CHAPTER XIII
THE SOLITARY CABIN
When they rose the next morning, all looked serious. Each felt that the crisis had come. All eyes were turned upon poor old Dobbin, who, unconscious of his danger, was browsing near the camp.
“Grant,” said Tom suddenly, “let us give Dobbin a small lease of life.”
“Will it do any good, Tom?”
“I don’t know; but this is what I propose: let us each take a rifle and go in different directions. We may find a deer or antelope to serve as a substitute for Dobbin, or something else may turn up.”
“Very well, Tom.”
So the two started out.
Chance directed Grant’s steps into a sheltered valley. Coarse grass covered the ground, which seemed luxurious when compared with the white alkali plains over which they had been travelling.
Grant kept on his way, taking pains not to lose his bearings, for he did not care to stray from the party, and it was quite possible to get lost. There was no evidence of human habitation. So far as appearances went, this oasis might have come fresh from the creative hand, and never fallen under the eye of man. But appearances are deceptive.
Turning a sharp corner, Grant was amazed to find before him a veritable log cabin. It was small, only about twelve feet square, and had evidently at some time been inhabited.
Curious to learn more of this solitary dwelling, Grant entered through the open door. Again he was surprised to find it comfortably furnished. On the rough floor was a Turkish rug. In one corner stood a bedstead, covered with bedding. There were two chairs and a settee. In fact, it was better furnished than Robinson Crusoe’s dwelling in his solitary island.
Grant entered and sat down on a chair.
“What does it all mean, I wonder?” he asked himself. “Does anybody live here, or when did the last tenant give up possession? Was it because he could not pay his rent?” and he laughed at the idea.
As Grant leaned back in his chair and asked himself these questions, his quick ear caught the sound of some one approaching. He looked up, and directly the doorway was darkened by the entrance of a tall man, who in turn gazed at Grant in surprise.
“Ah!” he said, after a brief pause, “I was not expecting a visitor this morning. How long have you been here?”
“Not five minutes. Do you live here?”
“For the present. You, I take it, are crossing the plains?”
“Yes.”
“Not alone, surely?”
“No; my party are perhaps a mile away.”
“Then you are on an exploring expedition?”
“Yes, sir,” answered Grant gravely; “on a very serious exploring expedition.”
“How is that?”
“We are all out of food. There isn’t a crumb left, and starvation stares us in the face.”
“Ha! Did you expect to find food anywhere about here? Was this your object?”
“I don’t know. It was a desperate step to take. I have a rifle with me. I thought it possible I might come across a deer that would tide us over for a few days.”
“How large is your party?”
“There are only four of us.”
“All males?”
“Except one. Mr. and Mrs. Cooper, and their son Tom, a young man, and myself constitute the party.”
“Whence did you come?”
“From Iowa.”
“I venture to say you have found what you did not expect.”
“Yes; I never dreamed of finding a man or a human habitation in this out-of-the-way spot.”
“And yet the time may come within twenty-five years when there may be a village in this very spot.”
“I wish it were here now,” sighed Grant. “And if there was one, I wish there might be a restaurant or a baker’s shop handy.”
“I can’t promise you that, but what is more important, I can supply you with provisions.”
As he spoke, he walked to one corner of the dwelling and opened a door, which had not thus far attracted Grant’s attention. There was revealed a small closet. Inside was a cask, which, as Grant could see, was full of crackers, another contained flour, and on a shelf was a large piece of deer meat, which had been cooked, and appealed powerfully to Grant’s appetite, which for four days had been growing, and now was clamoring to be satisfied.
Grant sighed, and over his face came a look of longing.
“Shut the door, quick,” he said, “or I may be tempted to take what does not belong to me.”
“My dear boy,” said the stranger, and over his rugged features came a smile that lighted them up wonderfully; “it is yours. Help yourself.”
Grant took a cracker and ate it quickly. Then he took a knife that lay beside the meat and cut off a slice, which he likewise disposed of. Then he remembered himself.
“I am selfish,” he said. “I am satisfying my appetite, while my poor friends are suffering from hunger.”
“Bring them with you. They shall breakfast with me. Or stay. I will go with you and invite them myself.”
