When Ben and his friend Bradley left the cabin in search of Ki Sing, they were puzzled to fix upon the direction in which it was best to go. There was no particular reason to decide in favor of any one against the others.
"Shall we separate, Jake, or shall we go together?" asked Ben.
"I think we had better stick together, Ben. Otherwise, if one succeeds he won't have any way of letting the other know."
"That's true."
"Besides, we may need each other's help," added Bradley.
"You mean in case Ki Sing has met with an accident?"
"Well, no; I don't exactly mean that, Ben."
"Perhaps," said Ben, laughing, "you think two pairs of eyes better than one."
"That's true, Ben; but you haven't caught my idea."
"Then, suppose you catch it for me and give me the benefit of it."
"I think," said Bradley, not smiling at this sally of Ben's, "that our Chinese friend has fallen in with some rough fellows who have done him harm."
"I hope not," said Ben, sobered by this suggestion.
"So do I. Ki Sing is a good fellow, if he is a heathen, and I'd like to scalp the man that ill-treats him."
"There are not many travellers among these mountains."
"No, but there are some. Some men are always pulling up stakes and looking for better claims. Besides, we are here, and why shouldn't others come here as well?"
"That is so."
"I think, Ben, we'll keep along in this direction," said Bradley, indicating a path on the eastern slope of the hill. "I haven't any particular reason for it, but I've got a sort of idea that this is the right way."
"All right, Jake; I will be guided by you. I hope you're mistaken about Ki Sing's fate. Why couldn't he have fallen and sprained his ankle, like Mr. Dewey?"
"Of course he could, but it isn't likely he has."
"Why not?"
"Because Chinamen, I have always noticed, are cautious and supple. They are some like cats; they fall on their feet. They are not rash like white men, but know better how to take care of their lives and limbs. That's why I don't think Ki Sing has tumbled down or hurt himself in any way."
"Of course he wouldn't leave us without notice," said Ben, musingly.
"Certainly not: that isn't Ki Sing's way. He's faithful to Dick Dewey, and won't leave him as long as Dick is laid up. I never had much idea of Chinamen before, and I don't know as I have now,but Ki Sing is a good fellow, whatever you may say of his countrymen. They're not all honest. I was once robbed by a Chinaman, but I'll bet something on Ki Sing. He might have robbed Dick when he was helpless and dependent, before we came along, but he didn't do it. There are plenty of white men you couldn't say that of."
"For instance, the gentlemen who stole our horses."
"It makes me mad whenever I think of that little transaction," said Bradley. "As for that braggart, Mosely, he'll come to grief some of these days. He'll probably die with his boots on and his feet some way from the ground. Before that happens I'd like a little whack at him myself."
"I owe him a debt too," said Ben. "His running off with my mustang cost me a good many weary hours. But hark! what's that?" said Ben, suddenly.
"What's what?"
"I thought I heard a cry."
"Where away?"
"To the left."
Jake Bradley halted and inclined his ear to listen.
"Ben," said he, looking up, "I believe we're on the scent. That cry came either from a Chinaman or a cat."
Ben couldn't help laughing, in spite of the apprehensions which the words of his companion suggested. "Let us push on, then," he said.
Three minutes later the two came in sight of poor Ki Sing, chafing in his forced captivity and making ineffectual attempts to release himself from his confinement.
"That's he, sure enough," exclaimed Jake Bradley, excited. "The poor fellow's regularly treed."
The Chinaman had not yet seen the approach of his friends, for he happened to be looking in another direction.
"Ki Sing!" called Ben.
An expression of relief and joy overspread the countenance of the unfortunate captive when he saw our hero and Bradley.
"How came you here, Ki Sing?" asked Bradley. "Did you tie yourself to the tree?"
"No, no," replied the Chinaman, earnestly. "Velly bad men tie Ki Sing."
"How many of them bad men were there?" queried Bradley.
"Two."
"That's one apiece for us, Ben," said Bradley. "There a job ahead for us."
At the same time he busied himself in cutting the cord that confined the poor Chinaman to the tree, and Ki Sing, with an expression of great relief and contentment, stretched his limbs and chafed his wrists and ankles, which were sore from the cutting of the cord.
"Now, Ki Sing, tell us a little more about them men. What did they look like?"
The Chinaman, in the best English he had at command, described the two men who had perpetrated the outrage.
"Did you hear either of them call the other by name?" inquired Bradley.
"One Billee; the other Tommee," answered Ki Sing, who remembered the way in which they addressed each other.
"Why, those are the names of the men who stole our horses!" said Ben, in surprise.
"That's so!" exclaimed Bradley, in excitement. "It would be just like them scamps to tie up a poor fellow like Ki Sing.—I say, Ki, did them fellows have horses?"
"Yes," answered the Chinaman.
"I believe they're the very fellows," cried Bradley. "I hope they are, for there's a chance of overhauling them.—Why did they tie you, Ki Sing?"
Ki Sing explained that they had tried to induce him to guide them to Richard Dewey's cabin, but that he was sure they wanted to steal his gold, and he had led them astray.
"That's the sort of fellow Ki Sing is," said Bradley, nodding to Ben; "you see, he wouldn't betray his master."
"So they tie me to tlee," continued the poor fellow. "I thought I stay here all night."
"You didn't take us into the account, Ki Sing. When these scoundrels left you where did they go?"
Ki Sing pointed.
"And you think they went in search of the cabin?"
"Yes—they say so."
"Did they know we were there—Ben and I?"
"No; me only say Dickee Dewey."
"Did you say that Dewey was sick?"
"Yes."
"It is clear," said Bradley, turning to Ben, "that them rascals were bent on mischief. From what Ki Sing told them they concluded that Dewey would be unable to resist them, and that they would have a soft thing stealing his gold-dust."
