Some days passed. The new-comer did not appear to find anything to do. He had sauntered out to the claim worked by Grant and Tom, and looked on, but had made no discoveries. He did not know whether to think they were prospering or not. He determined to obtain some information, if possible, from his landlord.
One morning, after the two friends had gone to work, he lingered at the table, asking for an extra cup of coffee as a pretext for remaining longer.
“Do you think my friend Grant and his chum are doing well?” he remarked carelessly.
“They can’t be making much,” answered Paul. “I think they are fools to waste their time here.”
“They must be making something,” said 247Mrs. Crambo. “They pay their board bills regularly.”
“Do they pay in gold-dust?”
“No; in coin.”
“Humph! what do they do with the gold-dust they get from the mine?”
“I don’t know. I never inquired.”
This was meant as a hint that Benton was unnecessarily curious, but he never took such hints.
“Is there any place in the village where they can dispose of it?”
“No,” answered Paul; “not that I know of. They would have to send it by express to Sacramento or San Francisco.”
“Where did you know Mr. Colburn?” asked Mrs. Crambo.
“We were employed together in Sacramento.”
“He seems to be a fine boy—or young man, perhaps I ought to call him. So steady, so regular in his habits.”
Benton shrugged his shoulders.
“Oh, he’s well enough,” he answered, “but he’s mighty close with his money.”
248“I approve of young men being economical,” said Mrs. Crambo.
“But not tight. Why, I once asked Grant to lend me five dollars and, would you believe it, he wouldn’t do it.”
“Did he receive more pay than you?”
“I should say not. I received a good deal higher pay than he, as I ought to, being older and more experienced.”
“Then,” said Mrs. Crambo shrewdly, “I can’t understand why you should need to borrow money from him.”
“A man is sometimes hard up, no matter how large his income may be.”
“It ought not to be so,” said Mrs. Crambo dryly. “Our income isn’t large, but I never ask any one to lend me money.”
“Oh, well, I suppose you are a good manager.”
“Yes, I flatter myself that I am a fair manager. I think it my duty to be.”
“What a tiresome woman!” thought Benton. “I hate people who are always talking about duty.”
This was not surprising, for Benton concerned 249himself very little about duty in his own case.
When he left the table, he said to himself, “It seems pretty certain that Grant and Cooper haven’t parted with any of their gold-dust. The question is, where do they keep it?”
That day Benton strayed into a restaurant and boarding-house in the village, kept by a man named Hardy, and learned incidentally that he wanted to sell out.
“What do you want to sell out for?” asked Benton.
“I have got tired of the place. It is too quiet for me. I want to go to San Francisco. There’s more life there, and more money can always be made in a city like that.”
“How has the restaurant been paying?” questioned Benton.
“I can’t complain of it. It has paid me about forty dollars a week, net; perhaps a little more.”
“I have been in the restaurant business myself,” continued Albert.
“Then you are just the right man to buy me out.”
250“Will you sell out for the money I have in my pocket?”
“How much have you?”
“‘I have fifteen dollars in my inside pocket,’ as the song has it.”
Hardy shook his head.
“I want a thousand dollars for the place,” he said.
“I will buy it, and pay you on instalments,” said Benton.
“Well, I might agree to that for half the purchase money. Pay me five hundred dollars down, and the rest you can pay at, say, twenty dollars a week. I am sure that is a liberal offer.”
“I don’t think so. Besides, I haven’t got five hundred dollars.”
“Can’t you borrow it?”
“I don’t know.” And then it occurred to Benton that perhaps Tom Cooper and Grant might be induced to advance that sum of money.
“Well, perhaps so,” he resumed, after a pause.
“Find out, and then come and talk to me.”
251“Won’t four hundred dollars do?”
“No. I shall need to take five hundred dollars with me to San Francisco.”
“Is this the best you can do?”
“Yes.”
“I will think of it, and let you know.”
Albert Benton walked thoughtfully out of the restaurant. He had tried gold-digging, and didn’t like it. His old business seemed to him more reliable, and this seemed a good opportunity to go back into it.
“Hardy hasn’t much enterprise,” he soliloquized. “If he can clear forty dollars a week, I shouldn’t be surprised if I could carry it up to sixty. I have never had a chance to show what I could do, always having had some one over me. I should just like to try it once.”
Benton waited till his two fellow boarders got home from their day’s work, and then opened the subject.
“I can tell you of a good investment for your money, Grant,” he said.
“How do you know I have any money to invest?”
252“I suppose you have been making some, and you never spend any.”
“I never spend any foolishly, if that is what you mean.”
“You don’t seem to have much idea of enjoying life.”
“Not in your sense. I enjoy life in my own way.”
“I am glad you do, because you must have some money to lend me.”
“To lend you?”
“Yes; I have a chance to buy out a fine restaurant in the village, but must pay five hundred dollars down. I am almost sure I can clear sixty dollars a week, net profit, from it. You know yourself that I understand the business.”
“Yes, you ought to understand it.”
“I understand it better than digging for gold. I soon tired of that.”
“It is tiresome work,” admitted Grant.
“And doesn’t pay much.”
“It used to pay better—in the early days, I should think.”
“Well, Grant, what do you say? I can 253give you the restaurant as security, and pay you back at the rate of twenty dollars a week. I’ll pay you one per cent. a month interest.”
