Books: The Rover Boys out West
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Arthur M. Winfield >> The Rover Boys out West
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"Bound for Chicago?" asked the man, after passing the time of day.
"Yes, sir," answered Tom. "Are you bound there?"
"I am going through that city. You belong there, I suppose?"
"No, sir, I've never been there before."
"Is that so. Going on a pleasure trip, or to try your luck? Or
perhaps you are on business?"
"Yes, I am on business."
"You are rather young to be out on business, it strikes me," went
on the burly stranger, after a pause.
"Oh, I've been around a little before," said Tom coolly.
"Yes, you look like a lad who has seen some thing of the world.
Well, I've seen something of the world myself."
"Are you a Western man?" asked Tom, who thought it would not hurt
to do a little questioning on his own account.
"Yes, I was born and brought up in Colorado."
The reply interested Tom.
"But you have traveled, you say?"
"Yes, I've been to San Francisco and to New York, and also up in
the mining districts of the Northwest Territory, and in the mines
of Mexico. I've been what they call a rolling stone." And the
burly man laughed lightly, but the laugh was not a pleasant one.
"Then you ought to know a good deal about mining," Tom ventured.
"I am interested in the mines of Colorado. In what part of the
State were you located?"
"Well, I lived in Ouray some time, and also in Silverton, but I
went here, there, and everywhere, prospecting and buying up old
claims cheap."
"I hope you struck it rich."
"Oh, I'm fairly well fixed," was the careless answer. "So you are
interested in our mines, eh? Got a claim?"
"No, sir, but I am going out there to look up a claim -- if I can."
"Take my advice and leave mining alone unless you have had
experience. The chance for a tenderfoot, as we call 'em, getting
along has gone by."
"I shan't waste much time in looking around."
"And don't waste your money either. Nine mines out of ten that are
offered for sale are not worth buying at any price. I've been all
through the miff and I know."
"I suppose you know a great many of the old time miners?" said Tom,
after another pause.
"Oh, yes, loads of them, Quray Frank, Bill Peters, Denver Phil, and
all the rest."
"Did you ever meet a man by the name of Jack Wumble?"
The burly man started and spilled a little of the coffee he was
holding to drink.
"Why -- er -- confound the rocking of the train," he answered. "Why,
yes, I met Wumble once or twice, but never had any business with
him. Are you going to buy a mine from him?"
"No, I am going to try to get him to help locate one that is
missing," answered Tom, before he had thought twice.
"Indeed! Well, I've heard Jack is a good man at locating paying
claims. Do you know him personally?"
"I do not."
A gleam of satisfaction lit up the burly man's face, but Tom did
not notice it.
"Wumble used to hang out in Denver. Going to meet him there, I
suppose."
"No, I'm going to meet him in Chicago, if I can."
"I see."
So the talk ran on until the meal was finished. Then the burly man
bowed pleasantly and the two separated.
When Tom rejoined his brothers Sam asked him about the man.
"I'm sure I've seen him before," he said. "But where is more than
I can say."
"I think I've seen him, too," said Dick. "And I must say I don't
much like his looks."
When Tom told of the conversation that had been held, Dick shook
his head seriously.
"I wouldn't talk so much, Tom," he remarked. "It won't do any
good, and it may do harm, you know."
"I'll be more careful hereafter, Dick. I am sorry myself that I
had so much to say," returned Tom.
CHAPTER XVIII
THE ROVER BOYS IN CHICAGO
"Chicago! Change cars for St. Louis and the West!"
The long express had rolled into the great depot and the porters
were busy brushing up the passengers in the parlor cars and
gathering together their baggage -- and incidentally, the tips which
were forthcoming.
The Rover boys were soon out on the platform and making for the
street.
"Cab, sir; coupe?"
"Mornin' papers! All de news! Have a paper, boss?"
The crowd of newsboys and hackmen made Dick smile. "It's a good
deal like New York, isn't it?" he observed.
"Yes, indeed," replied Sam. "Where shall we go -- to the Western
Palace?"
"We might as well. The sooner we find this Jack Wumble the
better."
At that moment the burly man who had talked to Tom in the dining
car brushed up to them.
"Good-morning, my young friend," he said to Tom. "Can I be of any
assistance to you?"
"It I don't know as you can," replied Tom coldly. "I guess we can
find our way around."
"Glad to help you if I can," went on the man.
"We want to get to the Western Palace," put in Sam, before his
brothers could stop him.
"That is quite a distance from here." The man hesitated a moment.
"I was going there myself. If you don't mind riding on a street
car I'll show you the way."