"They may have found the cabin and be at work there now," suggested Ben.
"So they may," answered Bradley, hastily. "What a fool I am to be chattering here when Dick may be in danger!—Stir your stumps, Ki Sing. We're goin' back to the cabin as fast as our legs can carry us. I only hope we'll be in time to catch the scoundrels."
Not without anxiety the three friends retraced their steps toward the little mountain-hut which was at present their only home.
When the three friends came in view of the cabin, the first sight which attracted their attention was the two mustangs, who stood, in patient enjoyment of the rest they so much needed, just outside. Their unlawful owners, as we know, were engaged inside in searching for gold-dust, without the slightest apprehension or expectation of interference.
"That's my mustang," exclaimed Bradley in a tone of suppressed excitement. "I never looked to lay eyes on him again, but, thank the Lord! the thief has walked into a trap which I didn't set for him. We'll have a reckoning, and that pretty soon."
"How do you know it's your mustang?" asked Ben.
"There's a white spot on the left flank. The other one's yours: I know it by his make, though I can't lay hold of any sign. Even if I didn't know him,his bein' in company with mine makes it stand to reason that it belongs to you."
"I shall be glad to have it again," said Ben, "but we may have a tussle for them."
"I'm ready," said Jake Bradley, grimly.
By this time they had come to a halt to consider the situation.
"I don't hear anything," said Bradley, listening intently. "I expect the skunks must be inside. Pray Heaven they haven't harmed poor Dewey!"
Just then Dewey's voice was heard, and they were so near that they could distinguish his words.
"Well, gentlemen," he said, "how are you getting on? Have you found anything yet?"
"No, curse it!" responded Mosely. "Suppose you give us a hint."
"Thank you, but I don't see how that's going to benefit me. If you find the money you mean to take it, don't you?"
"I should say so," answered Tom Hadley, frankly.
Richard Dewey smiled. "I commend your frankness," he said. "Well, you can't expect a man to assist in robbing himself, can you?"
"You're mighty cool," growled Bill Mosely.
"On the contrary, my indignation is very warm, I assure you."
"Look here, Dewey," said Mosely, pausing: "I'm goin' to make you a proposition."
"Go on."
"Of course we shall find this gold-dust of yours, but it's rather hard and troublesome work; so I'll tell you what we'll do. If you'll tell us where to find it, we'll leave a third of it for you. That'll be square, won't it? One part for me, one for my pard, and one for you? What do you say?"
"That you are very kind to allow me a third of what belongs wholly to me. But even if I should think this a profitable arrangement to enter into, how am I to feel secure against your carrying off all of the treasure?"
"You can trust to the honor of a gentleman," laid Mr. William Mosely, pompously.
"Meaning you?" asked Dewey, with a laugh.
"Meaning me, of course, and when perhaps for myself, perhaps for my pard also—eh, Tom?"
"I should say so, Bill."
"I've heard there's honor among thieves," said Dewey, smiling, "and this appears to be an illustration of it. Well, gentlemen, I'm sorry to say I don't feel that confidence in your honor or your word which would justify me in accepting your kind proposal."
"Do you doubt my word?" blustered Mosely.
"I feel no doubt on the subject," answered Dewey.
"I accept your apology," said Mosely; "it's lucky you made it. Me and my friend don't stand no insults. We don't take no back talk. We're bad men when we get into a scrimmage—eh, Tom?"
"I don't doubt your word in the least," said Dewey. "It gives me pleasure to assent cordially to the description you give of yourselves."
Tom Hadley, who was rather obtuse, took this as a compliment, but Mosely was not altogether clear whether Dewey was not chaffing them. "That sounds all right," said he, suspiciously, "if you mean it."
"Oh, set your mind quite at rest on that subject, Bill, if that is your name. You may be sure that I mean everything I say."
"Then you won't give us a hint where to dig?"
"I am sorry to disoblige you, but I really couldn't."
"Do you hear that, Ben?" said Jake Bradley, his mouth distended with a grin. "Dick's chaffin' them scoundrels, and they can't see it. It looks as if they was huntin' for the gold-dust. They haven't found anything yet, and they haven't hurt Dick, or he wouldn't talk as cool as he does."
There was a brief conference, and then the first movement was made by the besieging-party.
Ki Sing, by Bradley's direction, walked to the entrance of the hut and looked placidly in.
As Mosely looked up he saw the Chinaman's face looking like a full moon, and for an instant he was stupefied. He could not conceive how his victim could have escaped from his captivity.
"Tom," he ejaculated, pointing to the doorway, "look there!"
"I should say so!" ejaculated Tom Hadley, no less surprised than his friend.
"How did you get here?" demanded Bill Mosely, addressing the Chinaman.
"Me walk up hill," answered Ki Sing, with a bland smile.
"How did you get away from the tree? That's what I mean, you stupid."
"Fliend come along—cut stling," answered the Chinaman, pronouncing his words in Mongolian fashion.
Bill Mosely was startled. So Ki Sing had a friend. Was the friend with him? "Where is your friend?" he asked abruptly.
"That my fliend," said the crafty Ki Sing, pointing to his master on the pallet in the corner.
"Yes, Ki Sing," said Dewey, "we are friends and will remain so, my good fellow."
Though he did not quite understand why Ben and Jake Bradley did not present themselves, he felt sure that they were close at hand, and that his unwelcome visitors would very soon find it getting hot for them.
"Look here, you yellow baboon!" said Bill Mosely, angrily, "you know what I mean. This man here didn't free you from the tree. Anyway, you were a fool to come back. Do you know what I am going to do with you?"
Ki Sing shook his head placidly.
"I am going to tie you hand and foot and roll you down hill. You'd better have stayed where you were."
"No want loll down hillee," said the Chinaman, without, however, betraying any fear.