“How much of the sum are you going to furnish yourself?”
“Why,” said Benton, embarrassed, “I am not so fixed that I can pay anything at present. I’ve got an old uncle, over seventy years old, who is sure to leave me five thousand dollars, so that is additional security.”
“I haven’t five hundred dollars to lend.”
“I didn’t suppose you had, but your friend Cooper could chip in with you on the loan, and just draw his one per cent. a month regular. If that isn’t enough, I would pay fifteen per cent. It would pay me, for it would put me into a good business.”
“I don’t know how Cooper will feel about it, Mr. Benton, but I prefer to keep what little money I have in my own hands.”
“I think you might oblige a friend,” said Benton crossly.
“There’s a limit to friendship. I shall need my money for my own use.”
254Cooper said the same, and Benton saw that he must get the money in some other way. He dropped the subject, in order to avert suspicion, and began to consider the scheme which all the time he had in view to fall back upon.
The next day, when the coast was clear, he went upstairs, and entered Grant’s room. There was no lock on the door, for in California people were not suspicious.
“Now I wonder where they keep their gold-dust?” Benton asked himself. “It must be somewhere in this room, for they have no other place.”
He looked about him. The room was very simply furnished. There was a bureau, with three drawers, which Benton was able to unlock, for he had a key that would fit it. There were only articles of underclothing inside, as, indeed, Benton anticipated.
“I think it must be in the chest,” he decided, as he fixed his glance upon it. “Let me lift it.”
He raised it, and found that it was quite heavy.
255“That’s the weight of the gold-dust,” he reflected. “If I could only open it!”
He tried the different keys he had in his pocket, but none of them would answer.
“I must hunt up some more keys,” he said to himself. “It will pay.”
As Benton left the room, Paul Crambo, who was just coming upstairs, caught sight of him. Observing his landlord’s surprised look, Benton, who was not easily disconcerted, said, “I was looking for a clothes-brush. I thought Grant might have one in his room.”
“Did you find one?” asked Crambo.
“No.”
“I thought he had one.”
Paul Crambo entered the chamber, and pointed out a whisk-broom lying on the bureau.
“There is one,” he said significantly.
“So there is,” said Benton, for once looking confused. “Where could my eyes have been?”
“It is strange you didn’t see it. It was in plain sight.”
257“So it was. I am very absent-minded.”
Paul Crambo made no answer, but when he went downstairs he said to his wife, “I begin to mistrust that Benton.”
“Why?”
Then Paul told what he had seen.
“You are right, Paul. He wasn’t in there for any good purpose. I can’t say I am very much surprised. I didn’t take any fancy to him.”
“Nor I. I wouldn’t like to have him rob our two friends. They are fine fellows.”
“We had better tell them to-night.”
“I’ll do it before that. I’ll go out to their claim at once. The sooner they know it the better.”
“Do so.”
Paul Crambo didn’t often call on the two miners, and they were a little surprised to see him approaching the claim.
“How are you, Mr. Crambo? Are you out for a walk?” asked Grant.
“Partly; but partly on business.”
“Do you want to buy us out?”
“Well, not at present. I ain’t in love with 258gold-digging. Is that Benton a friend of yours, Mr. Colburn?”
“He isn’t a friend. He is an acquaintance.”
“Do you like him?”
“Not overmuch.”
“You had better look out for him.”
“What do you mean?” asked Grant quickly.
“I don’t think he’s honest.”
“You have some reason for saying that, Mr. Crambo,” said Tom Cooper.
“Just before I left the house I saw him coming out of your room.”
“Did he see you?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
“He made a blind excuse; said he went in there for a clothes-brush, but he couldn’t find one.”
“Why, there was one on the bureau.”
“So I found out when I went into the room. I called his attention to it, and asked how it happened that he didn’t see it.”
“Well?”
“He said he was very absent-minded. I 259think he didn’t visit the room for any good purpose.”
“I am sure of it,” said Grant, and then he told of Benton’s experience in Sacramento.
“If you have anything of value in your chamber,” continued Paul, “I think you had better remove it, or make sure that it can’t be taken away by your old friend.”
“The fact is, Mr. Crambo,” said Tom Cooper, “we have considerable dust in the chest which we bought of you. We have kept it secret hitherto, but I know I can rely upon you, and I want your advice as to what to do. You don’t think Benton opened the chest?”
“No; he didn’t have time. Besides, he had nothing with him.”
“It won’t be safe to keep it there any longer; but the problem is, what shall we do with it? We can’t find a hiding-place for it here.”
“If you will see Mrs. Crambo about it, I think that she has a trunk that you can use for the purpose.”
“But wouldn’t that be just as risky?”
“Not if the trunk is kept in our chamber. 260Of course that depends on whether you have any confidence in us.”
“The strongest, Mr. Crambo,” said Tom cordially. “The plan seems a good one. But the transfer must be made when Benton is out of the way.”
“We must pick out the right time. To-night you can consult with Mrs. C. Then if Mr. Benton carries out his plan, and opens the chest, no harm will be done.”
“I hope he will,” said Tom. “I should like to watch the fellow’s face, and see how disappointed he will look.”
When Tom and Grant met Benton in the evening, it was difficult for them to treat him as usual. Tom had a strong desire, as he afterward told Grant, to seize Benton and shake the life out of him.
