Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. Cast Upon the Breakers by Jr. Horatio Alger (fun books to read for adults .TXT) 📖
- Author: Jr. Horatio Alger
Book online «Cast Upon the Breakers by Jr. Horatio Alger (fun books to read for adults .TXT) 📖». Author Jr. Horatio Alger
“I will tell him,” answered Caesar shortly.
“So its private, is it?”
“Yes. If he wants to tell you he will.”
“That’s fair. Well, come along! Am I walking too fast for you?”
“Your legs are much longer than mine.”
“That’s so. You are a little shrimp. I declare.”
A walk of twenty minutes brought them to the Griffin Mine. Jefferson Pettigrew was standing near, giving directions to a party of miners.
“Jefferson,” said the man with the pipe, “here’s a chap that wants to see you on business of importance. That is, he says it is.”
Jefferson Pettigrew wheeled round and looked at Caesar.
“Well,” he said, “what is it?”
“I have a letter for you, massa.”
“Give it to me.”
Jefferson took the letter and cast his eye over it. As he read it his countenance changed and became stern and severe.
“Do you know what is in this letter?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Come with me.”
He led Caesar to a place out of earshot.
“What fiend’s game is this?” he demanded sternly.
“I can’t tell you, massa; I’m not in it.”
“Who are those men that have written to me?”
“I don’t know their right names. I calls ‘em Massa John and Massa Dick.”
“It seems they have trapped a boy friend of mine, Rodney Ropes. Did you see him?”
“Yes; I gave him a good dinner.”
“That is well. If they should harm a hair of his head I wouldn’t rest till I had called them to account. Where have they got the boy concealed?”
“I couldn’t tell you, massa.”
“You mean, you won’t tell me.”
“Yes. It would be as much as my life is worth.”
“Humph, well! I suppose you must be faithful to your employer. Do you know that these men want me to pay five thousand dollars for the return of the boy?”
“Yes, I heard them talking about it.”
“That is a new kind of rascality. Do they expect you to bring back an answer?”
“Yes, massa.”
“I must think. What will they do to the boy if I don’t give them the money?”
“They might kill him.”
“If they do—but I must have time to think the matter over. Are you expected to go back this afternoon?”
“Yes.”
“Can you get back? It must be a good distance.”
“I can get back.”
“Stay here. I will consult some of my friends and see if I can raise the money.”
“Very well, massa.” One of those whom Jefferson called into consultation was the person who had guided Caesar to the Griffin Mine.
Quickly the proprietor of the Miners’ Rest unfolded the situation.
“Now,” he said, “I want two of you to follow this misshapen dwarf, and find out where he comes from. I want to get hold of the scoundrels who sent him to me.”
“I will be one,” said the man with the pipe.
“Very well, Fred.”
“And I will go with Fred,” said a long limbed fellow who had been a Kansas cowboy.
“I accept you, Otto. Go armed, and don’t lose sight of him.”
“Shall you send the money?”
“Not I. I will send a letter that will encourage them to hope for it. I want to gain time.”
“Any instructions, Jefferson?”
“Only this, if you see these men, capture or kill them.”
“All right.”
CHAPTER XXXV.
A BLOODY CONFLICT.
This was the letter that was handed to Caesar:
I have received your note. I must have time to think, and time perhaps to get hold of the gold. Don’t harm a hair of the boy’s head. If so, I will hunt you to death.
JEFFERSON PETTIGREW.
P.S.—Meet me tomorrow morning at the rocky gorge at the foot of Black Mountain. Ten o’clock.
Caesar took the letter, and bent his steps in the direction of the place where he had tethered his horse. He did not observe that he was followed by two men, who carefully kept him in sight, without attracting attention to themselves.
When Caesar reached the place where he had tethered the horse, he was grievously disappointed at not finding him. One of the miners in roaming about had come upon the animal, and knowing him to be Jefferson Pettigrew’s property, untied him and rode him back to Oreville.
The dwarf threw up his hands in dismay.
“The horse is gone!” he said in his deep bass voice, “and now I must walk back, ten long miles, and get a flogging at the end for losing time. It’s hard luck,” he groaned.
The loss was fortunate for Fred and Otto who would otherwise have found it hard to keep up with the dwarf.
Caesar breathed a deep sigh, and then started on his wearisome journey. Had the ground been even it would have troubled him less, but there was a steep upward grade, and his short legs were soon weary. Not so with his pursuers, both of whom were long limbed and athletic.
We will go back now to the cave and the captors of Rodney. They waited long and impatiently for the return of their messenger. Having no knowledge of the loss of the horse, they could not understand what detained Caesar.
“Do you think the rascal has played us false?” said Roderick.
“He would be afraid to.”
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