Digging for Gold 31

Digging for Gold 31

“No; we can do all the work that is required. But what are you doing?”

 

“Oh, I’ve been drifting around,” said Benton evasively. “I was digging

for gold a part of the time.”

 

“Did you meet with any success?”

 

“Not much. I tell you, Grant, this mining business is played out. I

don’t know what I shall take up next. If I had capital, I would set up a

restaurant of my own.”

 

“You may be right about mining,” said Grant. “We made very little at

Howe’s Gulch.”

 

“I suppose you are doing better here?”

 

“We are not ready to retire yet.”

 

“I am glad I happened to come here. It will be pleasant to be in the

same house with an old friend.”

 

Grant was truthful, and did not respond to the compliment.

 

About eight o’clock he and his partner went up to their chamber, where,

as the nights were growing cool, they were accustomed to sit before a

fire and chat of their prospects. Now their privacy seemed likely to be

broken in upon, for Benton invited himself to go up with them.

 

“Come, now, this is what I call comfort,” he said, and he leaned back in

his chair and puffed at a cigar. “Reminds me of old times. I say, what a

queer chap Crambo is!”

 

“He is rather peculiar, but a good-natured, pleasant man.”

 

“Oh, I don’t say anything about that, but he’s got a wife that is twice

as smart as he is.”

 

“Mrs. Crambo knows how to cook. That is what chiefly interests us.”

 

Albert Benton had an inquiring mind, and was gifted with a large measure

of curiosity. He looked about the room, and his glance fell on the

chest.

 

“What do you keep in that?” he inquired.

 

“Clothing,” answered Grant briefly.

 

“What made you get a chest? A trunk would do better.”

 

“We found it here, and bought it of Mr. Crambo. As neither of us had a

trunk, we find it convenient.”

 

“When do you go to work?”

 

“We have breakfast at seven o’clock, and generally get to work about

eight.”

 

“What sent you here? This isn’t a mining region.”

 

“I suppose we drifted here, as you did.”

 

“Well, we’ll see what’ll come out of it.”

 

At ten o’clock Tom Cooper suggested to their guest, who showed no

disposition to retire, that Grant and himself were in the habit of going

to bed early, as their work during the day fatigued them.

 

“All right! I’ll see you both to-morrow,” returned Benton, as he bade

them good-night.

 

When he had left the room Grant said: “I’m sorry to see Benton here. I

am afraid he will give us trouble.”

 

“In what way? By giving us too much of his company?”

 

“Partly that, but if he had any suspicion as to the contents of the

chest he wouldn’t rest till he had opened it.”

 

“He wouldn’t find it a very healthy proceeding,” remarked Tom Cooper

grimly.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XXIX.

BENTON HAS A PLAN.

 

 

Some days passed. The new-comer did not appear to find anything to do.

He had sauntered out to the claim worked by Grant and Tom, and looked

on, but had made no discoveries. He did not know whether to think they

were prospering or not. He determined to obtain some information, if

possible, from his landlord.

 

One morning, after the two friends had gone to work, he lingered at the

table, asking for an extra cup of coffee as a pretext for remaining

longer.

 

“Do you think my friend Grant and his chum are doing well?” he remarked

carelessly.

 

“They can’t be making much,” answered Paul. “I think they are fools to

waste their time here.”

 

“They must be making something,” said Mrs. Crambo. “They pay their board

bills regularly.”

 

“Do they pay in gold-dust?”

 

“No; in coin.”

 

“Humph! what do they do with the gold-dust they get from the mine?”

 

“I don’t know. I never inquired.”

 

This was meant as a hint that Benton was unnecessarily curious, but he

never took such hints.

 

“Is there any place in the village where they can dispose of it?”

 

“No,” answered Paul; “not that I know of. They would have to send it by

express to Sacramento or San Francisco.”

 

“Where did you know Mr. Colburn?” asked Mrs. Crambo.

 

“We were employed together in Sacramento.”

 

“He seems to be a fine boy—or young man, perhaps I ought to call him. So

steady, so regular in his habits.”

 

Benton shrugged his shoulders.

 

“Oh, he’s well enough,” he answered, “but he’s mighty close with his

money.”

 

“I approve of young men being economical,” said Mrs. Crambo.

 

“But not tight. Why, I once asked Grant to lend me five dollars and,

would you believe it, he wouldn’t do it.”

 

“Did he receive more pay than you?”

 

“I should say not. I received a good deal higher pay than he, as I ought

to, being older and more experienced.”

 

“Then,” said Mrs. Crambo shrewdly, “I can’t understand why you should

need to borrow money from him.”

 

“A man is sometimes hard up, no matter how large his income may be.”

 

“It ought not to be so,” said Mrs. Crambo dryly. “Our income isn’t

large, but I never ask any one to lend me money.”

 

“Oh, well, I suppose you are a good manager.”

 

“Yes, I flatter myself that I am a fair manager. I think it my duty to

be.”

 

“What a tiresome woman!” thought Benton. “I hate people who are always

talking about duty.”

 

This was not surprising, for Benton concerned himself very little about

duty in his own case.

 

When he left the table, he said to himself, “It seems pretty certain

that Grant and Cooper haven’t parted with any of their gold-dust. The

question is, where do they keep it?”

 

That day Benton strayed into a restaurant and boarding-house in the

village, kept by a man named Hardy, and learned incidentally that he

wanted to sell out.

 

“What do you want to sell out for?” asked Benton.

 

“I have got tired of the place. It is too quiet for me. I want to go to

San Francisco. There’s more life there, and more money can always be

made in a city like that.”

 

“How has the restaurant been paying?” questioned Benton.

 

“I can’t complain of it. It has paid me about forty dollars a week, net;

perhaps a little more.”