"I sha'n't ask whether you like it or not. But stop! Perhaps you can help us. Do you know where the gold-dust is?"
"Yes," answered Ki Sing.
Bill Mosely's face lighted up with pleasure. He thought he saw the way out of his difficulty.
"That's the very thing!" he cried, turning to his partner—"eh, Tom?"
"I should say so, Bill."
"Just show us where it is, and we won't do you any harm."
"If my fliend, Dickee Dewee, tell me to, I will," said Ki Sing.
Dewey, thus appealed to, said, "No, Ki Sing; they only want to rob me, and I am not willing to have you show them."
"You'd better shut up, Dewey," said Mosely, insolently; "you're a dead duck, and you're only gettin' this foolish heathen into trouble. We've got tired of waitin' 'round here, and—"
"I am ready to excuse you any time," said Dewey. "Don't stay on my account, I beg. In fact, the sooner you leave the better it will please me."
Bill Mosely, who didn't fancy Dewey's sarcasm, frowned fiercely and turned again to Ki Sing. "Will you show us or not?" he demanded.
"Velly solly," said Ki Sing, with a childish smile, "but Dickee Dewee won't let me."
With an oath Mosely sprang to the doorway and tried to clutch the Chinaman, when the latter slid to one side and Jake Bradley confronted him.
"You'd better begin with me, Bill Mosely," he said.
Bill Mosely started back as if he had seen a rattlesnake, and stared at Jake Bradley in mingled surprise and dismay.
"You didn't expect to see me, I reckon?" said Bradley, dryly.
Mosely still stared at him, uncertain what to say or what to do.
"I take it very kind of you to bring back the hosses you borrowed a few weeks since. You took 'em rather sudden, without askin' leave; it was a kind of oversight on your part."
"I don't know what you mean," answered Mosely, determined to brazen it out and keep the horses if possible, for he was lazy and a pedestrian tramp would not have suited him very well.
"You know what I mean well enough, Bill Mosely. If you don't, them mustangs outside may refresh your recollection. They look kinder fagged out. You've worked 'em too hard, Mosely."
"Those mustangs are ours. We bought 'em," said Mosely, boldly.—"Didn't we, Tom?"
"I should say so," remarked Hadley, with striking originality.
"That's a lie, Tom," remarked Bradley, calmly, "and you know it as well as I do."
"Are we goin' to stand that, Tom?" blustered Mosely, whose courage was beginning to revive, as he had thus far only seen Bradley, and considered that the odds were two to one in his favor. Of course the Chinaman counted for nothing.
Tom Hadley looked a little doubtful, for he could see that the enemy, though apparently single-handed, was a man of powerful frame and apparently fearless even to recklessness. He had a strong suspicion that Bill Mosely was a coward and would afford him very little assistance in the event of a scrimmage.
"If you can't stand it," said Bradley, "sit down, if you want to."
Thus far, Richard Dewey had remained silent,but he wished to participate in the defence of their property if there should be need, and of course must be released first.
"Jake," said he, "these fellows have tied me hand and foot. They couldn't have done it if I had not been partially disabled. Send in Ki Sing to cut the cords."
"They dared to tie you?" said Bradley, sternly.—"Mosely, what was that for?"
"To remove one obstacle in the way of plunder," Dewey answered for them.
"They're not only hoss-thieves, but thieves through and through. Since they tied you, they must untie you.—Mosely, go and cut the cords."
"I am not a slave to be ordered round," returned Mosely, haughtily.
"What are you, then?"
"A gentleman."
"Then you'll be a dead gentleman in less than a minute if you don't do as I tell you."
As he spoke he drew out his revolver and levelled it at Mosely.
The latter turned pale. "Don't handle thatwe'pon so careless, stranger," he said. "It might go off."
"So it might—as like as not," answered Bradley, calmly.
"Put it up," said Mosely, nervously.—"Tom, just cut them cords."
"Tom, you needn't do it.—Mosely, you're the man for that duty. Do you hear?"
Bill Mosely hesitated. He didn't like to yield and be humiliated before the man over whom he had retained so long an ascendency.
"You'd better be quick about it," said Bradley, warningly. "This here we'pon goes off terrible easily. I don't want to shoot you, but there might be an accident. I've killed twenty-one men with it already. You'll be the twenty-second."
That was hint enough. Pride gave way, and Bill Mosely knelt down and cut the cords which confined Dewey, and the invalid, with a sense of relief, sat up on his pallet and watched the conference.
"There! are you satisfied?" asked Mosely, sullenly.
"It'll do as far as it goes, Mosely," said Bradley. "I wouldn't advise you to try any more of them tricks."
He lowered his weapon, and was about to replace it, when Mosely, who had made a secret sign to his companion, sprang forward simultaneously with Tom Hadley and seized the intrepid Bradley.
The attack was sudden, and also unexpected, for Bradley had such a contempt for the prowess of William Mosely that he had not supposed him capable of planning or carrying out so bold an attack. It must be admitted that he was taken at disadvantage, and might have been temporarily overpowered, for Tom Hadley was strong, and Mosely, though a coward, was nerved by desperation.
Richard Dewey saw his friend's danger, but, unhappily, he had no weapon at hand.
But help was not long in coming.
Concealed by the walls of the cabin, Ben had heard all that had been said, and observed the attack upon his comrade.
He did not hesitate a moment, but sprang forward and showed himself at Bradley's side.
"Let him go, or I'll shoot," he exclaimed in a tone of command, pointing at Mosely the twin brother of the revolver which Bradley owned.
"Confusion!" ejaculated Mosely, in fresh dismay.
"Let go," repeated Ben, firmly.
Bill Mosely released Bradley, and the latter threw off the grasp of Tom Hadley.
