Alger Horatio Jr.
The Young Explorer; Or, Claiming His Fortune
CHAPTER XXIV
BEATEN AT HIS OWN GAME
Bradley was of a social disposition, and even without the gift of tobacco would have been glad of an addition to their small party.
"I'm glad to see you," he said, repeating his welcome. "I wonder I didn't hear you comin'. Have you been long in Californy?"
"Well onto a year," said the one who seemed the elder of the two.
"How is it with you, stranger?"
"I have been here about as long," answered Bradley. "Ben has only just come out."
"What luck have you had?" pursued the questioner.
"Good and bad. I made quite a pile, and went to 'Frisco and gambled it away like a fool. Now I've come back for another trial."
'"What might your name be?"
"Bradley-Jake Bradley. It isn't much of a name, but it'll do for me.
The boy is Ben Stanton—come from the East."
"My name is Bill Mosely," said the other. "My friend's Tom Hadley. We're both from Missouri, and, though I say it, we're about as wide-awake as they make 'em. We don't stand no back talk, Tom and me. When a man insults me, I drop him," and the speaker rolled his eyes in what was meant to stimulate ferocity.
Bradley eyed him shrewdly, and was not quite so much impressed as Mosely intended him to be. He had observed that the greatest boasters did not always possess the largest share of courage.
"Isn't that so, Tom?" asked Bill Mosely, appealing to his friend.
"I should say so," answered Tom, nodding emphatically.
"You've seen me in a scrimmage more than once?"
"I should say I have."
"Did you ever see me shoot a man that riled me?"
"Dozens of times," returned Hadley, who appeared to play second fiddle to his terrible companion.
"That's the kind of man I am," said Bill Mosely, in a tone of complacency.
Still, Bradley did not seem particularly nervous or frightened. He was fast making up his mind that Mosely was a cheap bully, whose words were more terrible than his deeds. Ben had less experience of men, and he regarded the speaker as a reckless desperado, ready to use his knife or pistol on the least provocation. He began to think he would have preferred solitude to such society. He was rather surprised to hear Bradley say quietly:
"Mosely, you're a man after my own heart. That's the kind of man I be. If a man don't treat me right, I shoot him in his tracks. One day I was drinkin' in a saloon among the foothills, when I saw a man winkin' at me. I waited to see if he would do it again. When he did, I hauled out my revolver and shot him dead."
"You did?" exclaimed Mosely uneasily.
"Of course I did; but I was rather sorry afterward when I heard that his eyelids were weak and he couldn't help it."
"Did you get into any trouble about it, stranger?" asked Mosely, with a shade of anxiety.
"No; none of the party dared touch me. Besides, I did the handsome thing. I had the man buried, and put a stone over him. I couldn't do any more, could I?"
"No," said Mosely dubiously, and he drew a little farther away from Bradley.
"What do you find to eat?" he inquired, after a pause. "Tom and I are as hungry as if we hadn't eaten anything for a week. You haven't got any provisions left over?"
"No; but you can have as good a supper as we had, and we had a good one. What do you say to trout, now?"
Bill Mosely smacked his lips.
"Jest show me where I'll find some," he said.
Bradley pointed to the brook from which he had drawn his supply.
"I don't mind helping you," he said. "Ben, are you tired?"
"No, Jake."
"Then come along, and we'll try to get some supper for our friends."
"All right!" said Ben cheerfully.
In a short time a fresh supply of trout was drawn from the brook, and they were roughly cooked at the fire, Bradley officiating as cook.
"Now, my friends, set up," said he. "I'm sorry I can't give you any potatoes, but the barrel's out, and it's too late to get any at the store. Likewise, you must excuse the puddin', as it's too late to make any."
The two visitors appeared to think no apologies were needful, for they made short work with the trout. From the manner in which they devoured their supper, it was quite evident that it was some time since they had eaten. Ben and Bradley did not join them, having already eaten heartily.
"I hope you relished your supper, gentlemen," said Bradley politely.
"I should say we did," responded Tom Hadley.
"I say, them trout beat the world."
"I'll shoot the man that says they don't!" said Bill Mosely, relapsing into his old tone.
"So will I!" exclaimed Bradley, springing to his feet and brandishing his revolver.
Ben began to see that he was playing a part, and, with assumed gravity, he looked to see what effect it would have on their new friend.
