“Goin’ to Californy!” ejaculated Mr. Tarbox in a dazed tone.
“Yes. I’ve seen John Heywood—that’s what I went to Crestville for—and he tells me there’s a chance for a boy to make money out there.”
“Goin’ to walk, I s’pose,” said Seth satirically.
“I’m going across the plains, if that’s what you mean.”
“Where are you goin’ to get the money? It will cost a good deal.”
“I have made arrangements about the money.”
“Is John Heywood goin’ to supply you with funds?”
“I’d rather not tell,” answered Grant mysteriously. He was glad that this idea had occurred 67to his step-father, as he did not wish him to know that he had any funds of his own.
“I don’t know as I’ll let you go,” went on Seth Tarbox slowly.
“What right have you to stop me?” demanded Grant, not very much alarmed.
“I’m your step-father.”
“Yes; but you’re not my guardian.”
“Mind, I don’t say I’ll stop you,” said Seth, for an idea had occurred to him whereby he might turn the expedition to his own advantage. Should Grant bring back a good sum of money, he meant to get control of it, and thought he should succeed on account of the boy’s being so young.
“No, Mr. Tarbox, it wouldn’t be any use.”
“Does John Heywood really think you can make it pay?”
“He says there’s piles of gold there.”
“Piles of gold!” repeated Seth Tarbox, an expression of greed stealing over his face.
“Yes, that’s what he said.”
“I wish I was a young man. I ain’t sure but I’d go myself. But I’m sixty-eight.”
68“That’s a little too old to go.”
“If you are prosperous, Grant, take care of your money and bring it all home. We’ll be glad to see you back safe and prosperous, your mother and me.”
“Thank you, Mr. Tarbox.”
This conversation relieved Grant’s mind. Even if Mr. Tarbox were opposed to his going, he meant to go all the same, but it was pleasanter to have no trouble in the matter.
The next day he went to Crestville again, this time to see Jerry Cooper, as everybody called him, and his son Tom, and ascertain whether they were willing that he should join their party.
Mr. Cooper, a weather-beaten man of fifty, was at work in his yard when Grant came up. Grant knew him by sight, and bade him good-morning.
“Has John Heywood spoken to you about me?” he asked.
“Yes. You’re the boy that wants to go to Californy with us.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You look kind of rugged; I guess you 69can stand it,” said the blacksmith, surveying critically Grant’s broad shoulders and athletic frame.
“Yes, Mr. Cooper; I’m not a city dude. I’ve always been accustomed to hard work.”
“That’s good. There’s a good deal of hard work in goin’ across the plains.”
“How long do you think it will take to make the journey?”
“About four months.”
“It will give us a good chance to see the country——”
“That ain’t what I’m goin’ for. When you get to be fifty years old you won’t care much about seein’ the country. You will be more practical.”
“I shall try to be practical,” said Grant, with a smile.
“It’s my belief we shall see more of the country than we care for. I wish it wasn’t so fur.”
“So do I. Some time there may be a railroad across the continent.”
Mr. Cooper shook his head.
70“I never expect to see that,” he said. “It wouldn’t pay. You’re a boy, and by the time you get to be an old man there may be a railroad, but I doubt it.”
“When do you expect to start, Mr. Cooper?”
“Next Thursday. Can you be ready?”
“I could be ready to-morrow if necessary,” returned Grant promptly. “How much is it going to cost me, Mr. Cooper?” he added. “If you will tell me, I can give you the money in a lump, and you can undertake to see me through.”
“Mebbe that will be a good plan, as I shall have to lay in more supplies. We’ll say seventy-five dollars; and it will be well for you to bring a pair of blankets.”
“All right. I will give you the money now if you will give me a paper acknowledging the receipt, and what it is for.”
“Just as you say, Grant.”
Grant had brought a hundred dollars with him, and handed over to Jerry Cooper the sum he had mentioned, receiving back a receipt. This he put into his pocket with a 71sense of satisfaction. He felt that now the die was cast, and he was really bound for California; that he had taken the first step on the road to fortune.
On his way home he chanced to meet Rodney Bartlett. Rodney was walking with an affected step and swinging his cane. He had an idea that he was a striking figure and excited the admiration of all whom he met.
When his eyes fell on Grant, he started in genuine surprise.
“How do you happen to be over here, Grant Colburn?” he asked.
“I am here on business,” answered Grant.
“Oh, come over on an errand for my grandfather, I suppose.”
“No, I came on business of my own.”
Rodney arched his eyebrows.
“Oh, so you have business of your own?” he said, in a ironical tone.
“Yes.”
“What is it?”
“I don’t think you would feel interested in it.”
“Look here, Grant, I don’t believe you 72have any business here at all,” said Rodney rudely.
“It makes little difference to me what you think,” returned Grant briefly.
“I think you are playing truant from the farm—that you have come over here to get rid of work. If I were grandfather I wouldn’t let you come. I’d keep you at work.”
“You are very kind and considerate, as usual, Rodney. However, you are mistaken in one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“You think I am in the employ of your grandfather.”
“I know you are a farm boy.”
“I was, but am so no longer.”
“What do you mean? Has grandfather discharged you?”
“No, I have discharged myself. I don’t expect to work for your grandfather any longer.”
“What are you going to do? Do you expect to live without work?”
“No; I expect to work harder next year than ever before.”
73“I don’t understand you,” said Rodney, puzzled. “Are you trying to fool me?”
“No.”
“Then what do you mean?”
“I start next Thursday for California.”
Rodney was surprised.
“You—don’t—mean—it!” he ejaculated.
“It’s true.”
“Who are you going with?”
“With Jerry Cooper’s family.”
“But you can’t go without money.”
“That’s true.”
“And you haven’t got any.”
“That’s a mistake. I have all I need.”
“Where did you get it?”
“That’s my business.”
“Who put you up to going?”
“I had a talk with John Heywood. He told me he thought I would succeed in making money.”
“Oh, I see. I suppose he was fool enough to lend you the money.”
Grant smiled, but did not answer. This confirmed Rodney in his belief. He looked at Grant with envy and dislike. With the amiable 74desire to depress him, he said, “I predict that you’ll come back poorer than you went away.”
“It may be so, but I don’t believe it.”
When he parted with Grant, Rodney went around to John Heywood’s house, with the view of ascertaining whether he had supplied Grant with the funds necessary for his journey.