"Now," said he, as standing side by side with Ben he confronted the two thieves, "shall we shoot?"
"No, no," said Mosely, nervously.
"Serve you right if we did. So you thought you'd got me, did you? You didn't know about Ben, there. He ain't half your size, but he's got twice the courage.—Ben, what shall we do with them?"
Bill Mosely turned toward Ben, anxious to hear what our hero would say. He was entirely in the power of the two friends, as he realized.
"Serve them as they served Ki Sing," suggested Ben.
"That's a good idea, that is!—Here, you two rascals, trot out here."
Following directions, the two men emerged from the cabin and stood on one side of the doorway, feeling that they would gladly be in some other part of California at that precise moment.
"Mosely, do you see that tree?"
"Yes."
"Go to it."
Bill Mosely slowly and unwillingly proceeded to do as he was told.
"Ki Sing," said Jake Bradley to the Chinaman, who was standing near at hand, his face wearing a bland and contented smile, "have you any cord in your pocket?"
"Yes," answered the Celestial.
"Tie that man to the tree."
Ki Sing approached to follow instructions, when Bill Mosely shouted, "I'll brain you, you yaller heathen, if you dare to touch me!"
"Just as you say, squire," said Bradley, nonchalantly raising his revolver; "if you'd prefer to be shot I'm a very accommodatin' man, and I'll oblige you. I guess it'll be better, as we'll save all trouble."
"Stop! stop!" cried Mosely, in dismay. "He can tie me."
"You've changed your mind. I thought you would," said Bradley.—"Ki Sing, go ahead."
With native dexterity, and not without a feeling of satisfaction easily understood under the circumstances, Ki Sing proceeded to tie his former captor, but present captive, to a stout sapling.
"Is it strong?" asked Bradley.
"Velly stlong," answered the Chinaman, with a satisfied look.
"That's good.—Now, Tom, it's your turn. There's your tree! Annex yourself to it."
Tom Hadley saw the futility of resistance, and quietly allowed himself to be confined in the same manner as his companion.
When both were thus disposed of Jake Bradley turned to the Chinaman:
"Now, Ki Sing, let us have some supper as soon as possible. We've been doin' considerable business, Ben and I, and we're as hungry as bears.—Good-night, Mosely. Hope you'll have a good night's rest!"
"You are not going to leave us here all night, are you?" said Bill Mosely, uneasily.
"That's just what I'm goin' to do. I'll let you go in the mornin' if you behave yourself. Still, if you'd rather be shot I can accommodate you."
"What a bloodthirsty brute!" ejaculated the unhappy Mosely as Bradley disappeared within the doorway.
"I should say so!" echoed Tom Hadley from the other tree.
Mosely and his companion continued in captivity through the night. Some of my readers may consider the punishment a severe one, and it must be admitted that it was attended with no small share of discomfort. But for that time it was an exceedingly mild penalty for the offence which the two men had committed. In the early days of California, theft was generally punished in the most summary manner by hanging the culprit from a limb of the nearest tree, and that, in the majority of cases, would have been the fate of Bill Mosely and Tom Hadley.
But neither Bradley nor Ben was willing to go to such extremes. Jake Bradley had had rough experiences, and he was no soft-hearted sentimentalist, but he had a natural repugnance to taking the life of his fellow-creatures.
"Money," he said on one occasion to Ben, "ain't to be measured ag'in a man's life. I don't say I wouldn't kill a man for some things, though I should hate to mightily, but it wouldn't be on account of robbery. I wouldn't have a man's blood on my conscience for such a thing as that."
It is needless to say that our young hero, whose heart was warm and humane, agreed fully with his older companion.
When the two friends got up in the morning and went out of the cabin, they found their two captives in the same position in which they had left them. They looked weary and were stiff in the limbs, as well they might be.
"Well, my friends," said Bradley, "I hope you've passed a pleasant night."
"I'm almost dead," growled Bill Mosely. "I feel as if I'd been here a week."
"Do you feel the same way?" inquired Bradley, addressing Tom Hadley.
"I should say so," answered Hadley, in a voice of intense disgust.
"It was your own choice, Mosely," said JakeBradley. "It was either all night braced up against a tree, or to be shot at once and put out of your misery."
"Who wants to be shot?" returned Mosely. "That would be worse than stayin' here all night. You might have let us go last night."
"So I might, but I wanted to teach you a lesson. You know very well, Bill Mosely, you'd have fared a good deal worse with some men. You'd have been swingin' from the nearest bough, and so would your friend. You'll come to that some time, but I'd rather some one else would hang you. It ain't a job I hanker after."
"Are you goin' to set us free?" asked Mosely, impatiently, not enjoying Bradley's prediction as to his future fate.
"Yes, I think I will—on one condition."
"Go ahead! I'll agree to anything."
"That you'll leave this part of California and not come back. I don't want you to cross my path ag'in."
"You can bet I don't mean to," said Mosely; and there is no doubt he was entirely in earnest.
"Do you make the same promise, Tom?" asked Bradley, turning to Hadley.
"I should say so," returned Hadley; and there is no reason to doubt his sincerity also.
"You see, my friends, you don't appear to know the difference between your property and mine, particularly when it comes to hosses. It is an unfortunate little peculiarity of yours that will bring your life to an untimely end some of these days. If you should ever reform and set up as respectable men, I might be willin' to know you, but there's about as much chance of that, accordin' to my reckonin', as of water runnin' up hill."
While he was expressing himself thus he was cutting the cords of his prisoners, and they took the first chance to stretch their cramped limbs.
"Feel better, don't you?" asked Bradley, smiling.
"I should say so," answered Hadley.
"Couldn't you give us something to eat?" asked Mosely; "I haven't eaten a mouthful since yesterday noon, and I feel faint."
