Digging for Gold 15

Digging for Gold 15

“Now, if we could only find some food, I should be perfectly happy,”

said Grant.

 

Only a few crackers were left, but these, dipped in the water, became

palatable. But the serious question arose: “What would they do when

these were gone?” It was a question that none of them could answer.

 

“I have often wondered, Grant,” said Tom, “what it was like to want

food. I begin to understand it now. I remember one day a poor tramp came

to our door, who said he had not tasted food for forty-eight hours. I

looked at him with curiosity. I could not understand how this could

happen to any one. All my life I had never known what it was to want

food. I even doubted his word; but when mother invited him into the

kitchen and set a plate of meat and bread before the poor fellow, the

eagerness with which the famished wretch ate satisfied me that he had

told the truth. Now, Grant, I will make a confession.”

 

“What is it, Tom? Have you murdered any one?” asked Grant, with forced

hilarity.

 

“Not that I remember. My confession is of a different nature. For four

days—during the whole time that I have been on half rations—I have felt

a perpetual craving for food.”

 

“And I too, Tom.”

 

“And now I feel weak and exhausted. It has been an effort to drag myself

along to-day. The fact is, machinery can’t be kept in working trim

without fuel.”

 

“I realize that, too, Tom.”

 

“I presume father and mother have felt the same way, but I haven’t dared

to ask them. They say ‘misery loves company,’ but when the companions in

misery are your own father and mother, it doesn’t apply. Though I have

to suffer myself, I wish they were spared the same privations that have

undermined my strength.”

 

It will be seen that Tom was better educated than the majority of young

men born and brought up in the country. He had attended an academy in a

neighboring town for a year, and had for a season taught the district

school at Crestville. Grant found him pleasant and instructive company.

 

That night, when they went to bed, they were utterly without food. What

were to be their experiences on the morrow they could not foresee, but

there was plenty of room for grave apprehension.

 

“Grant, if we can get no food, I have decided what we must do,” said

Tom, as they lay down to rest at a short distance from each other.

 

“What is it, Tom? Have you thought of anything?”

 

“Yes; I suppose you know that horseflesh, though not to be compared with

beef, is still palatable?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“It is our last resource. Poor old Dobbin must die!” and the young man

sighed.

 

At that moment the old horse whinnied.

 

“It seems as if he knew what we were talking about,” said Tom.

 

“That will last us some time,” remarked Grant, with renewed hope.

 

“Yes; I suppose the poor old fellow won’t be very tender, but it is the

only way he can serve us now. We can cook up quite a supply while the

meat is fresh, and take it with us. It will give us a new lease of life,

and something may happen before that supply is exhausted.”

 

Tom consulted his father and mother, who, though at first startled,

decided that it was the only thing to be done.

 

And so poor Dobbin’s fate seemed to be sealed!

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XIII.

THE SOLITARY CABIN.

 

 

When they rose the next morning, all looked serious. Each felt that the

crisis had come. All eyes were turned upon poor old Dobbin, who,

unconscious of his danger, was browsing near the camp.

 

“Grant,” said Tom suddenly, “let us give Dobbin a small lease of life.”

 

“Will it do any good, Tom?”

 

“I don’t know; but this is what I propose: let us each take a rifle and

go in different directions. We may find a deer or antelope to serve as a

substitute for Dobbin, or something else may turn up.”

 

“Very well, Tom.”

 

So the two started out.

 

Chance directed Grant’s steps into a sheltered valley. Coarse grass

covered the ground, which seemed luxurious when compared with the white

alkali plains over which they had been travelling.

 

Grant kept on his way, taking pains not to lose his bearings, for he did

not care to stray from the party, and it was quite possible to get lost.

There was no evidence of human habitation. So far as appearances went,

this oasis might have come fresh from the creative hand, and never

fallen under the eye of man. But appearances are deceptive.

 

Turning a sharp corner, Grant was amazed to find before him a veritable

log cabin. It was small, only about twelve feet square, and had

evidently at some time been inhabited.

 

Curious to learn more of this solitary dwelling, Grant entered through

the open door. Again he was surprised to find it comfortably furnished.

On the rough floor was a Turkish rug. In one corner stood a bedstead,

covered with bedding. There were two chairs and a settee. In fact, it

was better furnished than Robinson Crusoe’s dwelling in his solitary

island.

 

Grant entered and sat down on a chair.

 

“What does it all mean, I wonder?” he asked himself. “Does anybody live

here, or when did the last tenant give up possession? Was it because he

could not pay his rent?” and he laughed at the idea.

 

As Grant leaned back in his chair and asked himself these questions, his

quick ear caught the sound of some one approaching. He looked up, and

directly the doorway was darkened by the entrance of a tall man, who in

turn gazed at Grant in surprise.

 

“Ah!” he said, after a brief pause, “I was not expecting a visitor this

morning. How long have you been here?”

 

“Not five minutes. Do you live here?”

 

“For the present. You, I take it, are crossing the plains?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Not alone, surely?”

 

“No; my party are perhaps a mile away.”

 

“Then you are on an exploring expedition?”

 

“Yes, sir,” answered Grant gravely; “on a very serious exploring

expedition.”

 

“How is that?”

 

“We are all out of food. There isn’t a crumb left, and starvation stares

us in the face.”

 

“Ha! Did you expect to find food anywhere about here? Was this your

object?”

 

“I don’t know. It was a desperate step to take. I have a rifle with me.

I thought it possible I might come across a deer that would tide us over

for a few days.”

 

“How large is your party?”

 

“There are only four of us.”

 

“All males?”

 

“Except one. Mr. and Mrs. Cooper, and their son Tom, a young man, and

myself constitute the party.”

 

“Whence did you come?”

 

“From Iowa.”

 

“I venture to say you have found what you did not expect.”

 

“Yes; I never dreamed of finding a man or a human habitation in this

out-of-the-way spot.”

 

“And yet the time may come within twenty-five years when there may be a

village in this very spot.”

 

“I wish it were here now,” sighed Grant. “And if there was one, I wish

there might be a restaurant or a baker’s shop handy.”

 

“I can’t promise you that, but what is more important, I can supply you

with provisions.”

 

As he spoke, he walked to one corner of the dwelling and opened a door,

which had not thus far attracted Grant’s attention. There was revealed a

small closet. Inside was a cask, which, as Grant could see, was full of

crackers, another contained flour, and on a shelf was a large piece of

deer meat, which had been cooked, and appealed powerfully to Grant’s

appetite, which for four days had been growing, and now was clamoring to

be satisfied. Grant sighed, and over his face came a look of longing.