“Did you have a good day, gentlemen?” asked Benton nonchalantly.
“Oh, so, so! We didn’t come across a bonanza.”
“I have, but I can’t avail myself of it.”
“You refer to the restaurant?”
“Yes; I am afraid it will slip out of my 261hands if I don’t raise five hundred dollars within a week.”
“Have you any scheme for raising it?” asked Tom Cooper.
“Well, no, not exactly. I hope to find some one who will lend me the money. If you and Grant, now——”
“We need the little money we have for other purposes,” interrupted Cooper.
“Oh, that’s all right. I guess I’ll raise it somewhere.”
“I suppose he means in our chest,” thought Grant.
Soon after supper Albert Benton went to the village, and this left Grant and Tom free to transfer their gold-dust to a trunk in Mr. Crambo’s chamber. When the change had been made, Grant said in a satisfied tone: “Now, Benton can open the chest and welcome.”
“I’d like to be present when he is doing it,” said Tom Cooper.
Albert Benton was anxious to obtain a key that would open the chest. He scraped acquaintance with a clerk at the village hotel, and casually remarked: “I’m in a bad fix. I’ve got a trunk at home that I can’t open.”
“Why not?” asked the clerk.
“I haven’t a key that will fit it. You don’t happen to have any keys, do you?”
“I’ve got half a dozen,” said the clerk, taking a handful from his pocket. “They are keys that I picked up about the hotel.”
263“Will you lend them to me?”
“Certainly. If you find one that suits, you can have it.”
Benton took them, well pleased. From the size it seemed to him probable that one of them would fit the chest.
“Thank you,” he said. “I will return them to you to-morrow.”
“Oh, don’t be in any hurry. They are of no use to me.”
He left the hotel, and it chanced soon afterward that Grant and Tom entered it. Tom was in search of a cigar, for he was a confirmed smoker.
“I just had a call from one of your fellow boarders,” remarked the clerk, who knew both Tom and Grant.
“Benton?”
“Oh, is that his name? I only knew that he boarded at Paul Crambo’s. Seems a sociable sort of fellow.”
“Quite so,” answered Tom dryly.
“He is talking of buying a restaurant in the village—the one kept by Hardy.”
“I heard him mention it.”
264“He says he was in that business in Sacramento.”
“Yes,” said Grant; “I knew him there.”
“I did him a favor to-night—lent him some keys,” continued the clerk.
As may be imagined, this announcement was of great interest to Tom and Grant.
“What did he want keys for?” inquired Tom.
“He said he couldn’t open his trunk. He thought one of those I lent him might do.”
Tom and Grant exchanged glances. They understood very well what it was that Benton wanted to unlock.
“Did he think he would raise the money to buy the restaurant?” inquired Tom.
“Yes, he said he was negotiating for a loan.”
Meanwhile Benton had observed Tom Cooper and Grant walking together. He had the keys in his pocket, and was anxious to test the question whether one of them would fit.
“Why shouldn’t I try this evening?” he asked himself. “It is a fine night, and Grant and Cooper will probably stay out some time. 265If I could only get the gold-dust and settle the matter about the restaurant to-morrow! Hardy won’t keep it for me very long. He is likely to meet a man with money any time.”
Benton kept on his way, and, seizing his opportunity, stole upstairs quietly and, as he thought, unobserved. But Mrs. Crambo saw him and suspected his purpose. When two minutes later Tom and Grant entered the house, she remarked: “Mr. Benton has just gone upstairs.”
“I expected he would. He has borrowed some keys in the village.”
Tom removed his shoes, and went upstairs softly. He saw at once that the door of his chamber was open. He approached quietly, and looked through the crack. There was Benton on his knees before the chest, trying one key after another.
At length he succeeded. The last key fitted the lock, and he raised the lid eagerly.
“Now for it!” he muttered in a tone of exultation.
When the lid of the chest was opened, a pile of shirts and underclothing was revealed. It 266is hardly necessary to say that Benton did not care for these. He was in search of something more valuable.
Eagerly he took out the clothing and piled it on the floor beside the chest. Then he looked anxiously for a box containing gold-dust, for it had occurred to him as probable that the two friends would keep their gold in a tin box. But to his deep disappointment no box was visible, nor any other receptacle for the coveted dust.
“I was on a false scent!” he exclaimed bitterly. “Where in the world do they keep their gold?”
He was beginning to replace the clothing in the chest, when the door was opened and Tom Cooper and Grant entered. Benton sprang to his feet in confusion, and tried to push his way out of the room. But at a signal from Tom, Grant closed the door and set his back against it.
“Now, Mr. Albert Benton,” said Tom Cooper sternly, “what are you doing here in our room?”
In spite of his assurance Albert Benton did not know what to say.
267“I—I was in search of some old linen to wrap round my ankle,” he stammered.
“And so you entered our room, and broke open my chest?”
“I hope you will excuse me, I was indiscreet,” muttered Benton.
“That is a very mild way of putting it,” retorted Tom. “Benton, you are a thief.”
“Do—you—mean—to insult me?” asked Benton.
“Yes, if the truth insults you. Shall I tell you what you were after?”
Benton did not reply, and Tom Cooper resumed: “You thought we kept our gold-dust in that chest.”
“Upon my honor!” protested Benton.
