The Young Bank Messenger   By: Horatio Alger (1832-1899)

YOUNG BANK MESSENGER

BY

HORATIO ALGER, JR.

AUTHOR OF "RAGGED DICK SERIES," "NEW WORLD SERIES," ETC.

THE JOHN C. WINSTON CO.,

PHILADELPHIA, CHICAGO, TORONTO.

COPYRIGHT, 1898, BY HENRY T. COATES & CO.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER PAGE

I. THE LONELY CABIN, 1

II. A DEATHBED REVELATION, 10

III. A SUCCESSFUL ROBBERY, 19

IV. ALONE IN THE WORLD, 27

V. THE TRAMP TURNS UP AGAIN, 36

VI. A CRITICAL SITUATION, 44

VII. ON THE ROAD, 53

VIII. THE QUAKER DETECTIVE, 61

IX. AN ARMED ESCORT, 71

X. THE ASTONISHED OUTLAW, 77

XI. UNDER WATCH AND WARD, 88

XII. THE OUTLAW'S ESCAPE, 97

XIII. THE OUTLAW'S MISTAKE, 106

XIV. ERNEST HAS AN ADVENTURE, 115

XV. A NEW ACQUAINTANCE, 124

XVI. THE OUTLAW'S HOME, 133

XVII. IN THE ROBBER'S CAVE, 142

XVIII. THE OUTLAW AND HIS BAND, 153

XIX. A DAY IN THE CAVE, 159

XX. ERNEST EXPLORES THE CAVE, 168

XXI. OUT OF THE FRYING PAN INTO THE FIRE, 178

XXII. A FRIEND IN NEED, 187

XXIII. GIVEN IN TRUST, 196

XXIV. STEPHEN RAY AND HIS SON, 206

XXV. A STARTLING DISCLOSURE, 216

XXVI. BOUGHT OFF, 228

XXVII. THE TOWN OF OREVILLE, 236

XXVIII. AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE TURNS UP, 246

XXIX. TOM BURNS MAKES A CALL, 256

XXX. A BURGLAR'S FAILURE, 266

XXXI. THE ADVERTISEMENT, 276

XXXII. MR. BOLTON AS A HUSTLER, 285

XXXIII. THE RESULT OF AN ADVERTISEMENT, 295

XXXIV. A STRANGE MEETING, 301

XXXV. MR. BOLTON AND HIS CLIENT, 309

XXXVI. AN IMPORTANT INTERVIEW, 314

XXXVII. CONCLUSION, 320

THE

YOUNG BANK MESSENGER.

CHAPTER I.

THE LONELY CABIN.

Just on the edge of the prairie, in western Iowa, some thirty years since, stood a cabin covering quite a little ground, but only one story high. It was humble enough as a home, but not more so than the early homes of some who have become great.

Let us enter.

The furniture was scanty, being limited to articles of prime necessity. There was a stove, a table, three chairs, a row of shelves containing a few articles of crockery and tinware, and a bed in the far corner of the room, on which rested a man. He had a ragged gray beard and hair, and a face long and thin, with preternaturally black eyes.

It was evident that he was sick unto death. His parchment colored skin was indented with wrinkles; from time to time he coughed so violently as to rack his slight frame, and his hand, thin and wrinkled, as it rested on the quilt that covered him, shook as with palsy.

It was hard to tell how old the man was. He looked over seventy, but there were indications that he had aged prematurely.

There was one other person in the room, one whose appearance contrasted strongly with that of the old man. It was a boy of sixteen, a boy with dark brown hair, ruddy cheeks, hazel eyes, an attractive yet firm and resolute face, and an appearance of manliness and self reliance. He was well dressed, and, though the tenant of such an humble home, would have passed muster upon the streets of a city.

"How do you feel, Uncle Peter?" he asked, as he stood by the bedside.

"I shall never feel any better, Ernest," said the old man, in a hollow voice.

"Don't say that, uncle," rejoined Ernest in a tone of concern.