Digging for Gold 10

Digging for Gold 10

“It’s my belief we shall see more of the country than we care for. I

wish it wasn’t so fur.”

 

“So do I. Some time there may be a railroad across the continent.”

 

Mr. Cooper shook his head.

 

“I never expect to see that,” he said. “It wouldn’t pay. You’re a boy,

and by the time you get to be an old man there may be a railroad, but I

doubt it.”

 

“When do you expect to start, Mr. Cooper?”

 

“Next Thursday. Can you be ready?”

 

“I could be ready to-morrow if necessary,” returned Grant promptly. “How

much is it going to cost me, Mr. Cooper?” he added. “If you will tell

me, I can give you the money in a lump, and you can undertake to see me

through.”

 

“Mebbe that will be a good plan, as I shall have to lay in more

supplies. We’ll say seventy-five dollars; and it will be well for you to

bring a pair of blankets.”

 

“All right. I will give you the money now if you will give me a paper

acknowledging the receipt, and what it is for.”

 

“Just as you say, Grant.”

 

Grant had brought a hundred dollars with him, and handed over to Jerry

Cooper the sum he had mentioned, receiving back a receipt. This he put

into his pocket with a sense of satisfaction. He felt that now the die

was cast, and he was really bound for California; that he had taken the

first step on the road to fortune.

 

On his way home he chanced to meet Rodney Bartlett. Rodney was walking

with an affected step and swinging his cane. He had an idea that he was

a striking figure and excited the admiration of all whom he met.

 

When his eyes fell on Grant, he started in genuine surprise.

 

“How do you happen to be over here, Grant Colburn?” he asked.

 

“I am here on business,” answered Grant.

 

“Oh, come over on an errand for my grandfather, I suppose.”

 

“No, I came on business of my own.”

 

Rodney arched his eyebrows.

 

“Oh, so you have business of your own?” he said, in a ironical tone.

 

“Yes.”

 

“What is it?”

 

“I don’t think you would feel interested in it.”

 

“Look here, Grant, I don’t believe you have any business here at all,”

said Rodney rudely.

 

“It makes little difference to me what you think,” returned Grant

briefly.

 

“I think you are playing truant from the farm—that you have come over

here to get rid of work. If I were grandfather I wouldn’t let you come.

I’d keep you at work.”

 

“You are very kind and considerate, as usual, Rodney. However, you are

mistaken in one thing.”

 

“What’s that?”

 

“You think I am in the employ of your grandfather.”

 

“I know you are a farm boy.”

 

“I was, but am so no longer.”

 

“What do you mean? Has grandfather discharged you?”

 

“No, I have discharged myself. I don’t expect to work for your

grandfather any longer.”

 

“What are you going to do? Do you expect to live without work?”

 

“No; I expect to work harder next year than ever before.”

 

“I don’t understand you,” said Rodney, puzzled. “Are you trying to fool

me?”

 

“No.”

 

“Then what do you mean?”

 

“I start next Thursday for California.”

 

Rodney _was_ surprised.

 

“You—don’t—mean—it!” he ejaculated.

 

“It’s true.”

 

“Who are you going with?”

 

“With Jerry Cooper’s family.”

 

“But you can’t go without money.”

 

“That’s true.”

 

“And you haven’t got any.”

 

“That’s a mistake. I have all I need.”

 

“Where did you get it?”

 

“That’s my business.”

 

“Who put you up to going?”

 

“I had a talk with John Heywood. He told me he thought I would succeed

in making money.”

 

“Oh, I see. I suppose he was fool enough to lend you the money.”

 

Grant smiled, but did not answer. This confirmed Rodney in his belief.

He looked at Grant with envy and dislike. With the amiable desire to

depress him, he said, “I predict that you’ll come back poorer than you

went away.”

 

“It may be so, but I don’t believe it.”

 

When he parted with Grant, Rodney went around to John Heywood’s house,

with the view of ascertaining whether he had supplied Grant with the

funds necessary for his journey.

 

“I think you are foolish, Mr. Heywood,” Rodney began, “to lend Grant

Colburn money to go to California.”

 

John Heywood looked up from his work.

 

“Who told you I had supplied him with money?” he asked.

 

“Well, no one.”

 

“Then why do you say I did?”

 

“He must have got the money somewhere, so I concluded you had let him

have it.”

 

“Then you concluded wrong. He never asked me to lend him money. If he

had——”

 

“Well, if he had?” repeated Rodney eagerly.

 

“If he had, I should probably have done it. Grant Colburn’s a

hardworking boy and a good fellow, and I think he’ll be happier out in

California than on your grandfather’s farm.”

 

“It’ll be a relief to grandfather to have him go. He’s been supporting

him for the last two years.”

 

“Grant has earned his living twice over. He’ll have to work hard in

California, but he’ll be paid for it. I shouldn’t be surprised to see

him a rich man some time.”

 

Rodney scowled and walked away. He thought the prediction ridiculous,

and hoped it would not come true.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER IX.

THE LONG JOURNEY BEGINS.

 

 

The day before they were to start Grant came over and spent the night

with Mr. Cooper and his family. The blacksmith had been guided by John

Heywood in making his preparations. Independence, Mo., was at that time

the usual starting-point for overland emigrants, and it was to this

point that the little party directed their course. Mr. Cooper started

with two horses, but at Independence he exchanged one of them for a yoke

of oxen, being advised that oxen were upon the whole more reliable, and

less likely to be stolen by the Indians. Here, too, he laid in a supply

of flour, bacon, coffee, and sugar, with a quantity of rice, crackers,

and smaller articles, for they were going through a land where there

were no hotels, and must carry their own provender.

 

When they had completed their outfit they set out. A long journey lay

before them. From Independence to the gold region was rather more than

two thousand miles, and such were the difficulties of the way that they

only averaged about fifteen miles a day. A detailed account of the trip

would only be wearisome, and I shall confine myself to some of the

salient incidents.

 

The custom was to make an early start and stop at intervals, partly for

the preparation of meals and partly to give the patient animals a chance

to rest.

 

One evening—it was about ten weeks after the start—they had encamped for

the night, and Mrs. Cooper, assisted by Grant, was preparing supper, a

fire having been kindled about fifty feet from the wagon, when steps

were heard, and a singular looking figure emerged from the underbush. It

was a man, with a long, grizzled beard, clad in a tattered garb, with an

old slouch hat on his head, and a long, melancholy visage.

 

“I trust you are well, my friends,” he said. “Do not be alarmed. I mean

you no harm.”Tom Cooper laughed.