“The less you say about your honor the better,” returned Tom, with contempt. “Grant, what shall we do with him?”
Benton began to be alarmed. Tom Cooper was a young giant. He had been brought up to his father’s business, and his muscles were as firm and strong as steel. Benton knew very well that he would be like a child in his grasp.
268“Spare me,” he said, “and I will not trouble you any more.”
“I don’t think you will if you know what is best for yourself. But you deserve to be punished for what you have already done. Grant, open the window.”
“What are you going to do?” asked Benton, in alarm.
“I’ll show you.”
Tom seized the thief, and bore him in his strong arms to the window. He held him outside, making a futile resistance, and then dropped him.
The distance to the ground was only fifteen feet, and Benton landed on all-fours, a little jarred, but not seriously hurt.
“Now,” said Tom, leaning out, “you had better leave this neighborhood as expeditiously as possible, or I will brand you as a thief, and let the citizens take what course they choose.”
Benton knew very well that in California at that time thieves were not tolerated, and were often strung up to a tree without ceremony. He felt that he had better not stand upon the order of his going, but go at once.
269“Let me go into the house and get my things,” he said submissively.
“Have you settled up your board bill with Mrs. Crambo?”
“I have only five dollars!” he pleaded.
“Let the board go!” said Mrs. Crambo, who was on the stairs. “All I ask is that he shall go himself, and never come back.”
Benton crept upstairs, and, getting his small satchel, left the house. Where he went Tom and Grant did not learn, nor did they care.
“That fellow will never thrive,” said Tom. “He has made a bad beginning. Any man who wants to get rich by appropriating the property of another is sure to come to a bad end.”
“I guess you are right, Tom,” said Grant. “I am relieved to have Benton out of the house.”
“You have lost your boarder, Mrs. Crambo,” said Tom. “How much board is he owing you?”
“About five dollars.”
“We will pay that; won’t we, Grant?”
270“Certainly,” answered Grant.
“I won’t accept it,” said Mrs. Crambo decidedly. “It isn’t your fault that Mr. Benton came here. As for the small sum he owes me, I can get along without it. It won’t break me. I don’t believe you and your friend have any money to spare.”
“We have been doing pretty well, Mrs. Crambo. We have no cause to complain.”
“I am very glad to hear it, for you are likely to stay here longer. You have been working hard, and you are entitled to all you have made.”
“Have you really been doing well, Mr. Cooper?” questioned Paul Crambo.
“Yes, Mr. Crambo; we haven’t made a fortune, but we have been very well paid for our work. Would you like to buy a share in the claim?”
Paul Crambo shook his head.
“Digging for gold doesn’t agree with me,” he said. “You are young men, and can stand it, but I have a pain in the back if I work over an hour.”
Tom Cooper anticipated this reply, or he 271would not have made the proposal. He preferred to have Grant for his sole partner. Nor did he care to have any third party know how rich the claim really was. Notwithstanding the hint he had given, neither Mr. nor Mrs. Crambo had any idea what a bonanza the boys had struck.
Four more weeks passed. The claim continued to yield richly, and at the end of this time the two partners reckoned that they had somewhat over two thousand dollars.
“I wish we could sell the gold-dust, and invest the money where it would be safe,” said Tom thoughtfully.
“If we were in Sacramento, we should be able to send it by express to San Francisco.”
“True; but we have no means of doing it here.”
“There are plenty who would undertake the job,” suggested Tom.
“Could we find one that we could trust?” asked Grant shrewdly.
“That’s the question,” said Tom.
That same evening brought a solution of the problem. A man who had just arrived from San Francisco called at the house.
273“Does a boy named Grant Colburn live here?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“I have a letter for him from San Francisco.”
Grant was summoned, and in some surprise received the communication.
“It is from Mr. Crosmont,” he said joyfully, as he opened the letter and looked at the signature.
He read it aloud. It ran thus:
Dear Grant:
It seems a very long time since I have seen you, and I am in the dark as to your successes and prospects. As you know, my principal business is to look for my wayward son Gregory, who, I have reason to think, is in California. Now, all visitors to California come sooner or later to San Francisco, and it is for this reason that I have established myself here. Thus far I have not seen or heard of Gregory, but this is not at all surprising. He may be somewhere in the interior, and in that case there would be little chance of my hearing of him.
Meanwhile, I confess that I feel lonely. I am not a man to make many friends, and I have met no one in whom I feel an interest since I parted with you. I begin to think that I should like to have you with me, and I will promise that you will lose nothing by transferring yourself to San Francisco. Will you, on receipt of this letter, arrange to join me as soon as you can? I am the 274more anxious to have you do so, because I have not felt very well of late, and, if I should fall sick, I should like to have with me a tried and faithful friend whom I can thoroughly trust.
I don’t know how you are situated. You may be in need. I, therefore, think it best to send by the bearer fifty dollars, which will pay your expenses to this city. You will find me at the Alameda Hotel in Stockton Street.
Though I am doing no business, I have made some investments in town lots which, I think, will pay me handsomely. I have bought two lots for you, which are recorded in your name. I look to see the present village of San Francisco become a large, populous and influential city. I may not live to see it, but you assuredly will. If you need more money, let me know. Let me see you soon.
Your old friend,
Giles Crosmont.
“Well,” said Tom, after the reading was ended, “one question is settled.”
