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

"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!"

CHAPTER XV.

BILL MOSELY REAPPEARS

It will be necessary to go back a little in order to explain how so extraordinary a charge came to be made against the party in which we are interested.

Bill Mosely and Tom Hadley did not become reconciled to the loss of their stolen horses. They found it much less agreeable to use their own legs than the legs of the two mustangs which had borne them so comfortably over the hills. They cursed the fate which had led to their meeting with Ki Sing, and the poor Chinaman would have fared worse at their hands had they anticipated the trouble which he indirectly brought them.

Bill Mosely was naturally lazy; any sort of work he considered beneath him, and he desired to avoid all possible trouble in the lawless and vagabond life which he had chosen. He took it worse, indeed, than his companion, who was neither so shiftless nor so lazy as he.

During the few days which had elapsed since they were glad to leave the mountain-cabin they had averaged less than ten miles' daily travel. They had money enough to purchase animals to replace those which had been taken from them, but had not found any one who was willing to sell for a reasonable price, and Mosely, though he came easily by his money, was far from lavish in the spending of it.

It chanced that an hour after the arrival of Richard Dewey and his party at the Golden Gulch Hotel, Mosely and his companion, dusty and tired, approached the small mining-settlement, of which the hotel was the principal building.

They had had nothing to eat since morning, and both of them felt hungry, not to say ravenous.

"Thank Heaven, Tom, there's a mining-town!" ejaculated Mosely, with an expression of devotion not usual to him. "Now we can get something to eat, and I, for my part, feel as empty as a drum. It's hard travelling on an empty stomach."

"I should say so," remarked Mr. Hadley, with his usual formula. It must be admitted, however, that in the present instance he was entirely sincere, and fully meant what he said.

"There's a hotel," said Tom Hadley, a minute later, venturing on an original observation.

"So there is; what is the name?" inquired Mosely, who was not as far-sighted as his companion.

"The Golden Gulch Hotel," answered Hadley, shading his eyes and reading from a distance of fifty rods the pretentious sign of the little inn.

"I suppose they'll charge a fortune for a supper," said Mosely, whose economical spirit was troubled by the exorbitant prices then prevalent in California, "but we must have it at any cost."

"I should say so," assented Tom Hadley, cordially.

"You always have a good appetite of your own," observed Mosely, not without sarcasm, which, however, Tom Hadley was too obtuse to comprehend.

"I should say so," returned Tom complacently, as if he had received a compliment.

"No doubt you'll get your money's worth, no matter how much we pay for supper."

Tom Hadley himself was of this opinion, and so expressed himself.

They had already caught sight of two mustangs which were browsing near the Golden Gulch Hotel, and the sight of these useful animals excited the envy and longing of Bill Mosely.

"Do you see them mustangs, Tom?" he inquired.

"I should say so."

"I wish we had them."

"Couldn't we take them?" suggested Hadley, his face brightening at the thought of this easy mode of acquiring what they so much needed.

"Are you mad, Tom Hadley?" returned Bill Mosely, shrugging his shoulders. "Are you anxious to die?"

"I should say—not."

"Then you'd better not think of carrying off them horses. Why, we'd have the whole pack of miners after us, and we'd die in our boots before twenty-four hours had passed."

On the whole, this prospect did not appear to be of an encouraging character, and Tom Hadley quietly dropped the plan.

"Perhaps we can buy them," suggested Mosely by way of amendment. "I've got tired of tramping over these hills on foot. After we've got some supper we'll inquire who they belong to."

Up to this point neither Mosely nor his companion suspected that the mustangs which they desired to purchase had once been in their possession. That discovery was to come later.

Before reaching the Golden Gulch Hotel they encountered the landlord, already introduced as Jim Brown.

Mr. Brown scanned the new-comers with an eye to business. Being strangers, he naturally looked upon them as possible customers, and was disposed from motives of policy to cultivate their acquaintance.

"Evenin', strangers," he remarked, as affably as a rather gruff voice and manner would permit.

"Good-evening," said Bill Mosely, socially. "What might be the name of this settlement?"

