Ben's Nugget; Or, A Boy's Search For Fortune

"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.

CHAPTER XI.

PLANS FOR DEPARTURE

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 secretly chafing 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 then if 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."

CHAPTER XII.

THE PROFITS OF MINING

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 an old 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."

CHAPTER XIII.

KI SING'S RIDE

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 seen them 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 a good 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 Bradley were 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.

CHAPTER XIV.

GOLDEN GULCH HOTEL

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 of gathering 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 HOTELKEPT BY JIM BROWN

"I believe we are getting into the domain of civilization," said Richard Dewey. "Actually, here is 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 Dewey could 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 would stare 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."