Digging for Gold 14

Digging for Gold 14

“That man disgusts me, Grant,” said Tom. “He seems to have quite an

affection for you.”

 

“It is all on his side,” returned Grant. “I don’t believe he ever had a

boy.”

 

“Well, perhaps not. He seems a natural born liar. But it’s time we were

pushing on. We have a long distance still before us.”

 

The wagon was put in motion, and the little procession started. Mr.

Cooper drove the oxen, Mrs. Cooper sat inside the wagon, Tom led the

horse, and Grant walked alongside. Sometimes Tom took his turn in

driving the oxen, and sometimes Grant led the horse.

 

Dionysius Silverthorn started also, walking beside Grant.

 

Tom turned upon him.

 

“Where are you going?” he asked.

 

“I will walk along with you, if you will let me, Mr. Tom.”

 

“I think you’ve got more cheek than any man I know. After the trick you

played upon us, you expect us to tolerate your presence.”

 

“Please let me accompany you, Mr. Tom. I might meet the Indians again.”

 

“Then go in a different direction. You cannot go with us.”

 

Mr. Silverthorn produced his red handkerchief, and rubbed his eyes

again.

 

“It is a hard, cold world!” he said. “I am a very unfortunate man.”

 

“Perhaps you are; but I don’t think you deserve to be very fortunate.

Just make up your mind that you are not going to travel with us. Had you

behaved honorably, and not repaid kindness by theft, we would have

allowed you to remain with us for a time; but now it is impossible.”

 

“I shall starve, and be found a wretched corpse by the wayside,” moaned

Dionysius.

 

“Let him have some provisions, Tom,” said Mrs. Cooper, who was naturally

compassionate. She had given up the idea that he was a truly good man,

but she was not willing that he should be left quite unprovided for.

 

“I will do that,” said Tom.

 

He made up a small parcel of provisions, and handed them to Dionysius

Silverthorn, who sat down on a stump, while the little caravan pushed

on.

 

“That’s the strangest sort of man I ever encountered,” said Tom. “I

wonder whether we’ll ever see him again.”

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XII.

IN DIRE DISTRESS.

 

 

Some days later the party reached the great salt plains dreaded by all

overland travellers. The sight of the vast, white prairies, utterly

destitute of vegetation, with no plant or shrub visible, and no evidence

that any had ever existed, was depressing enough.

 

“If we should get out of provisions or water here, Heaven help us!” said

Tom apprehensively.

 

“How far will we have to go before we reach the borders of the plain?”

asked Grant.

 

“I don’t know, but I have heard that it is very extensive.”

 

“How are we off for provisions?”

 

“That is what makes me anxious. Our supply is quite scanty.”

 

“And there is no chance to replenish it here?”

 

Tom shook his head.

 

“Don’t tell mother,” he said. “It would make her worry. It will be time

for her to learn it if worse comes to worst.”

 

On the sixth day they were startled by a sight calculated to increase

their fears.

 

It was a stranded wagon, with three gaunt, emaciated bodies stretched

near it, all of them quite dead. There were two men and a woman.

 

“They must have died of hunger, or thirst, or both,” whispered Tom.

 

“What can have happened to them?” asked Mrs. Cooper compassionately.

 

“Perhaps they were weak, and unable to go farther,” said Tom evasively.

 

“It seems terrible that they should be exposed to the elements. Suppose

some wild beasts should come and mangle their bodies.”

 

“Wild beasts are too sensible to be found in this region,” said Tom.

 

“Why?” asked his mother.

 

“Because,” answered Tom, hesitating, “the country is so barren and

unattractive.”

 

“You seem to think wild animals appreciate fine scenery, like human

beings.”

 

“Well, yes, in a measure,” and Tom nodded significantly at Grant, as if

to caution him against saying anything that would reveal to his mother

his real meaning.

 

[Illustration: A HORRIBLE DISCOVERY.—DEATH FROM STARVATION.]

 

“Tom,” said his father, “don’t you think we had better bury these

unfortunate persons?”

 

“Yes, father. I will help you do it.”

 

“And I,” added Grant.

 

“First, however, let us see if we can find any letters or documents

disclosing their identity. We ought to let their friends know what has

become of them.”

 

In the pocket of one of the men Tom found letters showing that it was a

party from Taunton, in Massachusetts. One of the men had a silver watch,

and upon another was found a small sum of money.

 

“I will take charge of the watch and money,” said Mr. Cooper, “and when

we reach any point where it is possible, I will send them on to their

friends in Taunton, for that appears to have been their home.”

 

“What about the wagon, father?”

 

“We must leave it. We have all we can do in transporting our own.”

 

A grave was dug, and the three bodies were deposited therein. Tom looked

sober, for he couldn’t help asking himself, “Suppose this should be our

fate!”

 

He quietly examined the wagon to see if he could find any provisions,

but there was not a scrap, or crust to be found.

 

“It was as I thought,” he whispered to Grant. “The poor wretches died of

starvation.”

 

A week later the same problem confronted them.

 

“Grant,” said Tom, “I have been examining our food supply, and find that

we have only enough to last us two days.”

 

Grant looked startled.

 

“And then?” he asked.

 

“I don’t know. Unless we get a fresh supply we must die, like those poor

people whom we buried a week since.”

 

“Shall you tell your mother?”

 

“I must. She is entitled to know, for she is in danger like ourselves.”

 

Mrs. Cooper turned pale, but seemed calm and composed when told of the

state of affairs.

 

“We must make our provisions last as long as possible,” she said.

 

“But how?”

 

“We must be placed on allowance.”

 

“Half rations?”

 

“Yes. That will give us some additional time. We must make our two days’

supply last over four days, and who knows what may happen in four days?”

 

“That is a sensible suggestion, mother, but let it only extend to Grant,

father and myself. I don’t want you to be stinted.”

 

“What do you think of me, Tom? Do you suppose I would consent to fare

better than my husband and son, and this boy, who seems like one of us?

No, Tom, you should judge your mother better.”

 

“You have shut me up, mother. I can’t say anything in answer to that.”

 

“I will show you that a woman has as much fortitude as a man. Besides, I

do not have to work as hard as you. I can bear the deprivation better.”

 

The days following were days of intense anxiety. Every morning, when

they set out on their daily march, there was a prayer in the heart of

each that something would happen before the sun set that would relieve

them from the haunting fear of famine.

 

But in all these days they met no one, and overtook no one. The sun rose

hot and fiery, making the great alkali plain seem still more arid and

cheerless. So far as they could see, they were the only people in the

world; for, look as they might, they could see no other evidence of

human habitation. But in the distance it was a relief to perceive some

low rising hills, and by night time they reached an oasis, and, what

cheered their hearts, a small stream of water, for they were very nearly

out, and had felt the need of economizing. Now the oxen, and the horse,

as well as themselves, were allowed to drink _ad libitum_. The animals

drank with evident gratification, and looked sensibly cheered and relieved.