"A street car is good enough for us," returned Sam. He was anxious
to see more of the stranger, for he wished if possible to recollect
where he had seen the fellow before.
A passing car was hailed and they all got on board, each carrying a
valise, for the Rover boys had decided that trunks would be too
cumbersome for the trip. They sat close together, and during the
ride the stranger endeavored to make himself as agreeable as
possible.
"My name is Henry Bradner," he said, introducing himself. "Out in
the mines they used to call me Lucky Harry, and a good many of my
friends call me that still. May I ask your names?"
"My name is Sam Rover," said the boy. "This is my brother Dick,
and this my brother Tom."
There were handshakings all around. "Glad to know you," said
Bradner." I hope you find Jack Wumble and that he locates your
mine for you."
"I've been thinking that I've seen you before," said Sam bluntly.
"But for the life of me I can't place you."
"Perhaps we've met somewhere in the East -- New York, for instance.
Have any of you been in Chicago before?"
"No."
"It's a great city and there are many sights worth seeing. If you
wished I wouldn't mind showing you around a bit this afternoon or
tomorrow."
"Thanks, but we won't have time," said Dick shortly. This
off-handed invitation made him more suspicious than ever.
The talking continued until at last Henry Bradner stopped the car.
"Here we are," he said. "The Palace of the West is one block down
yonder side street."
"The Palace of the West?" repeated Tom. "I thought it was called
the Western Palace."
"Well, it's all the same," laughed the man. But it was not the
same by any means. While the Western Palace was a first-class
hotel in every respect, the Palace of the West was a weak
imitation, run by a man who had once been a notorious San Francisco
blackleg.
The hotel was soon reached and Bradner led the way into the office,
which was filled with rather rough-looking sports, all smoking and
talking loudly.
"I know the clerk," said Bradner. "I'll ask him about your
friend." And before Dick could stop him he had pushed his way to
the desk and was talking in a low tone to the clerk. Dick tried to
catch what was said, but was unable to do so.
"You are in luck," said Bradner, on coming back. "The clerk says
Jack Wumble has gone off for the day, but said he would be back by
to-night sure."
"I'm glad of that," said Tom, and he and his brothers felt much
relieved.
"The clerk cautioned me to keep quiet about Wumble," went on
Bradner confidentially. "It seems Wumble and another man had a row
over a game of cards, and Wumble wants the other man to clear out
before he shows up again. The other man is booked for Denver on
the afternoon train."
As this statement about cards fitted in with what Mr. Rover had
said concerning Jack Wumble, the boys swallowed it without
hesitation, and they were inclined to believe that Henry Bradner
was all right, after all.
"Will you register here?" went on the man.
"No, I don't like the looks of the place," answered Dick promptly.
"We are not of the drinking kind," he added.
The burly man looked dark and disappointed.
"It's a good hotel, when once you get used to it," he said.
But Dick shook his head and said he would go elsewhere, and
motioning to Tom and Sam he led the way to the sidewalk once more.
Henry Bradner followed them.
"If I see Wumble shall I get him to wait for you?" he said.
"If you wish. We will be around to-night and also to-morrow
morning to see him."
"All right."
The boys walked off and around the corner into the street where the
cars were running.
"I don't like him at all," exclaimed Dick. "I believe he is tip to
some game."
"Oh, you may be too suspicious," declared Sam. "What game can he
be up to? He was kind enough to help us hunt up this Jack Wumble."
"I don't care -- his manner doesn't suit me at all. He's a sneak, if
ever there was one."
The boys walked on for a distance of several blocks, and then
coming to a nice-looking restaurant went in for dinner.
While they were eating Dick happened to glance out of the show
window of the place and gave a low cry.
"What is it, Dick?" asked Tom.
"I thought as much. That man is watching us."
Sam and Tom gave a look, but by this time Henry Bradner had
disappeared from view.
"You are sure that you saw him, Dick?" asked Sam.
"I am positive. Boys, do you know what I think? I think he is a
sharper, and imagines he has three green country boys with money to
deal with."
"Well, if he thinks that he is much mistaken," was Tom's comment.
"In the first place we are not so very green, and in the second our
cash account is rather limited."
"We spoke about a mine, and he may imagine that we carry several
thousands of dollars with us."
"If he's a sharper why did he try to find Wumble for us?" asked
Sam.
This was a poser and Dick did not pretend to answer it.
The dinner finished, they walked forth once more and down into the
heart of the city.
They soon found what looked to be a fairly good hotel, and engaged
a large room with two beds for the night.