“I think you are foolish, Mr. Heywood,” Rodney began, “to lend Grant Colburn money to go to California.”
John Heywood looked up from his work.
“Who told you I had supplied him with money?” he asked.
“Well, no one.”
“Then why do you say I did?”
“He must have got the money somewhere, so I concluded you had let him have it.”
“Then you concluded wrong. He never asked me to lend him money. If he had——”
“Well, if he had?” repeated Rodney eagerly.
“If he had, I should probably have done it. Grant Colburn’s a hardworking boy and a 75good fellow, and I think he’ll be happier out in California than on your grandfather’s farm.”
“It’ll be a relief to grandfather to have him go. He’s been supporting him for the last two years.”
“Grant has earned his living twice over. He’ll have to work hard in California, but he’ll be paid for it. I shouldn’t be surprised to see him a rich man some time.”
Rodney scowled and walked away. He thought the prediction ridiculous, and hoped it would not come true.
The day before they were to start Grant came over and spent the night with Mr. Cooper and his family. The blacksmith had been guided by John Heywood in making his preparations. Independence, Mo., was at that time the usual starting-point for overland emigrants, and it was to this point that the little party directed their course. Mr. Cooper started with two horses, but at Independence he exchanged one of them for a yoke of oxen, being advised that oxen were upon the whole more reliable, and less likely to be stolen by the Indians. Here, too, he laid in a supply of flour, bacon, coffee, and sugar, with a quantity of rice, crackers, and smaller articles, for they were going through a land where there were no hotels, and must carry their own provender.
When they had completed their outfit they 77set out. A long journey lay before them. From Independence to the gold region was rather more than two thousand miles, and such were the difficulties of the way that they only averaged about fifteen miles a day. A detailed account of the trip would only be wearisome, and I shall confine myself to some of the salient incidents.
The custom was to make an early start and stop at intervals, partly for the preparation of meals and partly to give the patient animals a chance to rest.
One evening—it was about ten weeks after the start—they had encamped for the night, and Mrs. Cooper, assisted by Grant, was preparing supper, a fire having been kindled about fifty feet from the wagon, when steps were heard, and a singular looking figure emerged from the underbush. It was a man, with a long, grizzled beard, clad in a tattered garb, with an old slouch hat on his head, and a long, melancholy visage.
“I trust you are well, my friends,” he said. “Do not be alarmed. I mean you no harm.”
Tom Cooper laughed.
78“We are not alarmed,” he said. “That is, not much. Who are you?”
“An unhappy wayfarer, who has been wandering for days, almost famished, through this wilderness.”
“Do you live about here?”
“No; I am on my way to California.”
“Not alone, surely?”
“I started with a party, but we were surprised a week since by a party of Cheyenne Indians, and I alone escaped destruction.”
Mrs. Cooper turned pale.
“Are the Indians so bloodthirsty, then?”
“Some of them, my dear lady, some of them. They took all our supplies, and I have been living on what I could pick up. Pardon my saying so, but I am almost famished.”
“Our supper is nearly ready,” said Mrs. Cooper hospitably. “You are welcome to a portion.”
“Ah, how kind you are!” ejaculated the stranger, clasping his hands. “I shall, indeed, be glad to join you.”
“What is your name, sir?” asked the blacksmith cautiously.
79“Dionysius Silverthorn.”
“That’s a strange name.”
“Yes, but I am not responsible for it. We do not choose our own names.”
“And where are you from?”
“I came from Illinois.”
“Were you in business there?”
“Yes. Ahem! I was a teacher, but my health gave way, and when I heard of the rich discoveries of gold in California, I gathered up, with difficulty, money enough for the journey and started; but, alas! I did not anticipate the sad disaster that has befallen me.”
Mr. Silverthorn was thin and meager, but when supper was ready he ate nearly twice as much as any of the little party.
“Who is this young man?” he asked, with a glance at Grant.
“My name is Grant Colburn.”
“You are the image of a boy I lost,” sighed Dionysius. “He was strong and manly, like you—a very engaging youth.”
“Then he couldn’t have looked like you,” was Tom Cooper’s inward comment.
80“Did he die of disease?” asked Mrs. Cooper.
“Yes; he had the typhoid fever—my poor, poor Otto,” and Mr. Silverthorn wiped his eyes with a dirty red silk handkerchief. “Have you a father living, my young friend?”
“No, sir.”
“Then it would be a gratification to me if you would look upon me as a parent.”
Grant was quite overwhelmed by this unexpected suggestion.
“Thank you, sir,” he said; “but you are a stranger, and I have a step-father living.”
He said this on the impulse of the moment, as a reason for not acceding to Mr. Silverthorn’s request, but it occurred to him that it would be about as difficult to regard Mr. Tarbox with filial feelings as the newcomer.
“Ah, he is indeed fortunate!” sighed Mr. Silverthorn. He had a habit of sighing. “My friend”—here he addressed himself to the blacksmith—“do you ever smoke?”
“Yes, when I get the chance.”
“And have you, perchance, a cigar?”
81“No; a cigar is too high-toned for me. I have a pipe.”
“That will do.”
“But I have no tobacco.”
“Ah!” Here there was another long-drawn sigh.
After supper they sat down around the fire, to rest and chat for a while before retiring.
“I suppose, my friends,” continued Dionysius, “you would be surprised if I should tell you that I was once wealthy.”
“You don’t look like it now,” said Tom Cooper bluntly.
“No; indeed I don’t. Yet six years ago I was worth fifty thousand dollars.”
“I shall be glad if I am worth as much six years hence.”
“How did you lose it?” asked Jerry Cooper.
“Through the knavery of wicked men. I was so honest myself that I supposed all with whom I had dealings were equally honorable, and I was deceived. But I am happy to think that when I was rich I contributed to every 82good work. I gave a thousand dollars to the church in my town. I gave five thousand dollars as a fund for a town library. All men spoke well of me, but when I lost my fortune all turned the cold shoulder, and I found I had no friends. It is the way of the world.”
“If you were a teacher I don’t see where you got so much money,” remarked Grant curiously.
“I didn’t make it by teaching, my young friend. An old uncle died and left me his money. He had been a miser, and never took any notice of me, so it was a great surprise to me when his will was read and I was constituted his sole heir.”
“I wish an old uncle would die and leave me fifty thousand dollars,” said Tom.
