Alger Horatio Jr.
The Young Miner; Or, Tom Nelson in California
CHAPTER XIII.
A SPECULATIVE INVESTMENT
It leaked out after a while that Tom and Ferguson were intending to leave River Bend, and considerable regret was expressed by the other members of the party. Tom was a general favorite. His youth and his obliging disposition made him liked by all except Missouri Jack and his set. It cannot be said that his Scotch friend was popular, but he was, at all events, highly respected as a man of high principle and rigid honesty. This was not the way the miners expressed it. They called him a "square" man, and that word expressed high moral praise. They all felt that Tom was going off in good company.
Before they went, the two had a chance for a speculation. Two weeks before, a man came to River Bend, across the country, with a horse and wagon, the latter an old express wagon, which he had brought round the Horn from some one of the Eastern States. What had induced him to take so much trouble to convey such bulky articles was not quite clear. Now that he was a miner he had no use for them, and at River Bend they were not saleable. This man, Abner Kent, came to Ferguson's tent, where he and Tom were resting after the labors of the day. He was a tall man, with a shambling gait and an angular face.
"Good-evening," he said. "If you ain't busy I'll sit down a few minutes."
"We are glad to see you Mr. Kent," said Ferguson. "Tom and I were discussing our plans, but we've plenty of time for that. Come in. Here's a place for you."
"I hear that you are going to leave us, you two?"
"Yes, Tom has some business in San Francisco, and I want to see a little more of the country."
"How are you going?"
"We'll take the cars if we can find any," answered Tom. "If we can't we'll foot it."
"That's what I came to see you about. You know I've got a horse and wagon."
"Yes."
"Why don't you buy it? You'll go easier and quicker."
"We can't afford it," said Ferguson. "Poor men must walk."
"You don't see the point. When you get through with the team, you can easily sell them for more than you gave. It will be a good speculation."
"That will depend on how much we give," said the Scotchman, shrewdly.
"To be sure, Mr. Ferguson. Now about that, I'll be easy. They ain't any good to me here. I'll take—let me see—four hundred dollars cash. You'll maybe double your money inside of a month."
The team did seem cheap at this price, as prices of all articles in a new country are very much enhanced.
"Tom and I will talk it over and let you know to-morrow morning," said Ferguson.
"That's all right. It's a good chance for you."
When Kent was gone Tom asked, "What do you think of his offer, Mr. Ferguson?"
"I think it will be a good investment, Tom, and that we shall be less likely to be robbed than if we carried gold-dust with us. You know how John Miles got robbed."
"I have only a hundred dollars," said Tom, doubtfully.
"I have enough to add to it, but I think we can get the team cheaper. I don't want to beat the man down, but a bargain is a bargain, and we must look out for our own interest."
"You know more about such things than I do, Mr. Ferguson; I will agree to anything you say."
"Very well, my lad, I shall be sure to consult your interest as well as my own. It will be very comfortable for us to have a team of our own."
"It will seem strange to me," said Tom, laughing. "What will they think at home when they hear that I have set up a carriage?"
"They might think it imprudent to invest all you had in that way; but we'll make money out of it yet, or I am sorely mistaken."
The next morning, while Tom and Ferguson were at work, Kent came up to them.
"What have you decided about the team?" he asked.
"We are not willing to pay four hundred dollars," said Ferguson.
"That's a fair price."
"It may be, but it will take all the money Tom and I can raise. You know it wouldn't be quite prudent for us to part with all our funds."
"I will take a note for part of the money," said Kent.
"That's very considerate of you, but scarcely prudent."
"Then don't you want it at all?" asked Kent, disappointed.
"Yes; we are prepared with an offer. We'll give you three hundred dollars."
Kent shook his head.
"That's too little," he said.
Ferguson remained silent. He wished to give Kent time to reflect upon his offer.
"Have you sold these claims of yours?" asked Kent, after a pause.
"No."
"Then add them to your offer, and I accept it."
This proposal struck Ferguson favorably. They could not carry away their claims, and very possibly no other purchaser might offer, as, except as regards location, other places along the river-bank could be had without cost.
"What do you say, Tom?" asked Ferguson.
