Nick Carter Strikes Oil: Uncovering More Than a Murder
9781465668417
213 pages
Library of Alexandria
Overview
“It ain’t right! It’s swindling, and you can’t make it anything else!” These words, uttered in a loud, angry voice, were followed by a fierce oath, and the man to whom they were addressed raised his hand, and there was a look of pain on his pale face. “I wish you wouldn’t swear,” he said gently. “Be calm, and tell me just what you mean.” The first speaker looked ashamed of himself, and probably would have answered in a quiet way if another man who was standing near had not put in: “Don’t pay any attention to him, Mr. Judson. Let him rave. If he’s such a fool that he can’t make money, it’s not your fault, and he has no business to complain to you.” “But,” said Mr. Judson, “he makes a serious charge against——” The first speaker did not hear this, for he was angry almost beyond his control, “mad clean through,” as the saying is in that part of the country, Colorado, where the scene took place. He did not hear, because he broke in violently: “I’ve been swindled, robbed, do you hear? And you’re just as much to blame as if you’d been the only one in the scheme. You wear the clothes of a preacher, but, by——! you’re a wolf in sheep’s clothing, and you deserve to be shot on the spot. If you want to keep that pious skin of yours whole, you’d better not come around Hank Low’s way.” “But, Mr. Low, listen to me,” the clergyman begged. “Not a word, you black-coated devil! When I think of the way my wife and kids have been cheated by a sneak thief of a minister, it puts murder in my heart, it does! I won’t talk to you, for fear I’ll forgit and take the law into my own hands. Geddap, Jenny.” The man’s old mare responded to the command and a lash of the whip, and jogged away, dragging the rickety old wagon in which sat the angry Hank Low alone. The clergyman turned, with a sigh, to his companion. “I’m afraid, Mr. Claymore,” he said, “that all is not as it should be in this matter.” “Pooh!” returned Claymore easily; “you mustn’t mind the howling of such a wild man. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He won’t hurt you.” “Oh! that isn’t what I fear. I don’t like to hear a man talk like that, because it shows that he believes he has been wronged. There might be some truth in it. If so, I should be the first to make it right.” “But there isn’t anything wrong. It was all a plain matter of business. Hank Low had a lot of land that he couldn’t do anything with. We asked him his price for it, we had a dicker with him, and he sold. What could be simpler, or fairer, than that?” Instead of answering, the clergyman looked over the ground where they were standing. It was a level, but rocky, spot between high hills. No house was in sight, but a half mile farther up the valley was Hank Low’s cabin. Three miles in the other direction was the small village of Mason Creek, and some miles beyond that the city of Denver. This spot where they stood had been part of Hank Low’s farm. He had had a hard struggle trying to make a living out of his land, and had not succeeded very well, and there was a heavy mortgage to be lifted, besides. One day a couple of men came to Mason Creek and spent a good deal of time tramping about the country. One of them was William Claymore. After a few days of tramping about, Claymore offered to buy the most useless part of Hank Low’s farm. He mentioned the name of Reverend Elijah Judson as a man who was interested with him in some kind of a plan. Nothing very definite was said about it, but Low understood that the clergyman meant to put up a private school for young ladies, and wanted the land for that purpose. A deal was made by which Low was able to pay off his mortgage, but nothing more.