"You kin see the name on that sign yonder, stranger, ef your eyes are strong enough."

"Golden Gulch?"

"I reckon."

"It ought to be a good place, from the name."

"It's middlin' good. Where might you be from?"

"We're prospectin' a little," answered Bill Mosely vaguely; for there had been circumstances in his California career that made it impolitic to be too definite in his statements.

"Where are you bound?" continued the landlord, with that licensed curiosity which no one ventured to object to in California.

"That depends upon circumstances, my friend," said Bill Mosely, guardedly. "We may go to 'Frisco, and then again we may not. To-night we propose to remain here in Golden Gulch. Is that a comfortable hotel?"

"Well, stranger, seein' I keep it myself, it mightn't be exactly the thing for me to say much about it; but I reckon you won't complain of it if you stop there."

"I'm glad to meet you," said Bill Mosely, grasping the landlord's hand fervently. "I don't need to ask any more about it, seein' you're the landlord. You look like a man that can keep a hotel—eh, Tom?"

"I should say so," returned Tom Hadley, making the answer that was expected of him.

"You're a gentleman!" said Jim Brown, on whom this flattery had its effect. "Just come along with me and I'll see that you are treated as such."

"What are your terms, say, for supper and lodgin', landlord?" asked Bill, with commendable caution.

"Five dollars," answered Brown.

Bill Mosely's jaw fell. He had hoped it would be less.

"And for supper alone?" he asked.

"Two dollars."

"We'll only take supper," said Mosely.

"Just as you say."

"We're so used to campin' out that we couldn't breathe in-doors—eh, Tom?"

"I should say so, Bill."

"Suit yourselves, strangers. I reckon you'll want breakfast in the mornin'."

"As likely as not." Then, turning his attention to the mustangs: "Are them mustangs yours, landlord?"

"No; they belong to a party that's stoppin' with me."

"Will they sell?"

"I reckon not. There's a lame man in the party, and he can't walk much."

"A lame man? Who is with him?" asked Bill Mosely, with a sudden suspicion of the truth.

"Well, there's another man and a boy and a heathen Chinee."

"Tom," said Bill Mosely, in excitement, "it's the party we left on the mountain."

"I should say so, Bill."

"Do you know them, strangers?"

"Know them?" ejaculated Bill Mosely, who instantly formed a plan which would gratify his love of vengeance and secure him the coveted horses at one and the same time—"I reckon I know them only too well. They stole those mustangs from me and my friend a week ago. I thought them animals looked natural."

"Hoss-thieves!" said the landlord. "Well, I surmised there was something wrong about them when they let that yaller heathen set down to the table with them."

CHAPTER XVI.

A TRAVESTY OF JUSTICE

It was speedily noised about in the mining-camp that a party of horse-thieves had had the audacity to visit the settlement, and were even now guests of the Golden Gulch Hotel.

Now, in the eyes of a miner a horse-thief was as bad as a murderer. He was considered rather worse than an ordinary thief, since the character of his theft gave him better facilities for getting away with his plunder. He was looked upon by all as a common and dangerous enemy, on whom any community was justified in visiting the most condign punishment.

Bill Mosely knew very well the feeling he would rouse against the men whom he hated, and, having started the movement, waited complacently for the expected results to follow.

Jim Brown was by no means slow in spreading the alarm. True, these men were his guests, and it might be considered that it was against his interests to denounce them, but he knew his claim for entertainment would be allowed him out of the funds found in possession of the party, with probably a liberal addition as a compensation for revealing their real character.

Horse-thieves! No sooner did the news spread than the miners, most of whom were through work for the day, began to make their way to the neighborhood of the hotel.

There hadn't been any excitement at Golden Gulch for some time, and this promised a first-class sensation.

"Hang 'em up! That's what I say," suggested Brown the landlord.

"Where's the men that call 'em thieves?" asked one of the miners, a middle-aged man, who was sober and slow-spoken, and did not look like a man to be easily carried away by a storm of prejudice or a wave of excitement.

"Here they be," said Brown, pointing to Bill Mosely and Tom Hadley, who were speedily surrounded by an excited crowd.