“Such may be your luck.”
“Not much chance of that. I haven’t got but one uncle living, and he’s as poor as Job after he lost all his flocks and herds.”
“I don’t complain of my unhappy condition,” said Dionysius meekly. “I have been rich and now I am poor, but I am resigned to the Lord’s will.”
83“He seems to be a very good man,” whispered Mrs. Cooper to Tom.
Tom shrugged his shoulders.
“I don’t take much stock in him,” he whispered back.
“How did you happen to escape when the rest of your party were destroyed by the Indians?” asked the blacksmith.
“The attack was made in the night. I had been unable to sleep, and I got up and went for a walk in the woods, hoping to become fatigued and drowsy. I was absent for an hour and a half, as well as I can estimate. When I returned to the camp, what was my dismay when I saw that my friends had been surprised, their goods confiscated, and a scene of violence enacted.”
“Were all killed?”
“I don’t know, but on the ground, by the dismantled tent, I saw a human arm which had been lopped from the shoulder.”
“Do you know whose it was?” asked Tom.
“Yes, it was the arm of a young man about your age, who doubtless had excited the anger of the Indians by resistance.”
84Mr. Silverthorn put his red handkerchief to his eyes and sobbed, or appeared to do so, convulsively.
“Excuse these tears,” he said. “They are a tribute to my murdered friends.”
“Did you follow the Indians? Did you try to find out where they had carried your companions?”
“No. It would have been no good. I was single-handed.”
“I would have done it!” said Tom resolutely.
“I would expect it of you, for you are a brave young man.”
“How do you know I am?”
“By your looks and manner. I am not. You may despise me, but I am obliged to confess that I am chicken-hearted. I am afraid I am a coward. It is not a pleasant confession, but I do not wish to represent myself other than I am.”
“Then I am afraid that you are not the right kind of a man to cross the plains to California.”
“I am not sure but you are right. I sometimes 85think so myself. But I hoped to retrieve my fortunes, and in my state of health there seemed no other way open to me.”
“You haven’t had much encouragement yet?”
“No, but I feel that I am fortunate in meeting with your friendly party. And this emboldens me to make a request.”
“What is it?” asked the blacksmith.
“Will you let me travel with you? I am alone, quite alone. It would make me happy to be with you. The sight of that boy, who reminds me of my lost son, would be a daily source of happiness to me.”
Mr. Cooper hesitated, and the expression of his face showed that the proposal was distasteful to him.
“You can stay with us to-night,” he answered briefly. “I cannot promise more.”
The little party generally lay down to sleep soon after eight. The days were always fatiguing, and they were in the habit of rising early.
The weather was warm, for it was toward the end of June, and they did not even raise the tent, but lay down on the ground with a blanket underneath and above them. Mrs. Cooper generally slept in the wagon.
“We have an extra pair of blankets, Mr. Silverthorn,” said Mrs. Cooper. “We cannot offer you a bed; you will fare as well as my husband and the boys.”
“How kind you are!” murmured Dionysius. “To me this simple provision will be a luxury. For a week I have slept on the bare ground without a blanket.”
“You need not go to bed as early as the rest of us, unless you like.”
“My dear lady, if you don’t object, I will 87retire into the woods for an hour and indulge in religious meditation. I wish to express my thanks to Providence for my happy encounter with your kind party.”
“There is no objection, I am sure, Mr. Silverthorn,” said Mrs. Cooper. “What a good man he is!” she said to herself.
“That man makes me sick,” remarked Tom, aside to Grant.
“I think he is a humbug,” whispered Grant.
“I am sure he is.”
The little party stretched themselves on the ground, and Dionysius Silverthorn walked pensively into the woods.
When he returned, Mr. and Mrs. Cooper and Tom were asleep.
The pair of blankets assigned to the stranger lay ready for use. He did not immediately lie down, but thoughtfully surveyed the sleepers.
“They seem fast asleep, but perhaps it will be better to wait awhile,” he murmured thoughtfully to himself. “It will not do for me to get caught. That young man, Tom, is very muscular, and the old man is strong in spite of his years. I will lie down awhile.”
88It was well for him that he decided thus, for Grant awoke—a thing unusual for him—and, looking around, saw their visitor.
“Haven’t you gone to bed yet, Mr. Silverthorn?” he asked.
“No, my young friend; I have been into the woods, engaged in meditation and thanksgiving, but now I feel weary and I think I shall soon be lulled to rest. Do you often wake during the night?”
“No; it is unusual for me to wake at all.”
“That is well. Boys like you should sleep soundly. I would I were a boy again! Good-night, my dear young friend.”
“Good-night!”
Grant was soon asleep. An hour later Mr. Silverthorn, who had been lying quietly, lifted his head gently, and throwing off his blanket, rose to his feet.
He walked up to where Grant lay asleep.
“I wonder whether the boy has any money in his pocket?” he thought.
He went up softly to where Grant lay, and, kneeling down, quietly detached the blanket, so that Grant would be uncovered. Then he 89inserted his hand into his pocket, and drew out some silver change, about two dollars in all.
He looked at it with disappointment.
“Is that all he has?” he muttered. “It won’t pay me for my trouble.”
He was about to search his other pocket, but Grant stirred in his sleep, and, fearing he would awake, Dionysius rose hastily.
“I would try the others,” he said, “but I don’t dare to. If they should wake, they might murder me, particularly the young man. Now I will lie down again, and get up about four o’clock. I must have a little rest.”
Dionysius Silverthorn was one of those men who can rouse themselves at any hour they fix upon. It didn’t vary much from four o’clock in the morning when he rose and rubbed his eyes. It was already growing light in the east, and there was promise of a fine day.
“I feel quite refreshed,” he said, stretching himself. “It is time I took my departure. Is there nothing else I can take?”
Some remains of the supper of the previous night had been left near the wagon, including a box of crackers.
90“I will pocket a few crackers,” said Dionysius, “and keep them for lunch. I will take the liberty of breakfasting before I go. Shall I take the blankets?” he said thoughtfully. “No, they would be in my way. I wish I had a little more money—but it would be dangerous to seek for it. I will, however, take the liberty of borrowing the horse, as he will materially assist me in my journey.”