Grant left the cabin with his new friend. As he walked by his side he surveyed him with curiosity and interest. He was a tall man – six feet two, at the least, and he walked with a long stride, which he moderated when he found Grant had trouble to keep up with him. He was dressed in a gray mixed suit, and on his head he wore a soft hat. Despite his appearance and surroundings, Grant was led to think that he had passed a part of his life at least in a city.
“I see a question in your face,” said the unknown. “You wonder how it happens that I am living alone in this wilderness. Is it not so?”
“Yes, sir; I could not help wondering.”
“I have been here but a month. I am one of an overland party that passed here four weeks since. In wandering about I found this cabin, and I asked myself how it would seem to live here alone – practically out of the world. I always liked to try experiments, and notified the party of my intention. Indeed, I did not care to remain with them, for they were not at all congenial. They thought me crazy; but I insisted, and remained here with a sufficient supply of provisions to last me three months.”
“And how have you enjoyed yourself, sir?”
“Well, I can’t say I have enjoyed myself; but I have had plenty of time to meditate. There have been disappointments in my life,” he added gravely, “that have embittered my existence and led to a life of solitude.”
“Do you expect to remain the entire three months?” asked Grant.
“If I had been asked that question this morning I should have unhesitatingly answered in the affirmative. Now – I don’t know why it is – perhaps it is the unexpected sight of a fellow being – I begin to think that I should enjoy returning to human companionship. You cannot understand, till you have been wholly alone for a month, how pleasant it seems to exchange speech with another.”
This remark gave Grant a hint.
“Why not join our party?” he said. “There are but four of us. You would make the fifth. We are going to the mines, if we ever get through this wilderness.”
“Tell me something of your companions.”
“Mr. Cooper is a blacksmith. He has lived all his life in Iowa, and is a good man. His wife is with him, and his son Tom, who is a fine, manly young fellow of twenty-one or two.”
“Very well. Now I have been introduced to them, tell me about yourself. Are they relatives of yours?”
“No, they are not related to me.”
“But you have relatives, have you not?”
“I have a mother.”
“I see, and you wish to make money for her. Is she solely dependent on you?”
“No; she is married again. I have a step-father.”
“Whom you do not like?”
“What makes you think so?”
“I read it in your face.”
“No, I don’t like Mr. Tarbox. He is a mean, penurious farmer, a good deal older than mother. She married him for a home, but she made a mistake. She is merely a house-keeper without wages. She would be better off by herself, with me to work for her.”
“Has she any money at all?”
“About two hundred dollars. Mr. Tarbox has tried to get possession of it, but without success.”
“You look well dressed.”
“I bought and paid for the suit myself. I saved a railroad train from destruction, and the passengers made up a collection of over a hundred and fifty dollars for me. I bought this suit, and with the balance of the money I am paying for my trip to California.”
By this time they had come in sight of the camp. Tom had already returned, evidently without luck, and was only waiting for Grant to appear to sacrifice poor old Dobbin on the altar of hunger.
CHAPTER XIV
THE NEW ACQUAINTANCE
When Grant appeared with the stranger, Tom and his father looked amazed. Where could he have picked up an acquaintance in this wilderness was their thought.
“Tom,” said Grant quickly, “you needn’t kill Dobbin.”
“Are you ready to take his place?” asked Tom. “Food we must have.”
“My friends,” interposed the stranger, “I come with your young companion to invite you to breakfast at my cabin. Perhaps etiquette requires that I should tell you who I am. Permit me to introduce myself as Giles Crosmont, an Englishman by birth and a citizen of the world.”
“I’m Tom Cooper,” responded Tom briefly; “and there are my father and mother. As for your invitation, we’ll accept it thankfully. Do you keep a hotel hereabout?”
“Well, not exactly,” smiled Crosmont; “but I have a cabin a short distance away, and am able to offer you some refreshment. Let me suggest that you follow me at once. Grant and I will lead the way.”
“So you succeeded better than I, Grant?” remarked Tom.
“Yes; I found Mr. Crosmont’s cabin, and was wondering if it were occupied, when he entered and made me welcome.”
“Have you lived here long, Mr. Crosmont?” asked Tom curiously.
“Four weeks only.”
“Alone?”
“Yes; I told Grant that it was a whim of mine to try the experiment of living in utter solitude.”
“How do you like it, as far as you’ve got?”