"I say, stranger, don't handle that weapon of yours so careless," said Mosely uneasily.
"I guess you're right," said Bradley, appearing to calm down. "Once I was swingin' my gun kinder careless, and it went off and hit my friend, Jim Saunders, in his shoulder. Might have been worse. He had a narrer escape. But Jim couldn't complain. I jest took care of him, night and day, till he got well. I couldn't do any more'n that, now, could I?"
"I reckon he'd rather you hadn't shot him," said Mosely dryly.
"I reckon you're right," said Bradley, with equanimity. "Such little accidents will happen sometimes, Mosely. Somehow, you can't always help it."
"It's best to be keerful," observed Mosely uneasily.
"I should say so," echoed his friend, Tom Hadley.
"Right you both are!" said Bradley affably. "I say, Mosely, I like you. You're jest such a sort of man as I am. You'd jest as lieve shoot a man as to eat your dinner; now, wouldn't you?"
"If he'd insulted me," said Mosely hesitatingly.
"Of course. Come, now, how many men have you killed, first and last?"
"About twenty, I should think," answered the bully, who seemed to grow meeker and more peaceable as Bradley's apparent reckless ferocity increased.
"Only twenty!" exclaimed Bradley contemptuously. "Why, that's nothing at all!"
"How many have you killed?" asked Mosely uneasily.
"Seventy or eighty, I should say," answered Bradley carelessly. "Of course, a man can't keep an account of all these little affairs. I did once think I'd keep a list, but I got tired of it after a short time, and gave it up after I'd got up to forty-seven."
"Where was you raised, stranger?" asked Mosely.
"In Kentucky-glorious old Kentuck! and if there's a man dares to say a word against my State, I'll take his life!" and Bradley sprang to his feet.
"Lay down again, stranger," interposed Bill Mosely hastily. "There's no one here wants to say a word agin' Kentuck. It's a glorious old State, as you say. Isn't it, Tom?"
"I should say so," responded Tom Hadley, using his customary formula.
"Are you in search of gold, Mosely?" asked Bradley, in a more quiet manner.
"We're kinder prospectin' among the hills," answered Mosely.
"You haven't come across anything yet, have you?"
"Not yet. Have you?"
"We're looking for a friend that's gone ahead. Maybe he's struck it rich. When we find him we'll turn in and help him."
"You've got one advantage of us, stranger. You've got hosses, and we've had to walk."
"Why didn't you buy animals?"
"We did, but they were stolen from us a little way back."
"If our hosses should be stolen," said Bradley, "the thieves would die within a week."
Mosely and his friend looked at each other in silence, and the conversation languished.
"Ben," said Bradley, after the two visitors were fast asleep, "shall I tell you what I think of these two men?"
"Well, Bradley?"
"They are thieves, and they meant to steal our hosses."
"Won't they do it now?"
Bradley laughed.
"They'll be afraid to," he answered. "I've beaten them at their own game, and they think I'm as desperate a bully as they pretend to be. No; they won't think it safe to interfere with our property."
"How many men did you say you had killed, Jake?" asked Ben, with a smile.
"That was all talk. Thank Heaven, I haven't the blood of any fellow creature on my hands!"
CHAPTER XXV
THE HORSE-THIEVES
All four slept soundly, but the visitors awoke first.
"Are you awake, Tom?" inquired Mosely.
"I should say so," answered his friend.
Bill Mosely raised himself on his elbow and surveyed Ben and Bradley. Their deep, tranquil breathing showed that they were sound asleep.
Mosely next glanced at the mustangs which were tethered near-by.
"Tom," said he, "I wish we had them mustangs. It's a deal easier ridin' than walkin'."
"I should say so."
"When I struck this party last night I meant to have 'em; but this man is such a bloody ruffian that I don't know as it would be safe."
Hadley said nothing. His customary phrase would not apply, and he was a man of few words, besides.
"What did he say he would do if a fellow stole his horses, Tom?"
"Said he'd die within a week," answered Had-ley, with unfailing memory.
Bill Mosely looked discouraged. He privately thought Bradley was just the man to keep his word, and he did not fancy getting into difficulty with him.
"That depends on whether he caught him," he said, after a while, hopefully.
"I should say so, Bill."