"Now we can take a look around," said Tom.
The best part of the afternoon was spent in sight-seeing, and the
boys visited Lincoln Park, Jackson Park, the museum, menagerie,
Masonic Temple, and numerous other points of interest.
They were returning to the hotel at which they had registered for
the night when suddenly Tom caught his brothers by the arm.
"Well, I never!" he gasped. "What do you think of that?"
They saw he was gazing across the way, and looking in the direction
saw an elegant hotel, over the broad doorway of which was stretched
the sign:
WESTERN PALACE
GEORGE- LAVELLE, Proprietor.
Established 1871.
"By jinks! That Bradner deceived us!" gasped Dick. "This must be
the hotel father mentioned."
"But what about Jack Wumble?" began Sam. "He was registered at the
other place."
"Did you see the register?" demanded Dick.
"No, but --"
"We'll soon learn the truth," went on the elder Rover. "Come on."
And he made his way through the mass of moving wagons and trucks to
the opposite side of the thoroughfare.
All entered the broad hallway together. The floor was of marble,
and big mirrors lined every wall. Certainly the place was in sharp
contrast to that known as the "Palace of the West."
Walking up to the office counter Dick inspected the register. On
the third page from the last written upon he found the entry:
"Jack Wumble, Denver; Room 144."
"There, what do you think of that?" he demanded, as he showed his
brothers the entry.
Both were dumfounded, and for the moment knew not what to say.
Dick turned to one of the clerks.
"Is Mr. Jack Wumble in?" he asked.
The clerk looked at the row of keys behind him.
"No, sir; he's out."
"Have you any idea when he will be back?"
"I have not. Perhaps he is back already and over in the smoking
room."
"I don't know him personally, but I am very anxious to see him."
"I'll have a boy look for him," returned the clerk, and called up a
bell-boy, who took Dick's card and went off with it to the smoking
room and the dining hall, calling softly as he passed one man and
another, "Number 144! Number 144!"
Presently the bell-boy came back, followed by a tall, thin, and
pleasant-faced man of sixty, wearing a light-checked suit and a
broad-brimmed slouch hat.
"This is the gentleman, sir," he said to Dick.
"Are you Mr. Jack Wumble?" asked Dick curiously.
"That's my handle, lad," was the answer, in a broad, musical voice.
"And I see your card reads Richard Rover. Any relation to Andy
Rover, as used to be a mining expert?"
"I am his son."
"Well, well! His son, eh? Glad to know you, downright glad!" And
Jack Wumble nearly wrung Dick's hand off. Then Tom and Dick were
introduced, and more handshaking followed, and the boys felt that
they had found a true friend beyond a doubt.
CHAPTER XIX
THE BURLY STRANGER'S LITTLE GAME
"I'm more than glad to have met you as we did," said Dick, a little
later, after Jack Wumble had asked the boys about their father. "I
think it has saved us from getting into a lot of trouble."
And he related the particulars of the meeting with Henry Bradner,
and what the stranger had said and done concerning Wumble.
"The snake!" ejaculated the old miner passionately. "He's a sharp,
true as you are born! Why, I never put up at the Palace of the
West in my life."
"I wish I knew what his game was," went on Dick.
"You will know Dick -- if I can get my hands on him. Do you reckon
as how he is over to that other hotel now?"
"More than likely."
"Unless he shadowed us to here," burst out Tom. "If he did that he
must know his game is up, and you can be sure he will keep out of
sight."
The matter was talked over, and it was decided that Jack Wumble and
the boys should go to the other hotel without delay.
On the way Dick told the old miner what had brought them to the
West. Jack Wumble took a deep interest in all mining schemes, and
listened closely to all the youth had to say.
"Yes, I remember about the Eclipse Mine," he said. "And I remember
this Arnold Baxter, too. He was a bad one, and if I and some
others had our say he would have dangled from a tree for his
stealings, for, you see, we didn't have no jails in those days, and
stealing was a capital crime."
"It will you help us to locate the mine before Arnold Baxter or his
confederates can get on the ground? We will pay you for your
trouble."
"Certainly, I'll do what I can. But I -- don't want any of Anderson
Rover's pile -- not me. Why, your father nursed me through the worst
case o' fever a miner ever had -- an' I ain't forgittin' it, lads.
I'll stick to ye to the end." And the old miner put out his hand
and gave another squeeze that made Dick wince.
The Palace of the West reached, Wumble pushed his way into the
smoke-laden office and to the desk.
"Say, is there a man named Jack Wumble stopping here?" he demanded.