"Ki Sing," said Bradley, "bring out some victuals. These men are not particular friends ofmine, but we won't send them away hungry. I've known what it is to fast for thirty-six hours at a stretch, and I understand how it feels."
Ki Sing brought out some cold meat and other plain food, which the two adventurers ate as if they were famished. Their long fast and exposure during the night had sharpened their appetites and lent a keener zest to their enjoyment of the meal.
When they had finished Jake Bradley pointed down the mountain. "You've had your breakfast," he said, "and now there is only one thing more. I want to see you travel."
Bill Mosely looked askance at the two mustangs, which were tied only a few rods off.
Jake Bradley caught the direction of his glance. "It's no go, my friend," he said. "You don't borrow our mustangs this time. We shall have occasion to use them ourselves. It won't do you any harm to try your own legs for a while."
Bill Mosely wasn't easily abashed. He was lazy, and the prospect of tramping all day was by no means agreeable to him. Thanks to his last robbery, he and his companion were tolerably wellsupplied with gold-dust, which was a common circulating medium in California at that time. An idea struck him, which he lost no time in carrying out. "What value do you set on them horses?" he asked.
"What makes you ask?" inquired Jake Bradley, with some curiosity.
"We'll buy 'em if you'll take a fair price."
"Buy our mustangs! Have you got the money?"
"We've got gold-dust."
"Where did you get it? I'll warrant you didn't work for it."
"That's our business," answered Mosely, stiffly. "The question is, Do you want to sell?"
"No, I don't; and if I did I should want to know whose money I was takin'."
Bill Mosely was disappointed. In that lonely neighborhood it was hardly likely there would be any other opportunity of obtaining horses, and there was nothing for it but to walk.
"You haven't got any other business, have you, Mosely?" asked Bradley.
"No.—Tom, come on."
"Good-bye, then. Our acquaintance has been brief,Mosely, but I know you as well as if we'd lived in the same town for years. You're a fine man, you are, and an ornament to your native State; but if you ain't a little more careful you'll be likely to die young, and the world will lose a man who in his line can't be beat."
Bill Mosely did not attempt any reply to this farewell, but strode down the sloping path, closely followed by Tom Hadley.
When he had got out of hearing of his late captors he turned to Hadley and said, "I hate that man! He has put a stain on my honor; he has insulted and outraged me."
"I should say so," observed Tom Hadley.
"He has treated you just as badly, Hadley; that stain must be washed out in blood."
"When?" inquired his companion, in a matter-of-fact manner.
"I don't know. Some time. He has had the advantage over us this time, but we shall meet again. Do you hear that, Tom Hadley?" continued Mosely, in a theatrical tone, raising his voice at the same time—"we shall meet again."
"I don't want to meet him again," said Hadley.
"You don't comprehend me. When we meet it will be our turn to deal with him."
"Just as you say," returned Tom Hadley, varying his usual formula.
"It's very unlucky we went up to that cabin," said Bill, after a pause.
"I should say so," chimed in Tom, very emphatically.
"It was cursed ill-luck, but how could we know that that dare-devil was a friend of Dewey's? If we'd let well enough alone, we shouldn't have lost our horses and been compelled to tramp on foot over these mountains."
"Where are we going?" asked Tom Hadley.
"Down hill," answered Mosely briefly.
This answer did not appear to Tom Hadley to contain much information, but his mind was not active enough to frame another question, and the two plodded along in silence.
The recovery of the horses was in one respect especially fortunate. Richard Dewey was anxious to leave the mountain-cabin as soon as possible and make his way to San Francisco, where, as we know, his promised wife was anxiously awaiting him. But there was considerable danger that his ankle, which had been severely sprained, would not be in a condition for travelling for a considerable time yet. The rough mountain-paths would have tried it, and perhaps a second sprain would have resulted.
Now, however, he would be able to ride on one of the horses, and need not walk at all if he pleased.
This idea occurred to Jake Bradley, who suggested it to Richard Dewey.
Dewey's face brightened up, for he was secretlychafing over the delay made necessary by his accident. "But, my friend," he said, "it would be selfish in me to take your horse and leave you to go on foot."
"Look here, Dick Dewey," said Bradley: "what do you take me for? Do you think I'm so delicate I can't walk? I wasn't brought up in no such way. I can do my regular share of trampin', whether on the prairie or on the mountain. I ain't no tender-foot."
"I don't doubt your strength and endurance, friend Bradley," said Dewey, "but a man doesn't always like to do what he is fully able to do."
"Then we needn't say no more about it. There's a gal—I beg your pardon, a young lady—in 'Frisco that's pinin' to see you, Dick Dewey, and that hoss'll get you there sooner'n if you waited till you could walk."
"I am too selfish to resist your arguments, my good friend," said Dewey. "I think I can venture to start within a week, as I am to ride."
"No doubt of it."
"You'd better let me buy your horse, and thenif we don't meet again, or anything happens to it, you won't be the loser."
"'If we don't meet again'?" repeated Bradley, puzzled. "You don't mean to say you are goin' to set out alone?"
"I don't want to take you and Ben away from your claim. It isn't half exhausted yet."
"Then let somebody else exhaust it," returned Bradley. "You don't suppose, Dick, we are goin' to let you go off alone?"
"I shall not be alone. My faithful attendant, Ki Sing, will be with me."
"And what good would Ki Sing be in case you fell in with a grizzly? I want to know that," asked Bradley. "I don't say anything against the heathen; he's squarer than many a white man I've met with, and he's worth a dozen such men as Bill Mosely and Tom Hadley; but, all the same, he wouldn't be much in a scrimmage. Them Chinamen are half women, accordin' to my reckonin'. They look like it and speak like it. No, Ben and I go when you do, and the first man that comes along is welcome to the claim."