"Now," said Mosely, lowering his voice, "if we could get away while they are asleep, there wouldn't be much chance of their knowin' where we were."
"That's so, Bill."
"Anyway, if we don't take 'em we may be overtaken by the party that we borrowed some gold-dust from."
Tom Hadley responded in his customary manner.
"And that would be mighty bad luck," continued Mosely, with a shudder.
"I should say so, Bill."
In fact, Mosely felt that their situation was not likely to be made worse by a new theft. Only thirty miles away was a party of miners with whom they had worked in company, but without much success, till, emboldened by temptation and opportunity, they had stolen a bag of gold-dust from a successful comrade, and fled under cover of the night.
In the primitive state of society at the mines, stealing was a capital offense, and if they were caught their lives would probably pay the penalty. Even now some of the injured party might be on their track, and this naturally inspired them with uneasiness. Thus they were between two fires, and, in spite of the fear with which Bradley had inspired them, it looked as if another theft would conduce to their safety. If they carried away the mustangs, Bradley and Ben, even if they hit on the right trail, would have to pursue them on foot, and among the Sierras a man is no match for a mustang in speed and endurance.
"I've a great mind to carry off them mustangs," said Mosely thoughtfully. "Are you with me?"
"I should say so."
"Why don't you ever say something else, Tom?" demanded Mosely impatiently.
"What do you want me to say?" asked Hadley, in surprise.
"Well, never mind; it's your way, I suppose, and I can rely upon you."
"I should say so."
Mosely shrugged his shoulders. It was clearly idle to expect any great variety in Tom Hadley's conversation.
"Whatever we do must be done quickly," he said, in a quiet, decided tone. "They'll wake up before long, and there won't be any chance. You, Tom, take that near animal, and I'll tackle the other. Jest untie them quiet and easy, and when I say the word start. Do you understand?"
"I should say so, Bill," said Hadley, nodding.
"Then here goes."
In a few seconds they had loosened the mustangs and had sprung upon their backs.
"Now, go!" exclaimed Mosely, in a energetic whisper.
So on their stolen horses they drew stealthily away from the camp till they were perhaps a furlong away, and then, putting the mustangs to their speed, they soon put a distance of miles between them and their sleeping owners. They would have liked to remain long enough to have a trout breakfast, but that was impracticable.
CHAPTER XXVI
WHAT NEXT?
Some persons are said to have premonitions of coming ill, but this could not be said in the present instance of Bradley and his young companion. Bradley had the shrewdness to read the real cowardice of Mosely, who was the leader, and did not dream that he would have the courage to take the horses. But then, he did not know the danger in which their two visitors had placed themselves by their recent theft. Danger will strengthen the courage of the timid, and, in this case, it decided Mosely to commit a new theft.
The robbers were quite five miles away when Ben opened his eyes.
He looked about him with sleepy eyes, and it was only by an effort that he remembered the events of the previous evening.
It was with no misgiving that he looked for the horses. When he realized that they were gone, his heart gave a great bound, and he rose on his elbow. Next he looked for Mosely and Hadley, but, of course, in vain.
"They've stolen the mustangs!" he said to himself, in genuine dismay, and instantly seizing Bradley by the shoulder, shook him energetically.
"What's the matter, Ben?" demanded Bradley, in amazement. "You needn't be quite so rough."
"It's time you were awake!" said Ben hurriedly. "Those fellows have stolen our mustangs!"
"What's that you say?" ejaculated Bradley, now thoroughly awake.
"The mustangs are gone, and they are gone!" said Ben.
"When did you find it out?"
"Only just now. I was sleepy, and overslept myself."
"Half-past seven o'clock," said Bradley, referring to a cheap silver watch which he had bought for a trifle from a miner at Murphy's who was hard up. "I'm afraid they must have been gone some time. It's a bad lookout for us, Ben."
"So it is, Jake. You thought they wouldn't dare to take anything."
"No more I thought they would. That Bill Mosely bragged so much I didn't think he had enough pluck."
"Does it take much pluck to be a thief, Jake?"
"Well, in Californy it does," answered Bradley. "When a man steals a boss here, he takes his life in his hand, and don't you forget it. If it was only a year in the penitentiary, or something like that, it wouldn't scare 'em so bad. That Mosely's a bad lot, and will likely die in his boots."
