtfully. "My husband!" she repeated drearily. "You know how little company he is for me and how little he does to make me comfortable and happy. I will never forgive him for this day's work." Ben Bence, who was a just man, ventured to represent that Trafton did not foresee the result of his action; but, in the sharpness of her bereavement, Mrs. Trafton would find no excuse for him. Herbert, too, looked pale and distressed. He had a genuine attachment for Robert, whose good qualities he was able to recognize and appreciate, even if he was a fisherman's nephew. He, too, thought sorrowfully of his poor friend, snatched from life and swept by the cruel and remorseless sea to an ocean grave. He, too, had his object of resentment. But for George Randolph, he reflected, Robert would now be alive and well, and he resolved to visit George with his severest reproaches. While all were plunged in a similar grief a strange thing happened. The door of the cabin was closed by John Trafton as he went out. Suddenly there was heard a scratching at the door, and a sound was heard as of a dog trying to excite attention. "It must be my dog Dash," said Herbert. "I wonder how he found me out?" He advanced to the door and opened it. Before him stood a dog, but it was not Dash. It was a large black dog, with an expression of intelligence almost human. He had in his mouth what appeared to be a scrap of writing paper. This he dropped on the ground when he saw that he had attracted Herbert's attention. "What does this mean?" thought Herbert in great surprise, "and where does this dog come from?" He stooped and picked up the paper, greatly to the dog's apparent satisfaction. It was folded in the middle and contained, written in pencil, the following message, which, not being directed to any one in particular, Herbert felt at liberty to read: "Feel no anxiety about Robert Coverdale. He is safe!" Herbert read the message, the dog uttered a quick bark of satisfaction, and, turning, ran down the cliff to the beach. Herbert was so excited and delighted at the news of his friend's safety that he gave no further attention to the strange messenger, but hurried into the cabin. "Mrs. Trafton--Mr. Bence!" he exclaimed, "Bob is safe!" "What do you mean? What have you heard?" they asked quickly. "Read this!" answered Herbert, giving Mrs. Trafton the scrap of paper. "Who brought it?" she asked, bewildered. "A dog." Ben Bence quickly asked: "What do you mean?" "I know nothing more than that a large black dog came to the door with this in his mouth, which he dropped at my feet." "That is very strange," said Bence. He opened the door and looked out, but no dog was to be seen. "Do you believe this? Can it be true?" asked Mrs. Trafton. "I believe it is true, though I can't explain it," answered Ben. "Some dogs are wonderfully trained. I don't know whom this dog belongs to, but whoever it is he doubtless has Robert under his care. Let us be thankful that he has been saved." "But why don't he come home?" asked Mrs. Trafton. "Where can he be?" "He was probably rescued in an exhausted condition. Cheer up, Mrs. Trafton. You will no doubt see your boy to-morrow." "I feel like giving three cheers, Mr. Bence," said Herbert. "Then give 'em, boy, and I'll help you!" said old Ben. The three cheers were given with a will, and Herbert went home, his heart much lighter than it had been ten minutes before. _ |
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