"Jack Wumble," repeated the clerk slowly.
"That's what I said."
"There is a Jack Wimple stopping here -- but he is out -- gone to St.
Louis."
"Jack Wimple? He's not the man," and the old miner fell back and
repeated what had been said to the three boys.
"Perhaps Bradner made a mistake," suggested Tom. "But I don't
believe it."
"He tried to make us believe this hotel and the Western Palace were
one and the same," put in Sam.
"He's sharp, I tell you," declared Jack Wumble. "Just wait till I
get on his trail, I'll make him tell us the truth. More than
likely he wanted to clean you boys out."
They waited around for the best part of an hour, but Henry Bradner
failed to return, and at last they gave up looking for him, and the
boys went back to where they had hired a room for the night,
promising to rejoin Jack Wumble early in the morning, when the
whole party would take a train for Denver, where Wumble wished to
transact a little business before starting out for Larkspur Creek.
The boys had not slept very well on the train, so they were
thoroughly tired out. They were on the point of retiring when a
bell-boy came up stating that their friend wished to see Dick for a
few minutes.
"Wumble must have forgotten something," said Dick. "I'll see what
it is," and he took the elevator to the ground floor.
To his surprise it was not Wumble who wished to see him, but Henry
Bradner.
"What, you!" cried the youth. "I thought you had skipped out."
"Skipped out?" queried the burly man in pretended surprise. "Why
should I skip out?"
"Don't you know that we have found you out?"
"Found me out? You are talking in riddles, young man." And the
stranger drew himself up proudly.
"We have found Mr. Jack Wumble, and he tells us that he never
stopped at the Palace of the West in his life."
"Mr. Jack Wimple, you mean. Why, he is certainly at the hotel -- or
was."
"We were looking for Mr. Wumble -- and you know it. I care nothing
for your Mr. Wimple. And besides, you told us that the Western
Palace and the Palace of the West were one and the same. That was
a deliberate falsehood."
Bradner turned pale, and looked as if he wished to catch Dick by
the throat. "Have a care, young man!" he hissed. "I am not a man
to be trifled with. I tried to do you a good turn, but I see I
have put my foot into it. Henceforth you can take care of
yourself."
So speaking, Henry Bradner turned on his heel and strode off, a
look of baffled rage in his eyes. Instantly Dick turned to a
bell-boy.
"Run up to room 233 and tell Tom Rover to come down at once and
follow his brother," he said hurriedly. "I can't go up -- I want to
watch that man, for he's a crook."
The boy seemed to understand, and flew for the stairs, the elevator
being out of sight. Dick ran to the door, to behold Bradner
standing on the sidewalk as if undecided which way to pursue his
course. But presently he walked slowly up the street. Dick
followed him, and had gone less than half a block when Tom joined
him, all out of breath with running.
"What is it, Dick?"
"It was Bradner, who came to smooth matters over. I am following
him to see if I can't get on to his game."
"Oh, what nerve! I should think he would have been afraid to come
near us."
"He's a bold one, Tom, and we must look out that we don't get bit
by him."
Henry Bradner covered half a dozen blocks of the street upon which
the hotel was located, and then turned into a narrow thoroughfare
running toward the Chicago river.
Here were a number of low drinking places, and in front of one of
these he stopped. Instead of entering the resort by the main door
he went in through a side hallway, which led to a rear room.
"Perhaps he is stopping here," suggested Tom, as the two lads came
to a halt.
"Well, if that is so we had better remember the place," answered
Dick.
There was an alleyway alongside of the house, and looking into this
the boys saw a light shining out of several windows near the rear
of the resort.
"Let us take a peep into the windows," suggested Dick, and led the
way.
To let out some of the tobacco smoke the windows were pulled down
partly from the top. The bottom sashes were covered with
half-curtains of imitation lace, but so flimsy that the boys saw
through them without difficulty.
Bradner bad just entered this rear room, and was gazing around
inquiringly. Now he stalked over to a table near one of the
windows, and dropped heavily into a chair.
"I'm afraid the jig is up," he said, addressing somebody on the
opposite side of the table.
"What has happened," asked the other person, and now the two Rover
boys were amazed to learn that the party was Dan Baxter. The bully
had changed his dress and also the style of wearing his hair, and
was sporting a pair of nose glasses.
"They have met the real Jack Wumble, and found out that I was
fooling them about the hotel."
"That's too bad," cried Dan Baxter. "You must have made a bad
break of it, Bradner."
"I did my best, but I couldn't keep them from looking around,
although I offered to conduct them. You can bet if I had had them
under my care they wouldn't have got near the Western Palace, nor
Jack Wumble either."