Giles Crosmont laughed. He was amused by the frank curiosity of his young acquaintance.
“I’ve got as far as I care to go in this particular direction. After breakfast I may have a proposal to make to you.”
They reached the cabin, and Crosmont hospitably produced his stock of provisions, to which his visitors did ample justice.
“Now for my proposal,” said Crosmont. “I should like to join your party.”
“You are welcome, sir; but, as Grant has probably told you, we are all out of provisions.”
“I will turn over to you the balance of mine, and I have more concealed in the woods, at a little distance.”
“Good!” said Tom, in a tone of satisfaction. “We will buy them of you.”
“No, you won’t. I freely contribute them as my share of the common expense. I can help you in another way also. I am a good shot, and I hope to add a deer or an antelope to your stock at frequent intervals.”
“We shall be glad to have you join us,” said Mrs. Cooper hospitably. “Our meeting with you is quite providential.”
Giles Crosmont took off his hat and bowed respectfully to Mrs. Cooper. It was evident that he was a gentleman by birth and training.
“It was what I was waiting for,” he said; “an invitation from the lady. I am afraid I must ask you to help convey the provisions to the camp.”
“Grant and I will undertake that,” said Tom, with alacrity.
“And I will help you,” added the blacksmith. “We are in luck to find food on such an easy condition.”
In half an hour the providential supply was stowed in the wagon, and the party, augmented to five, started on its way.
Generally Tom and Grant had walked together, but the stranger showed such a preference for Grant’s society that Tom fell back and joined his father, leaving his friend and their new acquaintance to journey together.
“So you are going to California to dig for gold, Grant?” said Crosmont, as he moderated his pace to adapt himself to Grant’s shorter steps.
“Yes, sir,” answered Grant enthusiastically. “I wish I were there now.”
“Suppose now that you should be fortunate, and secure, say, ten thousand dollars; you would be happy?”
“Oh, yes.”
“To a boy like you, the possession of money seems sure to bring happiness.”
“In my case, yes. Remember, Mr. Crosmont, I have a mother to care for. I should like to take her from Mr. Tarbox’s house, where she is a slave, and give her a nice home of her own. That wouldn’t take more than two thousand dollars, and with the balance I could go into business.”
“Yes, you have your mother to live for,” said Crosmont; and he dropped into a thoughtful mood.
“Will you go to the mines also?” asked Grant, less from curiosity than in order to break the silence.
“No – yes; I will go with you for a time; but the mines have no attraction for me.”
“Don’t you care for gold?”
“I have enough already.”
Then, seeing that Grant’s curiosity was excited, he added: “I don’t mind telling you, Grant, that I am a rich man, rich beyond my wants, and I have no temptation to increase my wealth.”
Grant regarded his companion with the respect that a boy of his age is apt to feel for a rich man – so rich that he doesn’t care to increase his wealth.
“I wonder how it would seem to be rich,” he said thoughtfully.
“Perhaps you will have a chance to experience the feeling some time.”
“I hope so.”
“You are young, strong, self-reliant. In your favored country this will help you to become rich. But after you have acquired wealth, I doubt if you will find it makes you as happy as you expect.”
“But,” said Grant, “if I am rich I can help others. That will make me happy.”
“True!” returned the other, as if it were a new idea. “This ought to have occurred to me before. I will remember it.”
“Were you always rich, sir?”
“Yes. I was born to wealth. My father was a wealthy gentleman living in Devonshire, England. From my earliest years I was accustomed to all that wealth could buy. I never knew what poverty meant.”
“I should think you would wish to live in England.”
“If I lived there it would be alone.”
“Then you have no family!”
Giles Crosmont was silent, and a pained expression showed itself on his face.
“Excuse me if I have shown too much curiosity,” said Grant apologetically.
“There is no need to apologize, yet your question called up painful memories. I had a son – I don’t know if he is still alive – who must now be twenty-five years old. He disappointed me. I sent him to college, and he plunged into extravagance. I paid his debts twice. The last time, in my anger, I declined to do so. He forged a check on me for a large sum, paid his debts with part of the proceeds, and then disappeared.”
“How long ago was that?” inquired Grant, in a sympathetic tone.
“Four years. For a year I remained at my home, hoping to hear something from him, but no tidings came. Then I began to travel, and am still travelling. Sometime I may meet him, and if I do – ”
“You will forgive him?”