The horse had been tied to a tree. Mr. Silverthorn gently unfastened the rope and led him away. He was nervously anxious lest he should whinny or make some noise that would arouse the little party. But the horse seemed unusually docile, and, though he was probably sorry to be roused from sleep quite so early, allowed himself to be led away without any manifestation of discontent.
An hour later Tom Cooper stretched himself and opened his eyes.
“Another fine day!” he said to himself. “Well, we must make the most of it. It is high time we began to make preparations to start. Hello, Grant!” he said, shaking the boy till he murmured drowsily, “What is it, Tom?”
91“Time to get up, Grant, my boy. We must be on our way by six.”
Grant jumped up, and, throwing off the blankets, began to fold them up.
“Where’s Mr. Silverthorn?” he asked, turning his eyes in the direction of the stranger’s bed.
“There’s his blankets!” said Tom. “Perhaps he has gone to the woods to meditate,” he added, with a laugh. “I shan’t be sorry, for one, if he doesn’t come back.”
“Nor I,” assented Grant.
“It’s my belief that he’s a rascal!”
“Whether he is or not, I don’t like him.”
“You forget, Grant, that you are the image of his lost boy,” said Tom, with a laugh.
“I hope not. I shouldn’t like to look like any one belonging to him. Do you believe his story about the Indians attacking his party?”
“It may be true, though I think the man is capable of lying. Well, I must wake up father.”
The blacksmith was soon roused.
“A fine day!” he said cheerily. “We are 92in luck. Where is the horse?” he asked abruptly, the next instant.
Startled by the question, Tom and Grant turned their eyes in the direction of the tree to which old Dobbin had been tethered.
“Sure enough, where is he?” ejaculated Tom.
“Wasn’t he securely tied?”
“Yes,” answered Grant. “I tied him myself. He couldn’t have got away without hands.”
“I tell you what, Grant,” said Tom Cooper suddenly, “that scoundrel’s stolen him!”
“What scoundrel? Whom do you mean?” demanded the father.
“That tramp—Silverthorn.”
“Why, he’s gone, too!”
“Yes, and has stolen Dobbin to help him on his way. I’d like to get hold of the rascal!” And stern resolution glittered in the eyes of the young man.
“But I don’t understand it.”
“It’s easy enough to understand. The man’s a humbug. All his story was made up to impose upon us.”
93“Then you don’t believe his party was attacked by Indians?”
“No, I don’t; but if I catch him he’ll think he has been attacked by Indians.”
“It will be a serious loss to us, Tom,” said the blacksmith, with a troubled face.
“We’ll get him back if we can, father. I wonder if the fellow has stolen anything else.”
Grant thrust his hand into his pocket and made a discovery.
“I’ve lost about two dollars in silver,” he said.
“It may have slipped out of your pocket during the night.”
Grant examined the ground on which he had been lying, and shook the blankets; but not one of the missing silver coins was found.
“No,” he said. “The silver must have been taken from my pocket. No; I had some bills in my right-hand pocket. I was lying on my right side, so he could not get at it without the risk of waking me up. Have you lost anything, Tom?”
94Tom had been examining his pockets.
“No,” he said grimly. “The fellow didn’t dare to tackle me, I reckon. If I had caught him at it I would have strangled him. Father, how is it with you?”
“I am all right, Tom.”
“Then he didn’t get much outside of the horse. But that’s a serious enough loss. Poor Dobbin!”
“If I only knew which way he went,” said Tom slowly.
But this was not clear. There was nothing to do but to get ready for the day’s march, and set out. The loss of Dobbin made it necessary that all should walk except Mrs. Cooper, who sat in the wagon.
They had been about three hours on the way when a tramping sound was heard, and Dobbin came running up to the party, whinnying with joy.
“There’s nothing amiss with him,” said Tom joyfully. “I wonder how he got away from the man that stole him. Are you glad to get back, old fellow?”
95There could be no doubt on that point, for the horse seemed content and happy.
“Where’s old Silverthorn, I wonder?” said Tom.
The question was soon to be answered.
The country through which the Cooper party were now travelling was partially wooded. Soon, however, they would reach the long and barren stretch of country—the great salt plain—which was the dread of all overland parties. Then there would be no woods till they approached the borders of the Golden State.
About the middle of the afternoon, while the oxen were plodding along at the rate of barely two miles an hour, they received a surprise.
Tom Cooper, whose eyes were the sharpest, called out suddenly:
“Look there!”
Grant looked, but had to approach nearer before he could realize the situation. Then he saw a white man tied to a slender tree, while half a dozen Indians were dancing round him, 97uttering a series of guttural cries, which appeared to fill the captive with intense dread. It was too far to distinguish the features of the prisoner, but when they came nearer Tom cried out, “Dang me, if it aint Silverthorn!”
It was indeed Dionysius Silverthorn, and his plight was certainly a serious one.
“What shall we do?” asked Grant.
“We must rescue him,” answered Tom. “He’s a mean rascal, and he’s repaid our hospitality by robbing us; but we can’t let him be killed by those redskins.”
“I’m with you!” said Grant.
By this time the Indians had caught sight of the approaching party. They ceased dancing and appeared to be conferring together. When Silverthorn saw that some of his own color were at hand he uttered a loud cry, and would have stretched out his hands if they had not been fettered.
“Help me! help me!” he cried. “Save me from these fiends!”
The Indians—six in number—seeing that there were but three in the approaching party, took courage and decided to maintain their 98ground. They uttered, a yell and fired a volley of arrows, one of which whizzed by Grant’s ear.
Tom Cooper gritted his teeth.
“We’ll teach them a lesson,” he said.
He raised his rifle, and, aiming at the foremost Indian, fired deliberately. The redskin fell, pierced to the heart.
This appeared to strike his companions with dismay. They seemed panic-stricken, as well they might be, for the bows and arrows with which they were armed were no match for the rifles of the little party opposed to them. One of them raised his arm and uttered a few words; these were of course unintelligible to Grant and his companions, but their sense became apparent when he pointed to the dead Indian, and, with one of his companions, lifted him from the ground and began to beat a retreat.
“They won’t trouble us any more, Grant,” said Tom. “They are going away. But we had better keep on the watch, for they are a crafty race, and may meditate some treachery.”
99When they were beyond bowshot, Tom led the way to the spot where Mr. Silverthorn was eagerly awaiting deliverance from his uncomfortable position.
“Well,” said Tom, taking a position where he had a good view of the captive, “what have you got to say for yourself?”