"I agree if you do, Mr. Ferguson."
"Then it's a bargain, Mr. Kent. I hope it'll prove satisfactory to both of us."
"I don't think you'll regret it. It's a good speculation."
When the two friends had settled for their purchase, Tom paying one hundred and Ferguson two hundred dollars, our hero found himself left with twenty dollars, or its equivalent in gold-dust, while his companion had about one hundred and fifty left over.
"We shall go off in style," said Tom; "riding in our own carriage. But there's one thing I have been thinking of. I want to send a hundred dollars home as soon as I get the chance. Suppose we can't sell the team?"
"Have no fears about that, Tom. I'll lend you the money if that is the case; but, mark my word, we shan't have it left on our hands, of that you may be sure."
The night before they were to start Lawrence Peabody dropped in. He was looking down in the mouth.
"How does the world use you, Mr. Peabody?" inquired Tom.
"Fortune is against me," said Peabody. "I'm tired of River Bend."
Tom glanced at his companion. He could guess what was coming.
"Won't you take me with you, Tom?" entreated the young Bostonian.
"You must ask Mr. Ferguson. He is the head of our party."
Peabody looked appealingly towards Ferguson, but the Scotchman shook his head.
"You mustn't be offended, Mr. Peabody," he said, "when I tell you that you are responsible for your own bad luck. You have had just as good a chance as Tom or I."
"Your claim was better."
"There was no difference that I can see, except that we worked, and you didn't. You don't expect gold to come to you?"
"You and Tom are more used to hard work than I," murmured Peabody.
"If you did not feel able to work, you should not have come to California. A man must work harder here than at home, and then he stands a chance of succeeding better."
"Then you won't take me?" asked Peabody, sadly.
"Are you in debt to Captain Fletcher for board?"
Peabody reluctantly admitted that he was, but had no idea how much he owed.
"Fletcher tells me that he shall not trust you any longer."
Lawrence Peabody looked frightened.
"What shall I do?" he faltered. "I shall starve."
"You can't blame the captain; he knows that you spend the little money you do earn at the saloon. But he will give you a chance. There is no one to wash clothes in the camp, and we have all observed that you keep yours looking well. If you will set up a laundry, you can make more money than in any other way."
"But then I should be a common washer-woman," objected Peabody. "What would my friends in Boston say?"
"They won't hear of it. Besides, a man can do here what he would not do at home."
It may be stated here that Peabody, finding work absolutely needful, went into partnership with a Chinaman, who arrived at the camp a day or two later, and succeeded in making a fair living, which hitherto he had been unable to do. After he was employed, his visits to the saloon became less frequent. At times he was disturbed by the fear that his friends at home might learn the character of his employment; apart from this he found his new business, with the income it yielded, not distasteful.
CHAPTER XIV.
A NEW ACQUAINTANCE
Having made all necessary preparations, Ferguson and Tom set out on their way. They took a course differing somewhat from that chosen by John Miles, one object being to survey the country, and find, if possible, a suitable place for continuing their search for gold. After their three months' steady work both of our travellers were prepared to enjoy the journey. Their road was difficult at times, from its steepness, and more than once they found it necessary, out of consideration for the horse, to get out and walk. But this only added to the romantic charm of the trip.
"It's like a constant picnic," said Tom. "I should like to travel this way for a year, if I did not feel the need of working."
"We might tire of it after a while," suggested Ferguson,—"in the rainy season, for example."
"That would not be so pleasant, to be sure," Tom admitted. "Do you have such fine scenery in Scotland, Mr. Ferguson?"
"Our mountains are not so high, my lad, nor our trees so gigantic; but it's the associations that make them interesting. Every hill has a legend connected with it, and our great novelist, Walter Scott, has invested them with a charm that draws pilgrims from all parts of the world to see them. Now this is a new country—beautiful, I grant, but without a history. Look around you, and you will see nothing to remind you of man. It is nature on a grand scale, I admit, but the soul is wanting."
"I like mountains," said Tom, thoughtfully. "There is something grand about them."
"There are some famous mountains in your native State, New Hampshire, are there not, Tom?"
