CHAPTER XVIII.

I had often heard Tom Mason speak of his "luck" when telling his stories, but I believe he was utterly confounded by the turn his "luck" had taken in this particular instance. He was too amazed, so much so that he couldn't speak, while Elam, it was plain to be seen, looked upon him as a lucky omen. In these days he would have been called a "mascot." I was completely thunderstruck, and if Tom had told me that there was a nugget hidden under the biggest mountain in the valley, and I could have it for the mere fun of digging after it, I believe I should have put faith in his story.

"I wish that nugget could speak," said Elam, bringing his examination to a stop and sitting down with his arm thrown over his find. "I would like to hear it tell of all the places it has been in. After so many years of waiting I have at last secured the object of my ambition, thanks to you, Tom Mason. Nobody supposed you were going to make yourself rich out here, did they?"

"No, and I don't suppose they know it now," replied Tom. "Do you really imagine this is the nugget your father had?"

"What is the reason they don't know it now?" demanded Elam.

"Because the find isn't mine."

"Didn't I say that I would give you half of it the moment we dug it up? You will find that I am a man of my word, Tom."

"How much do you suppose the thing will pan out?" I said, seizing the nugget with both hands and trying to lift it from the ground. "It is heavier than it was a while ago."

"That nugget will pan out between five and eight thousand dollars," said Elam. "That's the price that Spaniard put upon it."

"Do you think this is the same find your father had?" continued Tom. "A good many people have been searching for gold since then, and a great many nuggets of the size of this one have been dug up."

"That's the reason I wish it could speak," said Elam. "Until I know differently I shall believe it is the same nugget. Anyway it is mine. Now, boys, I am going to Texas as soon as I can get there. You will go with me, of course."

"What are you going down there for?" asked Tom.

"To buy some cattle. You can get them down there for half what they are worth up here, and bringing them home across the plains will leave them in good order for next winter."

"I don't know whether I will go or not. There may be some lawless men down there, and you will have money on your person."

"Well, what of it? A man that will stand up the way you did against the Red Ghost is not going to be afraid of lawless men! You must go, Tom. You are a lucky omen."

As for myself, I did some thinking, too. There was my herd, for instance; a small one to be sure, but large enough to keep me in that country. If Uncle Ezra would sell his sheep and buy the herd, I would be a free man and willing to go to Texas, or any other place to see some fun. And that there was fun there I could readily believe. All men who had got into a "little trouble" in the more settled portions of the community came there to get out of reach of the law, and in a new country they did pretty near as they had a mind to. It would not be a safe thing for Elam to go down there with one or two thousand dollars in his pocket, but I for one was not unwilling to back him up.

"Well, boys, go to sleep on it, and tell me how it looks in the morning," said Elam, jumping to his feet and making a place for his nugget in one of the pack-saddles. "I wish one of you boys would go back and get that pick and shovel that we used to dig this thing up, for we want to have them all with us. They will say we were so excited over finding the gold that we couldn't think of anything else."

In due time a place had been made in the pack-saddle for the nugget, and we were on the back track. We travelled a good deal faster in going than we did in coming, for we didn't have to stop to examine signs on the way, and one day, to Tom's intense surprise, we found the springs close before us. Of course we had talked about Elam's new idea of going to Texas to buy his cattle, and we were pretty well decided that if he went we should go too. We could see that Elam was greatly pleased over our decision, but he did not have much to say about it.

"We must stay here long enough to help Uncle Ezra down with his sheep," said Elam, "and then we'll put out. I wish he would lend me a thousand or two on this, and take it up to Denver and get it panned out himself. I will take just what he says it's worth; wouldn't you, Tom?"

"Why of course I would."

"Well, you have got a say so in it, and I shan't do a thing with it unless you say the word," said Elam. "You might as well give up and take your half."

"Perhaps Tom would rather take his share and send it home," said I.

"No, I wouldn't," said Tom. "My uncle has not yet had time to get over his pet. It will take him a year to do that, and then I will write to him."