"What have you say?" asked the first speaker of Mosely.

Bill Mosely repeated his story glibly. It was to this effect: They had met the Chinaman, who induced them to accompany him to the cabin where his master lay sick. From motives of compassion they assented. When they reached the cabin they were set upon by the combined party, their horses were taken from them, they were tied to trees, where they were kept in great pain all night, and in the morning stripped of the greater part of their money and sent adrift.

It will be seen that the story did not entirely deviate from fact, and was very artfully framed to excite sympathy for the narrator and indignation against the perpetrators of the supposed outrage. Tom Hadley, who had not the prolific imagination of his comrade, listened in open-mouthed wonder to the fanciful tale, but did not offer to corroborate it in his usual manner.

The tale was so glibly told that it carried conviction to the minds of most of those present, and a storm of indignation arose.

"Let's have 'em out! let's hang 'em up!" exclaimed one impetuous miner.

Others echoed the cry, and the company of miners in stern phalanx marched to the hotel, where, unconscious of the impending peril, our friends were resting after the day's fatigue.

We have already described the manner in which Jim Brown burst in upon them with the startling charge that they were horse-thieves.

Of course all were startled except Ki Sing, who did not fully comprehend the situation.

Richard Dewey was the first to speak. "What do you mean," he said, sternly, "by this preposterous charge?"

"You'll find out soon enough," said the landlord, nodding significantly. "Jest you file out of that door pretty quick. There's some of us want to see you."

"What does all this mean?" asked Dewey, turning to Jake Bradley.

"I don't know," answered Bradley. "It looks like a conspiracy."

The party filed out, and were confronted by some thirty or forty black-bearded, stern-faced men, who had tried and condemned them in advance of their appearance.

Richard Dewey glanced at the faces before him, and his spirit sank within him. He had been present at a similar scene before—a scene which had terminated in a tragedy—and he knew how swift and relentless those men could be. Who could have made such a charge he did not yet know, but, innocent as he and his companions were, he knew that their word would not be taken, and the mistake might lead to death. But he was not a man to quail or blanch.

"Hoss-thieves! string 'em up!" was shouted from more than one throat.

Richard Dewey calmly surveyed the angry throng. "Gentlemen," he said, "I am no more a horse-thief than any one of you."

There was a buzz of indignation, as if he had confessed his guilt and implicated them in it.

"I demand to see and face my accusers," he said boldly. "What man has dared to charge me and my friends with the mean and contemptible crime of stealing horses?"

Jake Bradley had been looking about him too. Over the heads of the men, who stood before them drawn up in a semicircle, he saw what had escaped the notice of Richard Dewey, the faces and figures of Bill Mosely and Tom Hadley.

"Dick," said he, suddenly, "I see it all. Look yonder! There are them two mean skunks, Bill Mosely and Tom Hadley. It's they who have been bringin' this false slander ag'in us."

Richard Dewey and Ben immediately looked in the direction indicated.

Bill Mosely eyed them with a glance of evil and exulting triumph, as much as to say, "It's my turn now; I am having my revenge."

But Jim Brown, who seemed to be acting as prosecuting attorney, had already summoned the two men to come forward and testify.

"Here's the men!" he said, exultingly. "Here's the men you robbed of their horses and tied to trees.—Isn't it so, stranger?"

Bill Mosely inclined his head in the affirmative, and Tom Hadley, being also asked, answered, but rather faintly, "I should say so."

Lying did not come as natural to him as to Bill.

Richard Dewey laughed scornfully.

"Are those the men," he asked, "who charge us with stealing their horses?"

"In course they do."

"Then," burst forth Jake Bradley, impetuously, "of all the impudent and lyin' scoundrels I ever met, they'll carry off the prize."

"Of course you deny it," said Bill Mosely, brazenly persisting in his falsehood. "A man that'll steal will lie. Perhaps you will charge us with stealin' the horses next."

"That's just what I do," said Bradley, in an excited tone. "You're not only horse-thieves, but you'll take gold-dust an' anything else you can lay your hands on."