“Oh, please release me, Mr. Tom!” said Dionysius, in a pleading tone.
“Why should I? What claim have you on me?”
“The claim of humanity. You’ve no idea what I have suffered in the last hour.”
“First, I want you to explain why you stole my horse.”
“You’ve got him back,” said Silverthorn, who could see old Dobbin browsing beside the wagon.
“Yes; but no thanks to you.”
“Indeed, I only meant to borrow him for a while.”
“And you borrowed Grant’s money in the same way, I suppose.”
“Put yourself in my place, Mr. Tom. I was penniless and destitute. How could I 100make my way alone through this wilderness?”
“So you robbed your benefactors! I take no stock in your story that you only meant to borrow the horse. Now own up, make a clean breast of it, and it will be the better for you.”
“I meant some time to pay you for him; indeed I did. I knew that if I got to the mines I would soon be in a position to pay all my debts, and I should have regarded that as a debt of honor.”
“The less you say about honor the better, it strikes me, Mr. Silverthorn.”
“Please release me! I have been in this unhappy confinement for more than an hour.”
Tom approached the tree and, drawing out a formidable looking jack-knife, sundered the cords that bound the captive, and he stepped forth, stretching himself with a sigh of relief.
“Permit me to express my thanks, my friend and benefactor!” he cried, sinking on his knees and grasping Tom’s hand, which he pressed to his lips.
Tom pulled it away with a look of disgust.
“I have no confidence in you,” he said. 101“I know how you treat your friends and benefactors.”
“I have indeed done wrong,” said Dionysius. “I am a weak, fallible man, but I never will wrong you again.”
“I don’t think you will, for I shall not give you a chance. Now tell me the truth about the horse. How did he escape from you?”
“I got off his back a moment, and he immediately turned and galloped away.”
“You pursued him, of course?”
“A little way,” answered Mr. Silverthorn, coughing apologetically; “but I soon gave it up. I said to myself, ‘He will seek his owner, and I shall be saved from committing a sin.’“
Tom Cooper laughed.
“You were resigned because you had to be,” he said. “Now, about Grant’s money! Have you got it?”
“No; the Indians robbed me of it.”
“When did you meet the Indians?”
“It may have been two hours ago. I have no watch, and can only estimate the time.”
“Did they attack you?”
“They ran up and seized me. I stood still, 102for I knew that if I ran they would pierce me with an arrow.”
“Well?”
“When they caught me they searched my pockets and took the silver. Then I was glad that I had taken no more.”
“That is, you would rather Grant would keep his money than have the Indians get it.”
“Yes, Mr. Tom,” answered Silverthorn meekly. “It went to my heart to rob the boy, for he looked so much like my lost son. Forgive these tears!” and he drew out the red silk handkerchief, which the Indians had evidently not thought it worth while to take, and wiped his eyes.
“That man disgusts me, Grant,” said Tom. “He seems to have quite an affection for you.”
“It is all on his side,” returned Grant. “I don’t believe he ever had a boy.”
“Well, perhaps not. He seems a natural born liar. But it’s time we were pushing on. We have a long distance still before us.”
The wagon was put in motion, and the little procession started. Mr. Cooper drove the 103oxen, Mrs. Cooper sat inside the wagon, Tom led the horse, and Grant walked alongside. Sometimes Tom took his turn in driving the oxen, and sometimes Grant led the horse.
Dionysius Silverthorn started also, walking beside Grant.
Tom turned upon him.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“I will walk along with you, if you will let me, Mr. Tom.”
“I think you’ve got more cheek than any man I know. After the trick you played upon us, you expect us to tolerate your presence.”
“Please let me accompany you, Mr. Tom. I might meet the Indians again.”
“Then go in a different direction. You cannot go with us.”
Mr. Silverthorn produced his red handkerchief, and rubbed his eyes again.
“It is a hard, cold world!” he said. “I am a very unfortunate man.”
“Perhaps you are; but I don’t think you deserve to be very fortunate. Just make up your mind that you are not going to travel 104with us. Had you behaved honorably, and not repaid kindness by theft, we would have allowed you to remain with us for a time; but now it is impossible.”
“I shall starve, and be found a wretched corpse by the wayside,” moaned Dionysius.
“Let him have some provisions, Tom,” said Mrs. Cooper, who was naturally compassionate. She had given up the idea that he was a truly good man, but she was not willing that he should be left quite unprovided for.
“I will do that,” said Tom.
He made up a small parcel of provisions, and handed them to Dionysius Silverthorn, who sat down on a stump, while the little caravan pushed on.
“That’s the strangest sort of man I ever encountered,” said Tom. “I wonder whether we’ll ever see him again.”
Some days later the party reached the great salt plains dreaded by all overland travellers. The sight of the vast, white prairies, utterly destitute of vegetation, with no plant or shrub visible, and no evidence that any had ever existed, was depressing enough.
“If we should get out of provisions or water here, Heaven help us!” said Tom apprehensively.
“How far will we have to go before we reach the borders of the plain?” asked Grant.
“I don’t know, but I have heard that it is very extensive.”
“How are we off for provisions?”
“That is what makes me anxious. Our supply is quite scanty.”
“And there is no chance to replenish it here?”
Tom shook his head.
106“Don’t tell mother,” he said. “It would make her worry. It will be time for her to learn it if worse comes to worst.”
On the sixth day they were startled by a sight calculated to increase their fears.
It was a stranded wagon, with three gaunt, emaciated bodies stretched near it, all of them quite dead. There were two men and a woman.
“They must have died of hunger, or thirst, or both,” whispered Tom.
“What can have happened to them?” asked Mrs. Cooper compassionately.
“Perhaps they were weak, and unable to go farther,” said Tom evasively.
“It seems terrible that they should be exposed to the elements. Suppose some wild beasts should come and mangle their bodies.”
“Wild beasts are too sensible to be found in this region,” said Tom.
“Why?” asked his mother.
“Because,” answered Tom, hesitating, “the country is so barren and unattractive.”
“You seem to think wild animals appreciate fine scenery, like human beings.”
“Well, yes, in a measure,” and Tom nodded 107significantly at Grant, as if to caution him against saying anything that would reveal to his mother his real meaning.
A Horrible Discovery.—Death from Starvation.
“Tom,” said his father, “don’t you think we had better bury these unfortunate persons?”