"Yes; but I have only seen them from a distance. They are not above thirty miles away from where I was born; but poor people don't travel in search of scenery, Mr. Ferguson."
"No, my lad, and there's another thing I have noticed. We don't care much for the curiosities that are near us. The people about here, if there are any settled inhabitants, care nothing about the mountains, I doubt."
"That is true. In our village at home there is an old man nearly eighty years old who has never visited the mountains, though he has lived near them all his life."
"I can well believe it, my lad. But what is that?"
The sound which elicited this exclamation was a loud "Hollo!" evidently proceeding from some one in their rear.
Both Tom and the Scotchman turned, and their eyes rested on a horseman evidently spurring forward to overtake them. Tom, who was driving, reined in the horse, and brought him to a stop. The horseman was soon even with them.
He was evidently a Yankee. All Yankees do not carry about with them an unmistakable certificate of their origin, but Ebenezer Onthank was a typical New Englander. His face was long and thin, his expression shrewd and good-natured, his limbs were long and ungainly. In later life, with the addition of forty or fifty pounds of flesh, he would be much improved in appearance.
"Good-morning, gentlemen," said he. "It seems kinder good to see a human face again. It ain't very populous round here, is it?"
"We haven't seen any large towns," said Tom, smiling.
"Where are you steerin'?" inquired the Yankee. "I'm expectin' to fetch up at San Francisco some time, if I don't get lost in the woods."
"That is our destination, my friend," returned Ferguson.
"Would you mind my joining your party?" asked Onthank. "It's lonesome travelin' by one's self without a soul to speak to."
"We shall be glad of your company," said the Scotchman, sincerely, for, though naturally cautious, he could not suspect the new-comer of anything which would make him an undesirable companion.
"Perhaps you'd like to know who I am," said the new acquaintance. "My name is Ebenezer Onthank, from Green Mountain Mills, in Vermont. My father is deacon of the Baptist Church at home."
"I suppose you will take his place when you get older," said Tom, gravely.
"No, I guess not. I wonder what Susan Jones would say to my bein' a deacon!" and Ebenezer burst into a loud laugh.
"Is Miss Jones a particular friend of yours?" asked Tom, slyly.
"I should say she was. Why, I expect to marry her when I get home."
"I congratulate you."
"Don't be too fast. We ain't hitched yet. Say, boy, where do you come from?"
"From Vernon, in New Hampshire."
"You don't say! Why, that ain't more'n fifty miles from Green Mountain Mills; cu'rus we should meet so fur away from hum, ain't it? When did you start?"
"Seven or eight months ago."
"I've been in California six months. Does that gentleman come from your town?"
"My friend," answered the Scotchman, not without a touch of pride, "I am not an American; I am from the Highlands of Scotland."
"You be? Sho! Well, of course you can't help that."
"Help it, sir? I am proud of hailing from the land of Scott and Burns."
"Well, I guess it's a pretty nice sort of country," said Mr. Onthank, patronizingly. "I guess you'll like America best, though."
"I am by no means sure of that, my friend," said Ferguson, a little nettled. "America's all very well, but—"
"Why, you could put Scotland into its waist-coat pocket, and there'd be plenty of room left," said Ebenezer, energetically.
"I admit that, as regards size, Scotland cannot compare with this country."
"Say, have you got mountains as high as them, or trees as high as that?" pointing to a gigantic redwood.
"No; but size is not everything."
"That's so. Vermont is a little State, but she's smart, I tell you. But you haven't told me your names yet."
"I am called Donald Ferguson, Mr. Onthank. My young friend here answers to the name of Thomas Nelson."
"Commonly called Tom," added our hero, smiling.
"Why, I've got a brother Tom," said Mr. Onthank. "Cu'rus, isn't it?"
Considering that Tom is by no means an uncommon name, it could hardly be called very remarkable, but Tom politely assented.
"Is he older than I am?" he inquired.
"Yes, my brother Tom is twenty-one years old. I expect he voted at the last town-meeting. I'm four years older than Tom."
"Have you been fortunate so far in California, Mr. Onthank?"
