The Golden Dream: Adventures in the Far West Part 32

"Come, Tom, my boy," said Ned, one evening, advancing to the side of his companion's couch and sitting down beside him, while he held up the pill--"Open your mouth, and shut your eyes, as we used to say at school."

"What is it?" asked the sick man, faintly.

"Never you mind; patients have no business to know what their doctors prescribe. It's intended to cure ague, and that's enough for you to know. If it doesn't cure you it's not my fault, anyhow--open your mouth, sir!"

Tom smiled sadly and obeyed; the pill was dropt in, a spoonful of water added to float it down, and it disappeared.

But the pill had no effect whatever. Another was tried with like result--or rather with like absence of all result, and at last the box was finished without the sick man being a whit the better or the worse for them. This was disheartening; but Ned, having begun to dabble in medicines, felt an irresistible tendency to go on. Like the tiger who has once tasted blood, he could not now restrain himself.

"I think you're a little better to-night, Tom," he said on the third evening after the administration of the first pill; "I'm making you a decoction of bark here that will certainly do you good."

Tom shook his head, but said nothing. He evidently felt that a negative sign was an appropriate reply to the notion of his being better, or of any decoction whatever doing him good. However, Ned stirred the panful of bark and water vigorously, chatting all the while in a cheering tone, in order to keep up his friend's spirits, while the blaze of the camp-fire lit up his handsome face and bathed his broad chest and shoulders with a ruddy glow that rendered still more pallid the l.u.s.tre of the pale stars overhead.

"It's lucky the rain has kept off so long," he said, without looking up from the mysterious decoction over which he bent with the earnest gaze of an alchymist. "I do believe that has something to do with your being better, my boy--either that or the pills, or both."

Ned totally ignored the fact that his friend did not admit that he was better.

"And this stuff," he continued, "will set you up in a day or two. It's as good as quinine, any day; and you've no notion what wonderful cures that medicine effects. It took me a long time, too, to find the right tree. I wandered over two or three leagues of country before I came upon one. Luckily it was a fine sunny day, and I enjoyed it much. I wish you had been with me, Tom; but you'll be all right soon. I lay down, too, once or twice in the sunshine, and put my head in the long gra.s.s, and tried to fancy myself in a miniature forest. Did you ever try that, Tom!"

Ned looked round as he spoke, but the sick man gave a languid smile, and shut his eyes, so he resumed his stirring of the pot and his rambling talk.

"You've no idea, if you never tried it, how one can deceive one's-self in that way. I often did it at home, when I was a little boy. I used to go away with a companion into a gra.s.s-field, and, selecting a spot where the gra.s.s was long and tangled, and mixed with various kinds of weeds, we used to lie flat down with our faces as near to the ground as possible, and gaze through the gra.s.s-stems until we fancied the blades were trees, and the pebbles were large rocks, and the clods were mountains. Sometimes a huge beetle would crawl past, and we instantly thought of Saint George and the dragon, and, as the unwieldy monster came stumbling on through the forest, we actually became quite excited, and could scarcely believe that what we tried to imagine was not real.

"We seldom spoke on these occasions, my companion and I," continued Ned, suspending the stirring of the decoction and filling his pipe, as he sat down close to the blazing logs; "speaking, we found, always broke the spell, so we agreed to keep perfect silence for as long a time as possible. You must try it, Tom, some day, for although it may seem to you a childish thing to do, there are many childish things which, when done in a philosophical spirit, are deeply interesting and profitable to men."

Ned ceased talking for a few minutes while he ignited his pipe; when he spoke again his thoughts had wandered into a new channel.

"I'm sorry we have no fresh meat to-day," he said, looking earnestly at his friend. "The remainder of that hare is not very savoury, but we must be content; I walked all the country round to-day, without getting within range of any living thing. There were plenty both of deer and birds, but they were so wild I could not get near them. It would matter little if you were well, Tom, but you require good food just now, my poor fellow. Do you feel better to-night?"

Tom groaned, and said that he "felt easier," in a very uneasy voice, after which they both relapsed into silence, and no sound was heard save the crackling of the logs and the bubbling of the mysterious decoction in the pot. Suddenly Tom uttered a slight hiss,--that peculiar sound so familiar to backwoods ears, by which hunters indicate to each other that something unusual has been observed, and that they had better be on the alert.