“What is that?”
“We needn’t look any further for a messenger to take our gold to San Francisco.”
“You mean that I am to take it?”
“Yes.”
The two partners realized that Grant’s mission would involve some risk. Californian routes of travel were in those days infested by robbers and road agents, who preferred making a living in a lawless way to the more 275creditable and less hazardous paths of industry. How to reduce the danger to a minimum was a subject of anxious thought.
“You had better not send all the gold-dust by me, Tom,” said Grant. “Then, if I am robbed, it won’t be a total loss.”
This plan seemed wise, and Grant set out with about fifteen hundred dollars’ worth of gold. He carried it in a valise, and, the better to divert suspicion, wore an old and shabby working suit.
“I am not proud of my appearance,” he said, as he took a position in front of the mirror in their chamber. “What do I look like?”
“A healthy young tramp,” answered Tom, laughing.
“I agree with you.”
“However, there is one comfort; no one will think you have anything of value with you.”
“What will Mr. Crosmont think when I make my appearance in San Francisco?”
“That you are down on your luck. However, you can explain to him.”
The next morning Grant set out on his way to Sacramento. Tom Cooper accompanied him 276as far as the cabin of the old man to whom they owed their present good fortune. It was a long walk, and the valise, with its weight of gold-dust, was no light burden.
When they reached the cabin, they found Mr. Gilbert—for this was the old man’s name—sitting on a chair in front of it. His face was naturally grave, but it lighted up when his glance rested on the two new-comers.
“I am glad to see you,” he said; but, as his glance dwelt on Grant in his shabby attire, “you don’t seem to have prospered,” he added.
Grant laughed.
“Appearances are deceitful, Mr. Gilbert,” he said. “I am in disguise.”
“I don’t understand you.”
“Do I look as if I were worth robbing?”
The old man smiled.
“You look,” he said, “as if you had just escaped from a poorhouse.”
“Then the disguise is effective.” said Tom. “The fact is my young partner is going to San Francisco, and this valise, which he is taking with him, contains fifteen hundred dollars in gold-dust.”
“Then you have really prospered?” said Mr. Gilbert.
“Yes, sir; we must have as much as seven hundred dollars more, but this was as much as Grant could conveniently carry. We depend on his shabby attire to save him from attracting the attention of robbers.”
“You will remain at the claim?” said Mr. Gilbert, addressing himself to Tom.
“Yes, I shall continue to work it. Grant is summoned to San Francisco by a friend whose acquaintance he made in crossing the plains.”
They stopped an hour to chat with the old man, and then, resuming their march, reached Howe’s Gulch in time for supper.
They were immediately surrounded by old acquaintances.
278“Where are you bound, Tom?” asked one.
“Grant is going to San Francisco. He has an offer of employment from a rich man there.”
“Won’t you join us again?”
“No; I have a claim some way from here which will bear working a little longer.”
“The boy doesn’t look as if you had struck luck.”
“He will be all right when he reaches San Francisco.”
“How about yourself?”
“Oh, well, I am not discouraged. There are better times in store.”
One of the crowd was Nahum Stockton, to whom Grant and Tom had given their claims when they left Howe’s Gulch.
“Look here, Cooper,” he said. “You did me a good turn. I’ve done pretty well with the claim you gave me, and I want to show my gratitude. If fifty dollars will do you or the boy any good, I will let you have it.”
Tom Cooper wrung his hand cordially.
“You’re a good fellow, Stockton,” he said, “but we are not in want. I am glad you have done fairly well, but we don’t stand in need of 279help at present. If we ever do, we won’t forget your kind offer.”
“That’s right. You shall be heartily welcome to anything I have.”
The two partners went to the hotel and stayed overnight. They were pleased to think that no one suspected them of having been fortunate. There were some friends—Nahum Stockton, for instance—to whom they would have been willing to communicate it, but they considered it advisable, on the whole, to keep the matter a profound secret.
The next morning Grant took the stage for Sacramento, and arrived there without any exciting adventure.
“Go and see father and mother, Grant,” said Tom. “Don’t tell them too much, but let them know that I am making a living, and have no cause to complain.”
Mr. Cooper had just finished shoeing a horse, when Grant walked up to the shop.
“Why, Grant Colburn!” exclaimed the blacksmith, “it’s good to see you. But—” and here he surveyed Grant’s attire—“you look kind of seedy, don’t you?”
280“Yes,” laughed Grant; “but there are no good tailors’ shops where I have been working.”
“Have you come to Sacramento to work?”
“No. I am bound for San Francisco. Mr. Crosmont has sent for me.”
“How did you leave Tom?” asked Mrs. Cooper, who had entered the shop, as she shook hands with Grant.
“Well and hearty, Mrs. Cooper.”
“Why didn’t he come with you?”
“Mr. Crosmont didn’t send for him.”
“How is he doing?”
“Well, he isn’t exactly a millionnaire yet,” answered Grant, with a laugh.
“I’m afraid not, if we’re to judge by appearances,” and Mr. Cooper shook his head, as he bestowed another glance on Grant’s outfit. “He’d much better give up this notion of gold-digging and come back here in the shop with me.”
“But at mining you may strike it rich any day, you know,” returned Grant cheerfully. “Tom has really reason to feel encouraged, and may surprise you by making his fortune yet.”