“Yes, father. I will help you do it.”
“And I,” added Grant.
“First, however, let us see if we can find any letters or documents disclosing their identity. We ought to let their friends know what has become of them.”
In the pocket of one of the men Tom found letters showing that it was a party from Taunton, in Massachusetts. One of the men had a silver watch, and upon another was found a small sum of money.
“I will take charge of the watch and money,” said Mr. Cooper, “and when we reach any point where it is possible, I will send them on to their friends in Taunton, for that appears to have been their home.”
“What about the wagon, father?”
“We must leave it. We have all we can do in transporting our own.”
A grave was dug, and the three bodies were 108deposited therein. Tom looked sober, for he couldn’t help asking himself, “Suppose this should be our fate!”
He quietly examined the wagon to see if he could find any provisions, but there was not a scrap, or crust to be found.
“It was as I thought,” he whispered to Grant. “The poor wretches died of starvation.”
A week later the same problem confronted them.
“Grant,” said Tom, “I have been examining our food supply, and find that we have only enough to last us two days.”
Grant looked startled.
“And then?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Unless we get a fresh supply we must die, like those poor people whom we buried a week since.”
“Shall you tell your mother?”
“I must. She is entitled to know, for she is in danger like ourselves.”
Mrs. Cooper turned pale, but seemed calm and composed when told of the state of affairs.
“We must make our provisions last as long as possible,” she said.
109“But how?”
“We must be placed on allowance.”
“Half rations?”
“Yes. That will give us some additional time. We must make our two days’ supply last over four days, and who knows what may happen in four days?”
“That is a sensible suggestion, mother, but let it only extend to Grant, father and myself. I don’t want you to be stinted.”
“What do you think of me, Tom? Do you suppose I would consent to fare better than my husband and son, and this boy, who seems like one of us? No, Tom, you should judge your mother better.”
“You have shut me up, mother. I can’t say anything in answer to that.”
“I will show you that a woman has as much fortitude as a man. Besides, I do not have to work as hard as you. I can bear the deprivation better.”
The days following were days of intense anxiety. Every morning, when they set out on their daily march, there was a prayer in the heart of each that something would happen 110before the sun set that would relieve them from the haunting fear of famine.
But in all these days they met no one, and overtook no one. The sun rose hot and fiery, making the great alkali plain seem still more arid and cheerless. So far as they could see, they were the only people in the world; for, look as they might, they could see no other evidence of human habitation. But in the distance it was a relief to perceive some low rising hills, and by night time they reached an oasis, and, what cheered their hearts, a small stream of water, for they were very nearly out, and had felt the need of economizing. Now the oxen, and the horse, as well as themselves, were allowed to drink ad libitum. The animals drank with evident gratification, and looked sensibly cheered and relieved.
“Now, if we could only find some food, I should be perfectly happy,” said Grant.
Only a few crackers were left, but these, dipped in the water, became palatable. But the serious question arose: “What would they do when these were gone?” It was a question that none of them could answer.
111“I have often wondered, Grant,” said Tom, “what it was like to want food. I begin to understand it now. I remember one day a poor tramp came to our door, who said he had not tasted food for forty-eight hours. I looked at him with curiosity. I could not understand how this could happen to any one. All my life I had never known what it was to want food. I even doubted his word; but when mother invited him into the kitchen and set a plate of meat and bread before the poor fellow, the eagerness with which the famished wretch ate satisfied me that he had told the truth. Now, Grant, I will make a confession.”
“What is it, Tom? Have you murdered any one?” asked Grant, with forced hilarity.
“Not that I remember. My confession is of a different nature. For four days—during the whole time that I have been on half rations—I have felt a perpetual craving for food.”
“And I too, Tom.”
“And now I feel weak and exhausted. It has been an effort to drag myself along to-day. The fact is, machinery can’t be kept in working trim without fuel.”
112“I realize that, too, Tom.”
“I presume father and mother have felt the same way, but I haven’t dared to ask them. They say ‘misery loves company,’ but when the companions in misery are your own father and mother, it doesn’t apply. Though I have to suffer myself, I wish they were spared the same privations that have undermined my strength.”
It will be seen that Tom was better educated than the majority of young men born and brought up in the country. He had attended an academy in a neighboring town for a year, and had for a season taught the district school at Crestville. Grant found him pleasant and instructive company.
That night, when they went to bed, they were utterly without food. What were to be their experiences on the morrow they could not foresee, but there was plenty of room for grave apprehension.
“Grant, if we can get no food, I have decided what we must do,” said Tom, as they lay down to rest at a short distance from each other.
113“What is it, Tom? Have you thought of anything?”
“Yes; I suppose you know that horseflesh, though not to be compared with beef, is still palatable?”
“Yes.”
“It is our last resource. Poor old Dobbin must die!” and the young man sighed.
At that moment the old horse whinnied.
“It seems as if he knew what we were talking about,” said Tom.
“That will last us some time,” remarked Grant, with renewed hope.
“Yes; I suppose the poor old fellow won’t be very tender, but it is the only way he can serve us now. We can cook up quite a supply while the meat is fresh, and take it with us. It will give us a new lease of life, and something may happen before that supply is exhausted.”
Tom consulted his father and mother, who, though at first startled, decided that it was the only thing to be done.
And so poor Dobbin’s fate seemed to be sealed!
When they rose the next morning, all looked serious. Each felt that the crisis had come. All eyes were turned upon poor old Dobbin, who, unconscious of his danger, was browsing near the camp.
“Grant,” said Tom suddenly, “let us give Dobbin a small lease of life.”
“Will it do any good, Tom?”
“I don’t know; but this is what I propose: let us each take a rifle and go in different directions. We may find a deer or antelope to serve as a substitute for Dobbin, or something else may turn up.”
“Very well, Tom.”
So the two started out.
Chance directed Grant’s steps into a sheltered valley. Coarse grass covered the ground, which seemed luxurious when compared 115with the white alkali plains over which they had been travelling.
Grant kept on his way, taking pains not to lose his bearings, for he did not care to stray from the party, and it was quite possible to get lost. There was no evidence of human habitation. So far as appearances went, this oasis might have come fresh from the creative hand, and never fallen under the eye of man. But appearances are deceptive.
Turning a sharp corner, Grant was amazed to find before him a veritable log cabin. It was small, only about twelve feet square, and had evidently at some time been inhabited.