"Did you have a man ready to play the part of Wumble?" questioned
Dan Baxter, after the burly one had ordered drinks for the two.
"Yes, I had Bill Noxton all cocked and primed. But now our cake is
dough--and after all the trouble I've taken for your father, too!"
And Henry Bradner uttered a snort of disgust.
"Did you warn this Noxton?"
"Oh, yes, and I put a flea into the ear of the hotel clerk, too.
But the thing is, what do you suppose your father will want done
next?"
"Don't ask me," answered Dan Baxter recklessly. "He don't half
trust me any more. He says I'm only good to sponge on him," and
the former bully of Putnam Hall gave a bitter laugh.
"Well, I haven't followed these Rovers all the way from Valley
Brook farm to here for nothing," went on Henry Bradner. "Your
father wanted 'em watched, and I've watched 'em ever since they
came home from that boarding academy. It was a big job, too."
"Didn't they suspect you?"
"One of 'em said he thought he had seen me before." And Bradner
laughed. "It was at the Valley Brook Church. I followed them to
the church just to keep my word to your father."
"And you are certain Mr. Rover isn't coming West?"
"No, he's laid up with a game leg, and won't move for a month. I
got that straight from the hired man." There was a pause. "What
do you reckon I had best do next?"
"Telegraph to my father at Denver -- you know his assumed name, and
let him advise you. I suppose the boys and that Wumble will go
straight through to the mining district now."
"More than likely."
"Then father and Roebuck will have to stop them out there, although
how it's to be done I don't know."
At this juncture a waiter came forward, and closed down the window,
and the balance of the conversation was lost to the two Rover boys.
CHAPTER XX
JUST A LITTLE TOO LATE
"What do you think of that?" whispered Dick, as he led the way back
to the sidewalk.
"It's all as plain as day," replied his brother. "This Bradner was
set to watch the house immediately after the robbery occurred.
More than likely he was around at the time of the robbery."
"Do you suppose he is the man who helped Arnold Baxter to escape
from prison on that forged pardon?"
"Creation! It may be so!" ejaculated Tom. "I'll tell you one
thing: we ought to have them both arrested at once."
"I don't know about that," mused the elder Rover. "If we do that
then how are we to find out where Arnold Baxter is, or this fellow
they called Roebuck?"
"But they may slip through our fingers if we don't have them locked
up."
The two brothers talked the matter ever, and then decided, late as
it was, to call upon Jack Wumble for advice.
"You can go for him," said Dick. "I'll continue to watch this
place. If they leave I'll throw bits of paper on the sidewalk and
you can follow the trail just as if we were playing a game of hare
and hounds."
Tom made off at top speed, carefully noting the street and number,
so that he would not miss his way when returning.
Left to himself Dick went into the alleyway again and looked
through the window as before.
Dan Baxter and Bradner were still conversing, but the youth could
not hear what was said.
Presently the pair at the table arose, settled for their drinks and
came out of the place.
They walked up the street and around a corner, and Dick followed,
scattering bits of an old letter as he went along. When the letter
was used up, he tore to bits some handbills which he found in the
street.
Eight squares were covered before Dan Baxter and Bradner reached a
dingy looking hotel which went by the name of Lakeman's Rest.
It was set in the middle of the block, with brick houses on either
side of it.
They entered a narrow hallway, and by the light above the door Dick
saw them ascend the stairs to the second floor.
There now seemed nothing to do but to await Tom's return, and the
youth retired to the opposite side of the street.
It was late -- after midnight, in fact -- and the street was
practically deserted.
A half hour went by and Dick felt as if his brother would never
return, when he heard swift footsteps behind him.
"So this is your game, eh?" cried the voice of Bradner, and of a
sudden a club descended upon Dick's head and he went down as if
shot.
The man had looked out of the hotel window and spotted Dick, and
had gone out by a back way add around the square to make certain of
his victim.
"That was a good crack," came from Dan Baxter. "It serves him
right for following you."
Bradner was about to bend over his victim to ascertain how badly
Dick was hurt when the footsteps of two men approaching made him
draw back.
"Come, we don't want to be caught," whispered Dan Baxter nervously.
And then, as the footsteps came closer, he darted away, with Henry
Bradner at his heels. They did not stop until a long distance away
from the scene of the dastardly attack.
The men who were approaching were a couple of bakers who were
employed in a neighboring bakery.
"Vas ist dis!" cried one of them, as he stumbled over Dick's body.
"A young mans!"
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