The Golden Dream: Adventures in the Far West Part 31

But from the contemplation of these and many other interesting sights and phenomena we must pa.s.s to an event which seriously affected the future plans of the travellers.

One beautiful evening--such an evening as, from its deep quiet and unusual softness, leaves a lasting impression on the memory--the two hors.e.m.e.n found themselves slowly toiling up the steep acclivity of a mountain-ridge. Their advance was toilsome, for the way was rugged, and no track of any kind a.s.sisted them in their ascent.

"I fear the poor horses will give in," said Ned, dismounting and looking back at his companion, who slowly followed him.

"We are near the summit," answered Tom, "and they shall have a long rest there."

As he spoke, they both dismounted and advanced on foot, leading their fatigued horses by the bridles.

"Do you know," said Tom, with a sigh, "I feel more used up to-day than I have been since we started on this journey. I think we had better encamp and have a cup of tea; there is a little left yet, if I mistake not."

"With all my heart, Tom; I, too, feel inclined to rest, and--"

Ned paused, for at that moment they overtopped the highest edge of the ridge, and the view that burst upon them was well fitted to put to flight every previous train of thought.

The ridge on which they stood rose several hundred feet above the level of the plain beyond, and commanded a view of unknown extent towards the far west.

The richest possible sweep of country was spread out at their feet like a huge map, bathed in a glow of yellow sunshine. Lakes and streams, crags and rocks, sward, and swamp, and plain--undulating and abrupt, barren and verdant--all were there, and could be embraced in a single wide-sweeping glance. It seemed, to the entranced travellers, like the very garden of Eden. Water-fowl flew about in all directions, the whistling of their wings and their wild cries being mellowed by distance into pleasant music; and, far away on the right, where a clear lake mirrored each tree on its banks, as if the image were reality, a herd of deer were seen cooling their sides and limbs in the water, while, on the extreme horizon, a line of light indicated the sh.o.r.es of the vast Pacific Ocean.

Ere the travellers could find words to express their feelings, a rock, with a piece of stick and a small rag attached to it, attracted their attention.

"We are not the first who have set their feet here, it seems," said Ned, pointing to the signal.

"Strange!" muttered Tom Collins, as they turned towards the rock; "that does not look like an Indian mark; yet I would have thought that white men had never stood here before, for the spot is far removed from any known diggings, and, as we know fail well, is not easily reached."

On gaining the rock, they found that the rag was a shred of linen, without mark of any kind to tell who had placed it there.

"It must have been the freak of some Indian hunter," said Ned, examining the rock on which the little flag-staff was raised. "Stay--no--here are some marks cut in the stone! Look here, Tom, can you decipher this? It looks like the letter D--DB."

"DB?" cried Tom Collins, with a degree of energy that surprised his friend. "Let me see!"

Tom carefully removed the moss, and cleared out the letters, which were unmistakeable.

"Who can DB have been?" said Ned.

Tom looked up with a flushed countenance and a glittering eye, as he exclaimed--

"Who? Who but Daniel Boone, Cooper's great hero--Hawk-eye, of the `Last of the Mohicans'--Deer-slayer--Leather-stocking! _He_ has been here before us--ay, brave spirit! Long before other hunters had dared to venture far into the territory of the scalping, torturing, yelling red-skin, this bold heart had pushed westward, fearless and alone, until his eagle eye rested on the great Pacific. It _must_ have been he. I have followed him, Ned, in spirit, throughout all his wild career, for I knew him to be a _real_ man, and no fiction; but little did I think that I should see a spot where his manly foot had rested, or live to discover his _farthest step_ in the `far west!'"

Ned Sinton listened with interest to the words of his friend, but he did not interrupt him, for he respected the deep emotions that swelled his heart and beamed from his flashing eye.

