Digging for Gold 22

Digging for Gold 22

“Yes, sir; that’s very likely,” responded Benton, glad that his employer

was disposed to regard the matter from this point of view.

 

“I don’t like to think that any one in my employ would rob me.”

 

“Very true, sir. It would be a great shame.”

 

“It’s all right!” thought Benton complacently. “It is better so. I don’t

care to have the boy discharged. Some one might succeed him whom I

couldn’t hoodwink so easily.”

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XX.

BENTON IS TRAPPED.

 

 

Judging that his employer’s suspicions were allayed, Benton ventured to

take two five-dollar bills from the till before he went out in the

evening. Currency was at that time mixed, and bills, as well as gold and

silver, were in circulation.

 

He left the restaurant at the usual time. It so happened that Grant had

something to do and did not go out with him. Benton, therefore, went at

once to the gambling-house which he was in the habit of frequenting.

 

“I’m getting tired of being cooped up in the restaurant day after day,”

he said impatiently. “Why can’t I make a strike? If I could scoop in

four hundred dollars to-night I would leave Sacramento and go to the

mines. Then I might strike it rich and carry home ten thousand dollars,

as Grant’s friend did.”

 

Grant had told him the story of John Heywood’s good fortune, and it had

impressed him.

 

“If a clodhopper like that can make a fortune, why shouldn’t I?” he

asked himself.

 

So his purpose to go to the mines and try his luck was strengthened. If

he had begun six months before to save money, he would have had enough

to start before this, but Albert Benton was one of those who despised

small and steady savings, and are always on the lookout to “make a

strike,” as he termed it.

 

“That boy won’t spy on me to-night,” he said to himself. “I must be

careful. If the old man knew where I spent my evenings he would smell a

rat. I wonder how much I’ve taken from the drawer in the last three

months. Fully as much as my wages, I expect. Well, he can stand it. He’s

making plenty of money, anyhow.”

 

It was in this way that he excused his thefts. Yet he felt that he would

like to leave the restaurant and put himself in the way of making that

fortune for which he yearned.

 

Though Grant was not in the street to see where he went, there was

another who quietly noticed his movements and followed his steps. This

was John Vincent, the ex-detective. From the first he had suspected

Benton and doubted Grant’s guilt. He was a man skilled in physiognomy,

and he had studied Benton’s face and formed a pretty accurate estimation

of his real character.

 

“If Benton hasn’t robbed my friend Smithson’s till, then I lose my

guess,” he said to himself.

 

He did not, however, say much of his suspicions to the keeper of the

restaurant, who, he saw, was disposed to consider Grant the guilty

party. He waited till he had some evidence to offer in confirmation of

his theory.

 

When Benton entered the gambling-house Vincent followed close behind

him. Benton saw him, but did not know that he was a special friend of

Mr. Smithson.

 

Vincent placed himself at a neighboring table in such a position that he

could watch Benton. He saw him take out one of the bills which he had

abstracted from the till, and stake it.

 

“What do you put down paper for?” asked a man beside him. “Gold is

better.”

 

“Bills are just as good,” said Benton.

 

“I will give you gold for bills,” said Vincent. “I want to send some

money to the East.”

 

“All right, and thank you,” said Benton. “Here are two fives.”

 

“And here are two gold pieces,” said Vincent.

 

There was a secret look of elation on his face as he received the bills,

and furtively noticed a red cross on the back of each. They had been

secretly marked by himself as a trap to catch the thief, whoever he

might be.

 

“Now I have you, my man,” he thought. “This is the evidence I have been

looking for. It settles the question of Benton’s guilt and Grant’s

innocence.”

 

Vincent played two or three times for slight stakes, and rose from the

table after a while neither a loser nor a winner.

 

He did not go immediately, but stayed, like many others, simply as a

looker on.

 

“Won’t you join us?” asked Benton.

 

“No; I must go away soon. I want to write a letter. I only dropped in

for a few minutes.”

 

Albert Benton played with unusual good fortune. He had been in the habit

of bewailing his poor luck, but to-night the fates seemed to favor him.

The little pile of gold before him gradually increased, until he had

four hundred and seventy-five dollars.

 

“Twenty-five dollars more, and then I will stop,” he said. “To-morrow I

will give notice to Smithson and get ready to leave Sacramento.”

 

But instead of winning the sum desired, he began to lose. He lost

twenty-five dollars, and in desperation staked fifty. Should he win he

would still have five hundred dollars, and then he would leave off. Upon

that he was quite determined. But again he lost. He bit his lips, his

face flushed, his hands trembled, and there was a gleam of excitement in

his eye. He had no thought of leaving off now. It must be five hundred

dollars or nothing!

 

There is no need to follow him through his mutations of luck. At the end

of an hour he rose from the table without a dollar. He had enough,

however, to buy a glass of whiskey, which he gulped down, and then

staggered out of the gambling-house.

 

“I was so near, and yet I lost!” he said to himself bitterly. “Why

didn’t I keep the four hundred and seventy-five dollars when I had it,

and get the other from the restaurant? I have been a fool—a besotted

fool!”

 

He pulled down his hat over his eyes and bent his steps homeward, where

he tossed all night, unable to sleep.

 

But in the morning his courage returned.

 

“After all,” he reflected, “I am only ten dollars worse off than when I

entered the gambling house, and that was money I took from Smithson.

I’ve had a pretty good lesson. The next time fortune smiles upon me I’ll

make sure of what I have won, and leave off in time.”

 

Vincent went straight from the gambling-house to the house of his friend

Smithson. The latter came down stairs half dressed and let him in.

 

“What brought you here so late?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.

 

“Because I have some news for you.”

 

“What is it? Nothing bad, I hope.”

 

“Oh, no; it is only that I have found the thief who has been robbing

you.”

 

“It is the boy, then, as I thought,” said Smithson eagerly.

 

“No, it isn’t the boy.”

 

“Who, then?”

 

“Who else is there? It is Albert Benton.”

 

“Are you sure of this?” asked Smithson, dumfounded.

 

“Yes; there is no doubt of it.”

 

“Come in and tell me how you found out.” Vincent entered and sat down on

a chair in the front room.

 

“I will tell you,” he answered. “I took the liberty to go to your money

drawer and mark four bills this afternoon. I marked them with a red

cross on the right-hand corner of the reverse side. Well, Benton took

two of those bills with him this evening when he stopped work.”

 

“How do you know?”

 

“I was near by when he left the restaurant. I followed him at a

distance, and saw him enter Poole’s gambling-house.”

 

“Well?”

 

“I entered too, and took my place at a neighboring table. He produced a

five-dollar bill, when some one suggested that gold was preferable. Upon

that I offered to give him gold for bills. He produced two fives, and I

gave him two gold pieces for them.”

 

“Well?”

 

“Here they are.”

 

The detective drew from his wallet two bank-notes, and showed Smithson

the red cross on the reverse side of each.