"Gentlemen," said Bill Mosely, shrugging his shoulders, "you see how he is tryin' to fasten his own guilt on me and my innocent pard here. It isn't enough that he stole our horses and forced us to foot it over them rough hills, but now he wants to steal away our reputation for honor and honesty. He thinks you're easy to be imposed on, but I know better. You won't see two innocent men lied about and charged with disgraceful crimes?"

"I admire that fellow's cheek," said Bradley in an undertone to Richard Dewey, but he soon found that the consequences were likely to be disastrous to him and his party. The crowd were getting impatient, and readily seconded the words of Jim Brown when he followed up Bill Mosely's speech by a suggestion that they proceed at once to vindicate justice by a summary execution.

They rushed forward and seized upon our four friends, Ki Sing included, and hurried them off to a cluster of tall trees some twenty rods away.

CHAPTER XVII.

LYNCH LAW

Nothing is so unreasoning as a crowd under excitement. The miners were inflamed with fierce anger against men of whom they knew nothing, except that they were accused of theft by two other men, of whom also they knew nothing. Whether the charge was true or false they did not stop to inquire. Apparently, they did not care. They only wanted revenge, and that stern and immediate.

The moderate speaker, already referred to, tried to turn the tide by an appeal for delay. "Wait till morning," he said. "This charge may not be true. Let us not commit an injustice."

But his appeal was drowned in the cries of the excited crowd, "Hang the horse-thieves! string 'em up."

Each of the four victims was dragged by a force which he couldn't resist to the place of execution.

Richard Dewey was pale, but his expression was stern and contemptuous, as if he regarded the party of miners as fools or lunatics.

"Was this to be the end?" he asked himself. "Just as the prospect of happiness was opening before him, just as he was to be reunited to the object of his affection, was he to fall a victim to the fury of a mob?"

Jake Bradley perhaps took the matter more philosophically than either of the other three. He had less to live for, and his attachment to life was not therefore so strong. Still, to be hanged as a thief was not a pleasant way to leave life, and that was what he thought of most. Again, his sympathy was excited in behalf of the boy Ben, whom he had come to love as if he were his own son. He could not bear to think of the boy's young life being extinguished in so shocking a manner.

"This is rough, Ben," he managed to say as the two, side by side, were hurried along by the vindictive crowd.

Ben's face was pale and his heart was full of sorrow and awe with the prospect of a shameful death rising before him. Life was sweet to him, and it seemed hard to lose it.

"Yes it is," answered Ben, faltering. "Can't something be done?"

Jake Bradley shook his head mournfully. "I am afraid not," he said. "I'd like to shoot one of those lyin' scoundrels" (referring to Bill Mosely and his companion) "before I am swung off. To think their word should cost us our lives! It's a burnin' shame!"

Ki Sing looked the image of terror as he too was forced forward by a couple of strong miners. His feet refused to do their office, and he was literally dragged forward, his feet trailing along the ground. He was indeed a ludicrous figure, if anything connected with such a tragedy can be considered ludicrous. Probably it was not so much death that Ki Sing feared, for with his race life is held cheap, but Chinamen shrink from violence, particularly that of a brutal character. They are ready with their knives, but other violence is not common among them.

Bill Mosely and Tom Hadley followed in the rear of the crowd. They would have liked to improve the time by stealing away with the mustangs which they coveted, but even in this hour of public excitement they knew it would not be safe, and the act might arouse suspicion.

While Mosely felt gratified that the men he hated were likely to be put out of the way, there was in his heart a sensation of fear, and he involuntarily shuddered when he reflected that if justice were done he would he in the place of these men who were about to suffer a shameful death. Moreover, he knew that some day it were far from improbable that he himself would be figuring in a similar scene as a chief actor, or rather chief victim. So, though he exulted, he also trembled.

Meanwhile the place of execution had been reached. Then it was discovered that one important accessory to the contemplated tragedy was lacking—a rope. So one of the party was sent to the hotel for a rope, being instructed by Jim Brown where to find it.

It seemed the last chance for an appeal, and, hopeless as it seemed, Richard Dewey resolved to improve it. "Gentlemen," he said in a solemn tone, "I call God to witness that you are about to put to death four innocent men."

