so, Sam," echoed Clip.
"It would do me good to lay the whip over his shoulders."
Sam trembled, and shook his head. He was a timid boy, and such an act seemed to him to border on the foolhardy.
"How old are you, Sam?"
"Fourteen."
"In seven years you will be a man, and he can't tyrannize over you any longer."
"I don't believe I shall live so long," said Sam, despondently.
"Yes, you will. Even in four years, when you are eighteen, your uncle won't dare to beat you."
"Why don't you run away, like I did?" asked Clip, with a bright idea.
But Sam was not of the heroic type. He shrank from throwing himself on the world.
"I should starve," he said. "Would you run away, Clip, if you were in my place?"
"Wouldn't I just!"
"And you, Bob?"
"He wouldn't strike me but once," said Bob, proudly.
"It's all well enough for you, but I think I'm a coward. When my uncle comes at me my heart sinks into my boots, and I want to run away."
"You'll never make a hero, Sam."
"No, I won't. I'm an awful coward, and I know it."
"How is your aunt? Is she any better than your uncle?"
"She's about the same. She don't whip me, but she's got an awful rough tongue. She will scold till she's out of breath."
"How long have you lived with your uncle?"
"About four years. When my father died, he told me to go to Uncle Aaron."
"Didn't he leave any property?"
"Uncle Aaron says he didn't leave a cent, and I suppose it's so; but father told me in his last sickness there'd be some property for me."
"I've no doubt there was, and he cheated you out of it," said Bob indignantly. "That's just my opinion of your uncle."
"Even if it is so, I can't do anything. It'll do no good. But I'd like to know how it is, for Uncle Aaron is all the time twitting me with living on him."
"As if you don't do enough to earn your own living. Why, you work harder than Clip, here, though that isn't saying much," added Bob, with a smile.
Clip showed his white teeth, and seemed to enjoy the joke.
"Spec's I was born lazy," he said, promptly. "Dat ain't my fault, ef I was born so."
"That wouldn't be any excuse with Uncle Aaron," remarked Sam. "He thinks I'm lazy, and says he means to lick the laziness out of me."
"I think we had better hire out Clip to him. He needs a little discipline like that sort."
"Oh golly, massa Bob! I couldn't stand it nohow," said Clip, with a comical expression of alarm. "Massa Wolverton's the meanest white man I ever seed. Wish an earthquake would come and swallow him up."
"Your father was round to see my uncle this morning," said Sam.
"Yes, I know; he went to pay him some interest money."
"Your father is a nice gentleman. I wish I was his nephew," said poor Sam, enviously.
"Yes, Sam; he's always kind. He's a father to be proud of."
"By the way, Sam, I've got some good news for you."
"What is it, Bob?"
"Your uncle carried home a pair of prairie chickens this morning. You'll have one good dinner, at least."
"Where did he get them?"
"I shot them."
"And you gave them to him?" asked Sam, surprised.
"Well, yes, after a little squabble," and Bob related the adventure of the morning.
"How brave you are, Bob!" said Sam admiringly. "You actually had a quarrel with Uncle Aaron?"
"Yes," answered Bob, with a smile. "When I got through, your uncle was lying on his back resting. I threw down two of the chickens, as much for your sake as any other reason. I hope you'll get your share."
"I saw the chickens in the kitchen before I came away, and wondered where they came from. I knew Uncle Aaron wouldn't buy them."
"Has your uncle got a gun?"
"No; I think he's afraid of a gun."
"And you are afraid of him?"
"I can't help it, Bob. He flogs me sometimes with a horsewhip."
"I'd like to see him try it on me," said Bob, with emphasis. "But as I said before, you'll be a man some time, Sam, and then he won't dare touch you."
CHAPTER IV
THE SUDDEN SUMMONS
When Richard Burton left the office of Aaron Wolverton, he did not return home immediately. He had a business call to make in the next township, and drove over there. Finding that he was likely to be detained, he went to the hotel to dine, and, the day being warm, sat on the piazza and smoked a cigar afterwards. It was not until four o'clock that he turned his horse's head in the direction of Carver.
The horse he drove was young and untrained. It would have been dangerous for an unskillful driver to undertake to manage him. Robert Burton, however, thoroughly understood horses, and was not afraid of any, however fractious. But he had been persuaded to drink a couple of glasses of whisky by acquaintances at the hotel, and he was easily affected by drink of any kind. So his hand was not as strong or steady as usual when he started on his homeward journey.
The horse seemed instinctively to know that there was something the matter with his driver, and, as he turned back his head knowingly, he prepared to take advantage of it. So he made himself more troublesome than usual, and Burton became at first annoyed and then angry.
"What ails you, you vicious brute?" he exclaimed, frowning. "You need a lesson, it seems."
He gave a violent twitch to the reins, more violent than he intended, and the animal swerved aside suddenly, bringing one wheel of the wagon into forcible collision with a tree by the roadside. This, coming unexpectedly, threw Richard Burton violently from his seat, and he was pitched out of the carriage, his head being thrown with force against the tree which had been the occasion of the shock.
There was a dull, sickening thud, and the poor man lay insensible, his eyes closed and his breast heaving.
The horse detached himself from the wagon and ran home – they were within half a mile of the village now – leaving his driver without sense or motion beside the wrecked wagon.
He had lain there not over twenty minutes, when a pedestrian appeared upon the scene.
It was Aaron Wolverton, who was on his way to the