Curious to learn more of this solitary dwelling, Grant entered through the open door. Again he was surprised to find it comfortably furnished. On the rough floor was a Turkish rug. In one corner stood a bedstead, covered with bedding. There were two chairs and a settee. In fact, it was better furnished than Robinson Crusoe’s dwelling in his solitary island.
Grant entered and sat down on a chair.
“What does it all mean, I wonder?” he 116asked himself. “Does anybody live here, or when did the last tenant give up possession? Was it because he could not pay his rent?” and he laughed at the idea.
As Grant leaned back in his chair and asked himself these questions, his quick ear caught the sound of some one approaching. He looked up, and directly the doorway was darkened by the entrance of a tall man, who in turn gazed at Grant in surprise.
“Ah!” he said, after a brief pause, “I was not expecting a visitor this morning. How long have you been here?”
“Not five minutes. Do you live here?”
“For the present. You, I take it, are crossing the plains?”
“Yes.”
“Not alone, surely?”
“No; my party are perhaps a mile away.”
“Then you are on an exploring expedition?”
“Yes, sir,” answered Grant gravely; “on a very serious exploring expedition.”
“How is that?”
“We are all out of food. There isn’t a 117crumb left, and starvation stares us in the face.”
“Ha! Did you expect to find food anywhere about here? Was this your object?”
“I don’t know. It was a desperate step to take. I have a rifle with me. I thought it possible I might come across a deer that would tide us over for a few days.”
“How large is your party?”
“There are only four of us.”
“All males?”
“Except one. Mr. and Mrs. Cooper, and their son Tom, a young man, and myself constitute the party.”
“Whence did you come?”
“From Iowa.”
“I venture to say you have found what you did not expect.”
“Yes; I never dreamed of finding a man or a human habitation in this out-of-the-way spot.”
“And yet the time may come within twenty-five years when there may be a village in this very spot.”
“I wish it were here now,” sighed Grant. 118“And if there was one, I wish there might be a restaurant or a baker’s shop handy.”
“I can’t promise you that, but what is more important, I can supply you with provisions.”
As he spoke, he walked to one corner of the dwelling and opened a door, which had not thus far attracted Grant’s attention. There was revealed a small closet. Inside was a cask, which, as Grant could see, was full of crackers, another contained flour, and on a shelf was a large piece of deer meat, which had been cooked, and appealed powerfully to Grant’s appetite, which for four days had been growing, and now was clamoring to be satisfied.
Grant sighed, and over his face came a look of longing.
“Shut the door, quick,” he said, “or I may be tempted to take what does not belong to me.”
“My dear boy,” said the stranger, and over his rugged features came a smile that lighted them up wonderfully; “it is yours. Help yourself.”
Grant took a cracker and ate it quickly. 119Then he took a knife that lay beside the meat and cut off a slice, which he likewise disposed of. Then he remembered himself.
“I am selfish,” he said. “I am satisfying my appetite, while my poor friends are suffering from hunger.”
“Bring them with you. They shall breakfast with me. Or stay. I will go with you and invite them myself.”
Grant left the cabin with his new friend. As he walked by his side he surveyed him with curiosity and interest. He was a tall man—six feet two, at the least, and he walked with a long stride, which he moderated when he found Grant had trouble to keep up with him. He was dressed in a gray mixed suit, and on his head he wore a soft hat. Despite his appearance and surroundings, Grant was led to think that he had passed a part of his life at least in a city.
“I see a question in your face,” said the unknown. “You wonder how it happens that I am living alone in this wilderness. Is it not so?”
“Yes, sir; I could not help wondering.”
120“I have been here but a month. I am one of an overland party that passed here four weeks since. In wandering about I found this cabin, and I asked myself how it would seem to live here alone—practically out of the world. I always liked to try experiments, and notified the party of my intention. Indeed, I did not care to remain with them, for they were not at all congenial. They thought me crazy; but I insisted, and remained here with a sufficient supply of provisions to last me three months.”
“And how have you enjoyed yourself, sir?”
“Well, I can’t say I have enjoyed myself; but I have had plenty of time to meditate. There have been disappointments in my life,” he added gravely, “that have embittered my existence and led to a life of solitude.”
“Do you expect to remain the entire three months?” asked Grant.
“If I had been asked that question this morning I should have unhesitatingly answered in the affirmative. Now—I don’t know why it is—perhaps it is the unexpected sight of a fellow being—I begin to think that I 121should enjoy returning to human companionship. You cannot understand, till you have been wholly alone for a month, how pleasant it seems to exchange speech with another.”
This remark gave Grant a hint.
“Why not join our party?” he said. “There are but four of us. You would make the fifth. We are going to the mines, if we ever get through this wilderness.”
“Tell me something of your companions.”
“Mr. Cooper is a blacksmith. He has lived all his life in Iowa, and is a good man. His wife is with him, and his son Tom, who is a fine, manly young fellow of twenty-one or two.”
“Very well. Now I have been introduced to them, tell me about yourself. Are they relatives of yours?”
“No, they are not related to me.”
“But you have relatives, have you not?”
“I have a mother.”
“I see, and you wish to make money for her. Is she solely dependent on you?”
“No; she is married again. I have a step-father.”
122“Whom you do not like?”
“What makes you think so?”
“I read it in your face.”
“No, I don’t like Mr. Tarbox. He is a mean, penurious farmer, a good deal older than mother. She married him for a home, but she made a mistake. She is merely a house-keeper without wages. She would be better off by herself, with me to work for her.”
“Has she any money at all?”
“About two hundred dollars. Mr. Tarbox has tried to get possession of it, but without success.”
“You look well dressed.”
“I bought and paid for the suit myself. I saved a railroad train from destruction, and the passengers made up a collection of over a hundred and fifty dollars for me. I bought this suit, and with the balance of the money I am paying for my trip to California.”
By this time they had come in sight of the camp. Tom had already returned, evidently without luck, and was only waiting for Grant to appear to sacrifice poor old Dobbin on the altar of hunger.
When Grant appeared with the stranger, Tom and his father looked amazed. Where could he have picked up an acquaintance in this wilderness was their thought.
“Tom,” said Grant quickly, “you needn’t kill Dobbin.”
“Are you ready to take his place?” asked Tom. “Food we must have.”
