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Bob Burton
Bob Burton / or The Young Ranchman of the Missouri
CHAPTER I
MR. BURTON'S RANCH
"Harness up the colt, Clip; I'm going to the village."
"All right, massa!"
"What makes you call me massa? One would think I were a slave-owner."
"Can't help it, massa. There I done forgot it agin," said Clip, showing his white teeth – preturnaturally white they showed in contrast with his coal-black skin. "You see I used to say that to my old massa, down in Arkansaw."
"What's my name, Clip?"
"Mister Burton."
"Then call me Mr. Burton. Now go, and don't waste any time."
"All right, massa."
"That boy's incorrigible," said Richard Burton to himself. "He hasn't got cut of his early ways yet; careless and shiftless as he is, I believe he is devoted to me and my family."
Clip, as may be inferred, was a negro boy, now turned of fourteen, who for four years had been attached to the service of Richard Burton, a ranchman, whose farm lay on a small stream tributary to the Missouri, in the fertile State of Iowa. He had fled from his master in the northern part of Arkansas, and, traveling by night, and secreting himself by day, had finally reached Iowa; where he found a safe refuge in the family of Mr. Burton. Indeed he had been picked up by Bob Burton, a boy a year older than himself, who had brought him home and insisted on his father taking charge of the young fugitive. On a large ranch there was always something to do, and Clip was soon made useful in taking care of the horses, in doing errands and in many odd ways.