281“Those aint the kind of surprises that grow on every bush,” and Mr. Cooper once more sagely shook his head.
After accepting of the hospitality of the kindly blacksmith and his wife, Grant proceeded on his journey.
He was lucky enough to secure the only remaining seat in the next coach for San Francisco, and was soon started on the last stage of his progress toward the Golden Gate. Of his fellow passengers two were miners, two farmers, one a school-teacher, another a boy of about Grant’s age, and the seventh a black-eyed gentleman, who listened attentively to all that was said, but made very few remarks himself.
Grant was glad to find his place next to the youngest member of the party, who gave his name as Robert Campbell, and stated that he had been on a visit to a relative in Sacramento.
“I trust we don’t fall in with the road agents,” remarked one of the miners, soon after they had got under way.
“Why, do you think there is any danger of it?” inquired the school-teacher anxiously.
282“Well, that’s one of the things we may expect on such a trip as we are taking,” returned the miner, adding: “I’d much prefer they wouldn’t make me hold up my hands this time, however.”
The passengers in the stage now compared notes, and each gave an idea of the amount of his possessions. One of the miners owned up to five hundred dollars, another to eight hundred, and the teacher to two hundred. The farmers were still better provided.
“I’ve got about fifteen hundred myself,” said the black-eyed passenger. “Of course it belongs to my principal, not to me, but I shall be held responsible if I am robbed.”
“The boys haven’t spoken,” said one of the miners, jestingly. “Who knows but they may be the richest in the crowd.”
Robert laughed.
“If the road agent comes along,” he said, “he’ll get so much from me,” and he produced twenty dollars in gold.
“I’ve got so much,” said Grant, producing three quarter eagles, fifteen dollars.
284“You are better off than I thought,” said Robert.
“I didn’t think to include my wardrobe,” added Grant.
“If you won’t be offended,” said Robert, “I have a suit in San Francisco that is better than yours. We are not far from the same size. I am sure my father will let me give it to you.”
Grant grasped his hand cordially.
“You’re a good fellow, Rob, and a true friend,” he said. “If my friend in San Francisco doesn’t provide for me, I will accept your offer with thanks.”
“My friend,” said one of the farmers, addressing the teacher, “I take it you have been at the mines.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You don’t look very rugged, and I see you have a bad cough. Wouldn’t it suit you better to get some work in the city?”
“Perhaps you are right. I thought a life in the open air would improve my health, but I overestimated my strength. My lungs are weak, and bending over weakened me and brought on a hemorrhage.”
285“I take it you have never done hard work.”
“No; I was for fifteen years a teacher in Connecticut.”
“A brother of mine has a real estate office in ’Frisco. He wanted me to be his clerk, but I would rather be my own boss. If you would like the chance, I will recommend you to him.”
“Thank you,” said the teacher. “I have been feeling anxious about the future now that I find a miner’s life is too hard for me. If your brother will take me, I will gladly enter his employment.”
“Were you ever a miner?” asked a passenger of the black-eyed man.
“No; I never dug for gold. I travel for a firm in San Francisco.”
“Indeed! What firm? I am pretty well acquainted in ’Frisco.”
The black-eyed man smiled and shrugged his shoulders.
“My employers have cautioned me to be reticent about their business,” he said. “Still, before we part company, I may introduce myself.”
286“Oh, just as you wish!” said the passenger, not altogether pleased.
“Did any of you ever see Stephen Dike?” asked one of the miners, addressing himself generally.
One by one answered in the negative, till the turn came to the black-eyed man.
“I once caught a glimpse of him,” he said.
“What was his appearance?” asked one of the farmers.
“He looked to me like that gentleman,” and the speaker indicated the consumptive teacher.
This remark naturally led to a critical examination of the teacher, and the man next to him, on the impulse of the moment, moved a little farther away.
“You are sure you are not the man?” asked one of the farmers jocosely.
The teacher smiled.
“If I am,” he said, “I don’t think you would any of you feel very much afraid of me. I suspect that I shouldn’t be a success as a road agent. I haven’t the necessary 287physique. You are better equipped by nature for it than I.”
“I’ve got considerable muscle, that’s a fact,” said the farmer, who was a broad-shouldered, stalwart man. “But you don’t often find men of my build in the ranks of these gentry. They are more apt to be—well, like our friend here,” and he laid his hand on the shoulder of the black-eyed man.
“You compliment me,” said the latter, opening his mouth and showing a set of very white teeth. “I will tell my employer, when I reach ’Frisco, that I have been compared to Stephen Dike.”
“No offence, my friend!”
“None is taken. Indeed, I do consider it rather a compliment, for Dike is quite celebrated in his line.”
“Better be quite unknown than to be celebrated in that way!” observed the teacher.
“You have doubtless often remarked that to your pupils during your career as a pedagogue,” said the black-eyed man, with a sneer.
“It is quite possible that I may have done 288so,” answered the teacher calmly. “You agree to it, don’t you?”
“Oh, certainly!”
“Speaking of Dike,” remarked one of the miners, “a cousin of mine was returning from the mines, a year ago, with a thousand dollars in gold-dust—representing six months’ hard labor—when the wagon on which he was a passenger was stopped by this rascal. My cousin was not armed, nor was either of the three other passengers, and Dike, though single-handed, had no trouble in robbing them all.”