On the third night after we camped at the springs we drew up before the door of Uncle Ezra's sheep ranch. Boy-like, we had already made up our minds that we would not acknowledge to anything; if Uncle Ezra wanted to look into our pack-saddles and see what sort of luck we had had, he could examine them himself. Uncle Ezra was alone. When he was in the woods a more devoted follower of the gun could not be found; but he always liked the heat of the fire and preferred a comfortable bunk to sleep in, when he was within reach of the home ranch. Ben Hastings had gone back to the fort. His father always liked to have him around when there was danger in the air, and he had sent a sergeant and two men after him.

"Halloa, boys!" said Uncle Ezra, "what sort of luck have you met with? I think the last time I saw you, you told me that the next time I saw your smiling faces you would have the nugget with you. I don't see any nugget."

"We haven't had any luck at all," said Elam. "We ate up the grub, and now I am going to cattle-herding."

"Elam," said Uncle Ezra severely, "you are not telling me the truth! There is something back of this."

"All right. Come out and see for yourself."

Tom and I removed the saddles from our horses, and at the same time Uncle Ezra came out and began his examination. With the very first move he made he hit the nugget. I never saw a man more completely taken aback than he was.

"Hoop-pe!" was the yell he sent up which awoke the echoes far and near. "By gum, if you haven't got it. I don't want a cent!"

In less time than it takes to tell it Uncle Ezra had lifted out the nugget and carried it into the cabin beside the fire, so that he could have a light to see by. When we got in there he had the nugget on the floor, and was pawing it over to see if it was that or something else which we had tried to palm off on him. When he saw Elam he got up and gave his hand a good hearty shake. I looked at Tom and I saw him put his hands into his pocket. I will bet you he would not have had that shake for his share of the nugget.

"Well, sir, you got it," said Uncle Ezra. "I declare if it don't beat the world!"

"Now, while you are shaking me up you don't want to forget Tom," said Elam. "If it hadn't been for him I shouldn't have found it at all."

"Do you mean to say that Tom found it?"

"Certainly, for he found the trail that led to it," replied Elam; and then he went on to give Uncle Ezra a brief sketch of the manner in which Tom had got at the bottom of things. He added that if he hadn't shown Tom the place where the man camped, the nugget would have been up there now. Uncle Ezra listened in amazement, and when Elam stopped speaking he thrust out his hand to Tom.

"Where in the world did you learn to trail?" said he. "Shake."

"Thank you," said Tom, retreating a step or two. "I'll take your word for it. I wouldn't have such a shaking up as you gave Elam a minute ago for anything."

Uncle Ezra laughed, and pulled a camp-stool near to the fire and sat down upon it. He couldn't get the nugget out of his head. He kept saying "By gum!" every time he looked at it, and now and then he glanced at Elam and pinched himself to see if he was wide awake or dreaming.

"Now, I will give you something to chew on while Carlos is getting supper for us," said Elam; and as that was a gentle hint that he was hungry, I got up and went to work. "We three boys are going to Texas."

"Going to Texas?" asked Uncle Ezra. "Now, wait till I tell you——"

"And another thing," said Elam, paying no attention to the interruption; "we don't want to stay here until this thing is panned out; so can't you lend us a thousand dollars on that nugget?"

"I know what you want," replied Uncle Ezra. "You want me to lend you a thousand dollars apiece."

"Well, yes. That's about the way the thing stands."

"Now, wait till I tell you. You will go away with all that money in your good clothes, and the first thing you know I will never see you again. Somebody will say 'Where's them three fellows that used to hang around your place?' and I will say 'Why, they went down to Texas to buy cattle, and those Texans found out that they had a lot of money about them and shot them.' That's what I'll say. Now, wait till I tell you. You can't go!"

