Digging for Gold 17

Digging for Gold 17

“Oh, yes.”

 

“To a boy like you, the possession of money seems sure to bring

happiness.”

 

“In my case, yes. Remember, Mr. Crosmont, I have a mother to care for. I

should like to take her from Mr. Tarbox’s house, where she is a slave,

and give her a nice home of her own. That wouldn’t take more than two

thousand dollars, and with the balance I could go into business.”

 

“Yes, you have your mother to live for,” said Crosmont; and he dropped

into a thoughtful mood.

 

“Will you go to the mines also?” asked Grant, less from curiosity than

in order to break the silence.

 

“No—yes; I will go with you for a time; but the mines have no attraction

for me.”

 

“Don’t you care for gold?”

 

“I have enough already.”

 

Then, seeing that Grant’s curiosity was excited, he added: “I don’t mind

telling you, Grant, that I am a rich man, rich beyond my wants, and I

have no temptation to increase my wealth.”

 

Grant regarded his companion with the respect that a boy of his age is

apt to feel for a rich man—so rich that he doesn’t care to increase his

wealth.

 

“I wonder how it would seem to be rich,” he said thoughtfully.

 

“Perhaps you will have a chance to experience the feeling some time.”

 

“I hope so.”

 

“You are young, strong, self-reliant. In your favored country this will

help you to become rich. But after you have acquired wealth, I doubt if

you will find it makes you as happy as you expect.”

 

“But,” said Grant, “if I am rich I can help others. That will make me

happy.”

 

“True!” returned the other, as if it were a new idea. “This ought to

have occurred to me before. I will remember it.”

 

“Were you always rich, sir?”

 

“Yes. I was born to wealth. My father was a wealthy gentleman living in

Devonshire, England. From my earliest years I was accustomed to all that

wealth could buy. I never knew what poverty meant.”

 

“I should think you would wish to live in England.”

 

“If I lived there it would be alone.”

 

“Then you have no family!”

 

Giles Crosmont was silent, and a pained __EXPRESSION__ showed itself on his

face.

 

“Excuse me if I have shown too much curiosity,” said Grant

apologetically.

 

“There is no need to apologize, yet your question called up painful

memories. I had a son—I don’t know if he is still alive—who must now be

twenty-five years old. He disappointed me. I sent him to college, and he

plunged into extravagance. I paid his debts twice. The last time, in my

anger, I declined to do so. He forged a check on me for a large sum,

paid his debts with part of the proceeds, and then disappeared.”

 

“How long ago was that?” inquired Grant, in a sympathetic tone.

 

“Four years. For a year I remained at my home, hoping to hear something

from him, but no tidings came. Then I began to travel, and am still

travelling. Sometime I may meet him, and if I do——”

 

“You will forgive him?”

 

“I will try to reclaim him.”

 

“I wish my father were living.”

 

“You have your mother.”

 

“Yes, I wish I could see her at this moment.”

 

“I think you are a good boy. I wish my boy had been like you.”

 

“Thank you, Mr. Crosmont. I will try to deserve your compliment.”

 

“Grant and the Englishman are getting pretty thick,” said Tom to his

mother.

 

“Yes, Tom. He seems to have taken a fancy to the boy.”

 

“No wonder. Grant is a good fellow. I wonder if this Mr. Crosmont is

rich?” For Grant had respected the confidence of his new acquaintance

and had not communicated what he had learned to his companions.

 

“I hope he is. Then he might do something for Grant, and the boy

deserves it.”

 

“He’ll never get much from old Tarbox, I’ll be bound.”

 

Day by day they drew nearer to the land of gold. The stock of provisions

held out wonderfully, for Mr. Crosmont made good his promise, and more

than one deer and antelope fell before his unerring aim, and eked out

the supply. At length, after some weeks, they crossed the mountains and

looked upon the promised land. From this point on there were

settlements, and there was no fear of starvation.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XV.

ARRIVAL AT SACRAMENTO.

 

 

At length the little party reached Sacramento. This was already a place

of some importance, as it was in the neighborhood of the mining region,

and it was here that mining parties obtained their outfits and came at

intervals to bring their gold dust and secure supplies. Situated, as it

was, on the Sacramento River, with communication with San Francisco by

water, it was, besides, the starting-point of numberless lines of stages

bound for the different mines. For a town of its size the activity

seemed almost incredible. The party went to a hotel, where, for very

indifferent accommodations, they were charged five dollars a day. To the

blacksmith, accustomed to village prices, this seemed exorbitant.

 

“We needn’t engage board till night,“ suggested Tom. “We’ll take our

meals at a restaurant till then.”

 

They were all hungry, and this suggestion seemed a good one. Looking

about, Tom found a small, one-story building, on the front of which was

this sign:

 

METROPOLITAN HOTEL AND RESTAURANT.

 

“What do you ask for breakfast?” inquired Tom, entering.

 

“A dollar a head!”

 

“A dollar!” repeated Mrs. Cooper, in dismay.

 

“Tom,” said Mr. Cooper, “I haven’t had a civilized meal or sat down at a

table for months. No matter what it costs, I’m going to have breakfast

now.”

 

“All right, father! I guess I can do my share of eating.”

 

Grant listened with dismay to the announcement of prices. Of all the

money he had brought with him he had but ten dollars left. How long

would it last?

 

“Grant, are you going to join us?” asked Tom.

 

“I don’t know as I can afford it,” answered Grant anxiously.

 

“We can’t any of us afford it,” returned Mr. Cooper. “Sit down, boy, and

we’ll borrow trouble afterward.”

 

“Now,” said Mr. Cooper, as he rose from the table, “I’ll take a turn

round the town and see what information I can gain. I’ll turn in the

wagon into the yard alongside. Mrs. Cooper, will you keep your eye on it

while the rest of us go on a tour of inspection? I don’t think the oxen

will be likely to run away,” he added jocosely.

 

“All right, father.”

 

Mr. Cooper, Tom, and Grant set out in different directions.

 

Grant started on his walk feeling sober, if not depressed. Here he was,

two thousand miles from his old home, with only nine dollars in his

pocket, and the prices for living extortionate. How was he to get to the

mines? Before he could get ready to leave Sacramento his money would be

exhausted. Since he left home, four months before, Grant hadn’t felt so

perplexed and disturbed.

 

He had walked only five minutes, when he found himself in front of the

Sacramento Hotel, the largest in the place.

 

Half a dozen stages were in the street outside, each drawn by four

horses, and each bearing the name of some mining camp to which it

proposed to carry passengers. The drivers were calling lustily for

recruits. This was what Grant heard—“All aboard for Hangtown! Only four

seats left! Who’s going to Gold Gulch? Now’s your chance! Get you

through in six hours. Start in fifteen minutes for Frost’s Bar! Richest

diggings, within fifty miles!”

 

“I wonder what they charge,” thought Grant. “I’ll ask.” He went up to

the stage bound for Weaver Creek, and inquired the fare.

 

“Carry you through for ten dollars,” was the reply. “Jump aboard. We’ll

start in half an hour.”

 

“No,” answered Grant slowly. “I shan’t be ready by that time. Besides, I

have only nine dollars.”

 

“I’ll take you to Frost’s Bar for that,” said the driver of the Frost’s

Bar stage.

 

“I suppose you will,” interposed the Weaver Creek driver with a sneer.

“Your regular charge is only seven dollars. You want to cheat the boy

out of two dollars.”

 

This led to an altercation between the rival drivers, in which some

blows were exchanged, but neither was hurt. Before they had finished

Grant had passed on. He knew that, with his limited capital, he could

not afford to go to either place and arrive at the mines without a penny.