Dutchman and the Devil : The Lost Story (9781456612887) Read Online Free PDF

fellows like you at my factory.”
    Waltz thought Herman’s offer of jobs was very generous. “We will like to work for you very much,” he said quickly, without bothering to ask what Weiser wanted.
    Waltz’s boldness surprised and irritated Weiser. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t have been caught dead working in a factory, but this was not an ordinary situation. They were in a strange place without many options. Grimacing inwardly but confident he could manage to avoid any hard labor, Weiser put a smile on his lips and said, “Your offer is most kind, Herman.”
    Waltz liked living in Herman’s house, but Weiser wanted to live in the city’s fanciest hotel, and moved into The Planter’s House as soon as he received money from his mother. Meanwhile, Waltz sent his money back to his mother in Germany. Waltz liked being in a city where a man could go for a walk on a spring evening with his head full of plans for the future, and Weiser liked living in an agreeable hotel where no one cared what time he came in at night or got up in the morning.
    Always on the lookout for extra money, Weiser found boxing clubs where Waltz could use his Gypsy skills and win fights easily. As they had done back in Germany, Waltz took home the prize money and sent most of it to his mother, while Weiser surreptitiously pocketed the lion’s share of the betting proceeds.
    The evening Waltz won the city boxing tournament, Weiser said, “You need a little fun in your life. I’m taking you out to celebrate.”
    Polka music filled the air as they entered a tavern filled with merrymakers.
    Adam Peeples watched Waltz and Weiser come in. He was in St. Louis promoting a wagon train to the newly-discovered gold fields in California. An enterprising young man who was paid a percentage of the price of tickets, Peeples thought these men had the indefinable but unmistakable look of potential customers. He also knew he’d seen the hefty one in the boxing ring. He stood as they approached and said, “Excuse me, but aren’t you Jacob Waltz, the well-known boxer?”
    Waltz blushed and said, “Yah, I am him.”
    Peeples smiled and said, “I’m Adam Peeples, and as a rule I don’t take up with strangers, but I’ve seen you fight and it was the best boxing I ever saw. I’d like to buy you a drink.” Seeing Waltz hesitate, Peeples raised his right arm to include Weiser and added, “I’m just visiting St. Louis for a few days, and I could use some company.”
    Waltz’s natural caution competed with his thrifty nature, and frugality won. “We accept your invitation,” he said and sat down.
    Over generous steins of beer, Peeples adroitly turned the conversation toward his wagon train as he said, “Have you gentlemen heard about the new gold fields in California?”
    “No, we have not,” Waltz said. Normally, he would have stopped here, but Peeples’s good-natured charm encouraged Waltz to continue and he said, “Me and Weiser here have been saving up to go prospecting in South Carolina.”
    Peeples grinned and he said, “Now ain’t that a coincidence. I come from a long line of prospectors myself. Me and my cousins have dug for gold all the way from Pennsylvania to South Carolina.”
    Weiser, who had been admiring Peeples’s tailor-made jacket, said, “I can see you’re doing all right for yourselves.”
    “We have our little strikes that keep us from going hungry,” Peeples said modestly. He glanced surreptitiously over his shoulder, then said softly, “Would you fellas like an inside tip on the next big strike?”
    “Yah!” Waltz said, leaning forward.
    “Of course,” Weiser echoed.
    “All right then,” Peeples said. “I have it on good authority that the next big strike will be in California.”
    To Peeples’s surprise, Waltz leaned back in his chair and snorted, “Ha ha ha, that’s a good one!” Turning toward Weiser with a big grin, Waltz winked and said, “He is making joke, yah?”
    But Peeples did not smile and his dark eyes