“What,” exclaimed one of the farmers, “did four men give in to one?”
“One man with two revolvers is a match for half a dozen unarmed men.”
“I don’t agree to that,” said the farmer. “I should be everlastingly mortified if I allowed one man to take such an advantage of me, if I had as many companions.”
“You think so,” said the black-eyed man, with a half sneer, “but if you were placed in like circumstances you would act just as he did.”
289“You think so,” said the farmer in his turn.
“I know so.”
“You are very confident. On what do you base your remark?”
“On human nature.”
The farmer looked at him curiously.
“Well, perhaps you are right,” he said. Then turning to the miner, he asked: “Well, did your cousin lose all his gold-dust?”
“Yes; every ounce of it.”
“That was hard lines.”
“It was, indeed. The poor fellow had been in the country a year. During the first six months he hadn’t a particle of luck. During the next six months he made the money referred to. With it he intended to go home and lift a mortgage from the house in which he lived. But when he saw the fruit of his hard labor forcibly wrested from him, he became discouraged, took to drink, and died of delirium tremens in ’Frisco three months since.”
“It was a hard case!” said the farmer in a tone of sympathy.
290“It was, indeed. That scoundrel, Stephen Dike, I hold responsible for my poor cousin’s death. There is one thing I live for,” and here he paused.
“Well?” said the black-eyed man. “What is it?”
“I want to meet the villain who killed him.”
“Suppose you should?”
“I would shoot him down like a dog.”
“That is, if you got the chance,” said the other, with an unpleasant smile.
“I would see that I had the chance if I ever met him.”
“Threatened men live long.”
“Look here!” broke in the farmer, eying the black-eyed man sharply. “You appear to take the part of this road agent.”
“Do I? Well, it is natural to me to take the part of one against many. You all seem to be down on poor Dike.”
“Poor Dike! Isn’t there good reason why we should be down upon him?”
“I don’t know. Probably the man has some good qualities.”
291“Not one!” exclaimed the miner who had told his cousin’s story. “Not one!”
“Well, well; you seem to know him. Considering how free we have been with his name, it would be a great joke if we should have him stop us on our way.”
“I don’t think it would be a joke at all,” said Robert.
“Nor I!” added Grant.
“Oh, he wouldn’t meddle with you boys,” said the black-eyed man. “He would fly at higher game; for instance, our friend there, and there,” indicating the farmer and the miner.
“I suppose you speak with authority?” observed the farmer.
“What do you mean?”
“You speak as if you were in this fellow’s confidence.”
“Do you mean to insult me?” exclaimed the black-eyed man angrily.
“Oh, calm yourself, my friend! Why should I mean it that way? You can’t take a a joke.”
“Oh, if it’s a joke, I don’t mind.”
292Then the talk about the famous road agent subsided. Gradually they passed beyond the limits of population, and entered a mountain defile, dark with frowning hills on each side.
“Let me get out a minute!” said the black-eyed man, signalling to the driver.
The stage stopped. Once upon the ground the black-eyed passenger drew out his revolvers, and levelling them at the astonished travellers, cried: “Hold up your hands, gentlemen; get ready to surrender all your valuables. I am Stephen Dike!”
I have said that the passengers were astonished at discovering that the notorious road agent was their fellow-traveller. There were two, however, who were not wholly surprised—the miner who had related his cousin’s story and the farmer who had had a sharp colloquy with the black-eyed man.
For a minute no one moved or spoke.
“Come,” said Dike impatiently; “I have no time to waste. Give me your money.”
“Do you want mine?” asked Grant, who was entirely willing to give up the small amount of gold coin he had with him, if he could save the dust in his valise.
“No; I don’t care for the trifle you have, nor the other boy’s money, but those miners over there must give up their treasure, and my agricultural friends also.”
294“If you want my money, come and get it!” growled the miner already referred to.
“I say the same,” added the farmer.
“I will stand no nonsense,” said Stephen Dike.
“It’s hard luck,” grumbled the miner, “to give up all my hard earnings.”
“Give up your money, and grumble afterward,” rejoined Dike.
The miner thrust his hand into his pocket, and then, in an excited voice, exclaimed suddenly, as he peered out of the coach, “Ha, friends! there is help approaching. See!” And he pointed, with outstretched finger, beyond Stephen Dike.
The road agent, taken by surprise, turned quickly. The step was fatal to him. The miner, who had pulled a revolver from his pocket, fired without an instant’s delay, and Stephen Dike fell backward, instantly killed. The miner’s bullet had penetrated his temple. So unexpected was the assault that the road agent had not even time to discharge his own pistols. They fell upon the ground from his 295nerveless hands, and one of them accidentally went off, but did no harm.
The Road Agent meets his Match.
“My cousin is avenged!” exclaimed the miner grimly.
“Give me your hand, sir!” said the farmer. “You have saved us all, and rid the State of California of the most dangerous outlaw within its limits.”
“It seems hard to rejoice in the death of a fellow-being,” observed the teacher, “but no one can grieve over the taking off of such a man. Gentlemen, let us remove the body to some place less public.”
The passengers got out, and were joined by the driver.
“There is a reward of five thousand dollars offered by the authorities for the capture of Stephen Dike, dead or alive,” he said. “What gentleman killed him?”
