The Golden Dream: Adventures in the Far West Part 24

The men endeavoured to dissuade them from their purpose, but they were both fatigued, and persisted in their determination. The impression they had made, however, on their new friends was so favourable, that one of their number, a Yankee, offered the loan of his horse to Ned, an offer which the latter accepted thankfully, promising to return it safe and sound early on the following day. Five minutes later the sound of the retreating hoofs died away, and the travellers stood silently side by side in the gloomy ravine.

For a few minutes neither spoke; then Ned heaved a sigh, and, looking in his companion's face with a serio-comically-sad expression, said:

"It may not, perhaps, have occurred to you, Tom, but are you aware that we are a couple of beggars?"

"If you use the term in its slang sense, and mean to insinuate that we are a couple of unfortunate beggars, I agree with you."

"Well, I've no objection," rejoined Ned, "to your taking my words in that sense; but I mean to say that, over and above that, we are real, veritable, _bona fide_ beggars, inasmuch as we have not a sixpence in the world."

Tom Collins's visage grew exceedingly long.

"Our united purse," pursued Ned, "hung, as you are aware, at my saddle-bow, and yon unmitigated villain who appropriated my good steed, is now in possession of all our hard-earned gold!"

Tom's countenance became preternaturally grave, but he did not venture to speak.

"Now," continued Ned, forcing a smile, "there is nothing for it but to make for the nearest diggings, commence work again, and postpone our travels to a future and more convenient season. We may laugh at it as we please, my dear fellow, but there's no denying that we are in what the Yankees would call an `oncommon fix.'"

Ned's remark as to "laughing at it," was altogether uncalled for and inappropriate, for his own smile might have been more correctly termed a grin, and nothing was further from Tom Collins's thoughts at that moment than laughing.

"Are the victuals gone too?" inquired Ned, hastily.

Both turned their eyes towards Tom Collins's horse, which grazed hard by, and both heaved a sigh of relief on observing that the saddle-bags were safe. This was a small drop of comfort in their otherwise bitter cup, and they made the most of it. Each, as if by a common impulse, pretending that he cared very little about the matter, and a.s.suming that the other stood in need of being cheered and comforted, went about the preparations for encamping with a degree of reckless joviality that insensibly raised their spirits, not only up to but considerably above the natural level; and when at last they had spread out their viands, and lighted their fire and their pipes, they were, according to Tom's a.s.sertion, "happy as kings."

The choosing of a spot to encamp on formed the subject of an amicable dispute.

"I recommend the level turf under this oak," said Ned, pointing to a huge old tree, whose gnarled limbs covered a wide s.p.a.ce of level sward.

"It's too low," objected Tom, (Tom could always object--a quality which, while it acted like an agreeable dash of cayenne thrown into the conversation of some of his friends, proved to be sparks applied to gunpowder in that of others;) "it's too low, and, doubtless, moist. I think that yonder pine, with its spreading branches and sweet-smelling cones, and carpet of moss below, is a much more fitting spot."

"Now, who is to decide the question if I don't give in, Tom? For I a.s.sume, of course, that you will never give in."

At that moment an accident occurred which decided the question for them.

It frequently happens that some of the huge, heavy branches of the oaks in America become so thoroughly dried and brittle by the intense heat of summer, that they snap off without a moment's warning, often when there is not a breath of air sufficient to stir a leaf. This propensity is so well-known to Californian travellers that they are somewhat careful in selecting their camping ground, yet, despite all their care, an occasional life is lost by the falling of such branches.

An event of this kind occurred at the present time. The words had barely pa.s.sed Ned's lips, when a large limb of the oak beside which they stood snapt off with a loud report, and fell with a crash to the ground.

"That settles it," said Tom, somewhat seriously, as he led his horse towards the pine-tree, and proceeded to spread his blanket beneath its branches.

In a few minutes the bright flame of their camp-fire threw a lurid glare on the trees and projecting cliffs of the wild pa.s.s, while they cooked and ate their frugal meal of jerked beef and biscuit. They conversed little during the repast or after it, for drowsiness began to steal over them, and it was not long before they laid their heads, side by side, on their saddles, and murmuring "Good-night," forgot their troubles in the embrace of deep, refreshing slumber.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

A CURIOUS AND VALUABLE DRAUGHT--LYNCH LAW APPLIED--BLACK JIM'S CONFESSION--NED BECOMES A PAINTER, AND FINDS THE PROFESSION PROFITABLE AS WELL AS AMUSING--THE FIRST PORTRAIT.