“I will try to reclaim him.”
“I wish my father were living.”
“You have your mother.”
“Yes, I wish I could see her at this moment.”
“I think you are a good boy. I wish my boy had been like you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Crosmont. I will try to deserve your compliment.”
“Grant and the Englishman are getting pretty thick,” said Tom to his mother.
“Yes, Tom. He seems to have taken a fancy to the boy.”
“No wonder. Grant is a good fellow. I wonder if this Mr. Crosmont is rich?” For Grant had respected the confidence of his new acquaintance and had not communicated what he had learned to his companions.
“I hope he is. Then he might do something for Grant, and the boy deserves it.”
“He’ll never get much from old Tarbox, I’ll be bound.”
Day by day they drew nearer to the land of gold. The stock of provisions held out wonderfully, for Mr. Crosmont made good his promise, and more than one deer and antelope fell before his unerring aim, and eked out the supply. At length, after some weeks, they crossed the mountains and looked upon the promised land. From this point on there were settlements, and there was no fear of starvation.
CHAPTER XV
ARRIVAL AT SACRAMENTO
At length the little party reached Sacramento. This was already a place of some importance, as it was in the neighborhood of the mining region, and it was here that mining parties obtained their outfits and came at intervals to bring their gold dust and secure supplies. Situated, as it was, on the Sacramento River, with communication with San Francisco by water, it was, besides, the starting-point of numberless lines of stages bound for the different mines. For a town of its size the activity seemed almost incredible. The party went to a hotel, where, for very indifferent accommodations, they were charged five dollars a day. To the blacksmith, accustomed to village prices, this seemed exorbitant.
“We needn’t engage board till night,“ suggested Tom. “We’ll take our meals at a restaurant till then.”
They were all hungry, and this suggestion seemed a good one. Looking about, Tom found a small, one-story building, on the front of which was this sign:
METROPOLITAN HOTEL AND RESTAURANT
“What do you ask for breakfast?” inquired Tom, entering.
“A dollar a head!”
“A dollar!” repeated Mrs. Cooper, in dismay.
“Tom,” said Mr. Cooper, “I haven’t had a civilized meal or sat down at a table for months. No matter what it costs, I’m going to have breakfast now.”
“All right, father! I guess I can do my share of eating.”
Grant listened with dismay to the announcement of prices. Of all the money he had brought with him he had but ten dollars left. How long would it last?
“Grant, are you going to join us?” asked Tom.
“I don’t know as I can afford it,” answered Grant anxiously.
“We can’t any of us afford it,” returned Mr. Cooper. “Sit down, boy, and we’ll borrow trouble afterward.”
“Now,” said Mr. Cooper, as he rose from the table, “I’ll take a turn round the town and see what information I can gain. I’ll turn in the wagon into the yard alongside. Mrs. Cooper, will you keep your eye on it while the rest of us go on a tour of inspection? I don’t think the oxen will be likely to run away,” he added jocosely.
“All right, father.”
Mr. Cooper, Tom, and Grant set out in different directions.
Grant started on his walk feeling sober, if not depressed. Here he was, two thousand miles from his old home, with only nine dollars in his pocket, and the prices for living extortionate. How was he to get to the mines? Before he could get ready to leave Sacramento his money would be exhausted. Since he left home, four months before, Grant hadn’t felt so perplexed and disturbed.
He had walked only five minutes, when he found himself in front of the Sacramento Hotel, the largest in the place.
Half a dozen stages were in the street outside, each drawn by four horses, and each bearing the name of some mining camp to which it proposed to carry passengers. The drivers were calling lustily for recruits. This was what Grant heard – “All aboard for Hangtown! Only four seats left! Who’s going to Gold Gulch? Now’s your chance! Get you through in six hours. Start in fifteen minutes for Frost’s Bar! Richest diggings, within fifty miles!”
“I wonder what they charge,” thought Grant. “I’ll ask.” He went up to the stage bound for Weaver Creek, and inquired the fare.
“Carry you through for ten dollars,” was the reply. “Jump aboard. We’ll start in half an hour.”
“No,” answered Grant slowly. “I shan’t be ready by that time. Besides, I have only nine dollars.”