"Can't say I have. I guess I've wandered round too much. Been a sort of rollin' stone; and my granny used to say that a rollin' stone gathers no moss. I've got about enough money to get me to San Francisco, and I own this animal; but I haven't made a fortune yet. What luck have you two had?"
"Pretty fair, but it will take a good while to make our fortunes. We own this team, and that's about all we do own."
"A sort of an express wagon, isn't it?"
"Yes."
"Ain't goin' into the express business, be you?"
"Probably not. We bought it on speculation."
"That reminds me of old Sam Bailey in our town. He was always tradin' horses. Sometimes he made money, and then again he didn't. How much did you give?"
Tom told him.
"That was a pretty stiff price, wasn't it?"
"It would be considered so at home, but we hope to get a good deal more, when we come to sell it."
Their new friend kept on with them, amusing them with his homely sayings, and original views of things. His conversation beguiled the tedium of the journey, so that all were surprised when the shadows deepened, and supper-time came. Selecting a favorable place they encamped for the night.
CHAPTER XV.
A GRIZZLY BEAR
Ebenezer Onthank was an early riser. He had been brought up on a farm, where, during a part of the year it was the custom for the "menfolks" to rise between four and five o'clock in the morning to begin the labors of the day. His old habit clung to him, and at five o'clock, when Tom and Ferguson were yet asleep, Mr. Onthank sprang from his leafy couch refreshed and vigorous.
Seeing his companions yet sleeping, he concluded to take a walk.
"It'll give me an appetite for breakfast," thought he, "and a chance to see something of the country."
As to the appetite, Ebenezer was generally well provided. Indeed, latterly his appetite had exceeded his means of gratifying it, and more than once he had longed to be back at his old home in the Vermont farm-house, where the table was always generously, if not elegantly, furnished. If Ebenezer had a special weakness it was for doughnuts, which he called nut-cakes.
"If I only had a few of marm's nut-cakes," he had said the night before to his new-found friends, "I'd be a happy man."
"What are nut-cakes?" asked the Scotchman, puzzled.
"Don't you know what nut-cakes are?" inquired Ebenezer, astonished at Ferguson's ignorance.
"I never heard of them before," said Ferguson.
"Well, I declare! I thought everybody knew what nut-cakes are," ejaculated the Yankee. "Don't you ever make 'em in Scotland?"
"Not that I ever heard."
"Then you don't know what is good. You know what they are, Tom?"
"Oh, yes," said Tom, smiling. "We often have them at home. Perhaps Mr. Ferguson would understand better if he heard them called doughnuts or crullers."
Thus defined Mr. Ferguson acknowledged that he had heard of them, and he thought he had once tasted one. Scotland, however, fell considerably in the estimation of Mr. Onthank, when he learned that his favorite article of food was almost unknown in that distant country.
"You Scotchmen don't know what is good," he said. "If you ever come to Green Mountain Mills, I'll get marm to fry a batch of nut-cakes, and you'll say they're goloptious."
This last word was not familiar to Ferguson, but the smack of the lips with which it was accompanied made it sufficiently intelligible. He assured Ebenezer politely that he hoped some day to accept his kind invitation.
When Ebenezer left the camp he had no definite plan of exploration. Everything was alike new to him, and it mattered little in what direction his steps led him. It was a charming morning. The sun had risen, and hill and valley were glorified by its slanting rays. The air was bracing, and Ebenezer, though neither a poet nor a sentimentalist, felt his spirits rise, as with vigorous steps he strode on, letting his eyes wander at will over the landscape.
"Looks kinder han'some," he said to himself. "I wish Susan Jones was with me now. Gals like to walk round and look at scenery, and pick flowers, and so on. As for me, a good field of corn suits me better than all the flowers in the world. They're only good to smell of; out here though I'd like a good 'claim' best. It seems cu'rus to think how much money you can get sometimes from a hole in the ground. Beats cornfields for profit, by a great sight, if you only get hold of the right place. I just wish I could find a big nugget, as big as my head. I guess it would make me the richest man in Green Mountain Mills. I'd be a bigger man than the old deacon. They'd be glad to make me selectman, and perhaps send me to Montpelier after a while to make laws. Well, there's no knowin' what may turn up. Why shouldn't I light on a nugget as well as the next man?"