“I did,” answered the miner; “but I want no reward. I should look upon it as blood money. What I did, I did in defence of my fellow-passengers and myself.”
Stephen Dike lay upon the ground, his 296features still wearing the cynical smile habitual to him. Death had come upon him so suddenly that there had not been time even to change the expression of his face.
“I suppose this man has committed many robberies?” said the teacher to the stage-driver.
“No one knows how many, but he has robbed my stage four times.”
“How did it happen that you did not recognize him when he booked as a passenger?”
“He has always worn a mask when I saw him before. This time he became bolder, and presented himself without disguise. I remember being struck by his appearance, and wondering whether I had not met him before, but it did not occur to me that it was the famous road agent, Stephen Dike.”
The passengers took the lifeless body, and drew it to one side of the road.
“Ought we not to bury it?” asked the teacher.
“I can’t bear to put beneath the sod a man who, but fifteen minutes since, was as full of life as we are. Let us leave that office to 297some one else. We can affix to the tree, beneath which he lies, a paper giving his name.”
This proposal was approved. One of the passengers produced a sheet of paper and a travelling inkstand, and this placard was affixed to the trunk of the tree:
This man is
STEPHEN DIKE,
THE ROAD AGENT.
Killed while attempting to rob the Sacramento coach.
“We ought, perhaps, to examine his pockets, and see if we can find anything to throw light on his career.”
This was the suggestion of one of the passengers.
“No,” said the miner; “leave that to the persons who may find him. If he has money about him, leave it to others. I have been the instrument of Heaven’s retribution. Should I take anything of value from him, I would be degraded to his own level.”
This remark seemed to voice the general sentiment, and, after an interval of only ten minutes, the stage was again on its way to San Francisco.
298Grant and Robert were strongly impressed by what had happened. Neither of them had ever seen a death by violence before.
“It’s awful!” said Robert, shuddering.
“But he deserved his fate,” returned Grant.
“So he did; but it is terrible to have death come so suddenly.”
“You are right, lad!” said the miner. “I feel entirely justified in what I did, but it was a fearful necessity. It is something I shall never be able to forget.”
There was no further adventure to record in the two days’ ride. Toward nightfall of the second day they reached the city of the Golden Gate, and the passengers separated. Grant regretted parting with Robert Campbell, to whom he had become warmly attached, but was glad to think they would have opportunities of meeting in San Francisco.
Before separating, he undeceived Robert as to his circumstances.
“I suppose,” he said, “you think me very poor?”
“I wouldn’t judge from your clothes that you were wealthy,” returned Robert, smiling.
299“That’s why I wear them. In this valise which I carry, I have about fifteen hundred dollars in gold-dust.”
“You don’t mean it!” exclaimed Robert in surprise.
“Yes; but only half of it belongs to me. I have more at the mines, however. I feared to be robbed, and so put on the appearance of a tramp. Now, I shall buy a respectable suit.”
“I am glad you are able to do so; but even in your poor clothes I was glad to have met you.”
“Thank you, Rob. We have known each other but two days, but I shall always look upon you as a friend.”
The two boys shook hands cordially, and Grant set out in the direction of the Alameda Hotel. Before he arrived there, he saw Mr. Crosmont walking thoughtfully through Kearney Street, with his eyes fixed upon the ground.
“Mr. Crosmont!” he exclaimed eagerly.
Giles Crosmont looked up quickly, and his face brightened as he recognized Grant.
“Grant Colburn!” he cried joyfully, seizing 300the boy by the hand. “I am, indeed, glad to see you. When did you arrive?”
“Just now, by stage from Sacramento.”
“And you are well? But I see you are. You don’t look prosperous; but that doesn’t matter. With me you will want for nothing.”
“Mr. Crosmont,” said Grant smiling, “you shouldn’t judge a man, or boy, by his clothes. Do you see this valise?”
“Well?”
“It contains fifteen hundred dollars’ worth of gold-dust.”
“Yours?”
“Half of it is mine. Half of it belongs to my partner. I wore old clothes, because I did not want to be thought rich.”
“Was there need of all this caution?”
“You shall judge for yourself. Our stage was held up by Stephen Dike.”
“The daring road agent? I have heard of him. Did he plunder the passengers?”
Grant explained the ruse by which Stephen Dike had lost his life.
“He was a scoundrel! I have no pity for him. And now come with me, and I will take 301you to my home. I have two rooms, and I shall install you in one of them.”
“How about my gold-dust?”
“As soon as you have washed, and are provided with a new suit, I will take you to a banker, who will weigh and allow you the market price for it.”
“But I shall have no money to pay for the suit till I have sold the dust.”
Mr. Crosmont smiled.
“The suit will be a present from me,” he said.
And no small present it proved to be, for clothing was very dear in San Francisco at that time, so that a ready-made suit, which could be bought in any Eastern city for twenty dollars, or less, cost ninety.
The gold-dust brought a trifle over fifteen hundred dollars, which was entered to Grant’s account on the books of the bank.
“Have you any letters for me, Mr. Crosmont?” asked Grant. “I haven’t heard from home for a long time.”
“Here is a letter which arrived by the last steamer.”
302Grant read it eagerly. It was from his mother, and contained important news. Instead of reproducing the letter, we will go back to Grant’s Iowa home, and let the reader know what happened there since he started for the land of gold.