"I shall certainly be delighted to have you both with me," said Richard Dewey. "You're a good fellow, Jake Bradley, and I trust you more than any man I have met since I came to California. Ben acted as escort to Florence, and I owe him a debt for that which I hope some day to repay."
"Then it's all fixed," said Bradley, in a tone of satisfaction. "We four are to keep together till we see you within reach of 'Frisco. When you and your young lady meet you won't need us any more."
Richard Dewey smiled. "Florence will wish to thank you for your kind care of me, Bradley," he said.
"I've no objection to that. You can invite me to the weddin', Dick."
"I give you that invitation now, and hope you may not have long to wait for the occasion. All difficulties are not yet removed, but I hope they may vanish speedily. I get impatient sometimes, but I try to curb my impatient feeling."
"I reckon I would feel so myself if I was in your fix," observed Bradley.
"I hope you may be, Jake."
Bradley shook his head.
"I'm a cross-grained old bachelor," he said, "and I reckon no gal would look at me twice."
A few evenings later Ben and Bradley were sitting just outside the cabin as the twilight deepened.
"It doesn't seem as if this was our last night in the old shanty," said Jake Bradley, taking the pipe from his mouth. "It ain't a palace, but I shall kinder hate to leave it."
"I've got to feel very much at home here myself, Jake; still, I should like to get somewhere where it isn't quite so far out of the world."
"There's something in that, Ben."
"I haven't heard anything from home for a good many weeks; I wish I knew whether my uncle's family are all well."
"How many is there in the family, Ben?"
"There's Uncle Job and Aunt Hannah and Cousin Jennie."
"That's just what I thought," said Jake.
"I don't understand you," said Ben, puzzled. "What did you think?"
"I thought there was a Cousin Jennie."
Our hero laughed, and, it may be, blushed a little. "What made you think that?"
"There generally is, I notice," said Mr. Bradley, eagerly. "Is Cousin Jennie pretty?"
"To be sure she is."
"I thought that too, Ben."
"What are you driving at, Jake?"
"I was sure there was some one besides the old folks that you was anxious about."
"Well, you happen to be right," said Ben, laughing. "But I must tell you that Jennie is only fourteen, and I am only sixteen."
"You'll both of you be older some day, Ben. But there's a matter that we must settle before we go."
"What's that?"
"About the gold we have found since we've been here. We must have some arrangement about dividin' it."
"We sha'n't quarrel about that, Jake."
"No, there's no danger of that. That'll be easy enough. We'll divide it into two piles, one for you, and the other for me."
"Jake, I have no right to half of it. You ought to have two-thirds."
"I'd like to argy that matter, Ben. Why should I have two-thirds?"
"Because you earned it. You understood mining better than I."
"We're equal partners, Ben. I stick to that, and I mean to have my way. I've been making a little calculation, and I reckon there's nigh on to a thousand dollars for the two of us."
"As much as that, Jake?" said Ben, eagerly.
"I reckon there is, though I can't justly tell."
"It doesn't seem possible I can be worth five hundred dollars," said Ben, thoughtfully. "We've only been here four weeks. That makes a hundred and twenty-five dollars a week."
"So it does. That's pretty high pay for a boy."
"Before I left home," said Ben, "there was anold farmer, Deacon Pitkins, who wanted to hire me for a year. What do you think he offered me?"
"How much?"
"Twenty dollars a year and board," answered Ben.
"I reckon you did better to come to Californy."
"It looks so now. How the old deacon would stare if he knew how I had been prospering at the mines! I wish there was any way of sending part of this money home. I would like to make a present to Uncle Job."
"When you get to 'Frisco you won't have any trouble about sendin' it."
"Uncle Job thought it was very risky for a boy like me to leave home and seek my fortune in California. I would like to prove to him that I didn't make a mistake."
"It's likely you haven't, Ben," said Bradley cautiously, "but you ain't out of the woods yet. I hope things will go on as well as they have, and you'll be able to carry a pile home. But we've got to start in good season to-morrow, and we may as well turn in and go to sleep."
The next morning after breakfast the party got off. Fortunately, there were no trunks or heavy luggage to carry. California pioneers had no occasion for Saratoga trunks, and the amount of clothing they carried in addition to what they had on was very small.
"Ki Sing," said Bradley, jocosely, "I am afraid we can't carry your trunk with us."
"'Tlunk'!" repeated the Chinaman, looking puzzled.
"Yes, trunk, or 'tlunk,' as you call it. Haven't you a trunk to carry your clothes?"
"Got clothes on," said Ki Sing, pointing to his blouse and wide pants.
"I see," said Bradley, laughing. "We're all about in the same fix. The clothes of the whole party wouldn't half fill a trunk."
The two horses were brought out and saddled.
Bradley assisted Richard Dewey to mount one, and motioned to Ben to mount the other. "Get on, Ben," he said. "It's time the procession was moving."
Ben shook his head. "No, Jake," he said. "You are older than I am. It is proper that you should ride."
"If I'm older than you," said Bradley, "I am stronger than you, and am better able to walk."
"I am strong enough, Jake. I sha'n't get tired."
"One of us ought to ride. There's no use in havin' a horse if you ain't going to use him."
"Suppose," suggested Ben, laughing, "we let Ki Sing ride?"
Bradley saw that a joke was intended, and he turned gravely to the Chinaman. "Ki Sing," he said, "come here and mount this mustang. We are goin' to let you ride."
An expression of alarm overspread the Chinaman's broad face. He had never been on a horse's back in his life, but he knew something of the Californian mustangs. More than once he had seenthem buck and throw the ill-fated riders over their heads, and, not being of a daring or venturesome nature, he preferred to walk rather than trust himself to mount the back of so treacherous an animal.
"Ki Sing no wantee lide," he said, starting back in alarm.