"What's that?"
"Be shot standing, or swing from the branch of a tree. I thought I'd said enough last night to put him off the notion of playin' us such a trick."
"Probably he thought there wouldn't be any chance of our catching him when we were reduced to walk."
"It's likely you're right, Ben, and I ought to have thought of that. I jest wish I could set eyes on the critter at this particular minute. To treat us that way after our kindness, that's what riles me."
"What shall we do, Jake?"
"That's to be considered. Blamed if I know, unless we foot it, and that will be no joke, over these hills and through these forests."
"We may come upon their track, and overtake them when they are not expecting it."
"I wish we might," said Bradley, the lines about his mouth tightening. "I'd give 'em a lesson."
"They are two men," said Ben thoughtfully, "and we are only a man and a boy."
"That is so, Ben; but I'll match you against Hadley. He don't amount to a row of pins; and if I can't tackle Bill Mosely, then I'll never show myself in 'Frisco again."
"I don't mind so much the loss of the mustangs," said Ben, "but I'm sorry that we shall be delayed in our search for Richard Dewey."
"That's bad, too. I expect that nice young lady in 'Frisco is a-waitin' anxiously to hear from him. Plague take that rascal Mosely!" he broke out, in fresh exasperation.
"Well, Jake, suppose we get some breakfast, and then consider what we will do."
"That's a good thought, Ben. We can't do much on an empty stomach, that's a fact."
For reasons which need not be specified, it was decided that the breakfast should consist of trout. Despite their loss, both had a good appetite, and when that was satisfied they became more hopeful.
CHAPTER XXVII
KI SING
Leaving Ben and his companion for a time, we go back to record an incident which will prove to have a bearing upon the fortunes of those in whom we are interested.
One morning two men, Taylor and O'Reilly, who had been out prospecting, came into camp, conveying between them, very much as two policemen conduct a prisoner, a terrifled-looking Chinaman, whose eyes, rolling helplessly from one to the other, seemed to indicate that he considered his position a very perilous one.
At that early period in the settlement of California, a few Chinamen had found their way to the Pacific coast; but the full tide of immigration did not set in till a considerable time later, and, therefore, the miners regarded one as a curiosity.
"Who have you got there, O'Reilly?" inquired one of his mining-comrades.
"A yeller haythen!" answered O'Eeilly. "Look at the craythur! Ain't he a beauty jist wid his long pigtail hangin' down his back like a monkey's tail?"
"Where did you find him?"
"He was huntin' for gold, the haythen, jist for all the world as if he was as white as you or I."
Mr. Patrick O'Reilly appeared to hold the opinion that gold-hunting should be confined to the Caucasian race. He looked upon a Chinaman as rather a superior order of monkey, suitable for exhibition in a cage, but not to be regarded as possessing the ordinary rights of an adopted American resident. If he could have looked forward twenty-five years, and foreseen the extent to which these barbarians would throng the avenues of employment, he would, no doubt, have been equally amazed and disgusted. Indeed, the capture of Ki Sing was made through his influence, as Taylor, a man from Ohio, was disposed to let him alone.
Soon a crowd gathered around the terrified Chinaman and his captors, and he was plied with questions, some of a jocular character, by the miners, who were glad of anything that relieved the monotony of their ordinary life.
"What's your name?" asked one.
The Chinaman gazed at the questioner vacantly.
"What's your name, you haythen?" repeated O'Reilly, emphasizing the inquiry by a powerful shake.
"My name Ki Sing," answered the Mongolian nervously.
"Where did you come from, old pigtail?"
"My name Ki Sing, not Pigtail," said the Chinaman, not understanding the meaning of the epithet.
This answer appeared to be regarded by the crowd as either witty or absurd, for it elicited a roar of laughter.
"Never mind what your name is, old stick in the mud! We'll call you whatever we please. Where do you come from?"
"Me come from 'Flisco."
It is well known that a Chinaman cannot pronounce the letter r, which in his mouth softens to l, in some cases producing a ludicrous effect.
"What have you come here for, Cy King, or whatever your name is."
"My name Ki Sing."
"Well, it's a haythen name; anyhow," remarked Mr. Patrick O'Eeilly. "Before I'd have such a name, I'd go widout one intirely. Did you hear the gintleman ask you what you came here for?"