"We spoke, Ned, sometime ago, of historical a.s.sociations," continued Tom,--"here are historical a.s.sociations worth coming all this way to call up. Here are a.s.sociations that touch _my_ heart more than all the deeds of ancient chivalry. Ah! Daniel Boone, little didst thou think when thy hawk's eye rested here, that in a few short years the land would be overrun by gold-diggers from all ends of the earth!"

"But this flag," said Ned; "_he_ could never have placed that here. It would have been swept away by storms years ago."

"You are right," said Tom, turning over the stones that supported the staff--"halloo! what have we here?"

He pulled out a roll of oiled cloth as he spoke, and, on opening it, discovered a sc.r.a.p of paper, on which were written, in pencil, the words, "_Help us!--for G.o.d's sake help us! We are perishing at the foot of the hill to the southward of this_."

No name or date was attached to this strange paper, but the purport of it was sufficiently clear so, without wasting time in fruitless conjecture, the young men immediately sprang on their horses, and rode down the hill in the direction indicated.

The route proved more rugged and steep than that by which they had ascended, and, for a considerable distance, they wound their way between the trunks of a closely-planted cypress grove; after pa.s.sing which they emerged upon a rocky plain of small extent, at the further extremity of which a green oasis indicated the presence of a spring.

Towards this they rode in silence.

"Ah!" exclaimed Ned, in a tone of deep pity, as he reined up at the foot of an oak-tree, "too late!"

They were indeed too late to succour the poor creatures who had placed the sc.r.a.p of paper on the summit of that mountain-ridge, in the faint hope that friendly hands might discover it in time.

Six dead forms lay at the foot of the oak, side by side, with their pale faces turned upwards, and the expression of extreme suffering still lingering on their shrunken features. It needed no living witness to tell their sad history. The skeletons of oxen, the broken cart, the scattered mining tools, and the empty provision casks, shewed clearly enough that they were emigrants who had left their homesteads in the States, and tried to reach the gold-regions of California by the terrible overland journey. They had lost their way among the dreary fastnesses of the mountains, travelled far from the right road to the mines, and perished at last of exhaustion and hunger on the very borders of the golden land. The grey-haired father of the family lay beside a young girl, with his arm clasped round her neck. Two younger men also lay near them, one lying as if, in dying, he had sought to afford support to the other. The bodies were still fresh, and a glance shewed that nearly all of them were of one family.

"Alas! Ned, had we arrived a few days sooner we might have saved them,"

said Tom.

"I think they must have been freed from their pains and sorrows here more than a week since," replied the other, fastening his horse to a tree, and proceeding to search the clothes of the unfortunates for letters or anything that might afford a clue to their ident.i.ty. "We must stay here an hour or two, Tom, and bury them."

No sc.r.a.p of writing, however, was found--not even a book with a name on it--to tell who the strangers were. With hundreds of others, no doubt, they had left their homes, full of life and hope, to seek their fortunes in the land of gold; but the Director of man's steps had ordered it otherwise, and their golden dreams had ended with their lives in the unknown wilderness.

The two friends covered the bodies with sand and stones, and, leaving them in their shallow grave, pursued their way; but they had not gone far when a few large drops of rain fell, and the sky became overcast with dark leaden clouds.

"Ned," said Tom, anxiously, "I fear we shall be caught by the rainy season. It's awkward being so far from the settlements at such a time."

"Oh, nonsense! surely you don't mind a wetting?" cried Ned; "we can push on in spite of rain."

"Can we?" retorted Tom, with unwonted gravity. "It's clear that you've never seen the rainy season, else you would not speak of it so lightly."

"Why, man, you seem to have lost pluck all of a sudden; come, cheer up; rain or no rain, I mean to have a good supper, and a good night's rest; and here is just the spot that will suit us."

Ned Sinton leaped off his horse as he spoke, and, fastening him to a tree, loosened the saddle-girths, and set about preparing the encampment. Tom Collins a.s.sisted him; but neither the rallying of his comrade, nor his own efforts could enable the latter to shake off the depression of spirits, with which he was overpowered. That night the rain came down in torrents, and drenched the travellers to the skin, despite their most ingenious contrivances to keep it out. They spent the night in misery, and when morning broke Ned found that his companion was smitten down with ague.