"But, Ki Sing, you will get tired tramping over these hills. It will be much easier to ride on a mustang."
"No likee mustang—mustang buckee," objected the Chinaman.
"You are right, Ki Sing. They do buck sometimes, but this animal is as mild and peaceful as a lamb. However, we won't insist on your riding now. Some other day, when you have found out how safe he is, you shall try him."
The Chinaman seemed much relieved at the privilege accorded him of walking, and with his small bundle prepared to take his place in the procession.
"Ben," said Bradley, "the best way for us to arrange will be to take turns in riding. I'd agood deal rather walk half the way. My legs get cramped when I am on horseback too long. You remember I used to get off and lead the horse when we had one apiece. You may take your turn first, and as you are riding I will give you a bag to carry. Mind you don't lose it, for it contains our store of gold-dust."
"All right, Jake. I'll ride first, if you say so." In truth, Ben was pleased to find himself once more on the back of a horse. He had not had much practice in riding at the East, but the practice he had had in California had already made him a good rider, and even if the mustang had taken a fancy to buck he would have found it rather hard to dislodge our young hero. The animal he bestrode, however, was very well-behaved, especially when he felt that his rider had the mastery over him. Any horse, with any spirit, is apt to take advantage of a timid or unpractised rider, and the animal is very quick to learn when this is the case.
During the first day the mustang behaved remarkably well. To begin with, both Ben and Bradleywere good riders. Moreover, the path was very uneven, chiefly up and down hill, and the horse was too sensible to go much beyond a walk.
As for Dewey, he got on very comfortably. His ankle was nearly as strong as at first, but if he had been compelled to use it for a day's tramp it would undoubtedly have ached and become sensitive. On the back of his horse—or rather Bradley's—there was of course no danger of injury. When he became tired of his constrained position he got off and walked a quarter or half a mile, and experienced the needed relief.
At the end of the first day they had got well down the mountain, and the commencement of the second day's ride was over a nearly level plateau.
"This is a good place for Ki Sing to ride," suggested Ben.
"Just so," said Bradley, taking the hint.—"Ki Sing, you must take your turn now."
"No wantee lide," said the Chinaman, but he did not greet the proposal with so much alarm as on the morning previous. He had noticed the quiet behavior and regular pace of the two mustangs, and concluded that they were of a different kind from those he had seen misbehave on former occasions.
"Oh, you'll like it well enough when you try it, Ki Sing," said Bradley. "Were you ever on a horse's back?"
"Me never lide," answered the Chinaman.
"Then it is high time you began. You see, Ki Sing, it isn't exactly fair that Ben and I should ride half the time and leave you to walk all the way."
"Likee walk," said Ki Sing.
"That's because you never tried riding. You see, these two hosses of ours are jest like lambs. They're so gentle they could be rid by a two-year-old baby."
The Chinaman looked at the mustangs, and confidence came to him. So far as he had observed, what Jake Bradley said was strictly true. They certainly did seem remarkably tame.
With a little more persuasion he was induced to mount, Ben assisting him to get into position, and the reins were put into his hands.
The mustang began to move off at a regular pace, very favorable to an inexperienced rider, and a bland and child-like smile of content overspread the face of the Chinaman.
"You see, Ki Sing," said Bradley, who walked alongside, "it's nothing to ride. You thought you couldn't ride, yet you are pacing it off like a veteran."
"Me likee lide," observed Ki Sing, with a pleased smile.
"Just so: I thought you would.—Ben, doesn't Ki Sing ride well?"
"Splendidly!" said Ben, contemplating with amusement the Mongolian horseman.
Certainly, Ki Sing in his Chinese garb, as he gingerly held the reins, with his bland, smiling face, did look rather queer.
But I am sorry to say that the poor Chinaman's pleasure and contentment were destined to be of short duration. Bradley and Ben were eager for the amusement they promised themselves when they planned this practical joke at the expense of their Asiatic friend.
Winking at Ben, Bradley said, "You don't go fast enough, Ki Sing."
As he spoke he brought down a stick which he had in his hand with emphasis on the flanks of the mustang. The effect was magical. The tame animal immediately started off at great speed, arching his neck and shaking his head, while the poor Chinaman, his bland smile succeeded by a look of extreme terror, was bounced up and down in the most unceremonious fashion, and would have been thrown off quickly but for the Mexican saddle, which is a securer seat than that used at the East.
He uttered a howl of anguish, while his almond eyes seemed starting out of their sockets as his steed dashed along the road.
Though Ben sympathized with the terrified Chinaman, he knew there was little or no danger, and he threw himself on the ground and gave way to a paroxysm of laughter.
Finally the horse slackened his pace, and Ki Sing lost no time in sliding to the ground.
"How do you like it, Ki Sing?" asked Bradley, trying to keep his face straight.
"No likee lide," answered Mr. Chinaman. "Horsee 'most kill Ki Sing."
"You rode splendidly, Ki Sing," said Ben, laughing. "You made him go fast."
"No likee go fast," said Ki Sing, inspecting his limbs to see that none were broken.
The poor Chinaman's limbs were sore for a day or two, and he could never be induced to mount one of the mustangs again.
It was his first and last ride.
The party were able to cover a greater distance on the second day than on the first, being now among the foot-hills, where travelling was attended with less difficulty.
In the mountain-cabin they had been solitary. Their only visitors had been Bill Mosely and his friend Tom Hadley, and such visitors they were glad to dispense with. Now, however, it was different. Here and there they found a little mining-settlement with its quota of rough, bearded men clad in strange fashion. Yet some of these men had filled responsible and prominent positions in the East. One of the most brigandish-looking miners had been a clergyman in Western New York, who had been compelled by bronchial troubles to give up his parish, and, being poor, had wandered to the California mines in the hope ofgathering a competence for the support of his family.