That was just about what I expected to hear from Uncle Ezra at the start, but I knew it would turn out otherwise. I knew if he had the money we would get it, and so I kept still. Tom was very much disappointed, but I gave him a wink and nod which told him that our circumstances were not as bad as they appeared to be, and that everything would come out all right in the end. I didn't blame Uncle Ezra for not wanting to let us go away with so much money in our pockets, but I did not see any other way out of it. If we wanted to get our cattle for about half what they would cost us right there, Texas was the place for us to go. The Indians were bad, and we would have to go right across the country inhabited by the Comanches, and they were about the worst cattle-thieves I ever heard of. Those lawless men—those who did not think that they were bound by any legal or moral restraint unless it was right there to punish them—were found everywhere, and it was going to be a matter of some difficulty to evade them. I had been there once, and I had seen just enough of it to want to go again. I wished now that I had not had quite so much to say in regard to those Regulators and Moderators who seemed to turn up when you least expected them.

I got supper ready after a while and we all sat down to it—all except Uncle Ezra, who sat on his camp-stool with his eyes fastened on the nugget. He turned it first on one side and then on the other so that he could view it from all sides, said, "By gum!" every time he looked at it, and told us many stories connected with it that we had never heard before. To Elam's request that he would take charge of it he readily assented. He would keep it out until all the sheep-herders had seen it, and then he would hide it somewhere so that nobody would ever think of looking for it. It was in the hands of the rightful owner at last, and no one need think he was going to handle it again.

"But you have a long way to take it to Denver," said I. "What will you do if somebody demands it of you!"

"Now, wait until I tell you," said Uncle Ezra, while a look of determination came into his face. "Uncle Ezra has been there."

"Now while you are talking about that nugget you are forgetting about me," said Tom. "I've got to go back to Mr. Parsons' cabin, and make some amends for that bronco. I didn't agree to let him be torn up. I have left money enough in his hands to settle for him."

"That horse won't cost you a cent," said I.

"What makes you say that?"

"Because he was kept for the purpose of sending tender-feet into the mountains when Parsons didn't have anything else for them to do. The next one that comes along he will have to set him to herding cattle. Still I will go with you."

"Thank you. What's the reason Elam can't go with you?"

"Why, he's got to stay here and watch the nugget!"

"By George! Have you got to watch it now that you have found it?"

"Yes, sir. There are ten men employed on this ranch and four on mine, and you may be sure that all of them are not first-class."

"Well, let them come," said Elam, getting up and stretching himself. He stood more than six feet in his stockings, and when he brought his arms back to show his biceps he fairly made the cabin tremble.

"Yes, you, dog-gone you," said Uncle Ezra, getting up and shaking a fist in Elam's face. "You want to go off and lose a thousand dollars of it and your life besides. Now, wait until I tell you. I'll sleep on it. I'll see how it looks in the morning."

But in the morning there was not a word said about it. We ate breakfast by the firelight, and then Tom's horse and mine were brought to the door and saddled, preparatory to our ride to Mr. Parsons' ranch. In a pair of saddle-bags which I carried I had cooked provisions enough to last four days. As we were ready to start, Uncle Ezra came to the door and took a look at the weather.

"How long do you think you will be gone, Carlos?" said he. "Two weeks? Then you needn't mind coming back here. We shall probably get the sheep out some time before that, and you had better come to our dugout on the plains. I'll see to your cattle. Good-by."

In process of time we rode up to Mr. Parsons' cabin, and if I am any judge of the exclamations that arose from all sides they found it difficult to recognize Tom. It seemed that his two months in the mountains had changed him wonderfully. When he spoke of the bronco and repeated some words of advice that Mr. Parsons had given him, the latter remembered him at once.

"Why, Tom, I am glad to see you," said he. "Alight and hitch. The bronco didn't get away from you, I suppose. And you found the nugget, too?"

"Yes, sir; I did," replied Tom quietly.

"Gold sticking out all over it, I suppose. Well, how much do I owe you?"

"I've come here to see how much I owe you," said Tom. "That bronco has gone up. The Red Ghost finished him."

