Digging for Gold 13

Digging for Gold 13

“No,” he said. “The silver must have been taken from my pocket. No; I

had some bills in my right-hand pocket. I was lying on my right side, so

he could not get at it without the risk of waking me up. Have you lost

anything, Tom?”

 

Tom had been examining his pockets.

 

“No,” he said grimly. “The fellow didn’t dare to tackle me, I reckon. If

I had caught him at it I would have strangled him. Father, how is it

with you?”

 

“I am all right, Tom.”

 

“Then he didn’t get much outside of the horse. But that’s a serious

enough loss. Poor Dobbin!”

 

“If I only knew which way he went,” said Tom slowly.

 

But this was not clear. There was nothing to do but to get ready for the

day’s march, and set out. The loss of Dobbin made it necessary that all

should walk except Mrs. Cooper, who sat in the wagon.

 

They had been about three hours on the way when a tramping sound was

heard, and Dobbin came running up to the party, whinnying with joy.

 

“There’s nothing amiss with him,” said Tom joyfully. “I wonder how he

got away from the man that stole him. Are you glad to get back, old

fellow?”

 

There could be no doubt on that point, for the horse seemed content and

happy.

 

“Where’s old Silverthorn, I wonder?” said Tom.

 

The question was soon to be answered.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XI.

AN INDIAN ENCOUNTER.

 

 

The country through which the Cooper party were now travelling was

partially wooded. Soon, however, they would reach the long and barren

stretch of country—the great salt plain—which was the dread of all

overland parties. Then there would be no woods till they approached the

borders of the Golden State.

 

About the middle of the afternoon, while the oxen were plodding along at

the rate of barely two miles an hour, they received a surprise.

 

Tom Cooper, whose eyes were the sharpest, called out suddenly:

 

“Look there!”

 

Grant looked, but had to approach nearer before he could realize the

situation. Then he saw a white man tied to a slender tree, while half a

dozen Indians were dancing round him, uttering a series of guttural

cries, which appeared to fill the captive with intense dread. It was too

far to distinguish the features of the prisoner, but when they came

nearer Tom cried out, “Dang me, if it aint Silverthorn!”

 

It was indeed Dionysius Silverthorn, and his plight was certainly a

serious one.

 

“What shall we do?” asked Grant.

 

“We must rescue him,” answered Tom. “He’s a mean rascal, and he’s repaid

our hospitality by robbing us; but we can’t let him be killed by those

redskins.”

 

“I’m with you!” said Grant.

 

By this time the Indians had caught sight of the approaching party. They

ceased dancing and appeared to be conferring together. When Silverthorn

saw that some of his own color were at hand he uttered a loud cry, and

would have stretched out his hands if they had not been fettered.

 

“Help me! help me!” he cried. “Save me from these fiends!”

 

The Indians—six in number—seeing that there were but three in the

approaching party, took courage and decided to maintain their ground.

They uttered, a yell and fired a volley of arrows, one of which whizzed

by Grant’s ear.

 

Tom Cooper gritted his teeth.

 

“We’ll teach them a lesson,” he said.

 

He raised his rifle, and, aiming at the foremost Indian, fired

deliberately. The redskin fell, pierced to the heart.

 

This appeared to strike his companions with dismay. They seemed

panic-stricken, as well they might be, for the bows and arrows with

which they were armed were no match for the rifles of the little party

opposed to them. One of them raised his arm and uttered a few words;

these were of course unintelligible to Grant and his companions, but

their sense became apparent when he pointed to the dead Indian, and,

with one of his companions, lifted him from the ground and began to beat

a retreat.

 

“They won’t trouble us any more, Grant,” said Tom. “They are going away.

But we had better keep on the watch, for they are a crafty race, and may

meditate some treachery.”

 

When they were beyond bowshot, Tom led the way to the spot where Mr.

Silverthorn was eagerly awaiting deliverance from his uncomfortable

position.

 

“Well,” said Tom, taking a position where he had a good view of the

captive, “what have you got to say for yourself?”

 

“Oh, please release me, Mr. Tom!” said Dionysius, in a pleading tone.

 

“Why should I? What claim have you on me?”

 

“The claim of humanity. You’ve no idea what I have suffered in the last

hour.”

 

“First, I want you to explain why you stole my horse.”

 

“You’ve got him back,” said Silverthorn, who could see old Dobbin

browsing beside the wagon.

 

“Yes; but no thanks to you.”

 

“Indeed, I only meant to borrow him for a while.”

 

“And you borrowed Grant’s money in the same way, I suppose.”

 

“Put yourself in my place, Mr. Tom. I was penniless and destitute. How

could I make my way alone through this wilderness?”

 

“So you robbed your benefactors! I take no stock in your story that you

only meant to borrow the horse. Now own up, make a clean breast of it,

and it will be the better for you.”

 

“I meant some time to pay you for him; indeed I did. I knew that if I

got to the mines I would soon be in a position to pay all my debts, and

I should have regarded that as a debt of honor.”

 

“The less you say about honor the better, it strikes me, Mr.

Silverthorn.”

 

“Please release me! I have been in this unhappy confinement for more

than an hour.”

 

Tom approached the tree and, drawing out a formidable looking

jack-knife, sundered the cords that bound the captive, and he stepped

forth, stretching himself with a sigh of relief.

 

“Permit me to express my thanks, my friend and benefactor!” he cried,

sinking on his knees and grasping Tom’s hand, which he pressed to his

lips.

 

Tom pulled it away with a look of disgust.

 

“I have no confidence in you,” he said. “I know how you treat your

friends and benefactors.”

 

“I have indeed done wrong,” said Dionysius. “I am a weak, fallible man,

but I never will wrong you again.”

 

“I don’t think you will, for I shall not give you a chance. Now tell me

the truth about the horse. How did he escape from you?”

 

“I got off his back a moment, and he immediately turned and galloped

away.”

 

“You pursued him, of course?”

 

“A little way,” answered Mr. Silverthorn, coughing apologetically; “but

I soon gave it up. I said to myself, ‘He will seek his owner, and I

shall be saved from committing a sin.’“

 

Tom Cooper laughed.

 

“You were resigned because you had to be,” he said. “Now, about Grant’s

money! Have you got it?”

 

“No; the Indians robbed me of it.”

 

“When did you meet the Indians?”

 

“It may have been two hours ago. I have no watch, and can only estimate

the time.”

 

“Did they attack you?”

 

“They ran up and seized me. I stood still, for I knew that if I ran they

would pierce me with an arrow.”

 

“Well?”

 

“When they caught me they searched my pockets and took the silver. Then

I was glad that I had taken no more.”

 

“That is, you would rather Grant would keep his money than have the

Indians get it.”

 

“Yes, Mr. Tom,” answered Silverthorn meekly. “It went to my heart to rob

the boy, for he looked so much like my lost son. Forgive these tears!”

and he drew out the red silk handkerchief, which the Indians had

evidently not thought it worth while to take, and wiped his eyes.