"You bling me," answered Ki Sing shrewdly.
There was another laugh.
"That Chinee ain't no fool!" said Dick Roberts.
"What made you leave China?" he asked.
"Me come to Amelica fol gold."
"Hi, ho! That's it, is it? What are you going to do with your gold when you find it?"
"Cally it back to China."
"And when you've callied it back, what'll you do then?"
"Me mally wife, have good time and plenty money to buy lice."
Of course, Ki Sing's meaning was plain, but there was a roar of laughter, to which he listened with mild-eyed wonder, evidently thinking that the miners who so looked down on him were themselves a set of outside barbarians, to whom the superior civilization of China was utterly unknown. It is fortunate that his presumption was not suspected by those around him. No one would have resented it more than Mr. Patrick O'Reilly, whose rank as regards enlightenment and education certainly was not very high.
"I say, John," said Dick Roberts, "are you fond of rat pie?"
"Lat pie velly good," returned Ki Sing, with a look of appreciation.
"Melican man like him?"
"Hear the haythen!" said O'Reilly, with an expression of deep disgust. "He thinks we ate rats and mice, like him. No, old pigtail, we ain't cats. We are good Christians."
"Chlistian! Ma don't know Ghlistian," said the Chinaman.
"Then look at O'Reilly," said Dick Roberts, mischievously. "He's a good solid Christian."
Ki Sing turned his almond eyes upon O'Reilly, who, with his freckled face, wide mouth, broad nose, and stubby beard, was by no means a prepossessing-looking man, and said interrogatively: "He Chlistian?"
"Yes, John. Wouldn't you like to be one?"
Ki Sing shook his head decidedly.
"Me no want to be Chlistian," he answered. "Me velly well now. Me want to be good Chinaman."
"There's a compliment for you, O'Reilly," said one of the miners.
"John prefers to be a Chinaman to being like you."
"He's a barbarious haythen, anyhow," said O'Reilly, surveying his prisoner with unfriendly eyes. "What did he come over to America for, anyhow?"
"He probably came over for the same reason that brought you, O'Reilly," said a young man, who spoke for the first time, though he had been from the outset a disgusted witness of what had taken place.
"And what's that?" demanded O'Reilly angrily.
"To make a living," answered Richard Dewey quietly.
As this is the first time this young man has been introduced, we will briefly describe him. He was of medium size, well knit and vigorous, with a broad forehead, blue eyes, and an intelligent and winning countenance. He might have been suspected of too great amiability and gentleness, but for a firm expression about the mouth, and an indefinable air of manliness, which indicated that it would not do to go too far with him. There was a point, as all his friends knew, where his forbearance gave way and he sternly asserted his rights. He was not so popular in camp as some, because he declined to drink or gamble, and, despite the rough circumstances in which he found himself placed, was resolved to preserve his self-respect.
O'Reilly did not fancy his interference, and demanded, in a surly tone:
"Do you mean to compare me wid this haythen?"
"You are alike in one respect," said Richard Dewey quietly. "Neither of you were born in this country, but each of you came here to improve your fortunes."
"And hadn't I the right, I'd like to know?" blustered O'Reilly.
"To be sure you had. This country is free to all who wish to make a home here."
"Then what are you talkin' about, anyway?"
"You ought to be able to understand without asking. Ki Sing has come here, and has the same right that you have."
"Do you mane to put me on a livel wid him?"
"In that one respect, I do."
"I want you to understand that Patrick O'Reilly won't take no insults from you, nor any other man!"
"Hush, O'Reilly!" said Terence O'Gorman, another Irish miner. "Dewey is perfectly right. I came over from Ireland like you, but he hasn't said anything against either of us."
"That is where you are right, O'Gorman," said Richard Dewey cordially. "You are a man of sense, and can understand me. My own father emigrated from England, and I am not likely to say anything against the class to which he belonged. Now, boys, you have had enough sport out of the poor Chinaman. I advise you to let him go."
Ki Sing grasped at this suggestion.
"Melican man speak velly good," he said.
"Of course, you think so," sneered O'Reilly. "I say, boys, let's cut off his pigtail," touching the poor Chinaman's queue.
Ki Sing uttered a cry of dismay as O'Reilly's suggestion was greeted with favorable shouts by the thoughtless crowd.