Mr. Parsons began to get interested now. He looked at me and I nodded assent.

"Do you mean to say that the Red Ghost finished him? And did you find the nugget?" he exclaimed, hardly believing he had heard aright.

"It's all true, every bit of it," I said. "He found Elam in a canyon where he got lost, and afterward found a map. He used that map, which started in at the springs, and afterward found the nugget."

"There now!" exclaimed the elderly man, the one who had been in the mountains just ahead of Tom, and whose camp the latter slept in every night. "I told you that I did not think there was gold hidden there, and you thought me crazy."

"Well—I—I—come in, come in," cried Mr. Parsons. "I must hear that story from beginning to end. And are you sure he found the nugget? Wasn't it something else that he found?"

There were five men standing around who had been ordered to go away on some work or another, but they all quit and came into the cabin to hear the story. I took the part of spokesman upon myself, for I did not think that Tom would care to dwell too minutely on his meeting with the Red Ghost or his getting lost in the mountains, and I do not think I left out anything. I never saw a lot of men so confounded as they were. To suppose that a lot of gold had been hidden there in the mountains, which had come from some place a hundred miles away from there, and that Mr. Parsons had sent a dozen tender-feet into the hills to find it, was more than they could understand. When I got through they looked upon Tom with a trifle more of respect than they did before. They couldn't find words with which to express their astonishment.

"Now, perhaps, you are willing to talk to me about that bronco," said Tom. "How much do I owe you for him?"

"Not a red cent," said Mr. Parsons. "Not a single, solitary copper. I kept him for the sake of such fellows as you are, and now that he has got through with his business, I say let him rest. I shall never have any more chances to send him into the mountains with tender-feet. But, Tom, I owe you more than I can pay you."

"You let up on one debt and I will let up on the other," said Tom, with a laugh. "If Elam wasn't such a hot-headed fellow, I should be glad of it. He wants me to take half that nugget, and I don't want to do it."

"Take it and say nothing to nobody," said Mr. Parsons. "You will find means to make it up. How much will it pan out?"

"Between $5000 and $8000," I answered. "But it is my opinion it will be nearer $5000. Elam has got that story in his head about the sum of money that Spaniard put upon it, and he kinder leans to that sum."

"That's a larger amount of money than most of us can make. Now, I hope that nobody will knock him in the head for it."

That was just what I was afraid of, and I made all haste to get back to Elam. I went up to Denver with him and Uncle Ezra, and there we sold the nugget for $6500. The money was all placed in the bank, with the exception of $2000, $1000 of which he took back to give to Tom. I sold my stock for $5000, and also took $1000 with me to purchase cattle. We were gone a month, and when we got back there was nothing to hinder us from starting for Texas. We had a long and fearful journey before us, more trouble than it is in these times, and we were a long while in saying good-by to the friends we left behind. We had something, too, that we didn't count on, and what it was and how we got around it shall be told in "The Missing Pocket-book; Or, Tom Mason's Luck."

The enormous sales of the books of Horatio Alger, Jr., show the greatness of his popularity among the boys, and prove that he is one of their most favored writers. I am told that more than half a million copies altogether have been sold, and that all the large circulating libraries in the country have several complete sets, of which only two or three volumes are ever on the shelves at one time. If this is true, what thousands and thousands of boys have read and are reading Mr. Alger's books! His peculiar style of stories, often imitated but never equaled, have taken a hold upon the young people, and, despite their similarity, are eagerly read as soon as they appear.

Mr. Alger became famous with the publication of that undying book, "Ragged Dick, or Street Life in New York." It was his first book for young people, and its success was so great that he immediately devoted himself to that kind of writing. It was a new and fertile field for a writer then, and Mr. Alger's treatment of it at once caught the fancy of the boys. "Ragged Dick" first appeared in 1868, and ever since then it has been selling steadily, until now it is estimated that about 200,000 copies of the series have been sold.

—Pleasant Hours for Boys and Girls.