“My friends,” interposed the stranger, “I come with your young companion to invite you to breakfast at my cabin. Perhaps etiquette requires that I should tell you who I am. Permit me to introduce myself as Giles Crosmont, an Englishman by birth and a citizen of the world.”
“I’m Tom Cooper,” responded Tom briefly; “and there are my father and mother. As for your invitation, we’ll accept it thankfully. Do you keep a hotel hereabout?”
124“Well, not exactly,” smiled Crosmont; “but I have a cabin a short distance away, and am able to offer you some refreshment. Let me suggest that you follow me at once. Grant and I will lead the way.”
“So you succeeded better than I, Grant?” remarked Tom.
“Yes; I found Mr. Crosmont’s cabin, and was wondering if it were occupied, when he entered and made me welcome.”
“Have you lived here long, Mr. Crosmont?” asked Tom curiously.
“Four weeks only.”
“Alone?”
“Yes; I told Grant that it was a whim of mine to try the experiment of living in utter solitude.”
“How do you like it, as far as you’ve got?”
Giles Crosmont laughed. He was amused by the frank curiosity of his young acquaintance.
“I’ve got as far as I care to go in this particular direction. After breakfast I may have a proposal to make to you.”
They reached the cabin, and Crosmont hospitably 125produced his stock of provisions, to which his visitors did ample justice.
“Now for my proposal,” said Crosmont. “I should like to join your party.”
“You are welcome, sir; but, as Grant has probably told you, we are all out of provisions.”
“I will turn over to you the balance of mine, and I have more concealed in the woods, at a little distance.”
“Good!” said Tom, in a tone of satisfaction. “We will buy them of you.”
“No, you won’t. I freely contribute them as my share of the common expense. I can help you in another way also. I am a good shot, and I hope to add a deer or an antelope to your stock at frequent intervals.”
“We shall be glad to have you join us,” said Mrs. Cooper hospitably. “Our meeting with you is quite providential.”
Giles Crosmont took off his hat and bowed respectfully to Mrs. Cooper. It was evident that he was a gentleman by birth and training.
“It was what I was waiting for,” he said; 126“an invitation from the lady. I am afraid I must ask you to help convey the provisions to the camp.”
“Grant and I will undertake that,” said Tom, with alacrity.
“And I will help you,” added the blacksmith. “We are in luck to find food on such an easy condition.”
In half an hour the providential supply was stowed in the wagon, and the party, augmented to five, started on its way.
Generally Tom and Grant had walked together, but the stranger showed such a preference for Grant’s society that Tom fell back and joined his father, leaving his friend and their new acquaintance to journey together.
“So you are going to California to dig for gold, Grant?” said Crosmont, as he moderated his pace to adapt himself to Grant’s shorter steps.
“Yes, sir,” answered Grant enthusiastically. “I wish I were there now.”
“Suppose now that you should be fortunate, and secure, say, ten thousand dollars; you would be happy?”
127“Oh, yes.”
“To a boy like you, the possession of money seems sure to bring happiness.”
“In my case, yes. Remember, Mr. Crosmont, I have a mother to care for. I should like to take her from Mr. Tarbox’s house, where she is a slave, and give her a nice home of her own. That wouldn’t take more than two thousand dollars, and with the balance I could go into business.”
“Yes, you have your mother to live for,” said Crosmont; and he dropped into a thoughtful mood.
“Will you go to the mines also?” asked Grant, less from curiosity than in order to break the silence.
“No—yes; I will go with you for a time; but the mines have no attraction for me.”
“Don’t you care for gold?”
“I have enough already.”
Then, seeing that Grant’s curiosity was excited, he added: “I don’t mind telling you, Grant, that I am a rich man, rich beyond my wants, and I have no temptation to increase my wealth.”
128Grant regarded his companion with the respect that a boy of his age is apt to feel for a rich man—so rich that he doesn’t care to increase his wealth.
“I wonder how it would seem to be rich,” he said thoughtfully.
“Perhaps you will have a chance to experience the feeling some time.”
“I hope so.”
“You are young, strong, self-reliant. In your favored country this will help you to become rich. But after you have acquired wealth, I doubt if you will find it makes you as happy as you expect.”
“But,” said Grant, “if I am rich I can help others. That will make me happy.”
“True!” returned the other, as if it were a new idea. “This ought to have occurred to me before. I will remember it.”
“Were you always rich, sir?”
“Yes. I was born to wealth. My father was a wealthy gentleman living in Devonshire, England. From my earliest years I was accustomed to all that wealth could buy. I never knew what poverty meant.”
129“I should think you would wish to live in England.”
“If I lived there it would be alone.”
“Then you have no family!”
Giles Crosmont was silent, and a pained expression showed itself on his face.
“Excuse me if I have shown too much curiosity,” said Grant apologetically.
“There is no need to apologize, yet your question called up painful memories. I had a son—I don’t know if he is still alive—who must now be twenty-five years old. He disappointed me. I sent him to college, and he plunged into extravagance. I paid his debts twice. The last time, in my anger, I declined to do so. He forged a check on me for a large sum, paid his debts with part of the proceeds, and then disappeared.”
“How long ago was that?” inquired Grant, in a sympathetic tone.
“Four years. For a year I remained at my home, hoping to hear something from him, but no tidings came. Then I began to travel, and am still travelling. Sometime I may meet him, and if I do——”
130“You will forgive him?”
“I will try to reclaim him.”
“I wish my father were living.”
“You have your mother.”
“Yes, I wish I could see her at this moment.”
“I think you are a good boy. I wish my boy had been like you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Crosmont. I will try to deserve your compliment.”
“Grant and the Englishman are getting pretty thick,” said Tom to his mother.
“Yes, Tom. He seems to have taken a fancy to the boy.”
“No wonder. Grant is a good fellow. I wonder if this Mr. Crosmont is rich?” For Grant had respected the confidence of his new acquaintance and had not communicated what he had learned to his companions.
“I hope he is. Then he might do something for Grant, and the boy deserves it.”
“He’ll never get much from old Tarbox, I’ll be bound.”
Day by day they drew nearer to the land of gold. The stock of provisions held out wonderfully, 131for Mr. Crosmont made good his promise, and more than one deer and antelope fell before his unerring aim, and eked out the supply. At length, after some weeks, they crossed the mountains and looked upon the promised land. From this point on there were settlements, and there was no fear of starvation.