Even Ned's buoyant spirits were swamped for a time at this unlooked-for catastrophe; for the dangers of their position were not slight. It was clear that Tom would not be able to travel for many days, for his whole frame trembled, when the fits came on, with a violence that seemed to threaten dislocation to all his joints. Ned felt that both their lives, under G.o.d, depended on his keeping well, and being able to procure food for, and nurse, his friend. At the same time, he knew that the rainy season, if indeed it had not already begun, would soon set in, and perhaps render the country impa.s.sable. There was no use, however, in giving way to morbid fears, so Ned faced his difficulties manfully, and, remembering the promise which he had given his old uncle at parting from him in England, he began by offering up a short but earnest prayer at the side of his friend's couch.

"Ned," said Tom, sadly, as his companion ceased, "I fear that you'll have to return alone."

"Come, come, don't speak that way, Tom; it isn't right. G.o.d is able to help us here as well as in cities. I don't think you are so ill as you fancy--the sight of these poor emigrants has depressed you. Cheer up, my boy, and I'll let you see that you were right when you said I could turn my hand to anything. I'll be hunter, woodcutter, cook, and nurse all at once, and see if I don't make you all right in a day or two. You merely want rest, so keep quiet for a little till I make a sort of sheltered place to put you in."

The sun broke through the clouds as he spoke and shed a warm beam down on poor Tom, who was more revived by the sight of the cheering orb of day than by the words of his companion.

In half-an-hour Tom was wrapped in the driest portion of the driest blanket; his wet habiliments were hung up before a roaring fire to dry, and a rude bower of willows, covered with turf, was erected over his head to guard him from another attack of rain, should it come; but it didn't come. The sun shone cheerily all day, and Ned's preparations were completed before the next deluge came, so that when it descended on the following morning, comparatively little found its way to Tom's resting-place.

It was scarcely a _resting-place_, however. Tom turned and groaned on his uneasy couch, and proved to be an uncommonly restive patient. He complained particularly when Ned left him for a few hours each day to procure fresh provisions; but he smiled and confessed himself unreasonable when Ned returned, as he always did, with a dozen wild ducks, or several geese or hares attached to his belt, or a fat deer on his shoulders. Game of all kinds was plentiful, the weather improved, the young hunter's rifle was good, and his aim was true, so that, but for the sickness of his friend, he would have considered the life he led a remarkably pleasant one.

As day after day pa.s.sed by, however, and Tom Collins grew no better, but rather worse, he began to be seriously alarmed about him. Tom himself took the gloomiest view of his case, and at last said plainly he believed he was dying. At first Ned sought to effect a cure by the simple force of kind treatment and care; but finding that this would not do, he bethought him of trying some experiments in the medicinal way.

He chanced to have a box of pills with him, and tried one, although with much hesitation and fear, for he had got them from a miner who could not tell what they were composed of, but who a.s.sured him they were a sovereign remedy for the blues! Ned, it must be confessed, was rather a reckless doctor. He was anxious, at the time he procured the pills, to relieve a poor miner who seemed to be knocked up with hard work, but who insisted that he had a complication of ailments; so Ned bought the pills for twenty times their value, and gave a few to the man, advising him, at the same time, to rest and feed well, which he did, and the result was a complete cure.

Our hero did not feel so certain, however, that they would succeed as well in the present case; but he resolved to try their virtues, for Tom was so prostrate that he could scarcely be induced to whisper a word.

When the cold fit seized him he trembled so violently that his teeth rattled in his head; and when that pa.s.sed off it was followed by a burning fever, which was even worse to bear.

At first he was restive, and inclined to be peevish under his illness, the result, no doubt, of a naturally-robust const.i.tution struggling unsuccessfully against the attacks of disease, but when he was completely overcome, his irascibility pa.s.sed away, and he became patient, sweet-tempered, and gentle as a child.