A writer for boys should have an abundant sympathy with them. He should be able to enter into their plans, hopes, and aspirations. He should learn to look upon life as they do. Boys object to be written down to. A boy's heart opens to the man or writer who understands him.

—FromWriting Stories for Boys, by Horatio Alger, Jr.

Ragged Dick.Fame and Fortune.Mark the Match Boy.Rough and Ready.Ben the Luggage Boy.Rufus and Rose.

Tattered Tom.Paul the Peddler.Phil the Fiddler.Slow and Sure.

Julius.The Young Outlaw.Sam's Chance.The Telegraph Boy.

Frank's Campaign.Paul Prescott's Charge.Charlie Codman's Cruise.

Luck and Pluck.Sink or Swim.Strong and Steady.Strive and Succeed.

Try and Trust.Bound to Rise.Risen from the Ranks.Herbert Carter's, Legacy.

Brave and Bold.Jack's Ward.Shifting for Himself.Wait and Hope.

Digging for Gold.Facing the World.In a New World.

Only an Irish Boy.Victor Vane, or the Young Secretary.Adrift in the City.

Frank Hunter's Peril.The Young Salesman.Frank and Fearless.

Walter Sherwood's Probation.The Young Bank Messenger.A Boy's Fortune.

HOW I CAME TO WRITE MY FIRST BOOK.

When I was sixteen years old I belonged to a composition class. It was our custom to go on the recitation seat every day with clean slates, and we were allowed ten minutes to write seventy words on any subject the teacher thought suited to our capacity. One day he gave out "What a Man Would See if He Went to Greenland." My heart was in the matter, and before the ten minutes were up I had one side of my slate filled. The teacher listened to the reading of our compositions, and when they were all over he simply said: "Some of you will make your living by writing one of these days." That gave me something to ponder upon. I did not say so out loud, but I knew that my composition was as good as the best of them. By the way, there was another thing that came in my way just then. I was reading at that time one of Mayne Reid's works which I had drawn from the library, and I pondered upon it as much as I did upon what the teacher said to me. In introducing Swartboy to his readers he made use of this expression: "No visible change was observable in Swartboy's countenance." Now, it occurred to me that if a man of his education could make such a blunder as that and still write a book, I ought to be able to do it, too. I went home that very day and began a story, "The Old Guide's Narrative," which was sent to theNew York Weekly, and came back, respectfully declined. It was written on both sides of the sheets but I didn't know that this was against the rules. Nothing abashed, I began another, and receiving some instruction, from a friend of mine who was a clerk in a book store, I wrote it on only one side of the paper. But mind you, he didn't know what I was doing. Nobody knew it; but one day, after a hard Saturday's work—the other boys had been out skating on the brick-pond—I shyly broached the subject to my mother. I felt the need of some sympathy. She listened in amazement, and then said: "Why, do you think you could write a book like that?" That settled the matter, and from that day no one knew what I was up to until I sent the first four volumes of Gunboat Series to my father. Was it work? Well, yes; it was hard work, but each week I had the satisfaction of seeing the manuscript grow until the "Young Naturalist" was all complete.

—Harry Castlemon in the Writer.

Frank the Young Naturalist.Frank on a Gunboat.Frank in the Woods.Frank before Vicksburg.Frank on the Lower Mississippi.Frank on the Prairie.

Frank Among the Rancheros.Frank at Don Carlos' Rancho.Frank in the Mountains.

The Sportsman's Club in the Saddle.The Sportsman's Club Afloat.The Sportsman's Club Among the Trappers.

Snowed up.Frank in the Forecastle.The Boy Traders.

The Buried Treasure.The Boy Trapper.The Mail Carrier.

George in Camp.George at the Wheel.George at the Fort.

Don Gordon's Shooting Box.Rod and Gun Club.The Young Wild Fowlers.

Tom Newcombe.Go-Ahead.No Moss.