"It seems good to see people again," said Ben, whose temperament was social. "I felt like Robinson Crusoe on his desert island when I was up on the mountain."
"Yes," answered Bradley, "I like to see people myself when they're of the right sort. When they're like Bill Mosely I'd rather be alone."
"I agree with you there," said Ben. "Poor company is worse than none."
Besides the mining-settlements there were little knots of miners at work here and there, who generally gave the travellers a cordial welcome, and often invited them to stay and join them.
"No," said Bradley, "we're in a hurry to get to 'Frisco."
"Oh, you've made your pile, then?" was generally answered. "What luck have you had?"
"Our pile is a small one," Bradley was wont to reply, "but we've got business in 'Frisco. Leastwise, he has," pointing to Richard Dewey, who headed the procession.
"Will you come back to the mines?"
"I shall, for one," said Bradley. "I ain't rich enough to retire yet, and I don't expect to be for half a dozen years yet."
"Will the boy come back?"
"Yes," answered Ben. "I'm in the same situation as my friend, Mr. Bradley. I haven't my fortune yet."
"You'd better stay with us, boy. We'll do the right thing by you."
Ben shook his head and declined with thanks. He did not want to forsake his present companions. Besides, he had been commissioned by Florence Douglas to find Richard Dewey, and he wanted to execute that commission thoroughly. He wanted to see the two united, and then he would be content to return to the rough life of the mining-camp.
It is easy to understand why Ben should have received so many friendly invitations. A boy was a rarity in California at that time—at any rate, in the mining-districts. There were plenty of young men and men of middle age, but among the adventurous immigrants were to be found few boys of sixteen, the age of our hero. The sight of his fresh young face and boyish figure recalled to many miners the sons whom they had left behind them, and helped to make more vivid the picture of home which their imaginations often conjured up, and they would have liked to have Ben join their company. But, as I have said, Ben had his reasons for declining all invitations at present, though he had every reason to anticipate good treatment.
Toward the close of the second day the little party reached a small mining-settlement containing probably about fifty miners.
It was known as Golden Gulch, and it even boasted a small hotel, with a board sign, on which had been scrawled in charcoal—
GOLDEN GULCH HOTEL.
KEPT BY JIM BROWN.
"I believe we are getting into the domain of civilization," said Richard Dewey. "Actually, hereis a hotel. If Mr. Brown is not too exorbitant in his prices, we had better put up here for the night."
"It doesn't look like an expensive hotel," said Ben, looking at the rough shanty which the proprietor had dignified by the appellation of "hotel."
It was roughly put together, had but one story, was unpainted, and was altogether hardly equal, architecturally, to some of the huts which are to be found among the rocks at the upper end of Manhattan Island.
Such was Jim Brown's "Golden Gulch Hotel." Such as it was, however, it looked attractive to our pilgrims, who for so long had been compelled to be their own cooks and servants.
They found, upon inquiry, that Jim Brown's terms for supper, lodging, and breakfast were five dollars a day, or as nearly as that sum could be reached in gold-dust. It was considerably higher than the prices then asked at the best hotels in New York and Philadelphia; but high prices prevailed in California, and no one scrupled to pay them.
The party decided to remain, and the landlord set to work to prepare them a supper as good as the limited resources of the Golden Gulch Hotel would allow. Still, the fare was better and more varied than our travellers had been accustomed to for a long time, and they enjoyed it.
Ki Sing sat down to the table with them. This was opposed at first by Jim Brown, the landlord, who regarded Chinamen as scarcely above the level of his mules.
"You don't mean to say you want that heathen to sit down at the table with you?" he remonstrated.
"Yes, I do," said Richard Dewey.
"I'd sooner be kicked by a mule than let any yaller heathen sit next to me," remarked Jim Brown, whose education and refinement made him sensitive to such social contamination.
Richard Dewey smiled. "Of course you can choose for yourself," he said. "Ki Sing is a friend of mine, though he is acting as my servant, and I want him to have equal privileges."
Jim Brown remarked that of course Deweycould choose his own company, though he intimated that he thought his taste might be improved.
"Me eatee aftelward," said Ki Sing when he perceived that his presence at the table was the subject of controversy, but he was overruled by Richard Dewey, who possessed a large share of independence, and would not allow himself to be controlled or influenced by the prejudices of others.
This may not seem a very important matter, but it aroused a certain hostility on the part of the landlord, which arrayed him against Dewey and his companions at a critical time.
Entirely unconscious of the storm that was soon to gather about them, the little party did good justice to the supper which Mr. Brown set before them.
"How would it seem, Jake, to have supper like this every night?" remarked Ben.
"It would make me feel like a prince," answered Jake Bradley.
"It is no better than I used to get at Uncle Job's, and yet he was a poor man. How he wouldstare if he knew I was paying five dollars a day for no better fare than he gave me!" replied our hero.
"That's true, Ben; but maybe it's easier to get the five dollars here than it would have been to scrape together fifty cents at home."
"You're right there, Jake. Fifty cents was a pretty big sum to me a year ago. I don't believe Uncle Job himself averages over a dollar and a quarter a day, and he has a family to support. If I only do well here, I'll make him comfortable in his old age."
"I guess you'll have the chance, Ben. You're the boy to succeed. You're smart, and you're willin' to work, and them's what leads to success out here."
"Thank you, Jake. I will try to deserve your favorable opinion."
As Ben finished these words, there was a confused noise outside, the hoarse murmur as of angry men, and a minute later Jim Brown the landlord entered the room, his face dark and threatening.
"Strangers," said he, "I reckoned there was something wrong about you when you let that yaller heathen sit down with you. Now, I know it. You ain't square, respectable men; you're hoss-thieves!"