Ned Sinton's nerves were of that firm kind which can never be startled or taken by surprise. He did not spring to his feet, but, quick as thought, he stretched forth his long arm, and, seizing his rifle, c.o.c.ked it, while he glanced at his friend's eye to see in what direction he was looking. Tom pointed eagerly with his thin hand straight across the fire. Ned turned in that direction, and at once saw the objects which had attracted his attention. Two bright gleaming b.a.l.l.s shone in the dark background of the forest, like two l.u.s.trous Irish diamonds in a black field of bog-oak. He knew at once that they were the eyes of a deer, which, with a curiosity well-known as peculiar to many wild animals, had approached the fire to stare at it.

Ned instantly threw forward his rifle; the light of the fire enabled him easily to align the sights on the glittering eyes; the deadly contents belched forth, and a heavy crash told that his aim had been true.

"Bravo!" shouted Tom Collins, forgetting his ailments in the excitement of the moment, while Ned threw down his rifle, drew his hunting-knife, sprang over the fire, and disappeared in the surrounding gloom. In a few minutes he returned with a fine deer on his shoulders.

"So ho! my boy," he cried, flinging the carcase down; "that was a lucky shot. We shall sup well to-night, thanks to curiosity, which is a most useful quality in beast as well as man. But what's wrong; you look pale, and, eh? you don't mean to say you're--laughing?"

Tom was indeed pale, for the sudden excitement, in his exhausted condition had been too much for him; yet there did seem a peculiar expression about the corners of his mouth that might have been the remains of a laugh.

"Ned," he said, faintly, "the--the decoction's all gone." Ned sprang up and ran to the fire, where, sure enough, he found the pan, over which he had bent so long with necromantic gaze, upset, and most of the precious liquid gone.

"Ha!" he cried, catching up the pot, "not _all_ gone, lad, so your rejoicing was premature. There's quite enough left yet to physic you well; and it's in fit state to be taken, so open your mouth at once, and be a good boy."

A little of the medicine, mixed in water, was administered, and Tom, making a wry face, fell back on his couch with a sigh. Immediately after he was seized with, perhaps, the severest shaking fit he had yet experienced, so that Ned could not help recalling the well-known caution, so frequently met with on medicine vials, "When taken, to be well shaken," despite the anxiety he felt for his friend. But soon after, the trembling fit pa.s.sed away, and Tom sank into a quiet slumber,--the first real rest he had enjoyed for several days.

Ned felt his pulse and his brow, looked long and earnestly into his face, nodded approvingly once or twice, and, having tucked the blankets gently in round the sick man, he proceeded to prepare supper. He removed just enough of the deer's skin to permit of a choice morsel being cut out; this he put into the pot, and made thereof a rich and savoury soup, which he tasted; and, if smacking one's lips and tasting it again twice, indicated anything, the soup was good. But Ned Sinton did not eat it. That was Tom's supper, and was put just near enough the fire to keep it warm.

This being done, Ned cut out another choice morsel of deer's-meat, which he roasted and ate, as only those can eat who are well, and young, and robust, and in the heart of the wilderness. Then he filled his pipe, sat down close to Tom's couch, placed his back against a tree, crossed his arms on his breast, and smoked and watched the whole night long.

He rose gently several times during the night, however, partly for the purpose of battling off his tendency to sleep, and partly for the purpose of replenishing the fire and keeping the soup warm.

But Tom Collins took no supper that night. Ned longed very much to see him awake, but he didn't. Towards morning, Ned managed for some time to fight against sleep, by entering into a close and philosophical speculation, as to what was the precise hour at which that pot of soup could not properly be called supper, but would merge into breakfast.

This question still remained unsettled in his mind when grey dawn lit up the peaks of the eastern hills, and he was still debating it, and nodding like a Chinese mandarin, and staring at intervals like a confused owl, when the sun shot over the tree-tops, and, alighting softly on the sleeper's face, aroused him.

Tom awoke refreshed, ate his breakfast with relish, took his medicine without grumbling, smiled on his comrade, and squeezed his hand as he went to sleep again with a heavy sigh of comfort. From that hour he mended rapidly, and in a week after he was well enough to resume his journey.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

POWERFUL EFFECTS OF GOLD ON THE ASPECT OF THINGS IN GENERAL--THE DOINGS AT LITTLE CREEK DIGGINGS--LARRY BECOMES SPECULATIVE, AND DIGS A HOLE WHICH NEARLY PROVES THE GRAVE OF MANY MINERS--CAPTAIN BUNTING TAKES A FEARFUL DIVE--AH-WOW IS SMITTEN TO THE EARTH--A MYSTERIOUS LETTER, AND A SPLENDID DISH.