True to His Colors.Rodney the Partisan.Rodney the Overseer.Marcy the Blockade-Runner.Marcy the Refugee.Sailor Jack the Trader.

The Houseboat Boys.The Young Game Warden.The Mystery of Lost River Cañon.

Rebellion in Dixie.The Ten-Ton Cutter.A Sailor in Spite of Himself.

The Pony Express Rider.Carl, The Trailer.The White Beaver.

Edward S. Ellis, the popular writer of boys' books, is a native of Ohio, where he was born somewhat more than a half-century ago. His father was a famous hunter and rifle shot, and it was doubtless his exploits and those of his associates, with their tales of adventure which gave the son his taste for the breezy backwoods and for depicting the stirring life of the early settlers on the frontier.

Mr. Ellis began writing at an early age and his work was acceptable from the first. His parents removed to New Jersey while he was a boy and he was graduated from the State Normal School and became a member of the faculty while still in his teens. He was afterward principal of the Trenton High School, a trustee and then superintendent of schools. By that time his services as a writer had become so pronounced that he gave his entire attention to literature. He was an exceptionally successful teacher and wrote a number of text-books for schools, all of which met with high favor. For these and his historical productions, Princeton College conferred upon him the degree of Master of Arts.

The high moral character, the clean, manly tendencies and the admirable literary style of Mr. Ellis' stories have made him as popular on the other side of the Atlantic as in this country. A leading paper remarked some time since, that no mother need hesitate to place in the hands of her boy any book written by Mr. Ellis. They are found in the leading Sunday-school libraries, where, as may well be believed, they are in wide demand and do much good by their sound, wholesome lessons which render them as acceptable to parents as to their children. All of his books published by Henry T. Coates & Co. are re-issued in London, and many have been translated into other languages. Mr. Ellis is a writer of varied accomplishments, and, in addition to his stories, is the author of historical works, of a number of pieces of popular music and has made several valuable inventions. Mr. Ellis is in the prime of his mental and physical powers, and great as have been the merits of his past achievements, there is reason to look for more brilliant productions from his pen in the near future.

Hunters of the Ozark.The Last War Trail.Camp in the Mountains

Lost Trail.Footprints in the Forest.Camp-Fire and Wigwam.

Ned in the Block-House.Ned on the River.Ned in the Woods.

Two Boys in Wyoming.Cowmen and Rustlers.A Strange Craft and its Wonderful Voyage.

Shod with Silence.In the Days of the Pioneers.Phantom of the River.

Neither as a writer does he stand apart from the great currents of life and select some exceptional phase or odd combination of circumstances. He stands on the common level and appeals to the universal heart, and all that he suggests or achieves is on the plane and in the line of march of the great body of humanity.

The Jack Hazard series of stories, published in the lateOur Young Folks, and continued in the first volume ofSt. Nicholas, under the title of "Fast Friends," is no doubt destined to hold a high place in this class of literature. The delight of the boys in them (and of their seniors, too) is well founded. They go to the right spot every time. Trowbridge knows the heart of a boy like a book, and the heart of a man, too, and he has laid them both open in these books in a most successful manner. Apart from the qualities that render the series so attractive to all young readers, they have great value on account of their portraitures of American country life and character. The drawing is wonderfully accurate, and as spirited as it is true. The constable, Sellick, is an original character, and as minor figures where will we find anything better than Miss Wansey, and Mr. P. Pipkin, Esq. The picture of Mr. Dink's school, too, is capital, and where else in fiction is there a better nick-name than that the boys gave to poor little Stephen Treadwell, "Step Hen," as he himself pronounced his name in an unfortunate moment when he saw it in print for the first time in his lesson in school.

On the whole, these books are very satisfactory, and afford the critical reader the rare pleasure of the works that are just adequate, that easily fulfill themselves and accomplish all they set out to do.—Scribner's Monthly.

Jack Hazard and His Fortunes.Doing His Best.The Young Surveyor.A Chance for Himself.Fast Friends.Lawrence's Adventures.

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