“I’ll take you to Frost’s Bar for that,” said the driver of the Frost’s Bar stage.
“I suppose you will,” interposed the Weaver Creek driver with a sneer. “Your regular charge is only seven dollars. You want to cheat the boy out of two dollars.”
This led to an altercation between the rival drivers, in which some blows were exchanged, but neither was hurt. Before they had finished Grant had passed on. He knew that, with his limited capital, he could not afford to go to either place and arrive at the mines without a penny.
CHAPTER XVI
GRANT GETS A JOB
An hour later Grant was surprised to come across Tom sawing and splitting wood in front of a restaurant.
“What are you doing, Tom?” he asked, in surprise.
“Earning some money,” answered Tom complacently.
“How much will you get for the job?” asked Grant.
“Three dollars and my dinner. It won’t take me more than three hours to finish up the job. What do you think of that?”
“I’d like a job like it. I’m getting alarmed at the high prices here in Sacramento. I don’t know what I am going to do.”
“How much have you got left?”
“Only nine dollars, and it will cost me that to get to the nearest mines.”
“That’s bad!” said Tom, looking perplexed. “Perhaps father’ll lend you some.”
Grant shook his head.
“I don’t want to borrow of him,” he said. “He will have all he can do to look out for himself and your mother.”
“I don’t know but he will.”
“I guess I’ll get along somehow,” said Grant, with assumed cheerfulness.
“If I can help you, Grant, I will; but it isn’t like being out on the plains. It didn’t cost so much there for living.”
At this point a stout man came to the door of the restaurant. It was the proprietor.
“How are you getting on with the wood?” he asked Tom.
“Pretty well.”
“Whenever you want your dinner you can stop short and come in.”
“Thank you. I took a late breakfast, and will finish the job first.”
“Who is the boy – your brother?”
“No; it’s a friend of mine.”
“Do you want a job?” asked the proprietor, turning to Grant.
“Yes, if it’s anything I can do.”
“One of my waiters has left me and gone to the mines. The rascal left without notice, and I am short-handed. Did you ever wait in a restaurant?”
“No, sir.”
“Never mind, you’ll soon learn. Will you take the job?”
“How much do you pay?”
“Three dollars a day and board.”
“I’ll take it,” said Grant promptly.
“Come right in, then.”
Grant followed his new employer into the Eldorado restaurant, and received instructions. It may seem easy enough to wait on guests at an eating-house, but, like everything else, an apprenticeship is needful. Here, however, it was easier than in a New York or Chicago restaurant, as the bill of fare was limited, and neither the memory nor the hands were taxed as severely as would have been the case elsewhere. Grant was supplied with an apron, and began work at once. When Tom got through his job, and came in for dinner it was Grant who waited upon him.
Tom smiled.
“It seems queer to have you waiting upon me, Grant,” he said. “How do you like it as far as you’ve got?”
“There’s other things I would like better, Tom, but I think I’m lucky to get this.”
“Yes; yours is a more permanent job than mine. I’m through.”
“Just tell your father and mother where I am,” said Grant. “I hear I’m to sleep in the restaurant.”
“That’ll save the expense of a bed. How long do you think you’ll keep at it, Grant?”
“A month, perhaps, if I suit well enough. By that time I’ll have money enough to go to the mines.”
“Then you haven’t given that up?”
“No; I came out to California to dig gold, and I shan’t be satisfied till I get at it.”
When meal hours were over that afternoon Grant started out for a stroll through the town. As he was passing the Morning Star saloon a rough, bearded fellow, already under the influence of liquor, seized him by the arm.
“Come in, boy, and have a drink,” he said.
Grant shrank from him with a repugnance he could not conceal.
“No, thank you!” he answered. “I don’t drink.”
“But you’ve got to drink,” hiccoughed his new acquaintance.
In reply Grant tried to tear himself away, but he could not release the strong grip the man had on his coat-sleeve.
“Come along, boy; it’s no use. Do you want to insult me?”
“No, I don’t,” said Grant; “but I never drink.”
“Are you a temperance sneak?” was the next question. “Don’t make no difference. When Bill Turner wants you to drink, you must drink – or fight. Want to fight?”
“No.”
“Then come in.”
Against his will Grant was dragged into the saloon, where half a dozen fellows were leaning against the bar.