We must now beg our reader to turn with us to another scene.

The appearance of Little Creek diggings altered considerably, and for the worse, after Ned Sinton and Tom Collins left. A rush of miners had taken place in consequence of the reports of the successful adventurers who returned to Sacramento for supplies, and, in the course of a few weeks, the whole valley was swarming with eager gold-hunters. The consequence of this was that laws of a somewhat stringent nature had to be made. The ground was measured off into lots of about ten feet square, and apportioned to the miners. Of course, in so large and rough a community, there was a good deal of crime, so that Judge Lynch's services were frequently called in; but upon the whole, considering the circ.u.mstances of the colony, there was much less than might have been expected.

At the time of which we write, namely, several weeks after the events narrated in our last chapter, the whole colony was thrown into a state of excitement, in consequence of large quant.i.ties of gold having been discovered on the banks of the stream, in the ground on which the log-huts and tents were erected. The result of this discovery was, that the whole place was speedily riddled with pits and their concomitant mud-heaps, and, to walk about after night-fall, was a difficult as well as a dangerous amus.e.m.e.nt. Many of the miners pulled down their tents, and began to work upon the spots on which they previously stood. Others began to dig all round their wooden huts, until these rude domiciles threatened to become insular, and a few pulled their dwellings down in order to get at the gold beneath them.

One man, as he sat on his door-step smoking his pipe after dinner, amused himself by poking the handle of an axe into the ground, and, unexpectedly, turned up a small nugget of gold worth several dollars.

In ten minutes there was a pit before his door big enough to hold a sheep, and, before night, he realised about fifty dollars. Another, in the course of two days, dug out one hundred dollars behind his tent, and all were more or less fortunate.

At this particular time, it happened that Captain Bunting had been seized with one of his irresistible and romantic wandering fits, and had gone off with the blunderbuss, to hunt in the mountains. Maxton, having heard of better diggings elsewhere, and not caring for the society of our adventurers when Ned and Tom were absent, had bid them good-bye, and gone off with his pick and shovel on his shoulder, and his prospecting-pan in his hand, no one knew whither. Bill Jones was down at Sacramento purchasing provisions, as the prices at the diggings were ruinous; and Ko-sing had removed with one of the other Chinamen to another part of the Creek.

Thus it came to pa.s.s that Larry O'Neil and Ah-wow, the Chinaman, were left alone to work out the claims of the party.

One fine day, Larry and his comrade were seated in the sunshine, concluding their mid-day meal, when a Yankee pa.s.sed, and told them of the discoveries that had been made further down the settlement.

"Good luck to ye!" said Larry, nodding facetiously to the man, as he put a tin mug to his lips, and drained its contents to the bottom. "Ha!

it's the potheen I'm fond of; not but that I've seen better; faix I've seldom tasted worse, but there's a vartue in goold-diggin' that would make akifortis go down like milk--it would. Will ye try a drop?"

Larry filled the pannikin as he spoke, and handed it to the Yankee, who, nothing loth, drained it, and returned it empty, with thanks.

"They're diggin' goold out o' the cabin floors, are they?" said Larry, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt.

"They air," answered the man. "One feller dug up three hundred dollars yesterday, from the very spot where he's bin snorin' on the last six months."

"Ah! thin that's a purty little sum," said Larry, with a leer that shewed he didn't believe a word of it. "Does he expect more to-morrow, think ye?"

"Don't know," said the man, half offended at the doubt thus cast on his veracity; "ye better go an' ax him. Good day, stranger;" and the Yankee strode away rapidly.

Larry scratched his head; then he rubbed his nose, and then his chin, without, apparently, deriving any particular benefit from these actions.

After that, he looked up at Ah-wow, who was seated cross-legged on the ground opposite to him, smoking, and asked him what was _his_ opinion.

"Dun no," said the Chinaman, without moving a muscle of his stolid countenance.

"Oh! ye're an entertainin' cratur, ye are; I'll just make a hole here where I sit, an' see what comes of it. Sure it's better nor doin'