"Enough of that!" said Jim Brown, roughly, "We don't want to hear any more of your talk."

But Dewey did not stop. "You have condemned us," he proceeded, "on the testimony of two as arrant scoundrels as can be found in California;" and he pointed scornfully at Bill Mosely and his partner.

"Are you goin' to let him insult us?" asked Mosely in the tone of a wronged man.

"That don't go down, stranger," said Jim Brown. "We know you're guilty, and that's enough."

"You know it? How do you know it?" retorted Dewey. "What proof is there except the word of two thieves and liars who deserve the fate which you are preparing for us?"

"Hang 'em up!" shouted somebody; and the cry was taken up by the rest.

"If you won't believe me," continued Dewey, "I want to make one appeal—to ask one last favor. Spare the life of that innocent boy, who certainly has done no evil. If there are any fathers present I ask, Have you the heart to take away the life of a child just entering upon life and its enjoyments?"

He had touched the chord in the hearts of more than one.

"That's so!" cried the speaker who had tried to stem the popular excitement. "It would be a crime and a disgrace, and I'll shoot the man that puts the rope 'round the boy's neck."

"You're right," cried three others, who themselves had left children in their distant homes. "The boy's life must be saved."

The two men who held Ben in their grasp released him, and our young hero found himself free. There was a great rush of joy to his heart as he saw the shadow of death lifted from him, but he was not satisfied that his life alone should be spared. He resolved to make an appeal in turn. "Gentlemen," he said, "I am only a boy, but I want to speak a few words, and those words shall be true."

Ben had been a good speaker at school, and he had unconsciously assumed the attitude with which he commenced declaiming upon the school-rostrum.

"Hear the boy!" shouted several; and there was a general silence. It was a new thing to be addressed by a boy, and there was a feeling of curiosity as to what he would say.

"I want to say this," continued Ben—"that what Mr. Dewey has said is strictly true. Not one of us is guilty of the crime that has been charged upon us. The men who have testified against us are thieves, and robbed us of these very horses, which we finally recovered from them. May I tell you how it all happened?"

Partly from curiosity, the permission was given, and Ben, in plain, simple language, told the story of how they had received Mosely and Hadley hospitably, and awoke in the morning to find that they had stolen their horses. He also described the manner in which later they tried to rob Dewey when confined to his bed by sickness. His words were frank and sincere, and bore the impress of truth. Evidently a sentiment was being created favorable to the prisoners, and Bill Mosely saw it and trembled.

"Let us go," he whispered to Hadley.

"If you wish to know whether I speak the truth," Ben concluded, "look in the faces of those two men who have accused us."

The terror in the face of Bill Mosely was plainly to be seen. Suddenly the minds of the fickle multitude veered round to the two accusers, and shouts arose: "The boy's right! Hang the thieves!"

Then Bill Mosely did perhaps the most unwise thing possible. His courage fairly broke down, and he started to run. Immediately a dozen men were on his track. He was brought back, moaning and begging for mercy, but the crowd was in no merciful mood. Victims they demanded, and when the rope was brought the two wretched men were summarily suspended to the branches of two neighboring trees.

They had fallen into the pit which they had prepared for others.

As for Ben, he became the hero of the hour. The miners raised him on their shoulders and bore him aloft in triumph to the hotel from which he had so recently been dragged to execution.

CHAPTER XVIII.

AFTER THE EXECUTION

While Ben rejoiced and lifted silent thanks to God for his narrow escape from a shameful death, he felt no satisfaction in the knowledge that the men who had basely conspired against them had suffered the like terrible fate. He averted his head in horror from the sight, and, innocent as he was of fault, he felt depressed to think that his words had resulted in bringing this punishment upon them.

I have said that he was the hero of the hour. Boys were scarce in California, and the hearts of the miners warmed to him on account of his youth and the memories it called up of their own children far away.

A self-appointed committee waited upon him and asked him to stay with them.

"We'll all help you along," they said. "We will make your share equal to that of the luckiest miner among us. You're true grit, and we respect you for it. What do you say?"

"What shall I do, Jake?" he asked of Bradley.