Next morning the travellers were up and away by daybreak, and in the afternoon they came upon a solitary miner who was prospecting in a gulch near the road-side.

This word gulch is applied to the peculiarly abrupt, short ravines, which are a characteristic feature in Californian more than in any other mountains. The weather was exceedingly hot, and the man took off his cap and wiped his streaming brow as he looked at the travellers who approached him.

"Ha! you've got water there, I see," cried Tom Collins, leaping off his horse, seizing a cup which stood on the ground full of clear water, and draining it eagerly.

"Stop!" cried the man, quickly.

"Why!" inquired Tom, smacking his lips.

The miner took the empty cup and gazed inquiringly into it.

"Humph! you've drunk it, every grain."

"Drop, you mean," suggested Tom, laughing at the man's expression; "of course I have, and why not? There's plenty more of the same tap here."

"Oh, I wouldn't mind the water," replied the man, "if ye had only left the gold-dust behind, but you've finished that too."

"You _don't_ mean it!" gasped Tom, while the questions flashed across his mind--Is gold-dust poison? And if not, is it digestible? "How--how much have I swallowed?"

"Only about two dollars--it don't signify," answered the man, joining in the burst of laughter to which Ned and Tom gave way on this announcement.

"I'm afraid we must owe you the sum, then," said Ned, recovering his composure, "for we have only one dollar left, having been robbed last night; but as we mean to work in this neighbourhood, I dare say you will trust us."

The man agreed to this, and having directed the travellers to the settlement of Weaver Creek, resumed his work, while they proceeded on their way. Tom's digestion did not suffer in consequence of his golden draught, and we may here remark, for the benefit of the curious, that he never afterwards experienced any evil effects from it. We may further add, that he did not forget to discharge the debt.

After half-an-hour's ride they came in sight of a few straggling diggers, from whom they learned that the settlement, or village, or town of Weaver Creek was about two miles further on, and in a quarter of an hour they reached it.

The spot on which it stood was wild and romantic, embosomed among lofty wooded hills, whose sides were indented by many a rich ravine, and seamed by many a brawling water-course. Here digging was, as the miners have it, in full blast. Pick, and shovel, and cradle, and long-tom, and prospecting-pan--all were being plied with the utmost energy and with unwearied perseverance. The whole valley was cut up and converted into a net-work of holes and mud-heaps, and the mountain slopes were covered with the cabins, huts, and canvas tents of the miners.

About the centre of the settlement, which was a very scattered one, stood a log-house or cabin, of somewhat larger dimensions than the generality of those around it. This was the grand hotel, restaurant, and gambling-house of the place, besides being the scene of the trials and executions that occasionally took place. Some such work was going forward when our travellers rode up, for the area in front of the hotel was covered with a large concourse of miners.

"I suspect they are about to try the poor wretches who attacked us last night," said Ned, dismounting at the door of the house.

He had scarcely spoken, when a couple of men ran towards them.

"Here you are, strangers," they cried, "come along and bear witness agin' them blackguards; they're just about to be strung up. We'll look after your horses."

The duty was a disagreeable one, but it could not be avoided, so Ned and Tom suffered themselves to be led into the centre of the ring where the three culprits were standing already pinioned, and with the ropes round their necks. For a short time silence was obtained while Ned stated the circ.u.mstances of the robbery, and also the facts regarding the murder of which Black Jim had been previously found guilty. Then there was a general shout of "String 'em up!" "Up wi' the varmints!" and such phrases; but a short respite was granted in consequence of Black Jim expressing a desire to speak with Ned Sinton.

"What have you to say to me?" inquired Ned, in a low tone, as he walked close up to the wretched man, who, although his minutes on earth were numbered, looked as if he were absolutely indifferent to his fate.

"I've only to say," answered the culprit, sternly, "that of all the people I leaves behind me in this world there's but one I wish I hadn't bin bad to, and that's Kate Morgan. You know something of her, though you've never seen her--I know that. Tell her I--no, tell her she'll find the gold I robbed her of at the foot o' the pine-tree behind the tent she's livin' in jist now. An' tell her that her little sister's not dead, though she don't believe me. I took the child to--"

"Come, come, ha' done wi' yer whisperin'," cried several of the bystanders, who were becoming impatient of delay.

"Have patience," said Ned, raising his hand. "The man is telling me something of importance."

"I've done," growled Black Jim, scowling on the crowd with a look of hate; "I wish I hadn't said so much."

The rope was tightened as he spoke, and Ned, turning abruptly on his heel, hurried away with his friend from the spot just as the three robbers were run up and suspended from the branch of the tree, beneath and around which the crowd stood.