Digging for Gold 4

Digging for Gold 4

“I believe so.”

 

“Mother don’t like me to smoke, but I do it on the sly. I’ll give you a

cigarette, if you want one,” he said, in an unusual fit of generosity.

 

“Thank you, but I don’t smoke.”

 

“It’s just as well, for you are poor and couldn’t afford to buy

cigarettes. Well, I suppose you’ve got to go on.”

 

“Yes.”

 

So the two boys parted. Rodney entered the drug store, and not only

bought a package of cigarettes, but drank a glass of soda water. It did

not occur to him to offer Grant soda water, for that would have cost a

nickel, while a cigarette was inexpensive.

 

“Somehow I don’t like Rodney,” said Grant to himself as he walked along.

“He seems anxious to have his grandfather die in order to get hold of

the property. I wouldn’t want to feel that way about anybody, though

money would be very acceptable.”

 

Grant walked a mile farther till he reached the farm. Luke Weldon, who

had taken it on shares, was in the yard.

 

“Well, Grant, have you come to see me?” he asked with a good-natured

smile.

 

“Yes, Mr. Weldon. Mr. Tarbox wants his pitchfork, which you borrowed

last week.”

 

“Was the old man afraid he wouldn’t get it back?”

 

“Perhaps so.”

 

“He doesn’t mean to let anybody get the advantage of him. Well, come to

the barn with me, and I’ll give it to you.”

 

Grant followed Luke to the barn, and received the borrowed article.

 

“It beats all how suspicious Seth Tarbox is,” continued Luke. “You know

I run this farm on shares. The old man is dreadfully afraid I shall

cheat him in the division of the crop. He comes over spying round from

time to time. How do you like working for him?”

 

“Not at all,” answered Grant bluntly.

 

“Does he pay you any wages?”

 

“I work for my board and clothes, but I don’t get any clothes. Look at

me.”

 

“The old man is awful close. I sometimes ask myself how it is all to

end. He stints himself and his family, and all his money will go to his

daughter Sophia and her boy.”

 

“They are over there to-day.”

 

“How do you like the boy?”

 

“About as much as his grandfather.”

 

“He’s a disagreeable young cub, and about as mean as the old man.”

 

“He offered me a cigarette this morning,” said Grant smiling.

 

“Did you accept?”

 

“No, I do not smoke. He offered me one of his old suits, too, but it was

only to save his grandfather the expense of buying me a new one.”

 

“I suppose you accepted that.”

 

“No, I didn’t. I will have a new suit or none at all.”

 

“I like your spirit. I wish I could have you to work for me.”

 

“I would rather work for you than for Mr. Tarbox, but there is one thing

I would like better still.”

 

“What is that?”

 

“To go to California.”

 

“What put that into your head?”

 

“Mrs. Bartlett was mentioning that John Heywood had just got back,

bringing ten thousand dollars in gold.”

 

“Sho! You don’t say so.”

 

“And he bought a farm and is going to put up a new house.”

 

“Some men are lucky, that’s a fact. Ten thousand dollars, and he’s only

just turned thirty. Well, I wish I were in his shoes.”

 

“I mean to go to California some time.”

 

“But how will you go? It costs money to go so far.”

 

“That’s true, and I don’t know where the money is coming from, but I

mean to get there all the same.”

 

“If you had the money Seth Tarbox wouldn’t let you use it for that.”

 

“I’d like to see him stop me!” said Grant, nodding his head with

emphasis.

 

“Well, I wish you luck, Grant, but I reckon it’ll be a good many years

before you get to California.”

 

Privately Grant was of the same opinion, but the idea had entered his

mind, and was not likely to be dislodged.

 

There were two ways of going home, one through the village, the same way

he came, and the other across the railroad and over the fields. This was

no shorter, but there was a variety in it, and Grant decided that he

should take it.

 

A hundred feet from the place where he crossed the railroad there was a

bridge spanning the creek, not wide, but lying some twenty feet below.

The bridge was about fifty feet long.

 

As Grant gave a careless glance at the structure, which he was not

intending to cross, he saw something that startled him. The supports of

the further end of the bridge had given way, and it hung, partially

fallen, supported only from the other end. It was clear that no train

could pass over it in its present condition without being precipitated

into the creek below.

 

“Good Heavens,” thought Grant, “there’ll be an accident! I wonder what

could have weakened the bridge.”

 

It was useless speculating about this point. The danger was imminent,

for in less than ten minutes a train was due.

 

Grant thought of going to the village and giving the alarm, but there

was no time. Before he could return the train would have arrived, if on

time, and the accident would have happened.

 

“What shall I do?” Grant asked himself in excitement. “The engineer will

have no warning, and the train will push on at its usual speed.”

 

A vision of the wrecking of the train and the death of innocent and

unsuspecting passengers rose before Grant’s mind, and he felt that the

catastrophe must be averted if possible. If only some one would come

along with whom to consult. But he was alone, and on his young shoulders

rested a terrible responsibility.

 

What could he do?

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER IV.

GRANT SAVES THE TRAIN.

 

 

“I must signal to the engineer in some way,” thought Grant. “How shall I

do it?”

 

He felt in his pocket and found that he had a white handkerchief of

large size. He wore a soft felt hat. This he took off, spread the

handkerchief over it, and then lifted it in the air on the tines of the

pitchfork. Then he sought a place where he might attract the attention

of the engineer.

 

About two hundred feet from the bridge there was a small eminence on one

side of the railroad. It was just in front of a curve, and this seemed

to Grant the best place to station himself. He posted himself there,

raised the pitchfork, and waited anxiously for the train.

 

By and by he heard the cars approaching. His heart was in his mouth.

 

“Will they see me?” he asked himself. “If not——” but he could not bear

to think of the alternative.

 

As the train drew nearer and nearer he began to wave the hat vigorously,

shouting at the same time, though he knew that his voice would be

drowned by the thunderous noise of the train.

 

Nearer and nearer came the train. Would it stop?

 

All at once his heart was filled with joy, for the train began to slow

up, and stopped just a little beyond where he was standing.

 

Grant ran forward till he was abreast with the engine.

 

“What’s the matter, boy?” demanded the engineer, half inclined to be

angry. “If you are playing a trick on me, I’ll give you a good horse-whipping."