In this pleasant channel the thoughts of our Yankee adventurer were running as he strode over the uneven ground, with all the vigor gained by his hardy training. But his walk was destined to be interrupted in a decidedly unpleasant manner. All at once he became conscious of a huge object, scarcely thirty yards distant, whose attention he had already attracted. Mr. Onthank had been long enough in California to recognize in the huge, unwieldy figure—a grizzly bear!
Ebenezer Onthank was no coward, but it must be admitted that when he saw the eyes of the grizzly fixed upon him he turned pale, and his limbs trembled. He had heard from fellow-miners stories of the great strength and ferocity of this most formidable beast. The grizzly bear shows no fear of man. He is always ready to make an attack, even when not stimulated by hunger. Even the lion is crafty and cunning, and likes to attack his enemy unawares; but the grizzly boldly advances to the attack without seeking to surprise his adversary. If out of humor it makes no account of odds, but will as readily attack a party as a single foe. Col. Albert S. Evans, the author of an interesting volume, containing sketches of life in California, says, "I am satisfied that an average grizzly could at any time whip the strongest African lion in a fair stand-up fight, while a full-grown bull is no more to him than a rat is to the largest house-cats."
Twenty-five years ago the grizzly was to be found in various parts of California. As the State has become settled his haunts have become contracted, but even now, as the writer just quoted assures us, he is still found in great numbers in the Coast Range Mountains from San Diego to Del Norte. In describing Samson, a famous specimen once on exhibition in San Francisco, we are told that "his strength was that of an elephant, and his claws, eight inches in length, curved like a rainbow and sharp as a knife, would enable him to tear open anything made of flesh and blood as you or I would open a banana."
Such was the new acquaintance who confronted Mr. Onthank, and barred his progress.
"Jerusalem!" ejaculated the surprised and dismayed Yankee, and he instinctively felt for his rifle. But, alas! he had left it in the camp. It was thoughtless and imprudent to venture out unarmed; but the scene was so quiet and peaceful that no thought of danger had entered the mind of our unlucky friend.
The bear sat upon his haunches, and stared at the intruder. Ebenezer, brought to a stand-still, returned his gaze. They were less than a hundred feet apart, and the situation was decidedly critical.
"I guess he wants to chaw me up for his breakfast," thought Ebenezer, despairingly, "and I don't see what I can do to prevent it."
The bear, however, seemed in no hurry to commence the attack. He surveyed our Yankee with dignified gravity, conscious that he had him at advantage. When Ebenezer felt for his rifle he uttered a low growl, being possibly aware of his purpose. Possibly he laughed in his sleeve (some of my young critics may suggest that bears have no sleeves) at his failure.
Ebenezer looked about him despairingly. No man will surrender at discretion to a grizzly, for he can hope for no mercy. But what could be done? Once subjected to the terrible hug, and the life would be crushed out of him in less than a minute.
"If Ferguson and Tom were only here!" thought poor Ebenezer.
But the camp was at least two miles away, and his two companions, unconscious of his terrible peril, were calmly sleeping, and not likely to awaken till he was a crushed and bleeding corpse.
In great crises the mind travels rapidly. I shall not attempt to record the thoughts that chased one another through the mind of the luckless adventurer. But they were by no means pleasant.
"I shall never see Green Mountain Mills again," he thought, with an inward groan. "I shall never marry Susan Jones, or eat any of marm's nut-cakes. If I only had my rifle here, I'd make one effort for my life. I'd spoil the beauty of that ugly devil anyhow."
Still, as if charmed, he stood staring open-eyed at the grizzly.
Bruin, deciding that this had lasted long enough, began in a slow and dignified manner to approach the intruder upon his solitude.
This broke the charm. With a wild shout Ebenezer Onthank took to his heels and flew over the ground at a rate of speed which Weston, the champion runner, would scarcely be able to equal.
The grizzly accepted the challenge, and increased his own speed, developing an activity hardly to be expected of his huge and unwieldy form.
It was man against beast, with the odds decidedly in the favor of the latter.
